The steam thinned.
Annie stayed kneeling for a long moment, her Titan form shuddering with exhaustion.
Meeyn tilted his head slightly. He tucked his hands back into his pockets, shifting his weight onto one foot.
"Still got some strength left, don't you?" he called up casually.
Annie's Titan head twitched — the barest nod.
Meeyn smiled faintly.
"Good. Then help me set this place up," he said, voice light but carrying authority that brooked no argument. "I'm not in the mood for more surprises."
He pointed lazily toward the broken trees ringing the clearing — the wreckage left behind by the rampaging Titans.
"You're big. Stack those trees around the edge. Make a wall. Cover the gaps."
Annie hesitated for a heartbeat.
Then, silently, she moved.
Slowly, clumsily at first — her Titan body was battered from the fight — but with surprising precision, she began dragging the shattered trunks across the clearing.
Each step sent faint tremors through the earth.
She uprooted fallen trees effortlessly, hefting them onto her shoulder like twigs. One by one, she planted them upright into the ground at the clearing's edge, hammering the bases deep into the soil with sharp, heavy stomps of her heel.
A rough perimeter began to form — a jagged ring of broken wood and debris, towering twice Meeyn's height.
The sounds of the forest — distant bird calls, the rustle of leaves — seemed to pull back, as if wary of the unnatural silence settling over the clearing.
Meeyn watched her work, saying nothing, his red-tinted eyes half-lidded in quiet amusement.
When the barricade was done, Annie turned back toward him, her chest rising and falling with slow, exhausted breaths.
"Now the fun part," he said.
He kicked a loose stone lightly with the toe of his boot, sending it skittering across the dirt.
"A house," he said, grinning slightly. "Something simple. Roof. Four walls. Just enough to keep the rain off."
Annie's Titan form blinked slowly — a strange, almost human flicker of hesitation.
But she didn't disobey.
She turned, scanning the clearing.
Then she moved again, gathering thick branches, uprooting smaller trees with sharp jerks of her arms.
She stacked them crudely but efficiently, slamming thick trunks into the ground like massive fence posts. Her Titan fingers — huge and clumsy — wove smaller branches through them, forming rough walls.
When she needed finer work, she crouched low, using her knuckles like hammers, driving stakes deep into the dirt.
Steam hissed softly from her battered joints.
Hours passed.
The sun crawled toward the horizon, casting long, bloody shadows across the forest.
And slowly, the makeshift structure rose — squat, ugly, but sturdy.
A crude hut of broken trees and woven branches, tucked into the center of the barricaded clearing.
Meeyn stepped inside casually when it was finished, glancing up at the thick, interlocked canopy of branches that served as a roof.
It wasn't pretty.
But it would do.
He kicked some loose dirt over the gaps in the floor, smoothing it into something vaguely flat.
Outside, Annie's Titan form stood motionless, towering and silent like a weary sentinel.
Steam leaked slowly from her shoulders.
Meeyn leaned against the inside of the new hut, crossing his arms.
"Not bad for your first time," he called out teasingly.
Annie's Titan mouth didn't move — but the slight dip of her head was enough.
Meeyn smirked faintly, feeling the strange, powerful bond settling between them.
He pushed off the wall with a stretch.
"You can rest now," he said quietly.
Annie didn't hesitate this time.
With a soft rumble, her Titan form began to crumble — flesh peeling away into glowing steam, muscle and bone unraveling into wisps of light.
And when it cleared, Annie Leonhart knelt on the ground, back in her human form, shivering slightly in the cooling air.
Without hesitation, Meeyn shrugged off his ragged cloak and tossed it casually over her shoulders.
Annie flinched — then slowly, hesitantly, pulled it tighter around herself.
She didn't meet his gaze.
But she didn't pull away, either.
Meeyn chuckled under his breath and turned away, giving her space.
He dropped lazily onto the floor of the hut, stretching out like he owned the place.
"Get some sleep, Annie," he said, closing his eyes.
"You've earned it."
Outside, the battered clearing stood silent and still.
No Titans.
No threats.
Just the faint hiss of steam rising from broken corpses and the soft rustle of leaves in the evening breeze.
Meeyn laid flat on the hard-packed dirt floor, arms folded behind his head, staring lazily up at the crude ceiling Annie had built.
He didn't need sleep anymore — not really.
His body could go without it for days, maybe even weeks now. The abyss fueled him, sustained him better than food or rest ever could.
But sleep...
Sleep still felt good.
The warmth of it.
The drifting sensation.
The quiet.
Meeyn yawned once, slow and careless, and let his body relax.
Beside him, Annie shifted slightly.
Still wrapped in his cloak, she curled in tighter on herself, her breathing slow and steady. She was close — close enough that the faint warmth of her body brushed against his side.
He cracked one eye open to glance at her.
The edge of the cloak had fallen from her shoulder, baring pale skin marred by old scars and fresh bruises.
Then, without another thought, he let himself slip into sleep.
A light, dreamless sleep.
The next morning broke quietly.
Just the soft chorus of birdsong and the gentle creak of branches overhead as a breeze rustled through the half-shaded hut.
Annie stirred first.
She blinked blearily, the faint morning light filtering through the uneven roof. The warmth of the cloak still clung to her, though the air was cool, and the rough dirt beneath her hips had numbed her legs.
She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes with one hand.
Meeyn was still there — lying beside her, arms folded behind his head, legs crossed like he hadn't moved at all.
His expression was peaceful. Not slack like sleep had stolen him, but composed. Like he'd chosen to rest.
She stared at him for a few seconds longer than she meant to.