𝗔𝗻𝗱 𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗪𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗧𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲

And Then There Were, Six⁰⁶

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six, trepidation

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...

When you finally make it home, there's this huge lift that falls off of your shoulders.

You're mind blown right now. Being in a car? Meeting an author? You're overwhelmed with happy feelings. Your legs wobble slightly from being in Jean's car, but you can't even consider it. You can't wait to tell Mr. Ackermann, honestly. This is huge.

You have yet to ask Jean what that was all about back at the bar. The way that woman was looking at him and things. Jean dropped you off, then left soon after. It was pretty late now, but once you got the lights on, you felt better.

You were hungry, but you had to get this damn dress off.

You stomped off down the hall to your bathroom, your heels clicking against the hard floor. Pointedly ignoring the back door, you stepped inside. You lock the door behind you, looking at yourself in the mirror. You hate rooms with open doors. You don't know if that's some form of OCD, but it bugs you.

You open the cabinet and reach for your make-up wipes. Once it's as off as you can get it with only a wipe, you slip out of your heels and dress, feeling significantly shorter. You give yourself a deadpan look through the mirror but continue this little routine.

You grab a rag and those things you put on your wrist to stop the water from running down them. You wash your face thoroughly, recalling the events of today.

Armin.

You huff, but as you get to your left cheek, you pause mid-way through. Armin.

You quickly wash everything off as fast as you can. You haven't heard anything around your house lately; you'd hoped it meant whoever was roaming around before left and planned on never coming back.

Or maybe one of the ghosts haunting this place got 'em. You fucking hope.

But that's not what's racing through your mind right now. Oh my gosh, how could you miss this?

You yank a towel off the rack and tug it around your body since you're in nothing but your underwear, and lately, you've been too scared to walk around like that. You're pretty sure you placed your bag on the couch in your living room when you first walked in.

You quickly walked towards the space and were happy to find your bag where you left it. You rummaged inside and grabbed your phone. You might be tripping; you're unsure if you're remembering correctly, but if you are...

You dial Pieck's contact and press it to your ear, hoping she's still up to answer as you rest a hand on your hip.

Except... she doesn't answer. She's most definitely off work, and you don't have her personal number, so,... that meant you'd have to wait until tomorrow to get a confirmation.

But you're sure you're not mistaken.

Armin's the one who bought all your art. Really, how many Armins are there in the world? You huff as you toss your phone back on the couch. Anonymous... is a fan.

That... is unbelievable.

Right as you start to move toward the kitchen, there's a creak that sounds somewhere above your head. The only place up is the attic. You haven't been up there once. Seriously, as a pretty open-minded person and although skeptical, you still believe there's a chance your place is haunted.