The following story is rated M for language, sexual content and other adult themes.

.: Rain :.

.: a YumiKuri story :.

The rain fell in fat, heavy droplets that pelted violently against the tin roof from under which she stood, taking refuge. Soon, the loud pitter-patter sounds of the water rattling against the metal became her soft, little song. Like a fervent lullaby. Rain was always so fascinating, so unforgiving and relentless. Uncaring of the damage it caused to the world that it sent scrambling underneath.

Ymir smiled.

She loved rain. She loved anything related to nature. Nature was wild, untamed. Nature always prevailed, no matter how hard humans fought against it. Flowers sprout and bloom to their own accord, the river currents never stop flowing in the direction that they choose, the sun never ceases to shine as it pleases. The Earth never stops spinning. Never. Not for anything, not for anyone.

It's a simple truth: Humans can never outlive nature. Humans come from nature itself; and yet, for reasons she will never understand, they still seek to destroy it.

How pathetic.

Disgusting.

Ymir shivered slightly from the cold, brought her arms around her torso and hugged her hooded frame, an unlit cigarette still lingering uselessly on her lips. She'd forgotten to light it, had become too lost inside her own thoughts of dread, of longing.

How fucking useless this life seems to be, she thought. You wake up, go to work, bust your ass to contribute to a society that couldn't give two shits about you and then return home, barely struggling to make a living, only to repeat the same reverberating cycle to be able to call yourself a part of this sorry, bureaucratic, compromised excuse of a society.

Ymir removed the cigarette from her lips to yawn.

Boring.

Fucking boring, this whole world was.

"Ymir," a baritone voice called behind her. She turned to look, immediately feeling the bitter taste of animosity bubble up inside of her.

It was her boss. She hated her boss. His thick, yellow eyebrows that always furrowed in displeasure at her presence, at her being. Just another person who could care less for her existence, and yet she had to work for him.

"What?" she asked blandly, reaching for the lighter in her pocket to light the cigarette that still lingered in its rightful place upon her lips.

"We need you."

"Well, I'm busy." She rolled the little wheel of the lighter a few times with her thumb, small sparks of flames that failed to come about popping a few times before she produced one successfully, held it to her cigarette and inhaled deeply. As she took her first long drag, she closed her eyes, felt the smoke flooding her lungs and her pores and just filling her with that dark, warm feeling her body had already become so addicted to. Nicotine.

Her boss kept his eyes fixed on her face, blinking, unimpressed when she exhaled the smoke through her nose, held up her hands as if to gesture "What?".

"Your break is over," he replied simply, and Ymir wanted to ram her boot right into his smug mouth. "It's been over for a few minutes now, actually."

"I'm almost done," she hissed, averting her gaze once again to the rain that poured onto the world around her, knowing full and well she had already lost the argument.

"Get back in, Ymir. Now." Her boss turned around swiftly, returning into the building where she'd already surrendered a vital chunk of her youth just to haul useless shit around for less than nine bucks an hour.

What the fuck does it matter, she thought as she glared down at the ground, briefly wondering all the different ways she could damage that pretty, blonde head of his. What difference does it make? She could just vanish into thin air at any second and nobody would still give a fuck about her existence...

So what's the point?

Ymir pulled down the hoodie from her head as she took in her final drag, glanced at the rain one last time before exhaling the smoke along with a capitulated sigh.

Finally, she took the cigarette between her fingers, dropped it onto the cold ground, and crushed it under the weight of her soiled boot.

That same day, Historia Reiss had run away from home.

Her mother—sleeping soundly on the couch—had not been keenly aware of her own daughter's endeavors as she hauled what scarce amounts of her belongings she'd managed to jam into her small, princess-themed suitcase. The mother later awoke to find the pearls on her neck to have been stolen, and an empty bed where her daughter should have been sleeping.

Historia could almost hear her fiery, scorching wails, even from all the way inside her quiet, peaceful seat in the train where she now sat, gazing out at the rain that washed down the frigid glass of the window. She could hear the clattering of items being thrown across a room, feel her body jump with fear at the crashing of glass exploding against solid cement walls.

But all that was behind her now. Historia left her mother for a reason. She ran away—she had to.

Clutching her belongings tightly against herself, she caught the scent of home that still lingered on the princess suitcase she'd owned since she was a child. The memories suddenly came prowling back, scathing her sore muscles and fresh bruises as she was once again reminded, as she once again recalled.

She recalled her mother's sleeping form and the way her upper lip twitched when she carefully relieved her of the expensive Hawaiian black pearl necklace; the necklace some foreign stranger had bought her in exchange for God knows what. The same necklace Historia sold to a merchant in exchange for enough cash to buy herself a train ticket to the farthest place money could get her.

She recalled her mother's fury, the way her fists pounded violently against her, cornering her into the nearest wall, blow after blow tearing away at her tiny frame. She remembered how she'd cried, pleaded, begged to stop, mommy, stop!

She recalled her mother's scorn. Her reverberating howls as she seethed, it would've been better if you were never born. You are a failure. A mistake. The worst mistake of my fucking life!

She recalled how her own mother threw herself over the couch before—whether from intoxication or just sheer exhaustion—falling into a deep, soundless sleep. Like a baby. Like if she hadn't just beaten her own daughter into a pulp. Like if she hadn't just left her shattered and recoiled, trembling by herself in the corner of the room.

She recalled her own prayers, her own keens, her own pleading for help from any higher being to please, please, please make it all stop.

But God never answered.

Help never came.

And so Historia rose to her feet, dried the damp trails of hot tears that marked her face and for the first time in her life, decided to do something about it.

Her mother's loud screeches still lingered in her ears, and Historia felt the sting of fresh tears threaten to well up in her eyes before promptly screwing them shut and muttering quietly to herself:

"She's gone. It's over. She can't hurt you anymore. She's gone. It's all over. She can't hurt you anymore."

Over and over and over again she whispered these words to herself, until all traces of Historia were dead, burned and disintegrated. Until all that arose from the smoldering ashes was a newer, better, braver person than the one that had died so many times before.

At 9:24 the next morning, Ymir was already back at work.

That day, especially that day, she did not want to be there. Her back hurt, her arms hurt, her legs ached with the dull, stinging pain of soreness. A soreness brought by too much partying, too much drinking, too much fucking, too much taking refuge in the arms of strangers who truly, in the end, could not give a shit about her.

Ymir sighed, the headache throbbing away at her temples blurring her vision and nearly rendering her fucking mad. She stopped, dropped the heavy package she was carrying and straightened up before rubbing her knuckles over her pulsating temples and groaning from the pain.

She was hungover. A little too hung over and fuck, does she need a cigarette right now.

Looking over her shoulder, she saw that her boss was nowhere to be seen. She checked the windows in his office, the men coming out of the restroom, glanced at every corner and end in her surroundings and saw nothing.

He was nowhere to be seen!

A tiny smile dawned upon her lips as she felt her body for a lighter and a cigarette. Finally, reaching into her rear pocket, she felt the small envelope she'd sneaked into work, the three tubes faint but real as her fingers traced over them for a moment, sending the message to her wasted brain that yes, they're still on me. They haven't left me. The cigarettes are still there.

Ymir glanced around her once more, just because she had to make sure, just because her brain was taking a little longer to process things, before sneaking out the back door of the building and finding release in her delicious, perfect little sin.

"That can kill you, you know."

The soft, angelic voice suddenly shook Ymir awake. It had been a feeble whisper into the loud drumbeat music of the rain that fell around her. Ymir thought for a moment that it had been a mere conjuration from her beaten mind. Finally, raising her gaze from the rain drops that crashed against the ground, Ymir followed the voice until she found—squinting stupidly for a moment as her sore eyes adjusted to the sight—a very small, fragile-looking blonde resting against the wall beside her.

The girl offered her a friendly smile, almost faint, almost nonexistent, and Ymir wondered if it was just her brain fucking with her again; but then the girl dropped her gaze and stared sullenly at the suitcase she held propped between her legs. Finally, after a few more drowsy blinks, Ymir could register the sight that fully manifested before her and, as if a sudden wave had just come crashing into her, was nearly swept right off her feet.

Maybe it was just the hangover, maybe it was the fact she hadn't eaten anything since she last vomited the contents of her stomach into a random trash bin in the street the previous night, or maybe it was just the lack of sleep that had her practically zombiefied, but Ymir's heart somersaulted within her chest once she grasped the ethereal beauty of what stood right before her.

The girl was small, a little too small, but her blonde hair was pulled back into a neat little bun, small hairs that had escaped the gorgeous composition curled with dampness from the rain, tiny beads of the water falling off them and onto the ground, her clothes, down her neck. The girl sighed awkwardly to herself, wiping away with the back of a shaky hand a drop that had traveled down her forehead, before Ymir suddenly realized she had been staring stupidly at the poor girl for over half a minute.

Finally, her organs zapped and her limbs shook and her lips parted and she gasped because now she was awake. Ymir realized she had been holding her breath, so she inhaled some of the cigarette's toxic fume, feeling the girl's eyes stare as she exhaled the smoke and held the tube between her fingers, brought it up and gestured to it with her other hand.

"Some of us are already dead, honey," she quipped with a small cock of her brow, and Ymir saw the girl offer her a soft smile. She probably thought she was joking, but there had been no sliver of humor laced through her words.

"I guess that's true," the girl noted quietly, her voice only a feather away from a whisper. That's when Ymir caught the small bruise on the side of her cheek, the faint blotches of pink and purple that marred her otherwise smooth, milky skin. Ymir took another drag, not once averting her eyes from the fragile girl that fidgeted almost uncomfortably only an arm's length away, before she finally found her voice again.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, and the girl jumped as if she hadn't expected her to keep acknowledging her presence.

"Uh"—a pause, a deep breath—"well, I'm just... Um, I'm just taking refuge from the rain."

Ymir glanced around. "Well obviously. I figured as much."

The girl dropped her gaze almost dishearteningly, and Ymir realized her words must have come out a bit harsher than she had intended. She cleared her throat before speaking again, careful this time to sound more resilient. "What I mean is, why here? This is private property, you know."

"Oh!" The girl's eyes grew wide, and that was the first time Ymir could witness just how blue they were. They were fucking mesmerizing, almost shimmering through the faint fog caused by the rain. "I didn't know that. I'm sorry!"

"Don't apologize to me. It's not me you're bothering."

The girl let her gaze fall onto the ground once again, and Ymir fixed her eyes on her trembling form. She must be cold, she thought. Her white dress shoes were dirtied from the mud, her elegant clothes dampened from the rain and they stuck to her frame in a way that highlighted her lithe figure a little too enticingly.

Ymir swallowed.

The girl was fucking gorgeous. So fucking gorgeous. Something about her sparked a flame within her she simply couldn't fathom. She was entrancing. Those blue emeralds she had for eyes, those pink, plush pillows she had for lips, the roseate paint that colored her otherwise pale cheeks. All of it orchestrated so beautifully together, like a symphony, like a sad song, and she was haunting; fascinating and fragile and gentle in such a way that made Ymir want to crumble into pieces and claim her as her own and just find her. Find out why. Her purpose, her being, what rooted deep within her depths and pushed her forward and why, just why she had to be here today, with her, out of all the days and all the places and—

Fuck, the hangover must have really been getting to her head.

"So what's your name, kid?" Ymir uttered after a while, the rain around them becoming milder as a pocket of sunshine peeked its way through the gray clouds in the sky.

The girl was silent for a moment, rummaging through her own thoughts. Ymir stared quietly, briefly wondering if the girl was stupid enough not to know her own damn name.

"Christa," she voiced finally, her small frame lifting at the name like if she'd been pulled by an invisible string from above. "Lenz. Chrsita Lenz. And I'm not a kid."

"With a K?"

"Excuse me?"

"Your name. Is it Krista with a K?"

"Ch. Christa with a Ch."

"Hmm." Ymir flicked the ashes from her cigarette.

"And yours?" the girl asked with a smile. A tiny smirk crept up Ymir's lips, despite herself.

"Ymir."

"Ymir?" the girl echoed, eyes wide.

"Is there a problem?"

"No, no," she waved her hands reassuringly. "It's just..."—a short giggle—"that's quite an odd name."

"Says Christa with the Ch." Ymir scoffed, bringing the cigarette back between her lips. Ymir gestured to the childish princess-themed suitcase she still clung on to before asking, "How old are you, anyway? Like, twelve?"

"Wha— I am not twelve." The girl—Wait, Christa—looked at her muddy shoes before muttering, "I'm eighteen."

"Oh, Wow." Ymir rocked backwards in her heels, feigning her amazement. Christa didn't seem to notice.

"Yes, so there's quite a difference," she retorted, and Ymir shrugged a shoulder lightly.

"If you say so."

Silence finally befell them as the rain seemed to die down, leaving in its absence a very cold, eerie presence that brought chills upon them both. Christa's skin was visibly overcome by goosebumps as they stood silently for a while, waiting... Waiting.

Waiting for what?

Ymir finished her cigarette, suddenly realizing that she wished she hadn't so that she could spend more time with this girl, but Christa peeked up at the sky before sighing (whether from relief or disappointment, Ymir was unsure) and pulling up the handle on her suitcase.

"Well, I guess it's time to get going." The girl smoothed out her skirt, pulled a damp lock of flaxen hair behind her ear before looking up at Ymir and giving her a slight bow of her head. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Ymir."

Suddenly, Ymir's entire body froze stiff. Unsure, uncertain, she felt the abrupt waves of panic that aroused from within her and voiced—before she even realized what she was doing—for Christa to hold on!

Christa halted on her feet, staring back Y with startle and confusion, entrancing her once again as she felt herself drowning inside the crystalline blue of her eyes. A beat, and then Ymir cleared her throat, adjusted her shirt, composed herself before opening her mouth and asking, "Would you like to go somewhere with me?"

What? Just—what? Fuck, Ymir.

Ymir cursed silently to herself as she watched Christa shift uncomfortably and look back into the sheen, puddle-dotted street that stretched out aimlessly before them. Immediately, Ymir felt the regret build up from the pit of her gut. Fuck, she thought as her headache suddenly returned, blinding her senses and throbbing away violently at her temples so damn torturous, resonating with the venomous thoughts of you fool. She doesn't want you. What the hell do you think you're doing? Leave her alone. You're wasting your time. Again. Always. Why do you even bother?

Christa hesitated.

Ymir bit her lip.

Time hung slow and arduous as Christa struggled to composite her words, to articulate her upcoming rejection.

But then suddenly, that angelic, fragile voice rose again against the silence, bringing chills down Ymir's spine when Christa's eyes found their place on hers and a genuine smile decorated her gentle, rosy lips.

"Sure."

Ymir had never run so fucking fast in her entire life.

That morning, she flew, returning to her locker inside the building to fetch her wallet and her leather jacket, not even bothering to clock out of work as she sprang out through the heavy crystal doors like her own life depended on it.

"Whoa!"

Christa gasped and gawked at the world around her, blue eyes growing wider and wider with amazement as she marveled at the life that teemed within the city. Everywhere she looked there was light, sound, music, people. She had never seen so many people gathered into one place in her entire life, and the sight filled her with wonder and excitement, like a small child discovering something new for the first time.

On the other hand, crowds brought Ymir great displeasure. She grumbled quietly under her breath at a child that nearly rammed himself right into her for no apparent reason. From where, or to where he was running was unimportant, and she would've shouted out profanities to the poor kid if she hadn't remembered that Christa was right there behind her.

Turning her head to look over her shoulder, she saw the smaller girl just two steps behind, struggling to keep up as she hauled her heavy luggage behind her. She looked almost comical, more like a little kid than a young woman as her heels clanked audibly with each step over the sidewalk, her eyes taking in every move and sound around her like some sort of nervous, frantic cat.

Ymir held back a smile, adjusted her leather jacket before randomly announcing, "We're here."

Christa jumped, nearly tripping over her own feet as she brought herself to an abrupt halt.

Without bothering to offer any kind of explanation, Ymir lifted Christa's suitcase effortlessly with her hands, ignoring the shorter girl's objections as she carried it up the steps and through the door into what looked like a small, quaint restaurant.

Immediately, the thick aroma that wafted mercilessly through the air spiked Christa's appetite.

Food.

The smell of cooked meat had Christa's mouth watering, her head dizzy and light as she struggled to recall when was the last time she'd consumed a meal. Her hand reflexively covered her stomach as a low growl erupted from her gut. Ymir, who hadn't seemed to notice, still held the luggage in her arms as if it weighed nothing, her golden eyes searching around the room for something.

Christa wondered how a young woman could possess such strength, immediately taking mental note of the new attribute she now wanted for herself.

"Ymir!" a low voice called, and Ymir finally set the suitcase down on the ground as a tall, lanky man made his way towards them.

"Hello, Bertholdt," she said casually, and Christa nearly craned her neck all the way back to look up at the man who now stood before them. He was huge! Towering over her like a building. Easily the tallest man she had ever seen.

Ymir, however, seemed as calm and unimpressed as she had been when they first met only a few moments ago. She handed the suitcase over to her tall friend, telling him to put it someplace safe and make sure all the dirt on it was cleaned off. The man stared at her in confusion, before sparing a glance at Christa, a tiny smile forming on his lips as he finally nodded and trotted away into the kitchen.

Panic slightly set ablaze inside her as she watched her belongings being carried away, but she was so blindingly overcome by hunger that she hardly cared for the suitcase at all. Ymir gave her a reassuring nod, gestured for her to follow as they made their way to the most isolated table.

Sitting down on the warm leather seats, Christa sighed with relief at the plush that her exhausted body sank into, suddenly remembering how tired she was, how direly in need of sleep.

Ymir, too, felt exhausted, but the sight of the girl that fidgeted silently before her shocked her nerves awake, nullifying the throbbing in her head as she focused her vision directly onto her.

"So, is that your friend?" Christa asked her, and Ymir took a second to understand who she was talking about.

"Oh, him?" She shook her head slightly. "No, he's not. He just owes me big time."

Christa's eyes grew wide, not sure how to process the information before Ymir waved a hand dismissively and added, "Don't worry. Your stuff is safe with him."

Almost imperceptibly, Christa nodded her head, and menus were set before them on the table. It took Ymir two seconds to decide what she wanted, and she set the menu aside dismissively before taking off her leather jacket and placing it over her chair, her chin perched in her hand as she stared blankly into space. Christa peeked her eyes over the menu, studying the sight of the girl that sat absently before her.

She was a mystery, that one, and Christa wasn't sure what to make of her. Her short brown hair fell disheveled around her face, her callused hands and bitten-down finger nails indicating she wasn't one to take much interest in fitting into what society considered to be attractive, or woman-like. There was an independent fire blazing constantly in her gilded irises, even as she stared dully out at nothing in particular. Her skin was smooth and tanned, no decorations except for a few scars and a faint constellation of freckles that dotted across the skin of her nose and cheeks, some splaying out rebelliously into her bare lips, her forehead, the back of her hands.

In an instant, Ymir's eyes were on hers, and Christa nearly jumped from the shock before returning her gaze onto the menu.

She felt like crying, suddenly realizing she had no money left to buy herself food. She had been so caught up in getting as far away from home as she possibly could that she hadn't spared a thought for what would undoubtedly have to follow. How childish of her. How foolish.

"Can I get you guys anything to drink?" the waiter, Bertholdt, asked them. Ymir nodded her head, laying out her order, drink and food and everything, before they both looked at Christa, who was still staring blankly at the words in the menu.

"And you, Miss?" he asked her. Christa felt her voice disappear within her throat.

"Uh—"

"She'll have what I'm having," Ymir interrupted, grabbing both menus and passing them on to Bertholdt who scribbled quickly into a small notepad before taking them and excusing himself to walk away.

Ymir looked up to find Christa staring at her, an ambiguous expression written on her pallid face.

"What?" Ymir shrugged.

"I'm fully capable of ordering my own food, thank you."

Ymir fought back against an amused smile, her features retaining their icy mask as she teased, "I know. It's just whether you'd be able to pay for it that I'm not so sure about."

Christa dropped her gaze and Ymir quickly hated herself for not knowing when to shut her mouth. She parted her lips to protest, to add an assuaging comment to follow up her crude remark, but Christa beat her to it.

"I'm not even that hungry," she asserted, her hands trembling visibly as she brought them up to smooth unruly locks of hair behind her ears.

Ymir stared at her, eyes oozing with incoherent sadness as she tried hard not to pity the poor girl.

She was lying. Ymir knew well that she was lying. She had seen enough cruelty in this world to know when a person was famished, and Christa definitely was. She had seen enough suffering to know when a person stood upon the fragile thread of despair, and Christa definitely did.

She had heard the poor girl's stomach growling, for crying out loud!

Ymir took a deep breath and dared herself to do something she'd never done before in her entire life—she apologized.

"I'm sorry," she spat, and the words felt so foreign on her tongue that she nearly gagged as a reflex.

The look on Christa's face made it all worth it, though. The features of her face—they melted. She offered Ymir such a warm, caring look that she nearly choked on her own oxygen as her breath became clogged within her throat.

"It's alright," Christa assured her, blinking sleepily before rubbing her eyes. "I'm not mad." Her voice was so light, Ymir felt like she could just lie in it and let it carry her into the clouds.

Soon, their identical drinks were set before them and they both drank, the cold liquid screaming life into their throats as it slowly quenched the dying thirst they were both enduring. Christa looked up at Ymir and smiled, gasping for air as she drew her lips away from the straw. Already, the sugary drink had brought the color back onto her cheeks.

Ymir couldn't help her crooked smile, thinking to herself how odd life sometimes turned out to be as she gaped with quiet admiration at the giggling girl in front of her. She eyed the faint bruise on her cheek, wondered where she could've gotten it from. Probably from falling miserably, Ymir concluded, watching the childish way the girl's eyes crinkled up when she laughed.

But what about the bruises on her arms?

Before Ymir could delve further into her train of thought, Christa's lips parted, the sharp intake of her breath swiftly replaced by the sound of her voice. The words that followed were like music to her ears, the same fervent lullaby that had breathed life into her being moments ago when she'd been admiring the unforgiving nature of rain.

The words that followed were words she had never heard once in the entire expanse of her existence:

"So, Ymir. Tell me about yourself."