A/N: Hi. So, as it turns out, this isn't the last chapter. The things is, this scene between them is so poignant that I just had to give it its own part. It didn't feel right to add anything more to it, so this whole part is only one scene. No line breaks. Just these two and the story ascending to its climax before finally reaching the end. I suppose we can view this as the first half of the last chapter? Because technically, that's what it really is.

I listened to Gold Star Mothers by Hammock non-stop for this one, especially for Christa's speaking parts. Truly beautiful. Enjoy!

"You embody all that I've ever loved in another person, and I just can't let you go."

.: Rain :.

.: Part VIII :.

"Ymir?"

Christa's voice was soft. Delicate. Hardly even there.

Like a dream.

"I've been waiting all day for you," she said, and Ymir closed her eyes to the sound of her voice. God. She was there. She was real. Everything hurt, but Christa was okay. She was safe. Ymir didn't know why, but somehow, she'd convinced herself that something bad had happened to her while she'd been gone. Like an injury. Or a nightmare. Or some dire situation that could never be atoned.

Ymir swallowed, throwing the keys and jacket on a table by the door.

Christa didn't even shift in the slightest. She just stood motionlessly by the window, her shadowed form the only spectral apparition before Ymir's eyes.

Slowly, Ymir removed her shoes before flinging them uselessly to the side. She slipped the thin envelope out from inside her jeans, where she'd tucked and cradled it against her body, shielding it from the storm. It was a bit damp, but dry for the most part. She cleared her throat, placing the envelope on the table as well before shrugging out of her jacket. Ymir was soaked. The only sound breaking the silence in the air—besides the drumbeat music of the rain outside, and the occasional clashing roars of thunder—was the sound of drops of water splatting onto the ground after falling off her clothes.

"Christa," she breathed, slowly making her way to approach her. Her voice was hoarse and caught, barely escaping her, and uttering the girl's name was like learning how to speak anew. As she walked to Christa, lightning boomed outside, echoing and flashing a white burst of light into the room through the windows.

That was when Ymir finally caught a clear glimpse of the girl's face.

And fuck. Just fuck.

Seeing her made something in her chest just... collapse. Just setting eyes on her felt like an incredibly daunting task. Ymir was left bare and desolate. Bereft. With nothing to shield her from the scathing beauty of her. So she averted her eyes to the side, for once, unable to bring herself to look at her.

Christa, however, stood her ground, not even moving a single inch. She didn't look angry, though, much to Ymir's surprise. Her features were fixed in a soft, mild expression, but that usual gleam of compassion in her eyes was no longer there. Something seemed... missing. Something had been stripped. Ripped right out of her like she'd lost something vital in the time Ymir had been away.

"I'm sorry," Ymir told her, stopping just by the sofa, not daring to get too close, as if getting too near the girl might burn her. She felt faint and fragile, like the slightest blow from Christa's lips might send her shattering onto the ground in a swarm of tiny pieces. She sighed, flickering her eyes between the girl and the floor, lacking the courage—and the strength—to look at her. "I'm really sorry, Christa. I know you must be so mad at me. I shouldn't have stormed out like that and left you. It's just—"

"Sit."

Christa's voice caught Ymir off guard. She cleared her throat and asked her, "What?"

"Sit, Ymir," the girl commanded, her voice a hair above a whisper, and yet stronger than Ymir's own. "Sit right here. Next to me."

Ymir didn't bother questioning her any further and complied, making her way towards her. Christa had already eased down onto the carpet on the ground, right by the window. She sat with her legs folded underneath her, like a little geisha.

Wincing, Ymir worked herself down to her knees. Her whole body hurt, as if it were being twisted and bent in half. She was dripping water all over the carpet, but she didn't care. It suddenly hit her: She'd practically been drenched all day. That morning when she took a shower, then stormed off into the rain. That afternoon when she took yet another shower at Reiner's place before meeting Rod Reiss, and now all over again, after she'd walked under the storm. It's as if she was being washed, inside out, throughout the course of the last few hours. All the vile dirt being cleaned right out of her—but Ymir didn't like cliche's, and that analogy sure as fuck sounded like one. Reiner and Bertholdt would probably say the same thing. That she was changing. Becoming a new person.

She sighed. Reiner. Bertholdt. Her chest hurt a little just for thinking about them, so Ymir slowly shut her eyes, taking a deep breath, sitting down on the floor across from Christa. Having her there, right in front of her, Ymir could finally catch the girl's familiar scent. Flowers. Something mild. That same, intoxicating smell that was just her, and she slowly closed her eyes, exhaling deeply through her nose, trying to calm her nerves and the tremor that was beginning to ripple through her body.

"Are you in pain?" Christa asked her, noticing her expression, reading her like an open book.

"Yes." Ymir couldn't lie to her.

"And you walked under the rain..."

"Yeah..."

"Right into the storm. With nothing to protect you."

"I did."

"Ymir," Christa sighed, shaking her head, "you can be such a fool sometimes, you know."

Ymir scoffed softly at that. "I know," she whispered, agreeing with her, not caring that she sounded pathetic at all.

"You must think I'm mad at you," the girl voiced quietly, and Ymir slowly raised her eyes from the ground to look at her.

Christa's face was soft and hazy, dimly lit by the lamppost outside. The light cast a faint orange hue onto her profile, the dark shadows of water washing down the windows reflected onto her face, making her features seem as if they could be melting. But they stood, perfect and beautiful through the artificial stream. Untouched. Staring calmly and benevolently at Ymir.

She almost seemed unreal.

Ymir glanced down, suddenly realizing what the girl was wearing. It took her a few blinks in the dark to see it well, but Christa wore a black T-shirt nearly two sizes too big, her bruised legs stark and bare below her. Ymir almost didn't realize that the T-shirt was actually her own.

"But I'm not," Christa continued calmly, catching Ymir's attention once again, "I'm not mad at you at all. I realized something while you were gone, you know. I think I realized something special."

"Tell me," Ymir said, her voice soft and brittle, like cracking glass, threatening to shatter at any second.

"I want to stay with you," the girl pronounced, and the words pierced through Ymir's chest like a sword. She winced, physically, grimacing as if she'd actually felt the scathe of a blade passing through her. But Christa must not have noticed this, for she continued to speak: "I want to be with you, Ymir. No matter what. Nothing else matters as long as I am with you. I realized that while you were gone." Christa brought her hand to peel off a lock of wet hair that stuck to Ymir's cheek, her fingers lightly brushing against her skin, casing a shiver to trail down Ymir's spine from the contact. "Staying with you," the girl whispered, "is the most important thing to me of all. It's what I truly want, Ymir. Really. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry because I know I should've told you this sooner but..."

"Christa," Ymir sighed shakily, closing her eyes. Her lashes practically stuck together when they settled, and it was becoming painful to even blink. "Please," she said, opening her eyes again to see her, "it's alright. I don't blame you. I know that what I asked of you was unfair. I know that you've got bigger needs than—"

"No." Christa held up her hand, silencing Ymir immediately. "You're not listening to me, Ymir. I mean it when I say this: I'm staying with you. No matter what. No matter where you go. I'll be with you. I'll be right there. Always."

Ymir closed her eyes again, her lips curving up into a gentle smile. "Really?" she asked softly, and perhaps she was being a little selfish, but she needed to hear those words come out of Christa's mouth. She longed to hear her say them the same way a man dying of thirst longed for a cup of water.

"Yes," Christa replied. "Being with you is the most important thing to me of all, Ymir. More than anything. It is all I want."

"So..." Ymir swallowed, and her body began to shiver from the cold. Her wet clothes were turning cold and frigid, sticking to her skin and making her feel as if she were being shrouded in a blanket of thin ice. She dared herself to ask, "So... you'll run away with me, then?"

"Of course," Christa nodded adamantly, not even batting an eyelash, and it suddenly struck Ymir how much she resembled her own father. She wore the same stubborn look he'd had on back at the restaurant. "Of course, Ymir. I'll even run away with you right now! We'll get lost. We'll find somewhere. Anywhere. As long as we're together, then everything's okay, right?"

Ymir closed her eyes and nodded. It wasn't until she felt something warm and moist rolling down her cheeks that she realized she was crying. "That just..." her voice was small, just on the edge of breaking, "that just makes me so happy. Really. To hear you say that, Christa. It means so much to me."

"With all my heart," the small girl voiced, placing a hand over her chest, "I mean it."

Ymir bowed her head down, unable to take any more. She felt her lower lip twitch, threatening to quiver. She was breaking. God, she was breaking when she needed to be strong.

And Ymir had to be strong. Now, more than ever.

It took a moment of silence between them, but eventually, Ymir finally willed herself to speak. Her words came out through strangled, helpless sobs, and she didn't even mind how pitiful she sounded as she sputtered, "I—I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"Ymir," she heard Christa say, sounding very concerned. "What's wrong? Why are you crying?"

"It's just—" Ymir held a hand over her eyes and cried helplessly, her body trembling with every silent sob and she felt herself gradually fall apart. Damn it. She just couldn't help it. A single tear brought forth a horde of more tears, and she felt as if she were exploding, bursting, unable to control herself at all. She couldn't help but just allow herself to cry. For once—just once—to have everything plowing towards her and simply feel it all. The raw, crude, bleeding aspects of herself. To just let them be. To just let herself be. She wept and wept like she'd never done before in her entire life, feeling her chest split apart and rip open like a hacked corpse.

After a while, she managed a long, shaky breath, trying to calm down a bit so that she could speak again. Her voice was practically lost inside her throat, but she pushed the words out breathlessly, slightly frustrated at the way her tone wavered with every word.

"It's just... that I've done so many things wrong, Christa. I've fucked up so much throughout my life and now..." She raised her head to look at her, and saw tears beginning to form in the smaller girl's eyes. She shook her head, trying not to let this wane her will, and uttered, "And now, I have to pay for the consequences, you see. We can't do it, Christa. We can't run away together. I know I asked you to, but I was just being foolish. We can't. We just can't."

"Why not?" Christa asked, confused, wiping at her eyes with the back of her small hands. "Why are you saying that, Ymir?"

"I've done terrible things, Christa. Horrible, horrible things. If you knew what half of them were—God, if you knew who I really was you would—"

"That's impossible," Christa interrupted, shaking her head. "I know you, Ymir. I know you. You're a good person. You are."

Ymir only cried harder. "No, Christa. No, I'm really not."

"Yes!"

"No, I— "

"Stop it."

Suddenly, a pair of small hands cradled Ymir's face, and her sobs ceased with a startled gasp. She hadn't expected the sudden movement, and the fervid manner in which Christa raised her head so she would look at her made Ymir's eyes widen in shock.

"Yes. You. Are," Christa whispered to her fervently. "You are good, Ymir. You are good. I don't care what you've ever done in the past. Heck, you could've murdered fifty people—but you're a good person. You are all that's good to me." She looked deep into Ymir's eyes, her cobalt gaze rippling with devotion.

Ymir's eyes closed by themselves, exhausted, and the golden orbs of fire vanished from Christa's view while she held her face in place, feeling how surprisingly icy Ymir's skin felt to her. How unlike her. Her face was cold in her hands. Too cold.

Slowly, the brunette raised her fists to grasp Christa's wrists gently, peeling her small hands away from her face with a long breath that conceded into fatigue. Christa didn't say another word though, allowing her to rip her hands away without any objections, knowing Ymir was simply getting ready to say more.

"I've already decided," Ymir said, opening her eyes, and now her voice was coming out stronger than Christa's. "There's simply no going back now. I've done what's best for you, and I will tell you what it is... but first, I need you to listen to me, okay?" She looked right into the smaller girl's eyes, her gaze piercing daggers into her as lighting flashed continuously and thunder grumbled loudly outside. She glanced out at the window. The light of the lamppost began to flicker.

"Promise me," she said. "Promise me you'll listen to what I have to say."

Christa nodded her head slowly, setting her hands over her lap and intertwining her thin fingers so that they would stay still. "I promise."

"Alright," Ymir said, then let out a long, heavy sigh. "I want you to know, Christa. I want you to know who I really am, all the things I didn't tell you since the day we met..." She sucked in a sharp breath, still shivering slightly, then began her explanation: "When I was sixteen, I killed a man for the first time. His name was Marcel. After this happened, his death stuck with me forever. From then on, nothing's ever been the same. My whole life, I've always been in gangs, you see. I don't know if you know what those are, but anything gangs do is truly heinous—or at least I can say as much. Still, I did it, because it was my own method to survive."

She paused to look up and study Christa's reaction, but the girl's features were unmoved. She just sat there, listening, nodding for Ymir to continue as if her confessing to killing someone wasn't the least bit heinous to her at all.

Ymir bowed her head down, lacking the courage to look into her eyes as she went on, "I know I told you once that you knew everything there was to know about me, but that just wasn't true. There is a lot I haven't told you—and I'm afraid that we don't have the time, but a lot of these gangs are coming after me now. They've been looking for me for years, and sooner or later, they'll find me."

Christa opened her mouth to interject, but Ymir quickly cut her off.

"Please," she hissed, "I told you to listen."

Christa closed her mouth, pursing her lips into a very thin line. She seemed uneasy, but still said nothing, furrowing her brows so that a tiny crease formed on the skin in between them.

It suddenly struck Ymir how much she looked like her father again. Jesus. Every time she made that face, it was like he was manifested right before her, and Ymir was reminded once again that we all carry our past—and our parents—in our own blood and features, regardless of whether we like it or not. The past is a burden each of us is forced to carry on our backs, no matter how hard we try to ignore it. It's there. Tattooed on our skins. Etched onto our brains, controlling the way we think and feel and function day by day.

Ymir continued, "If I have you with me when this happens, Christa, I'm afraid I wouldn't know how to protect you. I would give up my life for you in a heartbeat—I really would, but I just can't have you running anymore. You need stability. You need safety. You need a life."

"But Ymir—"

"Please," she begged, feeling tears stinging her eyes again. "Please, Christa. Just let me finish."

The smaller girl frowned, and the tears gleaming in her eyes proved that she was about to cry too. But she swallowed hard, drowning all her words back into her throat, making Ymir regret her silence. But she needed to listen to her. Right now, Christa just had to listen while Ymir still possessed the strength to say the words.

She said, "You see, my entire life, I have asked myself these questions: What is it about me that is such a repellent? Why do people scurry away from me and hide? Why can't I make them stay?

"What is wrong with me?

"Why do they avert their eyes away from mine? Walk away when I draw in? And why do I feel, every second that I am alive, as if I should just sink into the ground and disappear? Just let it swallow me whole?"

She shook her head, ignoring the tears that spilled from Christa's eyes and from her own. "I used to feel so embarrassed. So ashamed. I used to watch the way people ignored my existence and just feel utterly useless. Like wasted space. I couldn't even look into the mirror without feeling complete disgust. I understood why people all hated me. Even if I didn't really, I still felt that I did. I was disgusting. I was a plague. A pariah. And I knew that. I knew that with all my heart, Christa. With all of it.

"And then—" Her voice shook. She stopped, taking a deep breath.

Be strong, Ymir. Be strong.

After a brief moment, she opened her mouth again, remembering herself, resuming, "Then, one day, I thought that maybe it would be best if I just killed myself. Put an end to it all. It was horrible, Christa. Terrible. I wanted death more than anything because I simply couldn't see any other way out. I needed freedom. Liberation. Release from all the fucking mess I simply couldn't endure any longer. And then, just as I was about to do it, everything changed for me. I decided to live solely for myself, and I wanted nothing more than that.

"Because I realized... I realized that I'm actually afraid to die. I am actually scared of dying, Christa." She laughed weakly, but there was no humor in her words. "Isn't that funny? That a person like me would be scared of death?" Ymir looked out the window, and the storm was so powerful that the lights outside began to flicker once again. Funny, she thought, how the city managed to retain any electricity in the middle of that storm. It was hanging by a thread, clinging on while the rain ravaged everything in sight mercilessly.

Then she said something under her breath, and her voice was so soft that Christa didn't hear her.

She inched closer to her, and Ymir moved her head so that she could face her, saying, "I think I've realized something too, Christa. I think that... In the end, we all just want to be saved. Maybe by someone, maybe by ourselves. We all just want to be saved, no matter how strong or weak we are. It's just the truth."

Ymir looked down at her hands. "You see, Christa... I'm a liar. A thief. A criminal." She shrugged and shook her head, spitting out the painful words she'd heard her entire life with an ironic little laugh, "I'm a plague! I'm a fucking disease."

Christa's face distorted suddenly as she winced at her words and cried, shaking her head as if to say no, no you're not, but not bringing herself to speak, obeying Ymir's orders not to interrupt her.

Ymir continued talking, knowing that her words her hurting the poor girl. But she had to tell her. She needed to say: "But I've... I've known this my entire life, you see, so I understand why people don't like me. It wasn't until I decided to live for myself that things really changed. People still treated me the exact same way, but it no longer hurt me anymore. Because my own happiness didn't rely on them! They could snub me for all they wanted, but they wouldn't even land a scratch upon my ego. Because my ego was just too great.

"So... I got used to being alone, because being alone meant being safe. Nobody could hurt me that way. It got to a point where I think I even started enjoying the fact that no one wanted me. That meant that I wouldn't have to spend time with people at all. So I was safe, in a way. I thought that I was happy. I wanted nothing more."

Ymir looked down at her hands again, then up at Christa. The small girl stared at her silently, listening intently to Ymir's words with her entire being, as if her whole body were made of ears.

Ymir closed her eyes and sighed, feeling her heart slam against her chest as she got to her favorite part of the story:

"But then you came, Christa," she voiced soothingly. "But then, I met you. And you spoke to me without a single care and"—she chuckled quietly, wiping away the tears on Christa's face with the back of her fingers—"for a second there, when I met you, I thought that I was dreaming. I thought, 'How could a person like that want to talk to a person like me?' And then, when you agreed to eat with me, and then to stay with me, part of me screamed that it was all just wrong. That I didn't deserve this. That you weren't even real at all.

"But you..." She closed her eyes, her own tears dripping off her chin and landing on her lap, dotting the already soaked fabric of her jeans an even deeper color. She shuddered from the cold, which was becoming quite unbearable. But Ymir continued on, holding a hand to her chest absent-mindedly and saying, "You are the greatest thing that's ever happened to me, Christa. You accepted me. You cherished me. You took me for what I was—for what I am—even though we both know I'm not a good person.

"You taught me that being alone isn't truly the greatest thing in the world, and that there are some things that can only be taught to us by others. Like how to read. Or write. Or laugh.

"Or love.

"And... And... And I can't even begin to explain what that means to me. These past two weeks have been a blessing, and whether God exists or not, I will thank Him for what we've had. I know I want to protect you, and keep you safe. But with me, that's just not going to happen. It's just the truth, Christa. It's just the truth."

Ymir sighed, feeling very light-headed. She'd never talked like that in her entire life, but she mustered all the emotion she'd harbored into her words, hoping Christa understood them and not caring that she felt spent and utterly depleted by the end of it all. Because Christa was damn well worth it—she knew that for sure.

Then she heard Christa scoff gently, and when she raised her eyes to look at her, she saw that tears spilled profusely from her eyes. God. Her words were really hurting her—they were hurting them both.

Ymir reached out her hand and placed it over Christa's, giving her a tiny squeeze to make her look at her, feeling how soft and small—warm and gentle—she felt inside her hand. Everything that's right in the world, right there within her grasp. But it was taking all the strength within her to hold on to her, and Ymir's body felt as if it might collapse under the slightest force.

"I've done terrible things," she said. "Many, many, many terrible things, and they will come back to haunt me. Soon. I can feel it. My past is catching up to me, and I just can't have you in the way. So please... please understand me, Christa. Please try to understand."

"No," the small girl said stubbornly, shaking her head. "Ymir, I just don't get it. I just don't. I'm staying with you. I'm staying with you no matter what!"

"Listen," Ymir said suddenly, holding up her free hand. "Can you hear that? Can you hear the rain?"

Both girls slowly closed their eyes, listening closely to the sound of the storm that raged outside the safety of their confined apartment.

Christa squeezed Ymir's hand in response. "Yes," she breathed, "I hear it."

"Every time it rains," Ymir told her, opening her eyes to look at her. "I will think of you. Of your little princess suitcase. Of all your different books."

Christa emitted a small, shaky breath that sounded much like a laugh, or a sob. Ymir wasn't sure. The girl's eyes were still closed, her hand still holding Ymir's tightly, afraid to let her go. She nodded slowly, as if her head were bobbing gently to the music of the storm, and a long moment of silence followed as they both sat, listening to the rain.

After a while, Ymir heard Christa let out a sob, and this time she was sure of what she'd heard. She opened her eyes again to look at her, realizing she'd nearly fallen asleep right there sitting in front of her. Ymir was so spent.

"I don't want to let you go," Christa told her. "I don't want to live without you, Ymir. I don't think that I can bear it."

Ymir smiled weakly, holding on even tighter to the girl's hand. "Oh, but you can." She brought her other hand to hold one side of the girl's face gently, her thumb brushing against her skin, feeling how warm and smooth her cheek was under the wetness of her tears...

How real. How undeniable.

"You're so much stronger than you think you are, Christa," she whispered to her. "So much stronger than you know."

"But what will I do without you?" the girl cried. "Where will I go?"

Ymir pursed her lips to keep herself quiet. Part of her wanted to tell her everything, but she couldn't tell Christa about the plan. Not yet.

"I took care of that," she said simply. "I'll make sure that you're safe. No matter what. I swear to you. You'll have a place to stay and to be happy. I've made sure of that."

"But, Ymir," Christa only cried harder, reaching out to retrieve Ymir's hand from her face. She squeezed both her hands gently, pulling back to cradle them against her chest the same way she'd done just the night before when they were going through her notebooks. She didn't say another word, and Ymir felt her heart shatter into many, many pieces. Unlike the previous night, she couldn't feel the girl's heartbeat on the back of her hands, only her chest trembling slightly as she cried.

God, she hated seeing Christa cry.

"Please don't cry," she pleaded softly. "Not for me."

Christa brought Ymir's hands to her lips and kissed them, sniffling a few times as she tried to control herself, but still crying like a little girl. Ymir realized how utterly torn and inconsolable she looked, and it hit her that she'd never seen anyone cry that way for her before. She'd never witnessed anyone ache so forlornly at the thought of having to live without her.

And that... That was so new to her. She almost didn't even know how to react.

The girl's lips gently grazed the back of Ymir's hands, and her voice was gentle and soft, a warm breath of life against her fingers as she suddenly whispered:

"I love you."

Ymir's heart stopped. Her mouth fell open, but she couldn't speak—she couldn't even breathe. Because suddenly, Christa gazed up at her with those bright, blue orbs she had for eyes, and she said the words to her again.

"I love you, Ymir. I love you."

Christa scooted closer to Ymir then—who was frozen into place—pressing both her hands into her chest like she could fuse them into her body. "You've tainted and changed so much," she voiced. "For the better. Everything you've ever touched within me will never be the same again. My hands, my face, my body, my heart. My soul. No part of me is any longer unchanged because of you. We all want to be saved, and you saved me. You saved me, Ymir. I owe you my life, and I will always have you with me. Within me. No matter what I do, where I am, what I say... you will be the cause behind all of it. Because I love you. I love you with all my heart."

Ymir was flabbergasted. She didn't know whether to talk or cry. Or scream. She wanted to crumble right then and there, to come apart in Christa's arms and just let her hold her, but she held on to what little strength was left within her, closing her eyes and taking a deep, long breath, feeling the smaller girl's words fill her heart to the brim like a cup about to overflow with too much water.

Christa brought a hand to Ymir's face, grazing the frigid skin of her cheek with the tips of her fingers. The sensation sent ripples of warmth and comfort to form across her skin, and it suddenly dawned upon Ymir that she was feeling just like the lake in her nightmare that morning. Ymir was the lake—literally, Ymir was the fucking lake—and every one of Christa's touches sent endless ripples of sensations to float about in every direction, washing across her entire system and rendering her weak, enslaved by the smaller girl's hands.

Christa leaned in a bit closer to her, saying, "I've always felt regret for all that had to happen to me, but I think now that I understand why it all had to turn out that way. Why my mom had to be so mean and Frieda and dad had to leave me. It all simply led me here. To you. I love you. I love you with every ounce of my strength, and I don't regret meeting you. I don't regret anything at all." She stuttered, shrugging her shoulders slightly as she allowed herself to cry some more. "Ymir," she voiced after a moment, "you embody all that I've ever loved in another person, and I just can't let you go."

"Christa..."

"No," the girl said, cutting her short. "Now, it's my turn to speak, Ymir. Listen to what I have to tell you."

She let go of her hands, scooting just a bit closer so that Ymir could catch every single one of her words, even as she said them just under her breath.

"When I was younger," she began, "I read a book once on theology. It wasn't very interesting, and I don't remember liking it very much, but I do remember one very important thing that it taught me: Everything happens for a reason. Everything in life is connected. We are all connected. All of us. Even you and me. And maybe we are all just part of a bigger plan. I'm not talking about God, because even that I am not so sure of, but I speak of... of..." The girl was silent for a moment, searching for the words. Finally, she looked up at Ymir, and it was as if she'd read her own mind as she said, "A river. Like a current or a stream. Something strong that drags us along to our own unique destinies, and whether our lives are in our own hands or in the hands of others, the important thing is to be true to ourselves. Always.

"And you... You reminded me of that. You reminded me that—no matter what—my primal duty is to be true to myself, before anyone else. To honor even my own imperfections. And that those who truly love me will love me for who I am, and not for what I pretend to be.

"My mother doesn't define me," she said, "and neither does my dad. No one does. Only I do. And I say that I'm important, no matter if any one else is willing to concur."

Christa closed her eyes, pressing her forehead against Ymir's and finding both her hands to press them into her chest again. A few locks of blonde hair brushed against Ymir's face as the girl pronounced in a quiet tone, "I owe all that to you, Ymir. Meeting you has patented down the course of my own life. You embody everything I love in this world. You really, really do. I love you, Ymir. I love you."

I love you too, Ymir nearly told her, but her mouth was no longer hers.

Because then, all of a sudden, Christa kissed her.

She kissed her.

She claimed her lips with her own, and the soft presence of her mouth pressing against Ymir's was enough to steal all her breath away, like a lethal vacuum.

After a startled moment—where they'd both stilled, frozen into place—the smaller girl breathed out a sigh, pulling back to look at her. Ymir's eyes were wide, tired, stinging with tears and shock, so Christa brought her lips to kiss her forehead, as if she could steal all the worries from her mind with just her kiss alone. Right then, words were no longer necessary, and time stilled and dissolved into the space around them like a flame lost to the humidity of air.

Christa pecked Ymir's forehead gently, bringing her legs to straddle her lap. Ymir didn't even realize what was happening—her brain could process nothing at all. She could no longer see, because then the girl brought her lips over to her closed lids and kissed them lightly, feeling as they fluttered gently underneath, like the wings of a butterfly. Her kisses were gentle and chaste, planting tiny seeds of affection across her features, allowing them to sprout and bloom as she broke away. She pecked the tip of her nose carefully. Delicately. As if Ymir were the most fragile thing in the entire world.

Then she kissed both her cheeks, then her chin... her lips collecting every freckle, every scar, pouring into her flesh all the love and devotion Ymir had never witnessed, or ever even earned. She could feel the warmth of the girl's breath against her skin, the air escaping her in light, shortened intervals. Suddenly, it was as if she'd gone back in time to just the night before, when she'd laid herself beside Christa and fallen asleep to the sound of her steady breathing. But now, Ymir felt entirely different. She was no longer that girl from only the night before. She was entirely different now, in every sense of the word, and this small girl—this angel right in front of her—she still loved her all the same. Even though she'd seen the complete worst of her, Christa still loved her.

Ymir didn't dare open her eyes, wallowing in the sound of Christa's gentle breathing, feeling herself burn slowly back to life, like an extinguished flame gradually resurrecting. Soon enough, she found her own arms snaking their way to encircle around the girl's waist, holding on to her as if she'd vanish if Ymir didn't hold on tight enough.

When Christa's lips grazed Ymir's once again—the sensation igniting sparks across every expanse of her skin—Christa respired deeply and lingered, stayed, as if she were afraid to come too close, or to pull too far away. Her breath was dense and thick against her, and as Christa's lips found Ymir's once again, she revealed her very identity into her with such fervor that Ymir was left breathless once again—as if she'd been born only to kiss her, only to mark her lips with her own. She held Ymir's face in place, pulling her in closer as their kiss slowly deepened. Hesitantly, Christa began to open her mouth, inhaling Ymir's scent as their lips meshed and moved together, dancing along to some secret tune that belonged only to them.

Ymir had stopped crying.

She relished in the sensation of Christa's hands holding her face, of her pale legs folded by either side of her lap, her hips hovering over her in mild resistance, too afraid to make contact just yet. So lightly, so delicately, Ymir's hands began to move up her sides. Weakly at first—but then fervidly, her hands roving her skin; exploring, discovering, finding her warmth.

Feeling it.

Absorbing it.

Letting it fuel her.

When she broke away to catch her breath, she realized just how much she really wanted her. Needed her. How every ounce of her body ached for her touch. The girl's breath was hot against her forehead, melting her icy skin as both of Christa's hands sifted into her rain-soaked hair. They both struggled to even out their breaths, and the girl's chest heaved and bloated right below Ymir's nose as they held each other in their embrace. Ymir hid her face in the crook of Christa's neck, catching the heat and scent that radiated off of her like a halo of light cast around a small flame in the darkness. She thought briefly of how she'd felt like a brainless moth only moments before, being drawn aimlessly to a dying flame.

She didn't have to remind herself that the girl right before her was it. Christa was her fire.

They had never been this close before, this wrapped up and tied together, and it suddenly occurred to Ymir that it was all...

Wrong.

Christa held her in place, trailing soft, little kisses on her hairline, but Ymir couldn't help her sudden thoughts: it was wrong of her to kiss her. To want her. Because... Ymir would burn her. Tarnish her. Break her. Mar the pure binds that made her with her own vile dirt. She would ruin the girl if she went on any further—appropriate her purity and innocence.

The thoughts sent alarms to wail off inside her head.

Pull back, Ymir. Pull back. You'll hurt her.

You'll ruin her, Ymir, stop!

Instinctively, she snapped her head back and pulled Christa's hands away. Looking up at her, startled, she uttered, "We shouldn't, Christa. I can't. We need to—"

"It's alright," the girl whispered quietly, wrapping her legs around Ymir's hips so that she sat on her lap, entrapping her. Her voice was soft and controlled, contrasting Ymir's frantic, breathless pleas. "Shh," she shushed, sealing Ymir's lips with her fingertips. "It's alright, Ymir. It's okay, I promise."

Ymir held herself stiff, searching the ethereal features of Christa's face in the darkness. Then, when Christa gave her a reassuring smile—one of those that beam all radiant and bright just like the sun—it suddenly struck her how much braver Christa was than herself, and that she'd underestimated her by ever thinking that she resembled a naive little girl.

Her smile softened a little, her eyes crinkling slightly at the edges, before she moved up to kiss Ymir's forehead again, whispering to it, "Stop thinking. Don't think. Don't think of anything right now," as if her brain could hear and abide by her commands. Ymir laughed quietly, and when Christa repeated the sentence into her forehead again, her voice was much, much smaller, as if she were about to cry.

Ymir's hands framed her waist and pulled her back so that she could see her. The girl's eyes were hazy and soft, staring at her in mild adoration, and Ymir recorded the sight into her mind, clinging on to every one of her smallest details, idolizing them.

"Can I?" Christa breathed out suddenly, and Ymir's eyes moved to meet her gaze. She frowned, not sure what the girl was talking about. But then she remembered, and she smiled, nodding her head, mouthing out a yes through her smile.

This time, when Christa pulled in closer for a second time, she was careful, hesitant; the sides of their noses brushing before their lips finally met, and they were tasting each other all over again. Every time they kissed was like their lips were meeting for the very first time. They were shy, cautious... Never too brash or too forceful despite the vehemence of their yearning for each other.

But then, Ymir felt Christa's tongue prod her lips, yearning coyly for entrance. When she responded by opening her mouth, granting her access—and their tongues finally met—it was as if a foreign force suddenly took over her, and Ymir found all of her strength.

She kissed Christa, tasted her, savored her, breathed her in. Her body electrified by even the slightest of touches, pain and pleasure alike surging through her in arduous unison, alleviated by only the smaller girl's soft sighs. And when she heard her say her name, whisper it, heave it, Ymir flipped the girl onto her back so that she could roof over her body like a shelter. Her shield from any storm. Her own personal haven.

Looking down at her then, Ymir rediscovered the sole purpose of her existence, the realization breathing life into her anew. She felt reborn. Brought back. As if she'd died a long, long time ago and had only now returned to life. Every breath... every step... every move she would ever make from then on would all be aimed for her. For the girl. For her memory. For her unwavering light.

Even if she wouldn't get to see it anymore.

Their bodies moved, slowly, to their own accord... lead more by instinct than by thought, and it was as if nature ruled within them. The tidal waves swept them both, and they drowned, drowned, drowned in one another, breaking the surface to gasp breathlessly for air.

Christa's legs were wrapped around her waist, and Ymir ran her hands down her legs, carving her fingers into her flesh, feeling her skin burn like fire. Christa nipped at her lips, her chin, sucking on her lower lip like there was no feasible way to get enough of her. She was hungry for her. Starving. Dying of a thirst that could never be quenched any other way.

Ymir was was enslaved by the way the angel gripped her shoulders tightly, dented her fingers into the blades protruding her back, pulled gently on her hair, tugged on her clothes to pull them off of her. After a moment, Ymir finally complied, moving back to pull her top above her head. The rumpled, damp sweater was flung uselessly to the side, and Christa pulled Ymir's T-shirt off her small frame with gracious ease.

She was naked underneath it, utterly exposed to her as Ymir hovered above her, gazing down. She nearly died at the dazzling sight of her, of her bare breasts, and her stomach, and the bruises, and her otherwise flawless, pallid skin.

She dove down to kiss her delicate shoulders, trailing her lips over to the smooth surface of her neck, hearing the girl sigh her name and breathe fire into her. Their skins plucked over with goosebumps, both of them shuddering as Ymir pressed kisses to her collarbones, her throat, that slope of skin that connected her shoulders to her neck, inhaling her smell and breathing in that aura that was just so fucking intoxicating, so fucking vital, so necessary for her to live, while Christa ran her nails up and down her spine.

She needed her. God, she really needed her. And when her mouth marked the skin of her breasts, and her thumbs kneaded circles into her hipbones, she heard the girl hiss and cry out in pain.

Ymir quickly broke away from her, stunned. Oh, no. Had she gone too far? Had she hurt her? The last thing she wanted to so was hurt her.

Damn it. Damn it, Ymir you always fuck everything up. You always—

"It's okay," Christa breathed, reassuring her, her lips forming a tiny smile that even curved up her eyes. It was as if her whole face was smiling as she whispered, "I'm okay. You're not hurting me. I promise."

She took Ymir's hand in her own, brought it to her mouth, kissed it, then placed it flat against her cheek, closing her eyes as if she were listening closely to something precious, the way a child presses a seashell to their ear to hear the sounds of the sea. "Keep going," she told her, and her voice was light. A feather. The words of an angel.

Ymir ran her fingertips down Christa's arm, stopping just by a small, purple bruise marring the skin of her forearm. Ymir couldn't remember seeing that one there before. She frowned, eyeing the blotch of imperfection on the girl's milky, flawless skin, letting her hand hover over it before planting a kiss, chaste, right on top of it, as if she could erase from her body it just with that.

She could never fathom how such a tiny body could endure so much pain, so many ruthless beatings, and spend so many fucking years curled up in corners, cowering away and shaking, wracking with each new wave of wailing and tears. Christa, if anyone, deserved all the kindness in the world. So Ymir kissed her skin softly, making it her personal mission to show her all the love and gentleness she deserved.

She dipped down, parting Christa's legs to kiss every bruise that marred them. Even in the dark, she could still make them out. She'd practically memorized them, and drops of rain fell from her hair and to the girl's heated skin as she kissed her, her hands dragging over her skin, her lips drawing a map with every damp stamp of her mouth, as if Christa were the world, and every contusion on her skin were an island.

The girl arched her back gently, endearingly, and Ymir relished on the sound of her voice, of her soft moans, of her little whispers as her lips trailed up her centerfold, grazed her chest, then found their place upon her mouth again. They both sighed simultaneously, and Christa laced her fingers through Ymir's hair, some water dripping down onto her face as she peered at her through half-lidded eyes. God, how long she'd been dying to have her like this.

"Christa," Ymir sighed against her lips, her hand worming up to cup one of her breasts, "I love you."

Christa smiled, that familiar incandescent grin beaming as her lips stretched to the sides. "I know ," she replied all minx-like, eyes crinkling in modest delight.

Ymir snorted, diving down to pepper the angel's face with light, feathery kisses that had her giggling and squirming underneath. Her hand pressed down gently on her breast, and she could catch the faint thump, thump, thump, of her heart beating with life, with music, inside her fragile chest.

Christa ran her nails up Ymir's ribs, picking at her bra strap and letting out a little whine.

"Patience," Ymir said through a smirk, smiling at the way Christa pouted in response. She kissed the little pout fondly before pulling back to say, "Not yet."

Christa sighed, raking her hand through Ymir's wet hair. "I want you, though," she whispered. "I want you now."

Ymir closed her eyes.

Even behind her closed lids, Christa's presence still shone right in front of her. Like the sun. She could always see the girl without even looking. She was all the beauty of the world manifested right before her—as far as Ymir was concerned. More beautiful than nature. More beautiful than anything she would ever lay her eyes upon again.

Slowly, she allowed her eyes to open, moving to taste those lips of hers once more, to claim the angel as her own.

And then, Ymir lost. She lost herself inside the sanctuary of Christa's arms and surrendered, dying over and over and over again, resurrecting only to the sound of her name being breathed, gasped; of Christa's voice pulling her back into existence. The gradual ascend and descend of their chests, the playful push and pull between life and death, tune and song, rain and storm—they swirled and swirled and swirled; a swivel of emotions that reeled and danced inside of her and Ymir finally, finally, knew what it was like—what it was truly like—to be alive.

Inexplicably. Unforgivably. Undeterred.

They kissed. They kissed until their lips were bruised and throbbing, until all playfulness turned to seriousness, to fear, the underlying weight of their situation resurfacing like a wooden peg held under water for too long.

And then they were fearful. Then they were scared.

There was hardly any time left.

And yet, still, there was enough. Enough for Ymir to press her lips to Christa's ear and confess—her breath a warm wisp of wind against her skin as she whispered,

"You saved me, too."

A/N: Guys, really, thank you so much for your support and your reviews. I'm seriously humbled to know I evoke any sort of emotions from you. It makes me so happy to think that what I pour into this site actually reaches out and touches some hearts. I want you all to know that I cherish every single one of your feedbacks. Every single one. The next chapter will be the last one for sure, but I think it's safe to say that I kinda suck at predicting when my stories will end considering how this started out as a two-shot and now look at where we are pffft.

As always, thank you for reading/reviewing. It means the world.

PS: I actually wrote down in detail their entire love scene but ended up taking it out from the story because I felt it didn't go in well. I dunno. If you guys want to see it, please let me know. Maybe I can post it as a one-shot or something.