Paradis waits for you

by mikalover34

Summary:

After a tragic past, Y/N finds herself in Paradis, the city she once dreamed of escaping to with her two best friends. But dreams don't feel the same after loss. As she tries to rebuild her life, new faces begin to pull her in: unexpected friendships, complicated feelings, and one person she can't quite figure out. But some wounds run deep... and not everything in Paradis is what it seems.

𖥸 Content Warning: This story contains mature themes including drug use, alcohol, sexual content, violence, domestic violence, and suicide. Reader discretion is advised. Additional warnings will be provided at the beginning of relevant chapters.

𖥸 Slow Burn

Chapter 1: INTRODUCTION & CHARACTERS

Okay, so this is my first time writing anything lolll, so please be kind and enjoy! This story is basically my baby, so I'll be updating as much as I can (even if no one reads it lmaoo) . And no, I'm not planning to disappear off the face of the earth. I will finish it. Also, English isn't my first language, so I really hope everything is understandable!

As mentioned in the description, this story deals with mature themes such as drug abuse, alcohol, suicidal thoughts, suicide, domestic violence, death, grief, and more. Please read with caution. Content warnings will be included where necessary.

I also want to clarify Y/N might be a little messy when it comes to her thoughts, grief and dreams. I really wanted her to feel relatable, so there will be moments where she's unsure of what to say or do—just like real people.

This is a slow burn, centered around a love triangle between Jean, Y/N, and Eren. That said, the main pairing will be Eren x Reader. Even if I do have a soft spot for Jean boy.

I also created visuals of the main characters, which you can find here and on the Pinterest board I made. Plus, there's a Spotify playlist! Some songs will appear in the fic itself, while others just capture the overall vibe of the story.

That's all for now, my loves. I truly hope you enjoy this story as much as I do. I poured my whole soul, sweat, and tears into it.

Welcome to Paradis.

– Renn

Y/N 21 years
Communication major

Eren jeager 21 years
Pre- law major

Ymir 21 years old

College dropout now works at Hannes mechanical shop

Sasha Braus 21 years old
Communications major

Connie Springer 21
Sociology major /Dj

Jean Kirsten 21 years old
Art major

Mikasa Ackerman 21 years old
Sports therapy

Armin Arlert 21 years old
Marine biology major

Historia (Tori) Reiss 21 years
Fashion design major

Pieck Finger 22
Sports med

Side characters
-Hannah 19
-Franz 19
- Hitch 21
-Reiner 22
-Annie 22
-Bert 22

𖥸 Pinterest Board 𖥸

You guys, I just realized the link didn't work too I guess its better if I just out my user. its renzzzz_2 

The board its called PWFY

𖥸 Spotify Playlist 𖥸

 

Chapter 2: 1. Welcome to Paradis

Yes, Beck. I promise, I'm more than fine here," you say, phone pressed to your ear as you shift the laundry basket on your hip.

You're speaking to your older sister, Beck. seven years older than you and somehow, always five steps ahead in life. Perfect job, perfect apartment, even her cat seems to have its act together. You, on the other hand, are standing in a laundromat that smells faintly of detergent and uncertainty.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that. After the year you've had..." she trails off with a quiet sigh. "I'm just happy you're okay. Have you made any friends yet?"

You laugh, a quick, sarcastic puff of sound. "Oh yeah, you know me. Barely three days in this city and I've already made friends for life."

The fluorescent lights above hum softly, casting a clinical glow over the rows of humming machines. The washing machine in your apartment had decided to quit on you—less than a week in. Ymir, your new roommate, mentioned a 24-hour laundromat not far from your place, so here you are, midnight, mismatched socks, and 6 hours away from your first day at Elida University.

You glance at the machines, then out the smudged window where the moon glows low, your mind starts to drift—wondering about tomorrow.

Will you make friends? Or will you keep your guard up, afraid of the heartbreak that always seems to follow connection? You've done it before.

Gotten close. Lost people.

Lost yourself, too.

You're so deep in your thoughts, you almost miss Beck's voice again.

"Maybe if you open yourself more, you'd actually meet someone worth knowing," she says. "Anyway, I've got an early meeting. Call me after your first day, okay?"

"Will do," you murmur, and after a few more goodbyes, the call ends.

The silence that follows is oddly comforting.

You wander past a row of machines, trying to find one that doesn't look like it'll eat your clothes, when a voice breaks through the quiet:

"Nice shirt. Though, I have to say, I'm a little offended."

You turn, startled. Standing a few feet behind you is a guy—around your age, maybe older. His voice carries that half-serious, half-joking tone that people use when they're testing the waters. He's got soft, tousled brunette hair shaped into a messy mullet that somehow works, and a grin that looks like it belongs in a rom-com.

You glance down to see he's holding your graphic shirt you use as a pajama that says:

W hen in doubt always blame a man.

Shit it must've slipped from your basket.

"that's not.... I mean it is mine" you sigh, he laughs and damnn that laugh sounds like a million dollar bucks "Yeah, doubt you found this in the men's section" he says with a light smirk creeping at his face.

That shirt—you thrifted it with your best friend Hannah a while back. It brings up memories you're not ready to unpack.

Not here. Not now. It's too much, too fast, and way too heavy

You're still caught in the edges of that memory when the guy's voice brings you back to the present.

"I'm Jean, by the way. And I'm guessing you're new around here," he says, holding the shirt out to you.

You take it from him, fingers brushing briefly. Up close, you catch a better look at his face—sharp bone structure, stubble just enough to notice, and eyes that land somewhere between serious and amused.

"Nice to meet you, Jean. I'm Y/N... and yeah, practically new. I got here not too long ago," you reply, folding the shirt and tucking it under your arm.

"Yeah," he says with a lazy grin, "I would've remembered that pretty face."

You raise an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at your lips. "Is that so? Is this your thing? Picking up strangers doing laundry on a Sunday night?"

"Oh, totally," he deadpans. "Girls love this kind of stuff. Fluorescent lights, the smell of fabric softener, the sound of machines spinning at full speed... super romantic."

You laugh, genuine this time, and shake your head. Before you can say anything, he beats you to it.

"So... how come you moved to Paradis?"

His voice is casual, but the question isn't. It lands gently, yet you feel your throat tighten. Anxiety creeps in around the edges, but you try to play it cool. You're not ready to give the real answer—but you offer something close enough.

"Well..." you pause, eyes flicking down. "I'm from Stohess. Let's just say it's not the kind of place you want to stick around. And Paradis... I don't know, there's just something about it that calls me, you know?"

You avoid his gaze, because looking at him right now would break whatever wall you've managed to keep standing. If you meet his eyes, the cracks might start to show.

There's a quiet moment.

Then, his voice–softer than before–cuts through the silence.

"Well... I'm glad you did. And yeah, I guess this place is pretty cool."

You finally look up, and your eyes meet. There's something in the way he's looking at you—not pity, not curiosity. Just... understanding. Like he knows there's more to the story. And maybe he does. But you're not ready to let that part out.

"I—" you start, but your voice catches.

Then his phone rings. He sighs and pulls it from his pocket. "Sorry, I've gotta take this."

He answers with a tone that shifts instantly. "Connie, I swear to God, if you broke something else I will kill you, man."

You watch him as he steps a few feet away, not far, just enough to let you breathe.

You glance down at your phone.

2:35 a.m.

Shit.

I can't believe it's this late. At the same time, it feels like time disappeared the moment he spoke to you. The washing machine starts beeping. You move toward it, pulling out your clothes and tossing them back into your basket.

As you sling your bag over your shoulder and start heading for the door, you catch a glance at Jean—he's off the phone now, leaning against the machine again.

You stop.

"Hey," you say as you walk past him, offering a small smile. "Well, Jean... it was nice meeting you."

He pushes off the machine, hands slipping into his jacket pockets.

"You too," he says, watching you. "Hope Paradis treats you better than Stohess did."

The way he says it, it's not prying, but it's not nothing. He remembers what you said. Or didn't say.

You nod, quietly. "Yeah. Me too."

There's a short pause. You're not sure if you're supposed to say more, but then he speaks again—lighter this time.

"Hey, if you ever need a tour guide... or someone to blame things on, since men are apparently responsible for everything..."

You look over your shoulder, raising an eyebrow. "I'll keep you in mind"

He smiles. "Best in the business."

You linger for half a second more than you meant to.

"Goodnight, Jean."

"Night, Y/N."

And you walk out into the stillness of the night, laundry in tow, thoughts spinning quietly behind your eyes.

Somewhere between the silence and the city lights, your chest feels a little lighter.

 

✧･ ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

 

The next day, you wake up with a desperate groan. First day at Eldia University.

Your first class starts at 9:00, which gives you just enough time to shower and give yourself a half-hearted pep talk in the mirror. You've always been more reserved, until Hannah came along. But now...

Now even thinking about her makes your chest tighten.

You wish more than anything she was here with you—being your roommate, dancing around the apartment, getting all giddy about your first day together. Instead, you stand under the water, letting it hit your skin like it might wash the ache away.

But it doesn't.

Your mind betrays you, as it always does, taking you back to last year. To everything that happened. How much changed after those days.
How much you changed.

But there's no going back, they're gone and so is that part of you. You exhale hard, blinking the sting out of your eyes, as you desperately try to distract yourself as you finish showering, a sudden moment comes up to your mind.

Jean.

The memory is sudden. The way you met, how unexpectedly easy it was to talk to him. How good-looking he was. You wonder if you'll see him again.

Hopefully he goes to Eldia.

A few minutes later, you walk into the kitchen. Ymir, your roommate, is mid-phone call, sitting on the counter with her legs swinging casually.  She's wearing a pair of cut-off jorts and an oversized Nirvana t-shirt. Her freckles look like scattered constellations, and the tiny nose piercing catches the morning light. Her short dark hair is tied up in a messy ponytail.

As soon as she sees you, she says something quickly into the phone. "Hey babe, I gotta go. See you in a bit. Love you."

"Hey, I didn't hear you come home last night. I was two seconds away from launching a full search party." Her tone is light, teasing. "Oh, sorry about that. I kinda lost track of time at the laundromat," you say, trying to sound casual.

She gives you a nod, hopping off the counter. "Want some?" she asks, motioning toward the coffee machine. The smell of fresh brew fills the room.

"You look like you need it." She hands you a mug with a smirk.

"Yeah... thanks," you say. "Didn't sleep much."

She gives you a look like she gets it. Like maybe she's had those nights, too.

"Well," she says, stretching her arms over her head, "if it makes you feel better, I'm heading to Eldia in like, ten minutes. If you wanna tag along—so you don't get lost and end up crying in the philosophy wing or something."

You can't help but smile. Up close, she looks like someone straight out of an editorial spread—tall, androgynous, cool without trying.

"Honestly, that would be great. Lemme just grab my stuff." you finish the hot liquid as you walk towards your room to get your belongings.

Even though you only moved in a few days ago, the space already feels like your own. The walls are a soft white and sage green. You've hung posters of your favorite artists, strung up some lights you found during your last-minute Ikea trip, and filled your modest bookshelf with all the books that ever made you feel seen.

Your safe place.

As you're grabbing your backpack your eyes fall on a photo near your coffee table—your high school graduation. The picture is a little crumpled around the edges. You see the three of you laughing, carefree, hugging you so tight, completely unaware than no more than 2 weeks everything is about to fall apart.

Three best friends holding each other so tightly for the last time.

You inhale, eyes stinging.

You pick up the frame, brushing your thumb over the glass. "Wish me luck," you whisper.

As you're walking to your new college,  you couldn't be more grateful that your apartment is only five minutes away from campus. The morning air is soft, a little salty from the beach that's just far enough to not see, but close enough to taste, and the sun is just beginning to peek over the rooftops, warm but not overwhelming. It feels... bearable. Like a quiet start before the noise.

You've learned quickly that your roommate, Ymir, is a college dropout—last semester, actually. She says school is a scam built by capitalism: they put you in lifelong debt just to teach you less than what you'd figure out in the real world. And honestly... you don't disagree with her. Not entirely. But at least your mom paid off your tuition, one of the very few things she's ever done for you that didn't come with a backhanded comment attached.

Of course, when you told her your major, she sighed like you had betrayed the family name.

"You're lucky your father left us enough money so that you can study, and you choose that? A useless degree. I can't believe you would do this to us."  That same flat, disappointed look she always gave you—like the world owed her something and you were part of the debt.

You cross the street and glance around. The city is already breathing in its chaotic rhythm. People in tailored suits with oversized portfolios storm past you like they're on a deadline from hell. On the other side of the street, a group of runners pass by on the other side of the street and a group of guys with surfboards are heading toward the beach, messy hair and sun-dazed eyes.

One thing about Paradis? It doesn't really care who you are.

Where you're from. What you've done.

Everyone's running from something here. But the city's big enough that you can disappear into it and still feel like you belong. Or, at least, that's what Hannah used to say—before her dream of moving here was ripped apart.

You always wanted to believe her.

The way she'd talk about Paradis... it made everything sound like a second chance, like if you could just get here, something might finally click. "There's a place for everyone in Paradis", she'd repeat like a mantra.

So now you're here. And maybe her dream lives a little through you.

When you finally arrive, you stop for a moment, taking in the building's old architecture, brickstone, high windows, vines crawling up the walls like something out of a novel. There's a rusted statue standing at the center of the courtyard: the founder of Eldia.

Karl Fritz, reads the engraving beneath.

"Keep moving forward. Even if you die, even after you die."

You pause for a moment, unsure whether it's inspiring or unsettling.

Then a voice cuts in beside you with a dry tone.

"Apparently Karl Fritz was not only the founder of Eldia, but also a dramatic little shit with a god complex." You turn to find Ymir grinning, sipping what's probably her second cup of coffee. She shrugs.

"Honestly, kinda weird how they built a whole school around a guy like that. But hey, solid quote for your next emotional breakdown."

You laugh. A real one "Right."

Ymir gives you a once-over. "Well, looks like you're capable of finding your own lecture hall, so I'm gonna dip. Text me if you get lost or emotionally spiral or whatever."

She gives your shoulder blades a soft squeeze before heading off—smooth as always, but there's something warm under all that sarcasm. You watch her go, feeling something that might almost be... comfort.

 

✧･ ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

8:55 am Communication & Society lecture

 

You step into the lecture hall, clutching your backpack a little tighter than necessary. The space is wide and modern, with tiered seating and tall windows that let in just enough light to make everything feel a little too real. Students are already scattered across the room, some half-asleep, others typing like their lives depend on it. You scan the seats and slide into an empty one near the end, trying to look like you belong here.

Just as you're setting your bag down, the girl next to you leans over with a bright, effortless smile. "Hey, I love your earrings," she says, already sounding like someone who talks to everyone.

You blink, a little caught off guard. "Oh—thanks."

"I'm Sasha," she says, offering her hand like you've known each other forever. "If this class is as boring as I think it's gonna be, we're gonna need snacks. Lots of snacks."

She's looking at you with warm, light brown eyes. Her brunette hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, and there's something soft about the way she smiles—open, easy, like it costs her nothing to be kind.

You let out a quiet laugh. Something about her is instantly disarming—in a good way.

"I'm Y/N. And noted. I'll come prepared next time."

"That's a pretty name," she says, then glances down at the mess of plastic wrappers scattered around her desk. "Oh—sorry for the chaos. Looks like I already finished my last snack. I knew I should've packed more." She groans dramatically.

You laugh again, sliding into the seat next to her. "You know, I think I have a protein chocolate bar in my bag. I don't think I'll need it as much as you clearly do... so, here." You hand it to her.

Sasha takes it like you've just offered her salvation. "Are you my hero? Because I already love you," she says with a grin, quickly tearing open the wrapper. Then, placing her hand dramatically on your shoulder, she adds, "Are we about to kiss right now?"

You raise an eyebrow, playing along. "I mean... it feels like we are."

You both burst out laughing, earning a few looks from the students nearby.

There's a brief lull in the noise, and then Sasha leans in. "Hey... I don't think I've seen you around Eldia before. Are you a transfer?"

"Yeah," you nod. "I transferred from Stohess State."

Before she can ask anything else, the classroom is interrupted by a sharp sound—the mic testing out—followed by the heavy thud of footsteps.

You both look up to see a man walking in with slow confidence. A perfectly combed white moustache, warm honey-colored eyes, and a bald head so polished it catches the morning light.

"Good morning, class," he begins, his voice carrying easily across the room. "My name is Dot Pixis, but for you it's Mr. Pixis. Welcome to Communication & Society. Let's get started, shall we?"

You pull out your syllabus as he launches into the overview of the course, your pen already scribbling notes.

A few minutes in, you hear a soft whisper to your right.

"Pssst. Y/N."

You glance sideways.

"I wonder what his skincare routine is... because that bald head? I can deadass see my reflection from here," Sasha murmurs.

You bite back a laugh, failing instantly. "Girl, I was literally about to say the same thing."

Then her expression shifts—subtly serious. She leans in again.

"Okay, I know you just moved here, but that's exactly why we need to go out tonight. There's a party at Sigma Chi—and we're going."

You blink one, twice "Frat party? No. Literally anything but that."

She cuts you off with a hand. "Relax. It's not my vibe either. But one of my friends is the VP of the frat—he's actually super chill. We always hang out in the basement. It's kind of like a VIP section."

You squint at her, unconvinced.

"I know we just met," she continues "but I have a feeling we're gonna be best friends. And I want you to meet everyone. No pressure, but... pressure."

You groan. "Fine," you mutter, already regretting it a little.

Sasha's face lights up "Hell yes," she grins. You can't help but laugh as she shoves her phone into your hands.

"Here, add yourself so we can get ready together. I'll text you my address. Oh—and I invited a couple friends over too, but don't worry, they're gonna love you."

She says it so casually, like it's a done deal. Like you're already part of the group.

You're still typing in your number when the professor dismisses the class. You both get up, Sasha tossing her wrappers into her bag like it's second nature. As you step out into the sunlight, the door creaks shut behind you—and immediately, a familiar voice cuts through the buzz.

"Heyy! Haven't seen you in a while," Sasha calls.

You glance up to see Ymir walking your way, cigarette in hand, the other loosely laced with the hand of a blonde girl who looks like she just walked off the cover of Vogue. Golden hair falls over her shoulders in soft waves, skin porcelain with the faintest touch of blush, and blue eyes so striking they almost don't look real.

Ymir smirks. "Well, you know Hannes. Still drunk half the time. Let's just say I'm the one keeping the shop from burning down."

She turns to you, eyes flicking from Sasha to you. "Looks like you two met already. Sash—this is Y/N, my new roommate. Y/N—this is Historia, my girlfriend." You watch as Ymir's usual coolness softens the second she looks at Historia. The way her whole demeanor shifts makes something flutter and ache in your chest at the same time.

And just as you're getting caught in your own thoughts, Historia turns to you with a kind smile. Her voice is soft, careful. "Nice to finally meet you, Y/N. Ymir told me you'd just moved in. I hope you're settling okay. And I also hope she's not giving you too much trouble." She shoots Ymir a warning glance, playful but protective.

Ymir just shrugs with a grin. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I think Y/N'll survive."

Sasha jumps in, grinning. "Y/N, I didn't know you were Ymir's roommate. I'll keep you in my prayers." Then her eyes light up again "well this makes things easier, you guys can ride to my place together. Hitch is gonna be there too, and we can start pregaming before Connie picks us up."

Connie.

Something about that name sounds kinda familiar, you can't quite put a finger where you heard it before but as soon as you're about to ask, Sasha lets out a sudden, dramatic groan.

"Shit—I'm about to be late. Okay! See you guys tonight!" She gives you a look that's somehow both wildly excited and slightly threatening. Like she's making sure you will show up.

And then she's gone, disappearing into the crowd.

Ymir glances at her phone. "We should head out too. I've got a shift and Hannes will definitely burn something if I don't show." She gives you a lazy wave, still holding Historia's hand as they disappear down the path together, their silhouettes soft in the sunlight.

And just like that, you're alone again.

You glance around the courtyard, everything moving fast around you. And maybe... maybe a party on the first day isn't that terrible. You told yourself this semester would be different. That you'd try—actually try—to be open. To meet people. To stop shrinking into the spaces between your past and the person you want to become.

No more backsliding. No more hiding.

You pull out your phone just as a notification lights up the screen:

 

Unknown Number
Heyyy, meet me at my place at 7.
Can't wait :))))

11:05 am

You type back, your fingers pausing just briefly.

You

Can't wait either :)

11:06 am

 

Chapter 3: 2. One night. Two pairs of lips

The day goes by faster than you expect. After your little chat with the girls, you head straight to your next lecture. Your stats professor, Rico. A sharp, silver-haired woman with a no-nonsense vibe—assigns an essay due Wednesday. At least you've got time to gather your thoughts.

By the time your classes end at 2 p.m., you're drained. It's been overwhelming, new faces, unfamiliar buildings, and trying to rewire your brain to focus again after spending most of the summer rotting in bed.

But as you walk back to your apartment, the only thing on your mind is the party.

Meeting Sasha earlier made it all feel a little easier, lighter. You've always been good at reading people, catching the way their body language betrays their words. And with Sasha, everything about her just felt real, uncomplicated. A breath of fresh air you didn't know you were so desperate for.

So, you decide to take a quick shower and mentally prepare yourself for what's coming.

 

✧･ ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

 

An hour has gone by, and now you're standing in front of your closet with nothing but a towel, rummaging for something nice to wear.
You groan when you realize you don't know what to pick. Either your clothes are baggy or not fit for a party. As you run your fingers through the variety of textures, your eyes land on a mini strapless dark green satin dress you bought two years ago for a "special occasion," yet never really wore. The tag is still on it.

There's a sudden knock on the door letting you know that Ymir and Historia are almost done and waiting for you to go to Sasha's place. You pack the dress, some skinny stilettos, as well as your makeup bag as you put on some baggy clothes. You start to grow anxious.

As you step out of your apartment, Sasha's words keep running through your mind:

"Oh—and I invited a couple friends over too, but don't worry, they're gonna love you."

You knew that Sasha has a roommate named Mikasa, you hope she's going to like you. You've never been too good at making new friends. That's why, through most of middle school and high school, you only spent time with your two best friends.

But now...

Your thoughts come to a halt when Ymir parks the car in front of a modern building.

Thankfully, Sasha's place wasn't so far from yours , a seven-minute drive.
As soon as you knock on the door, the walls start to shake from the music blasting inside. Sasha opens the door, a bag of chips in her hands, and lets out an excited squeak.

"OMG!!! You're finally here! Come on in and help me pick my dress for tonight," she says as she sprints to what you assume is her room.

Her apartment, even though modern, clearly reflects the personality of both Sasha and Mikasa. Elephant-ear plants are scattered around the balcony, a velvety deep blue couch sits with a persian rug beneath, picture frames on the wall, and red, white, and pink candles rest on the coffee table.

You, Ymir, and Historia follow her to the room, and you notice Sasha standing in front of her closet and two other girls.

The first one you notice is a tall girl sitting at Sasha's vanity. Her dark hair is styled in two short pigtails. She looks at you with a soft smile and introduces herself.

"You must be Y/N, I'm Mikasa. Sasha told us you two met at Pixis' lecture."

Her voice is soft, and you can't help but notice how painfully beautiful she is — the way her porcelain skin shines through her bold makeup, eyeliner so sharp you swear it could cut paper, the soft red blush on her cheeks, and the cherry red lipstick that makes her look like a doll.

As you get a closer look, you notice a small scar on her face, making her look intimidating in the most stunning way. You wonder how she got it.

"It's so nice to meet you," you finally say. "Your makeup looks so beautiful, I wish I could look that good with eyeliner the way you do," you add with a little laugh.

She looks at you with an excited expression as she closes her lipstick cap.
"If you want, I can do your makeup. I always try to do Sasha's, but she's like a kid — she can't stop moving," she grins.

You hear a voice behind you.

"Hey, it's not fair! You never let me eat while you do my makeup. I swear it feels like torture, literally making me die of starvation," Sasha winces as you both laugh.

Then, to your right, you see a short blonde-haired girl doing her hair. She has a button nose with a perfect nose ring sitting on top of it, and eyes somewhere between green and honey. She gives you a polite smile.

"Oh my god, my bad — I'm Y/N," you say apologetically.

"Heyyy, I'm Hitch. And girl, trust me, if Sasha doesn't have a snack every ten minutes, she becomes Godzilla. It's not a pretty thing to witness. Once I tried to do her makeup, and she almost bit my hand because she said it smelled like chicken nuggets."

There's a brief pause.

"Well, it's not my fault you ate the last one and your hands still smelled like one," Sasha says with a shrug. "Anyways... I need your guys' help ASAP. I literally have nothing to wear and Nico's going to the party, so I need to impress him. Like something that screams daaaamn girl, you look like a snack. A very sexy snack," she says with a nervous tone.

You walk to her and start rummaging through her closet as you ask, "Who's Nico?"

"Only the hottest man alive. Like, mouthwatering hot," she leans in as a faint blush appears on her cheeks.

"He goes to Eldia too, gastronomy major, and he's also one of the chefs at Joe's Java Diner—and he's obsessed with our girl Sasha."

It's so cute," Hitch says, cutting into Sasha's daydream as she finishes her hair. "Neither of them has the guts to admit it, and every time they see each other, they're a blushy mess."

"Gosh, I've had a crush on him since forever," Sasha adds. "And I swear, his cooking skills? I deadass never tried anything more godlike in my life, and trust me, I've tried a lot.". She looks at you with a glint in her eyes, the way her whole mood changes when she hears his name.

It's way too cute.

Your hands brush the fabric of a deep blue dress, soft to the touch and perfect for tonight's event. At the very end of the dress, little gold sequin stars adorn the fabric, giving it the perfect classy-yet-sensual vibe.

You look at Sasha, who's trying not to blush at something Historia said about her and Nico. Your voice cuts through their conversation, making Historia's eyes go wide in excitement.

"Well then... you're sure as hell going to make Nico drop to his knees and bark like a dog when he sees you in this dress," you say with a smirk.

A voice chimes in from somewhere across the room.

"Well, it seems like tonight Sasha's not only going to eat Nico's food, but also his di—" Ymir's voice gets cut off when Sasha throws the cherry Jellycat plushie from her bed at her.

"YMIR OMG! Let's not get ahead of ourselves here! Not that I don't want to though," she giggles, and the rest of the room erupts into laughter.

A few minutes go by while Mikasa does your makeup. The speaker booms a beat as Hitch straps her high heels. Her plum-colored dress hugs her figure like a second skin. Historia finishes her makeup touches — her baby blue dress matches Ymir's sleeveless oversized shirt, making them look like the power couple they are.

"And I'm done. You look so hot," Mikasa says, her voice soft as she finishes adding the last drop of makeup to your face.

She steps up and offers you a hand so you can look at your reflection. The way your dress compliments your makeup — it's been a while since you saw yourself like this.

You glance at Mikasa, admiring her — the dark cherry red dress with the black mesh on top fits her like it was made for her. The silver cross necklace around her neck makes her entire look stand out.

She adds the final touch to your dress, the sage silk scarf that came with it.
"Now you look perfect," she says, gently squeezing your shoulder blades, making you grin at her comment.

Then you hear Sasha's voice from the kitchen. "PREGAMEEE, BITCHES! Get your asses up here!"

She yells excitedly as she pours tequila shots.

You take one more look at yourself in the mirror, grounding yourself, reminding yourself of what you promised when you first stepped foot on Paradis.

Hitch's voice cuts through your thoughts as she gently grabs your hand, guiding you toward all the fuss "Duty calls."

You glance down at the tequila shots, already wincing at the memory of the taste—bad decisions and blurry nights. You look at everyone's excited faces as they chant some mantra before throwing back the shots. The liquid hits your throat hot and fast. You try not to gag as the aftertaste settles in your stomach.

There's a sudden knock at the door.

Mikasa slides off the counter and goes to answer. She barely opens it when the door swings wide open.

You flinch slightly when the front door bursts open and a tall buzzcut guy practically dances his way inside, stomping to the beat of the music like he's entering a club instead of a college apartment.

"The Con Man has arrived, ladies! No need to fight over me — there's plenty of Con Man to go around."

He's wearing a vintage Green Bay Packers jersey that rides up slightly every time he moves, flashing just enough of his V-line to make a point. Paired with washed denim jorts and Timberland boots. His buzz cut looks like it's been bleached down too many times to count giving him a look he would have thousands of likes if he posted tiktok videos of himself doing an outfit check .

He spins once, then catches your eye—and freezes mid-step like he just forgot where he was.

"Connie, no one wants your crusty ass here," Ymir deadpans, making Hitch burst into laughter.

"Ayoooo i've never seen your fine ass here, you must be y/n" connie says with a smirk. "Sasha said you were cute, but she did not warn me you were gonna make me go into cardiac arrest." He grabs his heart dramatically, as if he got struck by Cupid's arrow.

Sasha groans from the back. "Ignore him, please. He's always like this."

Connie leans in just a little, and drops his voice. "I'm just saying... if you go missing tonight, I definitely stole you. Blame the dress."

You raise a brow, smirking. "Does that line usually work?"

"Nah," he shrugs with a wink. "But I figured for you, I'd shoot my shot anyway."

You laugh at his comment, "Points for effort. Subtracting a few for delivery, though."

Connie's eyes flick to the kitchen, where tequila shots are lined up like soldiers ready for battle. He then drastically gasps and nods toward them. "Looks like you guys started the party without me."

Hitch shoots him a playful glare. "We had to pregame — didn't want you showing up and were still sober enough to hear your stupidness."

Connie throws his head back looking like he's in physical pain "Pregame? Without me? That's cold."

He crosses his arms but can't hide the grin. "Alright, I'm officially on the clock now. Time to catch up."

Sasha grabs the bottle, already pouring another round. "Shots all around — gotta make sure he survives."

You raise your glass with a teasing smile. "Try to keep up, Con-man."

Laughter bubbles around the room as the tequila shots burn down your throats, marking the official start of the night.

After a few rounds, a stack of polaroids Sasha insisted on taking now that you're "officially part of the group," and a quick outfit touch-up, you guys decide to go where the real party is.

You hop into Connie's grey Renegade. The interior smells like his musky cologne and freshly ground weed. A shark hula doll dances on the dashboard next to a Chicken Joe figurine, mid-hula and holding a tiny blunt. Connie taps his cracked console.

 

[Now Playing: "Day 'n' Nite" by Kid Cudi]

 

The bass kicks in through his slightly busted speakers as he pulls out of the driveway. You roll down your window just enough letting the salty Paradis breeze rush against your face.

Outside, streetlamps scatter golden light across the pavement, and the distant sounds of the ocean hum beneath the track. Connie and Sasha rap along to the lyrics, half-yelling, half-laughing.

As Connie turns the corner, a huge white house comes into view—wooden Sigma Chi letters nailed to the front porch, pulsing lights cutting through the night, and music loud enough to shake the pavement.

He parks in the cul-de-sac, just off the house, already filled with chaotic energy—drunk students on the porch, some laughing, others mid-vomit. The smell of weed thickens with every step you take.

Sasha hooks her arm through yours, her smile practically glowing. "I can't wait for you to meet everyone."

You step inside, your vision becomes blurry as LED lights hit with a rush of heat, sound chaos. Drunken bodies sway under neon lights. A guy does a handstand on a keg while the crowd chants his name. Historia and Ymir vanish almost immediately, and Mikasa leans close to your ear.

"I've gotta make a quick call," she says, then disappears into the hall, leaving you with Connie, Sasha, and Hitch.

Sasha tugs you toward the kitchen. Red solo cups scattered across the counters, thankfully the kitchen is calmer than the rest of the house. She grabs the Don Julio and splashes it into a cup with cranberry juice, then hands it to you.

"Now, I know this can be a lot," she says, voice softer, "but like I said, we always hang at the basement"

"Yoooo, I can't wait for the games to start," Connie says, bouncing like an excited kid.

"Games?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Hitch says as she pours her own drink. "This place is kind of infamous for them. Last year, they dared Reiner to cannonball off the roof into the pool."

Sasha groans. "Yeah, and if it weren't for that stupid horse-faced idiot who dared him, I wouldn't have had to take Reiner's bloody ass to the ER."

Connie cuts in with a laugh. "It was epic shit though. Speaking of—where is Horse Face? I gotta apologize for some shit I caused yesterday. He nearly ended my pretty little life."

"You mean when your dumbass left paintballs in your pants and ruined his laundry?" Sasha smacks the back of his head.

You freeze.

No way. He couldn't possibly be the guy Jean was talking to at the laundromat, could he? So that means Jean's ...

"No way, he told you?!" your thoughts come to an end when you hear Connie groan drastically, "He literally threatened to choke me to death, but the jokes on him. Little does he know he was threatening me with a good time" he says as a little smirk appears on his face.

You choke on your drink "Anyway, help me look for him, he wont kill me if there's any witnesses" he grabs her hand as sasha grabs a bag of chips for the stand, "i will be right back, Hitch, babe, take care of my new bestie for me will ya?" she yells as both of them walk out of the kitchen leaving you alone with Hitch.

"I swear those two little gremlins never cease to entertain me" you both laugh at her comment.

Just as you were about to ask Hitch about the one who they call horse face, a guy yells Hitch's name.

"Heyyy, I'm glad you could make it. I've been looking for you everywhere," the guy says.

He's wearing an Anti Social Social Club hoodie and has quite possibly the weirdest bowl cut you've ever seen. You instantly know—this must be the guy Hitch was talking about at Mikasa's place.

Marlowe.

"I swear, if it wasn't for that stupid bet Floch made with Marlowe, his hair wouldn't look like the worst '70s bowl cut. He looks like Coconut Head from Ned's Declassified School Survival Guide," Hitch groans, shaking her head. "He's lucky he's cute though."

"Marlowe, what's up?" Hitch says, trying to play it cool—even though you definitely catch the way her cheeks flush.

"This is my friend Y/N. Y/N, this is Marlowe," she says, pointing casually at him. "Don't let the bowl cut distract you—he may look like a geek and, well... he is one." She laughs as Marlowe rolls his eyes.

"Nice to meet you," he says with a smile. "She talks like that, but deep down, she can't get enough of me."

"Mind if I steal her away for a bit?" he then asks you.

You glance between them and grin, catching the slight panic on his face. "She's all yours. I was gonna look for Sasha anyway—so by all means." You wink as you slip out of the kitchen, leaving Hitch slightly flustered and Marlowe trying to play it off.

You weave your way through the crowd, the heat and noise pressing down on you. It's too much. You need air. Now.

Upstairs is just as packed. You wander a bit, looking for Sasha, but your steps slow as your anxiety creeps in. You pass a few rooms until you find one that seems empty. You step inside.

The space is big—way too big to belong to any random frat guy. Master bedroom, probably. Your eyes land on the open glass doors leading to the balcony. Without thinking, you head toward it.

It's spacious, with an outdoor table and a few chairs. But what catches your attention is the metal staircase winding up the side—leading to a private rooftop.

You climb.

Up here, the chaos of the party feels far away. You can see everything—the backyard, the infamous pool Hitch mentioned, a group playing beer pong, a couple making out on a half-broken couch like no one's watching. The stars blur with the glow of string lights and distant music.

You sit down at the edge, letting your feet dangle. The cool breeze brushes your thighs, making you exhale like you're finally able to breathe for the first time today. You yawn—loudly—feeling the tension leave your body.

"Long day, huh?"

The voice slices through the quiet. You flinch, your heart skipping.

You weren't alone?

You turn your head and squint toward the shadowed corner of the rooftop. A small red glow flares up—the cherry of a blunt—followed by a slow curl of smoke escaping someone's mouth.

He steps forward.

You finally see him.

Wow.

He's tall. The kind of tall that makes your chest flutter a bit. The way he moves is calm, confident—effortless. His dark brown hair is tied into a messy bun, and somehow that only makes him look better, more untouchable. His lashes are thick and long—the kind of lashes that would make every girl jealous—and his eyes? A kind of teal that makes you think of crashing waves and deep oceans.

You've never seen anything like them.

He's wearing a brown hoodie and loose, dark-washed jeans that hang just right. The fabric bunches a bit as he crouches next to you. Up close, you catch more details: a few faint freckles scattered across his nose, a small scar slicing the tail of his left eyebrow, and lips—full, pink, and slightly parted as he exhales smoke.

"Didn't mean to scare you," he says with a low rasp of a laugh, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.

You don't answer right away. You're too busy staring—memorizing the curve of his cheekbones, the cut of his jaw, the way his skin glows slightly under the string lights.

And then he smirks fully. "Take a picture, it'll last longer."

Shit. He noticed.

Your brain short-circuits, your mouth opening like it's about to offer some lame excuse, but he's already looking straight into your eyes.

"I don't mind being stared at," he murmurs, a little quieter, a little smoother, "especially not by a pretty girl like you." he then gives a long drag to his blunt, the smell of weed and a hint of his cologne hitting your nostrils.

You smirk, shifting your gaze back toward the view. "Careful, if you keep handing out compliments like that, people might think you're charming."

He exhales a soft chuckle, clearly amused. "And that would be... a problem?"

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. "Only if you start to believe it."

Eren laughs, the sound low and rough. "Damn. So this is how it feels to get humbled by a stranger."

You shrug, lips curving. "Don't take it personally. I just like to keep the mystery alive."

He leans back slightly, still smiling. "Noted. You're trouble, aren't you?"

You look at him with mock innocence. "Depends who's asking."

He studies your face as he takes another drag, his veiny hands flexing as he lets ribbons of smoke drift out. "Want some?" he says, holding the blunt toward you.

You look at him, wondering if you should take it. He cocks his head slightly. "Or are you the type who never takes anything from strangers?" His voice is slow and filled with curiosity—and something you can't quite place.

"If that were the case, I wouldn't be sitting here with you," you reply. Just as you reach for the blunt, he moves his hand to your mouth.

Your eyes widen, catching you off guard.

"Open," he commands, his eyes dropping to your lips with a glint of something unreadable.

You open your mouth slightly as he brings the blunt to your lips. You give a long drag, then slowly exhale looking straight into his eyes —the earthy smoke lingering in your throat. His hands linger close to your mouth; the silver rings glint as the moonlight catches them.

"So, what are you doing up here all alone?" your voice comes out a little raspy from the smoke.

He glances toward the backyard, where some girl hurls herself into the pool with a sloppy splash. "It's not really my scene," he mutters. "I just needed a break from the chaos downstairs."

He shifts his legs, exhaling slowly. "Also..." he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, "there are some people downstairs I can't really face right now."

You hum in response, trying not to pry—but curiosity scratches at your ribs. "How come?" you ask gently, testing the waters.

"Haven't been home in a while," he says, eyes cast ahead. "Needed some air." He takes a drag from the blunt, then passes it to you. His face stays unreadable—closed off in a way that feels practiced.

You inhale, the smoke curling warm through your lungs. "I get it," you say after a beat. "There are some things we're just... not ready to face sometimes."

That catches him off guard. His posture shifts slightly, eyes flicking to meet yours. For the first time tonight, his expression softens—like your words cracked something open.

"I guess I'm not the only one running away from something," he says quietly.

You glance at him, mouth parting slightly, and you hope he doesn't notice the way your body stiffens. But his eyes are already on you, really on you. And for a moment, neither of you says a thing.

It's not pity in his stare. Not that empty, "I'm sorry" people offer when they don't really get it.

No, it's deeper than that.

It's a look that feels like standing in front of a mirror—raw, unfiltered, human. A recognition. Like he's lived through the same kind of ache you've tucked beneath your ribs. Like he doesn't need the details to understand, because he's already seen that kind of pain in himself. You see it in the way his jaw unclenches, in the quietness behind his eyes. It's not sympathy. It's solidarity. The kind that doesn't need words.

And for the first time in a long time, you don't feel so alone.

"I- How" as you're about to ask, your phone starts ringing. Sasha's ID contact pops at your phone screen. You almost forgot you were looking for Sasha, instead you share a blunt with someone who recognizes you in a way no one has.

Your fingers hover for a moment to accept the call, hesitation sits at the bottom of your ribcage.

Of course you want to go back to where your friends are, there probably worried sick, but, something about him just pull you in, like a magnet and you just want to stay talking to him, wondering what part of you is he seeing right now, the "composed one" you try to put up like a show for people who never cared enough to look deeper, or the broken part, the raw that you cant even look in the mirror to much, the ghost of them always following you wherever you go.

"You should probably pick up," he says, looking away. "Your friends might be worried sick you disappeared like that."

Something in his face changes. The softness from before is gone—replaced by something distant, like a mask he's practiced putting on. He stands, brushes debris from his jeans, and heads toward the metal stairs.

"See you around," he says, before disappearing into the party.

Crap. I totally forgot to ask his name.

You sigh and answer the call. "Hey Sasha, what's up?" you try to play it cool, even though the moment still lingers in your mind.

"Where the hell have you been?!" she yells. "I ran into Hitch and she told me you went looking for me. DID YOU GO ALL THE WAY TO MADAGASCAR OR SOMETHING? I've been looking for you for the past ten minutes and you were MIA!"

You pull your phone away from your ear before you go deaf from Sasha's drunk yelling.

"I'm so sorry," you say quickly. "I was looking for you, but I guess I got overwhelmed and went out for some air. I'll be right there."

You make your way down the stairs as fast as you can, guilt creeping in for making her worry.

As you step out of the room, you spot Sasha near the bottom of the stairs. Her hair is slightly messy from all the dancing she probably did with Connie, and she's scanning the house like a hawk on the hunt.

Her eyes land on yours, and her expression softens. "I swear I almost had a heart attack. I was worried sick—I thought I'd have to start a search party for you."

She wraps you in a tight hug, squeezing the air out of you. You slide your hands into her hair, smoothing down the frizz.

"I'm sorry I worried you. It won't happen again," you murmur.

Her face shifts, eyes lighting up with excitement. "Now, now—let's go to the basement!"

The basement is exactly how she described it: chill. Not too many people are down here. It feels like the VIP section of the party.

It's big, with a small bar counter and a few people lounging on the couches. The walls are covered in posters—anime, movies, bands—giving the space a lived-in feel. At the back, a pool table is set up. You spot Historia and Ymir playing against two tall guys.

"Did you finally beat Ymir's ass, Reiner?" Sasha asks as she hugs Historia from behind, nodding toward one of the guys.

He's wearing a navy button-down shirt that looks like it might rip every time he moves, paired with dark jeans and brown dress shoes. His short golden hair peeks out from beneath a white cowboy hat.

"Every time I think I've got this in the bag, she drags me," Reiner mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. "I swear she's cheating or something. Like there's a magnet under the damn table."

The even taller guy chuckles. "Nah, that's just petty, Rein. I can't help you on this one, bro" he smacks Reiner's shoulder "At this point, you're just making Ymir rich."

Reiner hands Ymir a crumpled $20 bill as she smirks, full of pride.

"How much is that now—sixty bucks?" Ymir grins. "Rein, when will you learn? You can't defeat the GOAT."

The other guy laughs again. His blue vest sits neatly over a white button-up, and his shaggy hair frames a kind, slightly shy face.

"My bad," he says, offering his hand. "I'm Bertholdt. Everyone calls me Bert."

You shake his hand, a small smile playing on your lips.

"And this one right here's Reiner," he points at the blond guy, "as you can see, he's not as good as Ymir at pool."

Reiner gives you a "hey" as he tilts his cowboy hat with a grin on his face.

You try to choke back your laughter as Historia adds, "Rein, c'mon—you gotta stop doing that if you want girls to actually approach you," she says with a small laugh, trying not to sound mean.

"Wdym, Historia? My future wife will love that," he says, looking a little offended while everyone laughs at his comment.

A few moments later, you realize those two are really easy to talk to. Between jokes, Ymir's long-time beef with Reiner, and a few pool plays, Connie sneaks up and wraps an arm around your shoulders.

"There you are, sunshine. The party was getting real boring without you," he grins at you.

Out of the corner of your eye—you see him.

He's talking with some guy. His laugh echoes across the room—you recognize that laugh.

He takes a sip of his drink and your eyes lock. He's dressed in an oversized grey tee and light-washed jeans, paired with yellow Onitsukas. His hair's in a messy mullet. You notice something you didn't catch last night: a small silver earring on his right ear and a golden chain around his neck. He looks even hotter than you remember.

He says something to the guy, then starts walking toward you with a smile.

"Are you following me, Y/N? Didn't peg you as a stalker," he says with a teasing tone.

"Oh, says the one who approached me at 2 a.m. to talk. Who's the stalker now, Jean?" you reply, a smirk playing on your lips.

"Fair enough." He takes a sip of his drink, trying to hide a grin. "I see you've met everyone. Looks like we'll be seeing more of each other. Call it fate."

You smile just as Connie looks at you in disbelief.

"Nahhh—don't tell me you're the girl Kirstein wouldn't shut up about since yesterday? Dude came back from the laundromat grinning like an idiot."

He points between the two of you.

"You're lucky I was distracted," Jean says, eyeing Connie, "or I would've whooped your ass, Springer. Who the hell leaves paintballs in their clothes? I swear, that's the last time I'll let you convince me to mix our laundry."

Connie shrugs. Jean looks fully irritated.

A voice suddenly cuts through the conversation. It's the guy Jean had been talking to earlier, now speaking loud enough to get everyone's attention.

"I'm glad most of y'all could make it. If you know me—and even if you don't—I'm Galliard, president of Sigma Chi. And this right here—" he points to a slightly embarrassed guy standing next to him, "Is my bro Colt, the VP. We're starting the games in five minutes, so get your asses up here. If you're a bunch of pussies, you know where the door is."

He plops off the barstool dramatically as music starts blasting again. The basement door opens, and—

Mikasa walks in behind a blonde boy wearing glasses, a white long sleeve shirt, denim jeans, and white sneakers. He looks like a replica of young Anakin Skywalker.

Mikasa says something to him that makes him laugh, the tip of his nose turning a little red. She walks over to your group.

"Don't tell me Porco made that damn speech again," she rolls her eyes. "I don't get how Colt hangs out with a douche like that."

The guy, who's still watching Porco, responds, "They've known each other since they were five. I guess Colt just... cares. Even though they're total opposites."

He turns to you and offers a polite smile. "My bad. I'm Armin. Nice to meet you. Y/N, right?"

You return the smile. "Yes, you too, Armin. I heard you work at Ehrmich Aquarium?"

His eyes light up. "Yeah, I do. Both my parents were marine biologists, so I kinda grew fond of the ocean. I volunteer helping the animals there."

There's a flicker of sadness in his eyes when he mentions his parents, but something about him makes it clear that the ocean brings him closer to them.

"Must be nice," you say softly, "to inherit a passion like that. "They sounded like amazing people."

He gives you a warm, quiet smile.

"What about you?" he asks. "You looking for a job? You're a communications major, right? Like Sasha?"

"Yeah. I got here not even a week ago, so I don't really know where to start," you say, brushing your hair off your shoulder.

"Look, there's this coffee shop looking for a part-time barista," he offers. "I'm friends with the owner. If you're interested, I can make a call."

Your face lights up like he just handed you a winning lottery ticket. "OMG, Armin—I'd love that. I've always wanted to work as a barista. So yeah, count me in."

You give him a quick hug and he smiles, clearly flustered. "Of course. You're one of us now—it's the least I can do."

He fixes his glasses, and a faint blush blooms on his cheeks.

Mikasa's gaze drifts toward the pool area, then back to you. "You already met everyone," she says. Her expression falters. "Well... almost everyone."

There's a sudden shift in the air.

People stop what they're doing. The music becomes background noise. You hear whispers.

Mikasa's body goes still.

The source of the tension is standing near the door, trying to stay invisible. But his presence is too loud to ignore. He looks like he knows it too.

It's the guy from the roof.

Jean's the first to break the silence.

"I can't believe he's back." His voice is thick with disbelief. He looks at Armin and Mikasa. "Did you know about this?"

You glance around. Everyone's expression holds something you can't quite pin down.

Shock? Pity? Worry?

Mikasa's voice sounds different. "No. I tried calling him, but... you know how he is. And after everything—" she sighs, lowering her head, "I can't blame him."

Ymir's the first to move. Pool stick still in hand, she strides up to him.

"Well, well, well... Look what the cat dragged in. Haven't seen you in a fat minute, Jaeger." She shoves his shoulder lightly.

He gives her a small smile. "Glad to be back, Mir."

Somehow, that interaction clears the air. The room exhales.

Jean walks over and hugs him. "Missed you, bro. I'm glad you're here."

That's what he was talking about on the roof...

You feel curiosity burning at your chest. You want to ask—but not now. Not here. And honestly, the way his eyes found yours on that rooftop, part of you already understands: he's not ready to talk about it. Not yet.

Everyone greets him one by one. Mikasa and Armin stay still.

Then Mikasa moves. She fidgets with the mesh of her dress before running into his arms.

"I didn't know you came back," her voice breaks. "Why didn't you answer? I was worried sick."

He hugs her tighter. "I know... and I'm sorry. I just needed some time alone."

Mikasa eases her grip as Armin steps forward.

"Glad to have you back, Eren," he says warmly, patting his shoulder.

And then Eren looks at you.

"Summer felt dry as hell without you here, man." Connie smacks Eren's head as he adds, "Aye—this is Y/N." He points at you.

"She just got here, and we're about to show her a real good time. The way Paradis people party." His voice is already coming out slurred as the tequila shots start taking effect.

You give Eren a small wave as he nods his head.

You don't even know what to say. You expected to never see him again... and now, you've just found out he's part of your new group. That makes things complicated.

Because he knows.

You didn't say anything, but something about the way he looks at you makes your chest tighten. Like he's already seen through you.

"Your five minutes are up, bitches!" Porco's voice cuts through the room. "Glad to know no one pussied out—and we even grew in numbers. That's what I'm talking about."
He claps his hands, clearly proud. "So now..."

Porco explains the house rules to everyone. "As you know, newbies get to pick the first game. So—you, Y/N, have the honor." He hands you a trucker hat filled with folded papers.

You glance at everyone. Their faces are filled with anticipation.

You reach in, fingers brushing through the folded slips, then pull one out—a yellow sticky note.

You unfold it slowly...

There's no way.

You hesitate for just a second, then clear your throat.

"Suck and blow."

Everyone gathers around in a circle, you set yourself between armin and sasha, your hands start to go clammy as Porco explains the rules "Alright then, classic... but let's spice it up."

Everyone quiets a bit as he walks to the kitchen counter and grabs a deck of playing cards and a shot glass. "New twist. If the card drops between two people... they have to take a shot together. Mouth to mouth."

Groans, laughter, chaos.

"You're joking," Hitch says, already laughing.

"Dead serious," Porco says. "You drop the card? Shot gets poured. Other person holds it in their mouth. You take it from them" he shrugs.

"Also," Porco grins, "whoever backs out? Has to kiss the person to their right. Full send."

Sasha's half-horrified, half-thrilled. Connie's vibrating like he's been waiting his whole life for this moment and Mikasa just sips her drink like this isn't happening.

And then, all eyes are on you.

Porco hands you the first card.

"Since you picked it, Y/N," he says, smirking, "you start us off."

The first round goes rather smoothly—everyone's either vibrating with excitement or horror. A few rounds pass, kisses are exchanged, shots are poured, and laughter and cheers fill the room.

After a few people shuffle around, Porco's the first to start the next round. He passes the card to Hitch, who looks like a kid getting the ick as she presses her mouth to it. She turns to Marlowe, who's beside her, and he takes it like it's a piece of cake.

Then it's Marlowe to Jean. Lips puckered, Marlowe leans in.

Jean's eyes suddenly peek above his lash line, shock washing over his face as he clocks what's about to happen.

He jerks back. "Nah, hell no. This is way too close for me, man."

His expression twists gagging slightly.

A sudden silence falls.

Then—

"No fucking way," Connie breathes. "No fucking way, man." He vibrates in excitement.

"I used to pray for times like this." He looks up at the ceiling like he's thanking the gods in disbelief. "Jean boy, let me feel those juicy lips."

He puckers dramatically, getting closer.

Jean looks like he's been through war. "NO. Man, why the fuck are you next to me?!" He winces, slapping a hand over his mouth. "You could've stood between the girls, literally anyone, and you fucking chose me!?"

"Awww, c'mon Jean boy," Eren cuts in, voice slick. "Give Cornelia a little kiss. He's dying to taste you." full on smirk resting in his face.

"Sorry man," Porco wheezes, barely able to breathe from laughing. "Rules are rules."

"For fuck's sake. I fucking hate this," Jean mutters, like he's about to cry and puke at the same time.

Connie steps in closer, whispering with a mock sultry voice, "Shhh, babygirl. Let me make you feel good," as he grabs Jean's jaw gently.

The room erupts.

Sasha's on the floor choking from laughter, tears spilling down her cheeks.
Reiner's looking like he's about to piss himself.

Jean shoves Connie with everything he has, sending him ass-first to the floor.

"Damn, way to kill the mood, Jeanie," Connie mutters, getting up and rubbing his butt. "Okay, okay—I'll try to make it no homo, bro. Chill."

Jean groans. "Just make this quick. I can't wait to shove acid down my throat after this."
He shuts his eyes so tight it's like he's trying to erase this moment from his memory.

Connie grabs his shirt with dramatic flair and plants a full six-second peck on him.

Ymir pulls out her phone, and as Connie smacks his lips looking straight at the camera, she snaps a pic.

"This goes in the history books," she howls, wiping tears from her red face.

Jean's face looks like his soul just left his body as he wipes his hands over his lips aggressively. "Jesus fucking Christ. What evil did I commit in a past life to deserve this?" Horror-struck, he looks like he's rethinking his entire existence.

"Relax, Jean. Look how happy you made Connie—dude's jumping like he just won a million dollars," you say, unable to hold back your laughter.

Even Mikasa, whose face is usually carved in stone, is wheezing, gripping Armin's arm for dear life.

"Ymir, I swear if you don't delete that picture, I'll suffocate you in your sleep," Jean groans, pointing at Ymir, who's smugly swinging her phone.

"This thing's worth millions, horse face. And you think I'm just gonna delete it? Nah. But I'll do you a solid—I'll only send it to you... so you can admire Springer's lips before bed."

She definitely didn't just send it to Jean.
It's now the group chat photo.

"Settle down, people. As much as I'd love to see those two idiots make out again, let's finish this next round," Colt says, clapping Connie on the shoulder.

Everyone shifts spots. You settle next to Mikasa. Jean quickly takes the seat beside you, trying to act as if nothing happened five minutes ago.

So... how was it? I can't believe you kissed Connie before I got the chance" you say, giving him a playful pout.

"Trust me, you do not want to kiss that gremlin. I swear his mom dropped him as a baby and scrambled all his brain cells." Jean winces, glancing at Connie, who's now happily sandwiched between two girls.

Just as the next round's about to start, a blond guy walks into the basement. He's wearing a button-down shirt and navy dress pants, smiling warmly. "Hey, sorry I couldn't make it earlier. My shift just ended. What'd I miss?" he says, looking at Sasha.

Niccolo.

"Nic, baby, I'm so glad you made it! You're never gonna believe what just happened," drunk Sasha squeals, launching into a hug.

Niccolo freezes for a beat—face red as a tomato—but eventually melts into her arms.

A few moments later, after Sasha gives him the rundown, Niccolo's dying of laughter while Jean continues to complain about Connie. Finally, the game starts up again.

 

[ Now playing, Low life (Feat. The Weeknd) by Future ]

 

Reiner kicks off the last round. Surprisingly, this one goes smoothly. Maybe everyone's traumatized from earlier, or maybe they're just too competitive to mess it up.

The card is a few people away from you. While you and Jean exchange quiet jokes, you suddenly feel a pair of eyes on you—sharp and unmistakable.

Your neck tingles, the hairs rising as your skin prickles. You glance over your shoulder and—

Eren.

He's watching.

Expression unreadable. Jealousy? Annoyance? Irritation?

You blink, zoning out a second too long. Mikasa nudges your arm gently. The card's now yours.

You shift, leaning in to take it from Mikasa's lips. You do it fast.

But when you turn toward Jean, your grip on the card slips—the suction drops just as Jean leans in.

The card falls.

Your mouths nearly touch.

His stubble brushes your jaw, and up close you smell his cologne—citrusy, like oranges, with a trace of spearmint and something earthy, grounding. The warmth of his breath brushes your lips.

You freeze. So does he.

The room around you fades into static—distant voices, drawn-out "ouuuuu"s. Everything is underwater.

You look into his eyes. There's something there. Hunger.

His breath ghosts over your skin. "Fuck me" he groans, voice so deep filled with lust—so low you almost miss it.

Then—

"Okay, as much as I love this... both of you, take a shot!" Hitch's voice cuts through the tension.

She tosses a patron bottle and two lime wedges your way.

Jean grabs the cold glass and stares at it like it's sacred.

Hitch raises an eyebrow. "You know the rules, loverboy. Mouth-to-mouth or double shots."

He looks over at you, jaw clenched—but not out of dread. He's trying to read your face.

"You sure about this?" he asks, voice low, barely cutting through the noise. "If you're not cool with it, I'll take the hit."

You hold his gaze for a moment, surprised by how sincere he looks—even with all the teasing just moments ago. You nod, a small smirk tugging at your lips. "I've had worse first kisses."

He huffs a laugh, running a hand through his mullet. "Alright then," he says, his voice quieter now, almost like a promise.

You take the shot, cool tequila pooling on your tongue. The second your eyes meet his again, everything else fades out—music, chatter, the room's heat. You lean in, slowly, and he meets you halfway.

Your lips brush.

He parts his mouth just enough, letting the shot slide from yours to his. It's not rushed. It's not sloppy. It's deliberate. Almost intimate.

The liquor passes between you like a secret.

Jean swallows, and for a beat, your faces hover inches apart—his breath warm, laced with citrus and something sharp. His hand brushes your knee without meaning to, steadying himself.

You blink, your pulse hammering behind your ears. Then Hitch's voice snaps the spell.

"Okay lovebirds, tequila break's over."

The room bursts into cheers and screams.

"AYOOO," Connie yells. "Shotgun flower girl."

You sit back, wiping the corner of your mouth, breath still caught in your throat.

Jean looks at you—really looks. His smirk is slower this time, something blooming behind it. "Guess that answers that."

You raise an eyebrow. "Answers what?"

He leans in a fraction, voice low, playful but laced with something real. "If the universe wanted us to kiss tonight."

You roll your eyes, but you don't look away. "Must've been a very persuasive universe."

You sink deeper into the couch, the plush cushions molding to your body like they're trying to keep you there. Laughter crackles from across the room, but it all feels distant—muted.

Because someone's staring.
And not just staring. Watching. Burning.

Eren.

He hasn't looked away once. His jaw is clenched tight, muscles twitching like he's grinding glass between his teeth. His posture, once relaxed and detached, is now coiled—tense like a fuse lit too close to the fire.

His gaze pins you in place. It's not the kind of look you brush off—it lingers, heavy and sharp, dragging across your skin like static. There's something behind it too, something tangled.

Then, just as quick, he tears his eyes away and stands abruptly, chair scraping against the floor with a jolt.

"Need some air," he mutters, voice low and hard, not really speaking to anyone at all.

He strides toward the door, broad shoulders cutting through the room like a storm rolling in reverse, and you're left stunned—pulse thrumming, breath caught somewhere between your chest and throat.

You don't even realize you've been holding it.

Hours have passed since suck and blow. A few pool sessions, a handful of Instagram exchanges, and now you're dancing with Sasha,

Her movements are sloppy, hair all over the place as she grabs your arm, grinning like a little kid."OMG, did you see the way Nico looked at me during suck and blow?" she bounces up and down, jamming to the song.

"But more importantly—girl, you and Jean's shot? Sheesh! Top five hottest moments I've seen in my 20 years of living," she screeches.

You get flustered. Yeah, of course it was hot.

Like, hands down, the hottest thing you've experienced. The ghost of his minty scent still lingers on your lips. A chill pulls down your spine as you remember what he said during that moment... The way his hand brushed your knee which was definitely not accidental.

You wonder if something like that will happen again between you and Jean...

Just then, you feel an arm sneak around your waist.

"Hey, you okay? Not too drunk yet, I assume?" Jean says with a soft smile. You glance at Sasha, who's trying very hard not to pry but is failing miserably.

"I'm good. Not as drunk as Sasha," you chuckle. "I feel a little tired though—tomorrow's lecture is going to feel like torture."

You glance down at your phone. The screen lights up—your eyes widen.

3:15 AM.
Shit. You'll definitely regret this in the morning.

"Actually... today's lecture." You groan, rubbing your eyes, fatigue tugging at your limbs like gravity.

Jean smooths his hair and gives you a lazy smile. "You know, I was about to head out... If you need a ride, I definitely need to sleep after a night like this." He sounds nervous, like he's afraid you'll laugh in his face.

"That'd be perfect, Jean. Thank you." You remember you didn't have a ride—Ymir was going to Historia's, and even though they offered to take you, her place is twenty minutes away.
Jean's is only seven.

"Let me grab my stuff."
You squeeze Jean's bicep gently and walk off.

From the corner of your eye, you catch Sasha's widened expression as she gives you a thumbs up. "Tomorrow. I will need details," she says, pulling you into a hug.

"Text me when you get home safe... if you don't forget because you're too busy sticking your tongue down Jean's throat," she whispers, teasing.

You roll your eyes. "You too, Sash. Let me know what happens with Nico, okay? Night babes."

You say your goodbyes to everyone. Eren's eyes catch you again—he looks like he wants to say something but holds back. Like whatever he wants to say is burning in his throat, but he can't bring himself to let it out.

Outside, red Solo cups scatter the lawn. A few guys are throwing paper towels into a tree.
Girls are puking in the driveway.

Then you hear it—Jean's car beeps softly in the chaos.

A beautiful grey classic BMW 507 hums at the curb, soft music playing through the speakers. The car looks immaculate—curated, classy, with copper-colored leather and a warm scent of cologne and leather mixing in the air.

Jean opens the passenger door for you.

He drives away from the party.

The faint moonlight stretches across the road, the asphalt cracking beneath the tires.
His hands flex against the wheel from time to time.

"So..." he says, glancing at you. "How was your first night out in Paradis? Was it everything you expected?"

You shrug, trying to play it cool. "I guess it was okay."

He chuckles, chest vibrating, tongue running along his teeth. "Okay, so you're hard to impress. Noted. I guess I have to step up my game for the next time"

His smirk is slow, eyes flickering toward your face before returning to the road.

Next time, huh?

Jean parks in front of your apartment—a brick-walled ten-story building. He cuts the engine.

"Look, I know we just met, but... is it okay if I take you out Friday night? Like I said, I'm a pretty good tour guide. I can show you all the touristy places. Only if you want to—I don't want to pressure you."

He fidgets with the back of your seat, clearly nervous. The tip of his nose is bright red.

You think for a beat.

Then "The best of the best, right?" You smile, ruffling his already-messy mullet. "I'd love that." You scrunch your nose as you grab the door handle. "Guess I'll see you later, Jean boy."

You step out, pulling your keys from your bag.

"Night, Y/N," he calls softly as his headlights fade into the night.

 

✧･ ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

 

Upstairs, you flick on the lights of your apartment.

You ditch the heels, slip into comfier clothes, and begin your night-out ritual—makeup off, hair tied.

Then, your bed. You stare at the ceiling, your brain buzzing with everything.

The game. Jean. The new friend group who welcomed you without hesitation.

And then, the roof.

Eren.

The way talking to him was so easy. The way he made you feel seen. You wonder...

Why did he leave Paradis? What was he running from?

And why, after opening up like that, did he act like it meant nothing?

You don't have answers. But even as your mind slows and sleep pulls you under, one question lingers like smoke.

Why did he look at me like that while I was with Jean?.

Notes:

𖥸 . AAAAAAAAGHHHHH this was a fun chapter to write. I wanted to do a little fan art about Jean boy and Cornelia's kiss but I suck at drawing lmaooo. Maybe one day I'll finish it and post it.

Chapter 4: 3. Apartment 706

Unfortunately, Sasha got this class assigned with a different professor, so you're stuck here alone trying your best not to knock out mid-syllabus.

Fatigue drags at your limbs as you glance at your phone.
9:30 AM.
You groan.

At least you managed to get up in time for a quick shower and a second caffeine refill before coming here. But the second you stepped into this lecture hall, it was like the coffee evaporated from your bloodstream. Now, you're just a functioning zombie, holding on by sheer willpower.

The room feels static. Some students are actually taking notes. A girl nearby scrolling through her online shopping cart, a couple a few rows down are giggling like they're in their own world. Meanwhile, the professor drones on about the syllabus.

Your phone buzzes. Sasha's texts lights up your screen.

Tato girl🥔
Morning sunshine 🌞
Hope you don't feel as shitty as I do.
I feel like I got hit by a train.
Anyway, don't think I forgot our little chat last night ;)
Need TEA. ASAP.

 

You sigh. Of course she didn't forget.

You do want to talk about it—how it felt so easy being around Jean last night, how something about him feels disarmingly comfortable.
But right now? You need peace and quiet. Not a Sasha-style emotional debrief with dramatic reenactments.

You close your phone, making a mental note to text her back after class—ideally, post-caffeine.

Once the class is finally dismissed, you sling your bag over your shoulder, remembering there's a coffee shop right around this building. Perfect. You put on your headphones as you make your way toward it.

Revolution Roasters is already buzzing.

Students line up for their caffeine fix, some already typing away at lightning speed, others huddled over group projects or study sessions. A couple of sporty guys grab their to-go orders before heading off to whatever hellish training routine they've signed up for.

You get in line, scrolling through your phone, zoning out a little—until a hand lands on your shoulder. You flinch, pulling your headphones off, you turn.

Eren.

The sunlight hits him just right. Of course he looks even better during the day.
You mentally groan. How is that fair?

He's in light-washed denim and a black compression shirt that clings just right. His man bun's tied back effortlessly, and his eyes—those stupid, ocean-deep teal eyes—glint with amusement.

"You know," he says with a lopsided smirk, "we've really gotta stop meeting like this. Are you always this jumpy when someone touches you?"

You squint at him, half-annoyed, half-flustered. "Only when it's someone like you."

He tilts his head. "Handsome, you mean?"

You roll your eyes. "Cocky."

He laughs—quiet but genuine this time. "Can't lie if it's true," he shrugs. Then adds, eyes glinting, "Besides, you're still talking to me, so I must be doing something right."

"Easy now, Jaeger. I'm just trying to be friendly," you shrug as you get near the counter.

"So... you and Kirstein, huh?"

The shift in his tone is subtle, but it's there—like he regrets asking the second it leaves his mouth.

You raise an eyebrow, deciding to play along. "Why do you ask? You jealous or something?"
Your voice stays light, matching his cocky energy without giving him a real answer.

He doesn't look at you.

"He's my best friend. I care about that guy—even if I don't always show it," he says, eyes now locked on the menu above the bar, scanning every item like it's the most interesting thing in the room.

"Well... he's nice," you say after a beat, unsure why you're justifying anything to him. "If this is about last night, yeah—it was fun. But it's way too early to say there's something. I barely know the guy."

You're not sure why you said it. If it were anyone else, you'd have brushed the question off. But something about Eren makes you want to be honest, even when it doesn't make sense.

He hums in response, still not meeting your gaze.

"Hi, good morning! Welcome to Revolution Roasters, what can I get started for you?"
The barista beams. Her red braid hangs over one shoulder, and a small tooth gap flashes as she smiles.

"Hi, can I get an iced soy milk dirty chai with two shots of espresso and a..." —you scan the pastry case, eyes landing on a tray with soft-glazed donuts— "a lavender honey donut, please."

"Perfect," she chirps, writing your order on a cup with a black Sharpie. "Anything else?"

You're about to speak, but Eren cuts in smoothly. "Yeah. A large cold brew and a jalapeño bagel. That'll be it."

He glances at her name tag. "Thanks, Isabel," he adds with a slight grin.

You catch the blush that spreads across her cheeks as she taps the screen of the iPad.
"Okay... that'll be $23."

You reach for your wallet, but Eren stops you. "My treat." He hands Isabel his sleek black Amex card like it's nothing.

Oh.

A flicker of confusion cuts through your brain. You've been around guys like this before—cool, charming, unreadable—but this is different.

Yesterday, on the rooftop, he let his armor crack. You saw something in him... something real. But in the basement, he went stone cold like none of it ever happened.

Now? He's back to this, the version that keeps you guessing.

"You didn't have to," you say, voice soft as you glance at him. A small smile tugs at your lips, involuntary.

"I know," he shrugs, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear. "But I wanted to."

Your name gets called. You step up and grab both orders.

Eren's already found a seat on a bench near the wall, just beneath the art wall that looks like it belongs in a museum. His fingers tap a quiet rhythm on the wooden table, eyes half-lidded from the morning light.

You walk over and set the pastries down in front of him, handing him his drink.
Your fingers brush—his skin is warm, the condensation from the cup sliding between your hands.

"Thanks," he says, eyes lingering on yours just a second too long.

You sit across from him. The table is small, your knees almost brushing under it. You take a sip of your chai, the cinnamon warmth instantly comforting, but your eyes stay on him—on the quiet, unreadable look he gives you.

Something is definitely going on behind those eyes.

"So, Jaeger, what's your major?" you ask casually, trying to keep the conversation light.

"Pre-law," he says, sipping his cold brew. "What about you?"

"Communication. Same as Sasha,"

"Oh yeah, Mir mentioned that," he nods, taking a bite of his bagel.

"Yeah? So you hang with her a lot?" you ask, curious.

"Yeah, she's practically one of my best friends—along with Mika and Armin. We all met in middle school. You should've seen us back then. Jean was a pain in the ass, and Connie... Well, Connie's always been Connie." He laughs at the memory, eyes crinkling a little.

"So, you're from here then?"

He pauses. Nostalgia creeps into the crease of his brows. "No. I'm from Shiganshina—me, Mika, and Armin. We moved here when we were little. Mika's like my sister, so when my dad got a job offer at Maria's Memorial Hospital, he took it without hesitation. Said it was for the best. And Armin... well, I'm pretty sure he already filled you in."

You nod silently, letting him go on.

"So yeah, we moved here and that's how I met everyone. Ymir chased boys who got too friendly with Historia, saying that one day she was going to marry her, Sasha was the weird girl who played with insects and always beat Jean's ass whenever he stole food from her lunchbox. And Reiner?" He chuckles. "Poor guy's always been huge, but somehow still got his ass handed to him by either Mikasa or Annie."

"Annie?" you ask.

"Yeah, she didn't come to the party last night. But she's got a thing with Armin. She's cool, a little quiet—but she doesn't take shit from anyone."

"Must be nice," you say quietly. "Growing up with all of them. Sounds like you guys care a lot about each other." Something inside you tightens. You know that feeling—of being part of a small, chosen world. How after everyone else ignored you, they made you feel seen.

Your hands begin to tremble, just slightly. Memories of your old friends start to resurface— how you used to laugh with them over coffee, how you'd give anything to hug them again, afraid they might slip away if you didn't hold tight enough. The kind of missing that aches deep in your chest.

Eren notices. Quietly, without saying a word, he sets his hand over yours, grounding you. Like he's reminding you you're not alone.

"What about you?" he asks softly. "Miss your friends back home?"

You drop your eyes to the table, and for a second you forget how to breathe. "You have no idea," you say. Your voice cracks slightly, you hope the café noise is enough to drown it out.

Just then, your phone buzzes. Beck's contact ID flashes on the screen.

You sigh and flip it over, setting it face-down.
Eren tilts his head. "You're not gonna answer that?"

"Not right now," you say. "Let's just say... there are some people I can't really face at the moment". You echo the words he said at the roof, and the corner of his mouth quirks up.

"Friend?" he guesses.

"Worse. Sister."

The headache creeps in before the guilt does.

You forgot to call Beck last night.
And if you had, her words would've cut deep. "You need to do better, Y/N. Remember what Mom said."

Or worse
"Don't be selfish. I'm not cleaning up your mess again."

You love her, you really do. But Beck has always been the daughter. The perfect valedictorian. The one your mother praised every single time.

You? You were the ghost trailing behind. No matter how hard you tried, your A was never enough—Beck had the A+. You never shined quite bright enough to escape her shadow.

And your mother? She never looked behind it. Too busy basking in Beck's glow—or off on her four-day spa trips, disappearing from the role of "mom" whenever she could.

Your father was different.

He saw you.

He made you feel loved. Cared. Like every child is supposed to feel.

He cheered the loudest at your spelling bee in sixth grade.

Played tea parties with you. Let you dress him up in glitter and princess crowns without batting an eye. When you said you wanted to be the knight and he should be the princess? He didn't hesitate. He even dressed up as a dinosaur for your plushie's birthday party.

The only thing he ever said no to was getting you a real unicorn.
He'd laugh every time you brought it up.

And when you'd cry about your mom, about how she never seemed to care, he'd wipe your tears and say: "One day, kiddo. She'll come around. She just needs a little more time."

Your dad was a dreamer.

He believed in people, even when they didn't deserve it. He always believed your mother would come around.

But after he died, every single thing died with him. Your home felt like a house, empty with no soul left in it.

He died too soon, too young, too full of life.

Your mom took longer spa trips after that. Your sister took on the role of caretaker—but not out of love. You were a task to her. A duty.

A burden.

And now you carry all of it. The weight of the silence. The invisible comparisons. The love that always felt... conditional.

"What about you, you have siblings?" You try to ease your mind from all those thoughts, watching as Eren runs a hand through his hair.

"Yeah. Older brother. Zeke." His eyes drift to the painted wall. "He's my half-brother. My dad met his mom, got her pregnant... They stayed together for about three years, but then split. He's pretty cool." The corner of his mouth lifts.

Then—

You glance at the clock behind Eren, your stomach sinking when you realize your next lecture starts in ten minutes. As much as you want to stay and peel back more layers of Eren Jaeger, skipping class on your second day isn't exactly the best idea.

"What's wrong?" he asks, brows furrowing to match your expression. He gently grabs your hand.

"Oh—I'm sorry," you say with a nervous chuckle, smoothing your brows. "My class starts in ten, and I'll kick myself if I'm late again."

"Let me walk you," he says, already standing, his hand still wrapped around yours.

Hesitation flickers across your face. You don't want to be a burden, especially if he's already done for the day. But as if reading your thoughts, Eren speaks again, his voice softer now "Like I said... I wouldn't do anything I don't want to." He gives your hand a light squeeze, thumb brushing against your knuckles.

You step out of the café, the salty Paradis wind blowing your hair as you walk back to campus. The pedestrian light turns green just as you approach the crosswalk.

You're about to step forward—when a guy on an electric scooter comes flying around the corner, completely absorbed in his phone.

He sees you too late.

In one quick, instinctual motion, Eren yanks you toward him. Your weight crashes into his chest as you both fall back onto the freshly cut grass. You land on top of him, your breath caught, your body still tense from the adrenaline. Eren groans slightly, his arm tightening around your waist.

"Fuck," he breathes, already scanning you. "Are you hurt? Does anything hurt?" His hand cups your jaw, eyes searching yours like he's trying to read every flicker of pain.

You blink, still stunned. The scooter. The fall. Him pulling you at the last possible second.

It clicks.

Your hands press to his chest as you push yourself up, your brows pulling in concern. "I should be asking you that," you say. "You fell ass-down trying to protect me from that jackass."

Eren exhales a breathy laugh. You reach for his hair instinctively, brushing out a purple flower that got caught in the strands. You twirl the flower between your fingers as you look down at him, suddenly overwhelmed by how close you were. "Thank you, Eren. I guess I owe you one."

He sits up, brushing dirt from his jeans as he smiles. "No need, Y/N. I'm just glad you're okay." He reaches for the flower in your hand, gently taking it. It looks delicate—ridiculously small in his large, calloused palm. One of the petals is slightly bent.

Then, without a word, he leans in.

His fingers softly sweep a loose strand of hair behind your ear before tucking the flower there, just beneath it.

"Let's try not to almost die on the way to class next time, yeah?" he murmurs, his voice warm with quiet teasing.

You smile—and then you notice it.

Eren Jaeger has dimples.

 

✧･ ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

 

Professor Smith explains the syllabus as Sasha pokes your cheek. Your eyes are glued to the projector, taking a few notes—while Sasha, on the other hand, is already two snack wrappers deep.

"Okay sooo, you're telling me nothing happened after the party?" she asks, her voice soaked with curiosity as she pokes at the plush of your cheek again.

You finally give in—after ten minutes of trying to ease your mind over what just happened with Eren. The way he held you, his slight teasing... You definitely didn't tell Sasha you ran into him. But when she saw the flustered look on your face, you blamed it on almost getting run over by a scooter. Which—wasn't a lie. Just not the whole truth.

You look at her—her whole face gleaming with anticipation, like a puppy waiting to be given a bone. You laugh.

"Well, it's not like we were going to have sex after I met him not even two days ago."

"Wait. Rewind. What do you mean two days ago?" Her expression shifts, the smile slipping as her eyes widen.

Shit.

It completely slipped your mind that no one knew about your first meeting with Jean—except Connie, who reacted like a kid being told he was going to Disneyland.

"Yeah... it might've slipped my mind that I met Jean a day before I met you. Our washing machine broke, so I went to the laundromat and he was there. We talked—it really was nothing," you shrug, fidgeting with your pen.

"And you're telling me this now?!" Sasha's voice comes out louder than she expects, drawing a few annoyed stares from nearby students.

"I didn't think it was that important," you hiss back in a whisper-yell.

"Of course it's important, Y/N! This changes things. I already knew Jean thought you were pretty, but this? After he got back from the laundromat, he was grinning like a little kid. I thought it was weird—but now that I know it was you, I totally get it." She grips your shoulder, whisper-yelling like it's a national emergency.

Her words echo in your mind.
Yeah, that moment with Jean was nice. And seeing him again... yeah, you did hope it would happen.

"Okay, so do not freak out. I wanted to wait until class ended to tell you this but... Jean asked me out this Friday."

You watch Sasha's jaw drop mid-gummy worm. Her eyes go wide like she just saw a ghost.

After a beat, she begins to inhale like she's about to shriek it at the four winds—so you shove the gummy worm into her mouth.

"Ah ah. I knew you were gonna freak out. Just eat your candy."

You grab one from the bag and take a bite yourself.

After she swallows, Sasha squeals "OMG, OMG. How did it happen? What did you say?"

"Well, after we left the party, we were talking and... one thing led to another. He asked if I wanted to go out this Friday and show me all the touristy spots in Paradis," you say, cheeks flushing at the memory of Jean's nervous smile. "I said yes, of course."

Her eyes beam with excitement just as Professor Erwin dismisses the class.

You both get up and walk out of the room, bags slung over your shoulders. Sasha does a little dance. "Girl, this is so exciting. We have to go shopping—and I'm coming over to do your hair, period." You give her a soft smile

Your phones start buzzing. You open the group chat.

 

Constance last brain cell 👩🏻‍🦲🫃🏼🫦

Jean K.🐴
So is someone up for Joe's Java?

Bert🧍‍♂️
Rein and I are down.

Armeen 🐚
Annie and I too :)

Daddy Connman😫👨🏻‍🦲
HELL YES. Tell Joe to start deep-frying my soul.

You
Me and Sash are in. Greasy fries or bust.

 

You laugh at Connie's message as you both head to the parking lot. Sasha offered to drive you home.

"Speaking of, what happened with you and Niccolo" you give sasha a teasing look as she freezes mid walking

"I don't know what that was last night," she says. "Everything was going fine. After you left, Nico offered me a ride—so obviously I took it—and we were talking. Things started to get a little... heated, and just when he was about to kiss me, he pulled back."

She groans dramatically, dragging her feet. "He said I was a little drunk and he wants our first kiss to be special—not in his car after a night out. UGH." She exhales hard, throwing her head back.

"I guess it's fine. I mean, I really wanted to kiss him, but I get why he didn't. And... he carried me all the way to my apartment and stayed with me until I fell asleep."

Her voice softens at the memory, eyes sparkling just a little.

Sasha's baby yellow Wrangler beeps as she unlocks the door. The hood is off, and her car is plastered in bumper stickers, tropical flowers, OM symbols, a few animated potatoes. It's the perfect summer car—exactly the kind every girl dreams of for beach trips.

"That's great, Sash. I think it's cute that he wants it to be special.  You are special, Sash. I'm glad to see Niccolo feels the same way," you say, clicking your seatbelt into place.

The sun beams hard through the windshield, casting a rich blue hue across the sky. Seagulls fly overhead, searching for fish. Little kids in school uniforms pass by, holding their parents' hands. The August breeze feels warm against your skin.

What you love most about Paradis is its strange harmony—it's a beach town, yes, but surrounded by all kinds of flora. Dense woods stretch at the outskirts, tropical palms sway by the coast, and the weather is almost always perfect. Hot and golden in mid-spring and summer, breezy and crisp during fall, and cold—but not bitter—in winter.

You remember how Hannah always described it. The first time her family took a holiday trip to Paradis during the winter, the streets were buzzing with holiday lights and vendor stalls. A Christmas festival lit up the pier, and just as she stepped onto the boardwalk, snow started falling. "You should've seen it, Y/N—it was magical, like straight out of a fairytale," twelve-year-old Hannah had said, her teal braces gleaming in the sunlight as she grinned from ear to ear.

"Ughhh, I can't wait to see him today," Sasha says, cutting the turn with one hand on the wheel. "His shift ends at 10, so let's hope he sticks around." Her face already looks like she's imagining the taste of Niccolo's food as she lets out a dreamy sigh. "And you need to try his food. I swear, you'll cry tears of joy."

 

✧･ ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

 

You arrive at your apartment. Ymir's already out, working her shift at the car shop. She decorated the place to match the building's exposed brick walls—vintage Ferrari F1 posters line one side, an origami lampshade glows with soft red light, plants are scattered across the shelves, and a few Polaroids of her and Historia are pinned above the wall.

You drop onto the velvety green couch, your feet dragging lazily across the red and white checkered carpet. Your laptop rests on your thighs as you try to finish the stats essay Rico assigned for tomorrow.

Frank Ocean booms through the Marshall speaker as you type away.

But just as you begin to focus, your own walls start to tremble—bass shaking through the drywall. Music blasts hard enough to shake the entire building.

You try to ignore it.

Ten minutes pass.

Then fifteen.

You groan, drag your feet toward the door, and slide on your Hello Kitty slippers.

 

[Now playing: Party Rock Anthem  – LMFAO]

 

Who the hell blasts LMFAO at four in the afternoon?

You open the door. The music is definitely coming from the apartment to your left. The doormat is designed with a friendly "Wipe It Real Good" in cursive font.

You knock on apartment 706. No answer.

You knock again—louder this time.

The door swings open and you freeze.

A twelve-year-old kid stands there, messy blond hair, wearing neon shutter shades like it's 2010 again. Behind him, a girl about the same age is bouncing on the couch, party lights wrapped around her neck, jamming hard to the song.

"Can I help you?" the boy says, dramatically removing his shades.

"I—uh..." You clear your throat. "Yeah, I live next door. Could you maybe turn it down a little? I'm trying to finish an essay."

The girl plops down on the couch, eyes locked on you.

"Yeah, that's not our problem," she deadpanned, before taking a swig of Capri Sun.

You blink.
Did a ten-year-old just dissed me?

The boy cackles and goes right back to dancing like you weren't even there.

"Where are your parents?" you ask, arms crossed as your patience thins.

Then, a voice behind you cuts in "What the hell did you two do to my house?"

You turn.

A girl in sweats stands behind you, grocery bags in hand, messy bun threatening to fall apart. Her sleepy eyes take in the chaos. She groans.

"I leave you alone for fifteen minutes and this is what I come back to?!" she huffs, shoving a heavy bag into the boy's arms. He nearly tips over.

She looks at you and sighs. "I am so sorry about these two. I'm Pieck. Babysitting duty. Hope they didn't ruin your day. That's Falco," Pieck explains, ruffling his hair. "And that's"—she gestures toward the girl—"is Gabi. Don't mind her, she's got a bit of a temper."

She extends a porcelain hand.

"Don't worry about it, I'm Y/N—just moved next door," you say, shaking her soft hand.

"Oh! You must be Ymir's roommate," she smiles. "And don't worry about these two. I was about to make mac 'n' cheese." She glances at the kids, then back at you. "Wanna come in?"

Something about her is just... calming. Her voice is soft, warm—like the kind of person who could grab your hand during a fire and whisper "It's gonna be okay," and somehow, you'd believe her.

You hesitate for a moment—not because you don't want to, but because you literally just met her, and you don't want to intrude.

"Thanks, but I really don't want to impose," you say, smoothing your hair back. Just as you're about to turn and leave, the boy grabs your hand and tugs lightly.

"Nooo, don't go! We're fun! Gabi didn't mean it when she said your slippers were childish," he groans mid-sip of his Capri Sun as he drags you into the apartament.

Pieck's place is clean and minimalistic. Cozy.

"Okay, okay, wait—when did she say they were childish?" you ask, narrowing your eyes.

The boy freezes.

Gabi, from the kitchen, bursts out laughing as she drops the grocery bag onto the counter.

"I didn't say they were childish," Gabi corrects, arms crossed. "I said it's something an eight-year-old would wear."

You, Falco, and Pieck exchange a look.

"So... childish," you say flatly.

Laughter erupts between the three of you.

Between back-and-forth teasing and a few scoops of boxed mac and cheese, you start to feel like you've known them for longer than half an hour. You learn Pieck's a sports med major, working babysitting gigs to pay her tuition. She met Gabi and Falco during a summer camp where she volunteered as a staff member.

And clearly, these two adore her.

They've spent the whole summer going on hikes, crashing on her couch, and—apparently—sneaking into at least one frat party thanks to Falco's older brother, Colt.

"I swear, everyone at that party was chanting Gabi's name," Pieck says between laughs. "Colt's drunk ass introduced her as his 'future sister-in-law' and put her on his shoulders. Whole frat went feral."

"Poor Colt," she continues. "The next morning, dude was scrubbing beer off the ceiling. Straight-up hangover from hell."

Falco snorts juice out of his nose while Gabi groans in embarrassment.

"Also, what's up with the 'future sister-in-law' thing?" she scoffs, making air quotes. "As if me and Falco are getting married. Look at him—he's literally dying over Capri Sun." She crosses her arms with a flush on her cheeks.

You glance at Pieck, who's watching Gabi with an amused expression—like she already knows the truth Gabi's not ready to admit. That somewhere, deep down, the thought of being Falco's anything doesn't sound so bad.

An hour passes like nothing. After cleaning up the dishes. Gabi insisted on one last dance session before you head out. You say your goodbyes, promising to come back soon, and step back into your apartment with a warm smile still lingering on your face.

Just as you kick off your slippers, a knock sounds at your door.

You pause.

Must be Pieck. Maybe I forgot something, or Falco's trying to drag me into that movie he was begging to watch.

You open the door—

Jean is standing there, one hand still halfway raised from knocking, his expression unreadable.

"Hey."

 

Notes:

I just wanted you to know that I almost got hit by a fuckass electric scooter 30 minutes after I wrote that scene. I might believe the curse is real if something like that happens to me again.

Chapter 5: 4. Myosotis sylvatica

"Jean—Hi. Come in." Confusion sets at the back of your mind as he steps through the doorway.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Pieck's door cracked open just enough for two tiny heads to peek through. Gabi and Falco. You open your mouth to call them out, but Falco gasps and slams the door shut like he just saw a ghost.

"Sorry for dropping by unannounced," Jean says, laughing nervously as he scratches the back of his neck. "I just... wanted to see you. Hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"No, no—don't worry," you say, waving him in as you return to the kitchen counter. "I was just working on an essay."

He scans the room, a half-eaten bag of pretzels, your laptop mid-paragraph, a throw blanket puddled on the floor. Then his gaze lands on you.
Oversized white graphic tee, gray skort, and—of course—your Hello Kitty slippers.

"Nice fit," he teases, grinning. "The slippers really tie the whole look together."
You snort. "Right back at you. That Mac Miller tee is fire." His signature mullet is tucked into a backwards trucker hat, a few soft curls peeking from the front. He's in gray jorts.

Funny, without planning it, you kind of look like you're matching.

He shrugs, playing it off. "Oh, this old thing?" he says, giving you the classic it's nothing shrug, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Then you notice it—yellow paint smudged at his jawline, subtle enough that he probably hasn't seen it. You lean over the counter, about to point it out. "Hey, you've got—"

But before you can finish, your foot snags on the corner of the rug. One of your slippers goes flying.

You stumble.
He catches you instantly, hands gripping your waist with a firm squeeze.

"Whoa, you good?" he grins,the atmosphere changes immediately. "Falling for me already, Y/N?" His voice is soft and smug. Mint lingers on his breath.

His words caught you off guard, making you freeze instantly.

"Cat got your tongue?" he smirks as you're at a loss for words.

You're too close. Way too close.

His thumb brushes just above your waistband.
He wants to play this game? Fine.

You'll play.

You let out a breathy laugh, sultry and low, and rest one hand on his bicep. "Sorry, it's just, since that kiss yesterday," you murmur, "I can't stop thinking about you."

Jean's eyes widen, just a bit—like he wasn't ready for the shift. The tip of his nose is already turning red. You raise your other hand to his jaw—hot and sharp to the touch.

His fingers twitch at your waist, grip tightening. "Y/N..." he warns. His smirk is gone, replaced by something hungrier. You lean in, slow and deliberate. The space between you disappears.

"What, Jean?" you whisper. "Isn't this what you wanted?" Your thumb brushes his jaw, slow and teasing. "There's just... something about you. Like a..." You pause, letting anticipation burn in his eyes as he licks his bottom lip.

"...Like a yellow blotch on your jaw," you say sweetly, then swipe your thumb across the smudge of paint. You step away, leaving him stunned.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he mutters, rubbing his jaw like he's trying to snap back to reality. "If you ever do that again, I swear, Y/N—I'll..."

"You'll what, Jean? I didn't do anything." You glance at him over your shoulder, voice innocent, a smile tugging at your lips.

From the corner of your eye, you can clearly see Jean's flustered look—face red as a tomato—as he tries to avoid eye contact with you. Your laughter echoes through the room, the kind that makes your eyes water and your stomach ache from the effort.

You've never seen Jean like this before. Sure, he was nervous at the party, but this? This is another level. You mentally high-five yourself for managing to fluster someone like Jean—Jean, who's known for flirting like it's a sport.

"That wasn't funny," he mutters, finally meeting your gaze.

There's a brief silence before another wave of laughter bursts out of both of you.

"It was kinda funny," you grin, reaching for the fridge handle, legs still jelly from laughing.

After a few minutes of trying to collect yourselves, Jean starts casually roaming your living room. His eyes catch on the Polaroid wall and freeze there.

Photos of your friends are scattered all across it. Everyone in the group has one—a Polaroid wall. The tradition started ages ago, thanks to Eren, who bought cameras for everyone. Ever since, whenever there's a memory worth freezing in time, someone snaps a photo.

The wall is mostly pics of Ymir and Historia. A few shots show Eren smoking on the balcony while Ymir flips the middle finger at him. Another features Connie mid-vomit over the toilet, Sasha and a blurry Jean in the background throwing up peace signs. Mikasa flexes with Eren—both of their abs on full display.
The list goes on and on. One of the newer ones: you and Ymir making her homemade signature pizza from scratch.

Your first appearance at the polaroid wall.

Every photo has a quote scribbled on the frame. Some are inside jokes, some deep, some stupid—but all of them mean something.

You walk up beside Jean, glancing up at the wall with a soft smile. There's something about pictures you've always loved—how they freeze time. How they let you revisit a moment, again and again. It's intimate. Honest. Raw.

"I see you finally made it to the wall," Jean nudges your arm. "You know... this is your wall now, too."

He picks up the yellow camera from the coffee table and grins. "So why don't we... make a memory—one where you absolutely fumbled me, by the way."

He holds the camera like he's about to snap the photo.

You laugh, that slow kind of laugh that creeps up your throat, and nod. "Okay, what should we do?"

Jean steps closer, looping one arm around your shoulder, pulling you tight until there's barely an inch between you. He throws up a peace sign while you grab the camera and angle it into selfie mode. You pucker your lips into a dramatic duck face and squint one eye shut.

Your hand shakes just slightly as you press the shutter. The flash goes off, and the Polaroid slowly slides out from the camera's slot.

"Shit—I think I messed it up," you laugh as the image begins to develop.

You both lean in to inspect it.

Jean's looking straight into the camera, pupils small, hazel eyes wide. You're scrunched up making a kissy face, arms wrapped tight around the camera. The motion blur made the background lights look like glowing threads, but your faces came out clearer than you expected.

It's perfect.

You grab a black Sharpie, carefully taking the photo from Jean's hands and flipping it over in your palm.

Jean got humbled & I got evidence ;)

 

✧･ ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

 

You both arrive at Joe's Java Diner. After pinning the polaroid beside yours and Ymir's on the wall, Connie called Jean asking why he was taking so long, so you grabbed your bag, changed out of your slippers, and took your keys.

Joe's Java isn't packed—it's a weekday, which means you pretty much have the whole place to yourselves. The exterior looks like an old metro wagon, neon lights buzzing softly as purple and hot pink outlines gleam around the sign.

You step in. The smell of coffee and grease hits you like comfort food from a dream. Inside, a jukebox hums out 70's music, the booths and tiled walls matched in a soft mint green, glowing under warm neon signs promising milkshakes, burgers, and fries. Vintage posters decorate the walls, and the faint clatter of the kitchen melts into the soft melody playing overhead. You spot the group scrunched into a booth near the back—laughter spilling out like they never stopped.

"Look, they added new pancake flavors!" Sasha screeches, pointing dramatically at the menu. "Yooo, there's a Lotus Cookie pancake now. Yeah, I'm ordering five of those," Connie beams, bouncing in his seat like a five-year-old on a sugar rush.

"Y/N! Hi!" Bert notices you first, smiling warmly while the others are still too distracted by Sasha and Connie's pancake chaos. "Hey, Bert. Hi, everyone," you wave, trying not to laugh at how ridiculously cramped the booth is.

Reiner and Bert are squished between Connie, who's vibrating with excitement, and Tori, who's sipping her strawberry shake, curled into Ymir. Ymir looks like she's two seconds away from snapping at Connie. "Aye, that's my girl!" Connie lights up when he sees you. "Y/N, come sit next to me. Reiner can move his huge ass."

"Connie, that's not nice. Let Rein be," Tori says without looking up.

Jean daps Bert and follows behind you. You both slide into the booth next to Reiner. And then, you feel it.

Someone's watching you.

You glance across the table—Eren.

He's seated between Armin and a blonde girl you assume is Annie. His expression twitches so fast you almost missed it, his eyes haven't left you since you walked in. You smile politely at Annie and try to shake the feeling.

"So, what do you think, Eren?" Armin asks. His voice slices through the tension. Eren blinks like he just woke up. "Sorry, what?". Armin repeats himself, "I said, Swaney & Beans is a cool place. I told Hange that Y/N's looking for a job and they said she could come in tomorrow for an interview."

Eren glances at you. Your face lights up at the mention, beaming as you thank Armin again. He clears his throat "Yeah... that's cool. It's a really cool place."

"Besides," Connie adds, grinning like an idiot, "it's only a few blocks from the beach. So, every hot surfer guy goes there—"

And then silence.

Complete, paralyzing silence.

Sasha's straw halts mid-slurp. Reiner sets down his fork. Even Annie stiffens slightly.

You don't know why, but everyone suddenly looks... uncomfortable.

You glance back at Eren. His eyes are on the table now, his jaw clenched just enough to see the muscle twitch. Not dramatic—but it's clear. He heard. He felt it.

Connie looks like he just swallowed a fork. "Shit," he mutters under his breath.

"Damn, Connie," Ymir breaks the silence, flipping her straw wrapper at him, "if hot surfer dudes are your thing, just say that. It's 2025, no one's judging."

Laughter bursts at the table. Reiner wheezes into his sleeve, and Connie immediately tries to defend himself through a mouthful of fries.

"I didn't mean it like that—"

"Sure you didn't, sea princess," Sasha grins, tossing a napkin at him. Even Eren lets out a breath of a laugh, shaking his head slightly.

Connie slaps the table reaching for ketchup. "This is harassment."

"Not even close," Ymir says, smirking as she sips from her shake.

Ymir looks at Eren briefly—not long, not dramatic—just enough, her eyes speak silent words, then takes a long sip of her shake.

The moment passes. The conversation picks back up, and the tension slides away like it was never there.

You can't stop thinking about what just happened—how everyone's chill mood shifted in a split second.

You glance at Eren, who looks like he knows exactly what you're thinking. But instead of giving you his usual long-ass stare, he shifts in his seat, his eyes glued to the menu.

Laughter fills the booth, but your mind stays stuck—looping around Eren. You don't know what happened, but whatever it was, it clearly changed him. Maybe that's why he left Paradis for a while.

Maybe that's what he's trying to keep buried.

Lost in thought, you barely register Jean nudging your shoulder. "Hey, you good?" he asks, concern flickering in his eyes. He's looking at you a little too long—you hope he can't read what you're feeling. "Yeah, I just zoned out for a sec." you say, forcing a laugh.

Before Jean can say anything else, a voice cuts in.

"Hey guys—Rein, you look good, man. Glad to see you survived after almost chugging the whole Patrón bottle," Nicolo says. Notebook in hand, apron spotless, and not a single splash of oil on his navy uniform. The cigarette tucked in his pocket gives off full-on Carmy from The Bear energy. His wavy blond hair is pulled back, and he greets you with a soft smile.

"You have no idea," Bertolt groans. "Dude basically blacked out in the car. I had to drag his heavy ass to bed while he cried like a little girl saying some sappy shit."

Reiner rolls his eyes. "Well, God forbid I show some appreciation to my best bro," he mutters.

Laughter erupts around the booth.

"Nico, my man! Aren't you supposed to be off already?" Jean's already up, giving him a strong pat on the shoulder. "Yeah, in about fifteen. But I wanted to make sure I got Sasha's order right," Nicolo says, rubbing his jaw with a shy grin. "Figured I'd come out and take everyone's orders real quick."

"Now that's love, man," Connie calls out, while Sasha just stares at Nicolo like he hung the moon.

Everyone starts ordering as Nicolo heads back into the kitchen. A few minutes later, Mikasa walks in with someone you don't recognize.

She looks fresh out of the gym—abs on display, black cropped top and joggers clinging to her like a second skin. Beside her is a guy wearing a red knit sweater, khaki pants, and a pair of Converse. A scattering of freckles softens his already kind features, and his hands are tucked into his pockets like he's unsure if he should be here.

"Look who I found roaming around the city," Mikasa says with a full-on grin, throwing an arm around the guy's shoulder.

Jean shoots out of his seat like it's reflex.

"Marco?!" His voice cracks with excitement as he throws his arms around him. "Dude, when did you get back? You have no idea how much I missed you, bear."

"Missed you too, Jean boy," Marco chuckles, his voice soft and warm.

When Jean finally lets go, the guy scans the booth. His eyes are soft, like they've got a million stars behind them. When they land on you, he smiles.

"Sorry—didn't mean to be rude. I'm Marco. One of Jean's friends."

"Best friend," Jean corrects quickly, giving him a light shoulder bump.

You shake Marco's warm hand and smile. It's sweet to see this softer, boyish side of Jean—how he had to make that correction like it meant the world.

"And where does that leave me?" Connie gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. Jean rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah—you and Jaeger can share the title too." He smacks Connie on the back of the head.

"I didn't know you were back, Marco. I'm really sorry for what happened," Annie says quietly. You've learned Annie doesn't show emotion much—unless it's Connie being annoying or Armin making her blush. But now, her face is softer than you've seen.

"Yeah," Marco says, his voice lower now. "After everything, I just... needed to come back. Losing my mom was like losing my other half. I'm still trying to get used to it."

He takes the empty seat beside Annie, while Mikasa slides in beside you and Jean.

"We're glad you're back, man," Eren says, his voice quieter than usual. "You know we're always here if you need anything."

There's something different in his tone—like he knows exactly what Marco's going through, maybe even too well. The energy feels real. Familiar. The kind of safety you only get around people who have known each other forever.

Nicolo returns with the food. Sasha beams like he handed her the entire world. He sits beside her, and—for the first time—Sasha actually shares her food with someone who isn't you or Mikasa. A sacred act.

You take that as your cue to immortalize the moment. You snap a picture—Sasha feeding Nico a bite of pancake, his eyes on her like she's the only person in the room.

Click.

 

[Now playing: Like Real People Do by Hozier]

 

That's when you feel it.

Eren.

He suddenly freezes. Not in a dramatic, obvious way, just enough. His fingers still around his glass, mid-conversation.

His eyes, usually so hard to read, flick to your phone. The warmth in the room fades around the edges. You follow his gaze and remember—the flower. The one from earlier today, the little purple bloom that got caught in his hair when you both fell on the grass. You'd tucked it into your clear phone case, now it rests there, slightly bent, one petal torn and barely hanging on.

Most people would've thrown it away. But not you. You kept it—not because it was perfect, but because it wasn't. Because it reminded you that some things can fall, bruise, even break... and still be beautiful.

Still worth holding onto. And maybe, in a strange, quiet way, it reminded you of him too.

You hadn't even realized he was looking until you felt it—that low hum of his attention landing on you like gravity. His posture shifts subtly, jaw softening, shoulders lowering like he's releasing a breath he didn't know he was holding. Then he coughs, awkwardly, trying to cover the curve of a smile. It doesn't work. The smile's already there—faint, unguarded, like it crept up on him.

A shade of red blooms across his cheeks, and you wonder if it's because of the flower.

You meet his gaze and say nothing. But somehow, everything is said. There's something in his eyes—something searching, soft. Like he sees a part of you he didn't expect to, or maybe always hoped he would. Like maybe the two of you aren't as different as you think.

The silence that settles between you isn't heavy or awkward—it's warm, almost sacred. The background noise of the diner—the clinking forks, the conversations, the 70s jukebox humming a slower tune—fades into something distant, like it's all happening underwater.

Eren glances down at your phone again, and you think he might speak, but he doesn't. He just looks at that flower like it's telling a story only the two of you understand. You don't break it. You just give him a soft smile, something quiet and real—something only he gets.

And you weren't the only one who noticed. From across the booth, Ymir raises a brow, sip of her shake halfway to her mouth, the other arm lazily looped around Tori. Her smirk says everything her mouth doesn't.

You try not to let the warmth rush to your face, but it's too late for that too.

After the chaotic dinner, everyone starts saying their goodbyes. As you step out of the diner, the night air feels cool against your skin. Groans echo through the parking lot as everyone clutches their stomachs, stuffed full of greasy, delicious food.

Connie cradles his stomach like he's nine months pregnant. "Jean baby," he groans dramatically, "carry me princess style to the car. If I move, I'm gonna explode." He pops open the top button of his jeans with a relieved sigh, like that alone might save him. Jean rolls his eyes, pure irritation in his voice. "It's your own damn fault, fatass. I told you not to inhale five pancakes like it was a speed run." He smacks the back of Connie's head just as Marco jumps in, trying to diffuse the tension.

"I mean, I may not be Jean," he grins, "but I can piggyback you if you want."

Connie doesn't even hesitate. He leaps onto Marco's back like a koala on a tree, yelling, "I may be a fatass, but you wish this was you, horse face!" He snatches Jean's trucker hat as Marco breaks into a run. Jean curses and chases after them, yelling threats that only make everyone laugh harder. Even Annie cracks a smile.

Amid the chaos, Armin leans in next to you. "Hey," he says, brushing his hair back, "I talked to Hange. She said you can come by the café at three tomorrow."

Relief blooms in your chest. "That's perfect. Seriously, Armin—thank you."

He smiles, soft and sincere. "That's what friends are for. I'll pick you up if you want. I need to check in with Hange anyway—there's something wild going on with the dolphins at the aquarium." You nod. You'd nearly forgotten Hange not only owns the coffee shop as a side gig, but also runs the marine research team at Ehrmich Aquarium—making they Armin's boss, and apparently, his biggest fan.

"You, Armin Arlert, are my savior." You wrap your arms around him in a tight hug. He smells like clean laundry, citrus, and ocean breeze. He laughs, chest rumbling against yours. "I'll text you the details in the morning. Sleep well, Y/N."

As he walks off, you glance back toward the group. The chaos continues—Jean is now on top of Connie, Marco balancing awkwardly on both of them, while Connie screeches that he's "literally dying." Nobody's paying attention to anything except the ridiculous pileup... Nobody notices the figure walking toward you.

Except you.

"Y/N," Eren says.

You turn to find him standing just a few feet away, hands shoved into his hoodie pockets. His hair's a little messy from the wind, strands falling loose from his bun. He hesitates like he might change his mind. "I, uh—" he exhales sharply, then meets your eyes. "Good luck tomorrow."

That's all.

You blink, surprised. "Thanks, Eren."

But he doesn't leave. His silence lingers, stretching gently between you, he looks like he wants to say something else. His hand reaches for yours—slow, careful, not possessive. Just... gentle.

His thumb brushes against your fingers as his gaze drops to your phone case.

The flower.

His thumb hovers over the case, eyes locked on it. "You kept it," he says, voice low. "This is a Myosotis sylvatica," he adds after a pause. "Forget-me-not."

The words land heavier than they should.

Your breath catches as he looks up again, and for just a moment, everything else fades—the parking lot noise, the laughter, even the late-night breeze.

He lets go of your hand, slowly. But not before tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear.

"Goodnight, Y/N," he says, and just like that, he turns and walks away.

You don't stop him. You can't.

Your fingers curl around your phone as you press it to your chest, the flower safe inside, delicate but intact. Bruised, imperfect, but still beautiful.

Still held.

Still remembered.

 

Chapter 6: 5. Coffee and other stuff

𖥸 CW: slight talk about drug abuse, grief and death.

 

The next day flows by easily. Lectures, laughter, girl talk with Sasha, a caffeine boost and a toasted bagel to keep you standing.

Now, your classes are done and you're back at apartment 707, pacing your room like a caged animal. Your phone rests on the bed, screen glowing with Beck's contact. It's been three days since you promised to call her. Every time you try, hesitation pulls you back under.

You managed to catch a break today. Rico ended her lecture early due to "urgent matters," which gave you just enough time to grab your things and mentally prep for your interview.

You're hoping Hange will take a chance on you at the café, even if your barista skills are... questionable at best. You're a fast learner. And honestly, having a job in a cool place like that doesn't sound too bad. You can't rely on your dad's money forever.

Your dad came from a wealthy family. "We're comfortable," he used to say when people asked, brushing it off like it wasn't a big deal. You hate when people said that. Just admit you're rich.

Still, he was generous. He always donated the things we didn't use, or the ones we didn't even know we had. He gave to shelters. Helped people quietly. "You always get what you give," he told you once, and those words stuck.
They became your compass. You started volunteering when you were old enough, Hannah tagged along after a few years.

It felt like purpose. Now, that purpose is hard to find.

After he died, his money was split between you, Beck, and your mother. You've tried to avoid touching it, but after everything that happened... well. You had no choice. Before Paradis, you worked your ass off, dog walking, babysitting, scooping ice cream, all kinds of random gigs with Hannah always at your side. But after everything... you stopped. When you lost her and Franz, the jobs went with them. Grief took over.

You stopped trying.

Eventually, you had no choice. You pulled from your dad's savings. Then, you left. Ran as far as you could.

And now you're here.

You sigh, shaking yourself back into the present. You can't keep avoiding this. You sit on the mattress, stare at the screen, and hit call.

The dial tone rings. Once. Twice.

You fiddle with your sock-covered feet. As the fourth ring hums, you're about to hit "end call" when...

"Finally." Beck's voice slices through. "I said call me tomorrow—as in, three days ago, Y/N."
You wince. The sound of shuffling papers comes through the receiver. You can already picture her sitting at her polished mahogany desk, fifth cup of coffee in hand, sleeves rolled, going over contracts like the perfect attorney she is.

"I was worried," she says with a sigh. "How many times do I have to tell you? I don't like it when you disappear like that. Or do I need to remind you what happened the last time you did?"

That last line lands like you've been slapped 7 times on the face.

You instantly regret calling.

You know she cares—in her own rigid, overprotective, emotionally constipated way. And despite everything, she was there when things were at their worst. Unlike your mother, who never even blinked.

"Hey Beck. I'm good, thanks for asking," you answer, voice coated in sarcasm.

"I'm really sorry I didn't call you back. I just got swamped with essays due today."

You know she'd lose her mind if you told her you went to a party your first day here. She'd bring up those memories, the ones you try not to think about.

The nights you spent with your exes friends, trying to pretend the noise in your chest was fun, not pain. The white pills that made everything slow down and shut off. The way you'd wake up in places you didn't remember getting to. The version of you that spiraled. That she had to drag back up. That version you keep buried and swore to never fall back into those patterns.

"I'm glad you're taking your studies seriously," she says. Not convinced. But at least she doesn't push further.

"How's everything back home?" you ask, voice low. The word home feels like sand in your mouth.

You never really had one. Even as a kid, you felt like a guest in your own house. Your dad was the only one who ever made you feel like you belonged—when your mom ignored you, when Beck treated you like a stranger. When no one looked your way, he saw you. He gave you love that felt like sunlight in your veins.

And when he was gone, that light went with him.

After that, it was Hannah and Franz. They were your second home. The ones who pulled you into the world again. The ones who made you feel visible.

"Mom's doing good," Beck says. "She and Khristoph are in Turkey. She swears they have the best hair implant technology, she wants to fix his bald spot."

You snort. Of course she is.

"And me and Ben? We're doing good. Still figuring out how to share space."

Ben, her fiancé. The golden retriever to her black cat. Friendly, soft-spoken, probably giving her forehead kisses while she types out murder letters to opposing counsel.

That thought makes a smile appear on your face. You wish nothing more than for your sister to be happy. Even when sometimes you wished she were more affectionate with you, you're glad she has someone like Ben in her life.

"I'm glad to know you're okay. I really do, Beck. Listen, I gotta go, I have this job interview in like 20 minutes, so I'll text you how it went. Bye, Beck." You get up from your bed as you wait for Armin to arrive, at least trying to make yourself presentable.

"Okay. Love you."

You stop. She never really says those words. Like a part of her is unsure if she should or not.

After a beat, your voice comes out a little trembly, not because you don't mean it, just because you didn't expect to hear it. "I love you too, Beck. Say hi to Ben for me."

She hangs up. Leaving you shocked, in the best way possible.

 

✧･ ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

 

Armin's car is just how you imagined it, a white electric Volkswagen. The interior smells like pine and his cologne. Everything is perfectly clean, like he just got it from the dealership. When you ask him about it, he says,

"I prefer walking if I have the choice, but with how far the aquarium is, I needed a car. And electric's better—we only have one planet, you know. I take it personally when people pollute." You give him a soft smile as he keeps yapping, adorably, about protecting wildlife and climate responsibility.

Ten minutes later, you pull up in front of Swaney & Beans Co. Two blocks from the beach, the soft sound of waves crashing echoes faintly in the distance as the salty breeze kisses your skin, reminding you of your first night in Paradis.

The day you arrived in Paradis, Ymir took you to the beach. She set up a little picnic—which consisted only of a $3 cardboard wine that tasted like apple cider vinegar—but at least made it easier to vomit out all your pent-up emotions. You sat there for hours, talking about life, your pasts, your ambitions, your existential spirals. You stayed until sunrise. The sky turned soft orange and pink, and when you were both too tired to keep crying, you grabbed McDonald's and headed home, hungover from cheap wine and emotional exhaustion.

The café looks like it was pulled straight from a Pinterest board. Wisteria flowers tangle up the building's front, and large glass windows let the soft morning sun flood in. Painted across the glass in white and sage green cursive. Swaney & Beans Co.

Out front, there are dog bowls and a handwritten chalkboard sign that reads:

"The swaney to your bean also needs hydration to kick off this beautiful day :)"

You glance at Armin. He's already looking at you—probably because you're staring at the place like you just stepped into heaven.

Your eyes light up the moment you walk inside.
You're hit with the smell of fresh coffee, vanilla, and warm baked goods.

The café is spacious but cozy. The counter sits to the right, where a barista is helping a customer. Plants are scattered around the room.

The walls look like an old-fashioned factory: white brick, metal piping across the ceiling, and yellow lights casting a golden glow. On your left, you see leather couches, a little library, and a shop corner. People are spread out—some typing on laptops, others chatting on dates with their fluffy dogs, offering them treats from the dog menu. A few snap pictures for their feed, trying to capture the aesthetic.

But what draws you in most is the wooden table in the center—where a vintage vinyl record player spins softly, letting out a familiar disco song that makes your chest ache a little.

You know this one.
The memory tugs at you, bittersweet and warm.

It's a song you used to dance to with Hannah. One of your favorite traditions.

After shopping therapy day, you'd go back to her place for your famous "fashion shows." You'd catwalk around her tiny room having your little Carrie Bradshaw moment while Franz played paparazzi, and Hannah strutted like she owned the world. Which she did. You miss that.

The needle kisses the grooves of the record gently, releasing a soft, warm crackle. The beat is vibrant and rich, full of analog texture. It wraps around the café like a hug while soft chatter hums in the background.

"Leeviii, look who just got here!" a voice calls out playfully to a short man, who visibly flinches at the tone.

"Armin! My favorite student, how are you?"
They rush over and squish Armin's face between their palms, forming an 'O' with his lips.

"Hange, my favorite teacher," Armin grins, barely able to speak through their grip. "I'm good! This is Y/N, the friend I told you about."

They let go of him and step toward you, immediately squishing your face the exact same way.

"Well yes, I remember Y/N. Such a beautiful name. But I like to call people my beans—or swaneys. I don't like assuming gender," they smile, eyes twinkling behind vintage round glasses. Their hair's tied in a messy ponytail-bun hybrid that somehow looks both effortless and editorial.

"Tch. Leave the poor girl alone, four-eyes," grumbles the short man, sipping his tea. He's dressed in a blue button-down, black pants, and boots with a heel tall enough to give him a boost.

"Well," Hange continues, finally letting go of your face, "my little bean will just have to get used to it."

You smile politely and extend your hand. "So nice to meet you both. I've heard so many great things."

"This is Levi," Hange explains. "He co-owns the café. So tell me, Y/N—any experience as a barista?"

They gently grab your hand and guide you toward the barista station.

"Well... I once covered for a friend at a café for a week. So technically, my skills aren't great—but I'm a fast learner if you give me a chance," you say honestly, hoping your enthusiasm makes up for the lack of training.

Hange's eyes light up. "Then why don't you make Armin a coffee and we'll see what happens? I always tell my beautiful swaneys and beans—it's not about what you know. It's about your willingness to learn. And you, little bean, are already halfway there." They wink at you and plop down beside Levi and Armin, all three of them watching you with interest as you get to work.

Turns out... it's not as hard as you remembered.

You spill espresso into the mug and slowly swirl the milk. You don't know how to do a tulip or rosetta yet, but you draw the tiniest wobbly hearts with the foam and hand it over, cheeks warm with anticipation.

All three lean forward as Armin takes a sip.

Then Hange claps their hands.

"Well that's it—you, my tiny little bean, are hired!"

Levi nods approvingly.
Armin gives you a soft thumbs up, foam still on his lip.

Your face lights up as you thank them.

"Can I start now?"

"Of course you can," Levi replies, something close to admiration flickering in his eyes.

Hours fly by. Armin eventually leaves with Hange, after explaining something about dolphins at the aquarium. Levi sticks around for a bit until Professor Erwin shows up, and then he's gone too. Your co-worker Petra walks you through the rest of the job. She explains how anyone can pick the music for the record player, and how "being your weird little self is encouraged."

It feels... like a place you can belong.

Before you know it, your shift ends. The café closes at 8, and by the time you head home, the sky is only barely lit with a golden halo, fading into a navy night. The street glows with life—bar signs, ramen joints, arcades buzzing with neon. Paradis doesn't sleep. It pulses with color and sound.

You enter 707. Ymir's deep bass echoes through the room.

She's sitting near the balcony, cigarette in her mouth, casually playing a melody on her electric cherry red guitar. "Hey, I'm back." You let yourself fall onto the couch, tugging off your jewelry.

"How was your first day at work?" she asks, giving you one of her cheeky smiles.

You start rambling— about how much you loved the place, how Levi and Hange were comforting in their weird little ways, how grateful you are for Armin, and how without him you'd probably be broke three weeks in.

You're halfway through gushing when laughter spills from Ymir's room.

You blink. You didn't realize someone else was here.

Eren steps out.
Wearing a Nirvana tee—one you swear Ymir was wearing two days ago—and a golden key you haven't seen before. Gray pants. Dimples on full display "Sounds like it was fun," he says, sitting beside you. His knee brushes yours, neither of you move.

Ymir tosses a cigarette pack at him. "You little shit—you left your tee here ages ago. Finders keepers."
Eren catches it before it hits his head. "Yo, my closet is gone because your crusty ass always steals stuff. I should've never given you keys to my place."

You laugh. Their energy is chaotic sibling vibes, bickering, roasting, always stealing each other's shit.

And now he's here. Knee still touching yours, and for some reason, the whole room feels a little warmer.

"How about we order some poke bowls and binge-watch Nana for the fourth time," Ymir says after a beat, her long fingers tracing the guitar strings from the Arabella cover she was playing. "My treat, to celebrate your first day as an employed baddie." She smirks as she grabs her phone to look up the poke place not far from here.

"Yes gawddd, I'm starving. I feel like Sasha right now," you groan. You only ate that bagel with Sasha this morning—your nerves from the job had eaten away any appetite. And even though Hange said you could grab up to four coffees and two pastries, you felt too ashamed to take anything on your first day. So now, your stomach is barely functioning off a single espresso shot Hange insisted you try before they left.

Your stomach rumbles. Loud. Ymir suddenly stops strumming and Eren looks at you like you just growled at him. Another rumble, Then—chaos.

Laughter erupts, Eren falls on your shoulder, red-eyed and wheezing as Ymir's banging her fist against the floor. Your face goes hot. "Dude, that's not funny! I'mma turn into a titan if I don't eat something," you squeal, pushing Eren off you just enough.

"Let's dip before she eats us" he says, still laughing.

"Okay, okay—I'll order your food, jeez," Ymir says, trying to collect herself as she scrolls.

Eren stays by your side. Closer now. His whole leg is pressed against yours—his body radiates heat like lava. He lets his hair down from his signature man bun. The strands fall to his shoulders perfectly, casting shadows over his even sharper features. He scratches his scalp, grunting low—probably from the headache the hair tie left behind. His eyes screw shut, brows creasing, and the faint scar slicing through his brow folds into a weird, funky shape.

Instinctively, your hand reaches for his hair. He freezes—but doesn't open his eyes, when your fingers hit the sore spot, his body melts into yours. His head falls on your shoulders, he shifts, letting his legs plop across your thighs like it's nothing.

"You have a habit of making yourself at home. Did you know that?" A soft smile tugs your lips. He lets out a lazy laugh, the vibration rumbling through your body, turning it into mush.

"Yeah, this is practically my home too, you know. I've slept on this couch more times than I can count." He looks at you while you gently massage his scalp. "And... you see that Lego F1 frame over there?" he points. You don't look, neither of you breaks eye contact.

"One time, Mir and I were playing Injustice. She lost—bad. So, I ragebaited her. That frame? There for a reason."

"Yeah, right. You sure the story isn't backwards?" you smirk. "Nah, but that other picture frame placement was me though."
You snort.

He grabs your hand, turning it gently, his fingers brush against your skin as he twists the silky plum scrunchie around your wrist—once, twice, slow. The ghost of his touch lingers in your skin.

"Er—"

Ymir opens her bedroom door.

Eren's eyes shift, disappointment flashing across his face as he quickly shifts in his seat, sitting beside you like nothing just happened. Ymir plops down between you both, shoving him a little to make room, side-eyeing him with a crooked smirk.

"Okay, so food's ready in like 30 minutes," she claps, "which leaves us just enough time to watch an episode of Nana."

You hit play.

Funny, It feels like you're living your own Nana live action.

Ymir has totally Nana Osaki vibes. She's got a little Yasu under her arm, smokes like she breathes bass riffs, has patchwork tattoos, calls Eren "Ren," and is in a feminist rock band.

"Hey, you two literally give Nana and Takumi vibes," you say, glancing at both of them.

They look horrified.

"Fuck no. Takumi can fuck himself—he's such a fucking asshole," Eren snaps. Ymir cackles. "You kinda look like him, though. And you are kind of an asshole." Eren folds his arms, falling for the ragebait. "I may be a bit of an asshole, but not that kind of asshole."

You and Ymir burst out laughing.

"Such an insane face card to be wasted on an evil shit," you tease.

The credits roll as Ymir hums along to the ending song as the next episode auto-plays.

You get up from your seat. The fabric of your wide jeans is itchy as hell, so you head to your room to change into pajamas. You pull out the soft shirt Hannah got you on her last trip to Paradis. She said it was to keep the dream alive—so that whenever you wore it, you could stop for just a second and imagine the life you planned together.

Your own apartment by the beach. Hannah working at the açaí bowl place she swore it was the best she's ever eaten. You, bartending in a tiki hut (because movies made it look cool). Coming home after long lectures and late shifts, drunk on cheap margaritas, and watching the starry sky until you both passed out in your bed—even if hers was just a few feet away.

You pull the shirt over your head, gripping it at the chest for a moment, you slip on your Cookie Monster fleece shorts and your slippers.

When you step out of your room, you notice the show is paused.
You roam your apartment, confused, until you realize Ymir must've left to get the food.

Then, you hear it—soft music playing from Ymir's room. You follow the sound.

And then you see it.

A figure is sitting on the fire escape, back against the wall, one leg resting on the railing. The melody seeps into the room and bleeds into the night sky.

Eren.

He hears you before you speak. His eyes flick toward yours as he lifts the blunt between his fingers and nods, "Are you going to keep looking," he says, voice calm, not teasing, "or are you going to sit?"

You move quietly to the window, stepping onto the metal landing beside him, the cold bites your skin as you sit, and you shiver. Without a word, Eren looks away and grabs the throw blanket he must've pulled earlier. He drapes it over your legs with a soft rustle, the fabric is warm against your skin.

"Thanks," you murmur. He hums in response, then offers you the blunt, you take it, scanning the wrap as you twirl it in your fingers.

"Cherry flavored," Eren says, watching you. "Found it in Ymir's stash. Thought you might like it." He flicks the lighter for you, shielding the flame as you bring it to your lips,the soft hiss sounds as the paper catches fire. You inhale slowly, let the smoke sit in your chest, then exhale into the wind.

When you do, you feel Eren's eyes on your lips. Watching, quietly.
Studying, almost.

The intensity makes your skin prickle, you pass the blunt back, fingers grazing his.
You flinch slightly—his hand is ice cold, knuckles flushed red from the chill.

Even though Paradis is mostly sunny, the nights always carry a bite.

You scoot closer and throw half the blanket over him. This close, the scent of his cologne mixes with the weed—sharp, smoky, a little sweet. The weed brings out the tonka notes of his scent, earthy and warm.

Eren leans into your shoulder like it's second nature.

You let out a breath of laughter. It feels surreal, how easy this moment is. Like something out of someone else's life.

You both share the blunt sitting in silence for a while, just the sound of the song echoes the place, you dont know if its because of the effect of weed, or the way his presence makes it easier for you to speak everything you have holding on.

"Do you think there's something out there... after we die?" you ask, eyes fixed on the sky. 

Eren lifts his head from your shoulder, takes a slow drag from the blunt. The ember glows in the dark. "I like to think there is," he says quietly. "Like... they're in some place where they can finally rest. Be free. No pain. His voice is lower now, almost distant. There's a glint of something in his eyes—nostalgia maybe, or something that aches just a little too quietly. He passes you the blunt. "What about you?" His teal eyes look darker in the night, like waves before a storm.

You take a moment. "Well... I'd like to think our energy's just borrowed. And one day, we have to give it back. Maybe it goes somewhere peaceful, somewhere quiet."

He huffs a soft laugh, raising a brow. "Did you just quote the Na'vi ideology?"

"Hey," you grin, "they were onto something. Don't judge it."

He shakes his head, chuckling. The sound rumbles low in his chest. "Didn't peg you as a full-on dork, Y/N."

A genuine laugh spills from you as you shove his shoulder lightly. "Oh, come on. They're good movies. And you're just as dorky as me. Maybe worse."

"Yeah?" He quirks a brow. "So you're into the whole nerdy superhero stuff?"

 

[ Now Playing - Another Dimension by Pop Money]

 

The blunt glows between your fingers as you inhale, the cherry flaring in the dark . The smoke curls around your lips, warm and sweet with the cherry flavor, before you blow it softly into the sky. The clouds part just enough to reveal a sliver of moon.

"Yeah," you say, voice low, "I dig the whole superhero thing. Always have. I mean... Spider-Man? my favorite since forever."

Eren lifts his head from your shoulder, quirking an eyebrow. "Let me guess—awkward kid, big heart, loses everything, still tries to save everyone?"

You glance at him, lips tugging into a grin. "Okay, rude. But also... exactly. He's just—real. Never claims to be perfect, but he shows up anyway. Even when everything's shit."

Eren hums, taking the blunt from your fingers. "Spider-Man's solid. But I've always been more of a Batman guy."

You groan. "Of course you are. Brooding, emotionally constipated, refuses to go to therapy."

He grins. "Hey, he's got cool gadgets."

"And major trust issues."

"And a badass cave." he remarks.

"Still emo as hell."

You both laugh, shoulders shaking a little. The sound blends with the rustle of the wind, the faint music still bleeding out from Ymir's room like a background to some indie film.

A lull settles, calm and comfortable. The blunt passes back into your hands. You stare at it for a moment, then lift your eyes to the sky. "You ever think about it? Like... if there's a version of us in some other dimension?"

Eren exhales, his breath mixing with the smoke. "Yeah. Sometimes. Like maybe I made different choices. Maybe things didn't go to shit so fast."

You nod, tucking a loose thread of hair behind your ear. "I'd like to think if there is a multiverse, there's a version of me that still ends up here."

He turns his head toward you, eyes narrowed slightly. "Here?"

You nod again, slower this time. "Yeah. In Paradis.. Maybe not carrying so much. And maybe—" you look at him, your gaze steady, "still on this shitty little fire escape, smoking a blunt with you. Talking about life. Teasing your emo ass." you smirk.

For a moment, he doesn't reply. He just watches you. His teal eyes reflect the dim city light, a little softer now, like waves under moonlight.

"Think that version of me still has the man bun?" he finally asks, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You chuckle. "Yeah. Universal constant. Multiverse or not, you're still rocking the bun" you shuffle his brown hair. Eren lets out a quiet laugh that hums against your shoulder, then leans back slightly, resting his weight against the railing behind him. The world around you dims—music pulsing gently, stars hiding behind clouds, the street below nearly silent. For a second, it feels like the city's holding its breath just for you two.

Then—

The door creaks open.

"Alright losers" Ymir says, voice slicing through the night like a record scratch. You both flinch slightly. "Food's here. Hope you're high enough to appreciate how fucking expensive poke bowls are." You glance back as she yells through the kitchen.

Eren clears his throat. You stifle your smile as you both get up, brushing off the blanket. As you move back inside, Eren opens the window wider for you to step through first.

"Come on, Spider-Nerd," he mutters under his breath, offering you his hand.

You give him a grin as you take his now warm hand.

Inside, the warmth of the apartment waits—with food, a full on Nana marathon, and the quiet ache of something new blooming in the spaces neither of you have words for yet.

 

Chapter 7: 6. Through the maze

The three of you settle once again onto the couch. Ymir turns on the TV while you're now squished between them, left with little to no room as Eren manspreads and Ymir gets too comfortable, her feet shoved against your side.

Eren glances at you from the corner of his eye. "Do you want me to move a little?" he says, leaning in so close you can feel his minty breath graze your cheek, sending a full-body shiver through you. "Or better yet... you could just sit in my lap if you want to."

You grow flustered. You don't even look at him, but you can feel the smirk spreading across his face. You don't answer—the moment caught you off guard.

You know Eren is a known flirt. Sasha mentioned it this morning, filling you in on all the tea about your now-new friend group.

 

–Flashback–

"You are not going to believe what just happened," Sasha burst  through the door. You decided to stop by Revolution Roasters after your morning lecture with Professor Pixis. She hands you your bagel and sets down an entire spread of pastries on the table. You take a sip of your chai.

"Spill."

She yanks your arm excitedly. "Nico just asked me out for Friday! He's taking me to this fancy-ass restaurant he swears I'm gonna love. Who would've thought? The two of us, on an actual date. So now, we're definitely going shopping."

She squeals, shaking your arm frantically.

"Sash, I can't believe it! We need to make you the hottest girl in all of Paradis. I still can't believe you're finally going out with Nico," you say, grinning so hard your face feels stiff.

"Ugh, I know. It was about damn time." She takes a massive bite out of one of the pastries. "Let me tell you, if you and Jean get together, we're going on double dates. No questions asked."

Hesitation fills your chest. You want to go out with Jean—god, you really do—but what if something goes wrong? What if it ruins everything? Not just with him, but with Sasha too. You know how close she is to Connie and Jean. They're basically a package deal. And as much as you love the idea of everything falling into place, your mind won't stop whispering about everything that could go wrong.

"I don't know, Sash... let's not get ahead of ourselves. Jean's a good guy, yeah, but what if it doesn't work out?" Anxiety tinges your voice. Your fingers start wiggling again, that unconscious nervous habit you've had since forever. Sasha notices immediately. She gently takes your hand in hers.

"Look," she says, her voice softer now, "I know Jean's a flirt, but trust me—he likes you. Like, really likes you. And if he does anything to hurt you, I will personally cut his balls off."

You laugh.

"I know we haven't known each other for that long, but you're my friend, and I'll always look out for you."  She squeezes your hand.

You smile, warmth rising in your chest. In a strange way, Sasha reminds you of Hannah—loud, loyal, and the kind of person who makes you feel like you can be fully yourself.

"I wouldn't want you to do that," you say with a small chuckle, brushing the smudge of chocolate off her cheek. "You mean a lot to me, Sash. I appreciate you. But if it ever doesn't work out with Jean... I'd never want you to hold that against him."

She scoffs. "Trust me, nothing will ever come between us. Besides, I've lived through enough Jean/Eren drama to be emotionally immune."

– End of Flashback–

 

"Wow. You flirt with everyone like this, or am I just lucky today?" you bat your lashes at him.

Eren lets out a low laugh, "Just wanted you to be comfortable," he teases with a shrug.

After that, the two of you settle into a comfortable silence, eyes on the show. A few episodes pass. You start to grow tired, your eyes feeling heavy, a quiet yawn slipping past your lips. The images on the screen begin to blur as you sink deeper into the couch, closing your eyes just for a moment—

You open your eyes, your pupils flutter as your vision adjusts itself, you're standing in the middle of a golden field, the sun warm against your skin. The air smells like summer and something familiar, something soft — like lilacs wet earth. The grass brushes against your calves as a gentle breeze rustles through, and for a moment, it feels like peace.

When did I get here?

In the distance, two figures dance around the field. A girl twirls under the sunlight, her yellow dress fanning out with each spin. Her hair, a messy braid of glowing ginger, bounces with every laugh she lets out. She's holding hands with someone — a tall boy with a buzzcut, dragging her playfully through the field. Their silhouettes blur at the edges, like watercolor in the rain.

I know them, something about them feels oddly familiar, but I can't quite put my finger on it.

She sees you first, as she waves, her whole body moving like the gesture might pull you closer. "Y/N!" she shouts, voice high and happy. "Come on! You're missing the fun!"

The boy grins over his shoulder, still running. You try to move. Just one step. But your legs feel like they're made of stone. Heavier with each breath. my feet won't lift from the earth — like they've been rooted there by time itself.

"Wait—" your voice cracks, panic bleeding into your throat. "Wait, don't go."

They're slipping away.

You push harder, willing your body to move, but your limbs betray you. The field starts stretching out like a rubber band, the two of them becoming smaller and smaller, distant laughter echoing in your ears like a haunting lullaby.

"Please—wait!" you cry, breath coming out in sharp, shallow bursts. Your chest tightens as if the air has turned thick, unbreathable. Your hands reach for them, shaking.

Don't go,

But the harder you try, the more the world closes in.

The sound of your heartbeat booms in your ears, relentless.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Each beat grows louder, until it's all you can hear. You clap your hands over your ears, trying to muffle the thunder, trying to block out the ache in your chest.

"Stop," you sob. "Please stop..."

Don't leave me, I beg you.

Your knees buckle. You're gasping now, trembling, as the weight of everything presses down on you—

CLACK.

A loud sound snaps through the silence like a whip.

You jolt upright. Sweat clings to your forehead, your body shaking.

You're on the couch. The TV is still on, flickering faint blue light across the room. Ymir is fast asleep on one side. Eren, curled up near the armrest, breathes softly.

It was just a dream.

But your heart still races like it hasn't caught up with reality. Like part of you is still trapped in that field— reaching.

Your phone screen lights up—Jean. You scramble to grab it before it wakes them, slipping into your room.

"Hey, Y/N, sorry for calling this late. Hope I didn't wake you," Jean says, his voice low, almost unsure.

"Jean, hi," you say, trying to mask the aftershock of the dream. "No, don't worry. Still very much awake." A forced laugh escapes your throat. "What's up?"

"Oh, thank God. Wouldn't want to disturb your beauty sleep," he jokes, the tension easing from his tone. "I ran into Armin and he told me Hange hired you. Congrats!"

"Yeah," you smile faintly. "It was pretty cool. I owe Armin big time. The job's good. I mean, I'm no barista god, but I'm grateful Hange took a chance on me."

You shift your weight from foot to foot, then pause. A photo frame catches your eye.

It's from the weekend Franz invited you to his family's country house. You're sitting in a sun-drenched field, laughing. Hannah is hugging you tightly, a soft blush dusting her freckled face, her braid loose around her shoulder. Franz is messing with both your hair. That was the week before graduation. The week before everything shattered.

Just the same as you remember, your dream pulled out that memory.

Jean's voice cuts through the memory. "Soo... should I be worried about Armin?" he teases. "Wouldn't want you falling for him before our date."

You hear the familiar shuffle—Jean's nervous habit of running a hand through his hair.

"Jealousy isn't a good look on you, Kirstein," you tease back with a smirk in your voice.

"So you do think I'm good looking huh?" His voice turns smug.

"Don't get cocky," you say, laughing softly. "Hope your dating game lives up to your flirting."

"Oh, it will. You'll rank this as one of your best dates, guaranteed."

"Oh yeah? Why not the best?" You question.

"Keep going on dates with me, and we'll talk."

You chuckle. "Smooth. I guess I'll see you on Friday, Kirstein. Sweet dreams."

You hang up, cheeks warm, trying to shake off the flustered giddiness curling in your stomach.

A sound from behind you makes you jump slightly, turning to find Eren standing in the doorway. He's leaning against the frame, arms crossed, jaw tight. His eyes look like crashing waves—sharp, unreadable.

Your voice comes out sharper than you intend, "How long have you been standing there?"

He scoffs, eyes narrowing. "Long enough to know your date with Kirstein." His tone cuts into your chest.

You blink, stunned.

"I... I don't understand," you say, trying to steady yourself. "Why are you acting like this? It's not like you and I... have a thing."

But the moment the words leave your mouth, you regret them.

They feel bitter, wrong. You know there's something between you and Eren. Maybe unspoken, maybe tangled—but there. Every time he's near, it feels like gravity shifts. Every time he touches you, you turn into someone softer, messier—alive.

Something flickers in his eyes.

His lips part like he wants to say something, then close again. His jaw clenches.

"You're right," he says flatly. "Have fun on your little date."

He turns, grabbing his hoddie from the couch.

You follow him, your chest tightening "Eren".

He reaches for the doorknob, pauses, fingers twitching against the handle. "Tell Ymir I had to leave. Goodnight, Y/N."

Then he's gone. The door shuts with a click that echoes louder than it should, leaving you in the quiet.

You're left standing there—confused, guilty, and with a tightness blooming in your chest that you can't quite explain.

 

✧･ ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Friday comes by in a blink. After your talk with Eren, you stayed up late, tangled in your sheets like a ghost of the night before. No matter how hard you tried to shake it off, those teal eyes replayed in your mind like they were carved into your brain, leaving you sleep-deprived for the next day.

Thankfully, Thursday wasn't too rough. Just a few assignments you managed to submit last-minute, and your second shift at the café.

Levi had even praised your cleaning skills, claiming it was the most important task for a barista. "A clean workspace is the foundation for mental clarity, productivity, and overall well-being," he said, in full drill-sergeant tone, while Petra rolled her eyes behind him like it was the tenth time she'd heard the sermon.

Now, here you are at Ala Moana Center, roaming stores with Sasha to find the perfect outfits for tonight. Jean wants to take you somewhere touristy, so a cute set seems fitting. Meanwhile, Sasha is fully spiraling, clutching two Auntie Anne's pretzels in one hand and dragging you toward a dress shop with the other.

"Okay, I know I said the last three stores were it," she says, eyes wide, "but I feel this one is the one. Like, I can feel it in my nuggets."

You both step into the boutique. The dress section is massive, practically begging for a three-hour deep dive into fabrics and colors. The air smells like coconut lotion and lavender detergent. Sasha immediately yanks you toward the midi section.

"I've been on a few dates before but this... this one feels different. And I feel like I'm going to explode. Like—what if I start sweating like a boiling lobster?" she asks, handing you one of the pretzels while scanning racks.

You laugh at the image—Sasha red-faced and melting—and watch her nose go cherry red like Rudolph's. "Sash, Nico's obsessed with you. You could wear a potato sack and still sweat buckets, and he'd still be drooling over you."

She lets out a small, flustered laugh. While she's distracted, your eyes catch on something: a baby pink spaghetti strap dress. The fabric is soft, ruffled just enough to sway, with an asymmetric drape that makes it look elegant but still fun. A small gold figure rests at the waist like a belt. The whole thing screams greek goddess in the best way possible..

You nudge her and show her the dress. A huge smile lights up her face. "You're literally my fairy godmother. I swear you're coming on every shopping trip from now on," she squeals, hugging the dress like it's a newborn.

An employee helps carry a mountain of potential outfits into a fitting room. Sasha tries them on one by one as you keep looking for something more laid-back for your own night. After too many almosts, Sasha pulls out a two-piece red polka-dot set with just the right amount of neckline and a not-too-mini, not-too-midi skirt.

It's perfect.

You try it on, and Sasha audibly gasps "You look so fucking hot."

The outfit hugs you in all the right places, accentuating your figure without overdoing it. Sasha, looks like she walked out of a Disney princess reboot.

"Thanks," you say, doing a little twirl as the skirt flares out. "But look at you! Does Nico know how to fight?"

Sasha smirks, flipping her hair dramatically. "Fuck the guys. Let's just date each other."

You both burst into laughter.

"It's a shame Mikasa couldn't skip her karate class to come with us," you say, admiring Sasha in the mirror.

"I know, ugh." Her expression softens. "But hey, she's meeting us tomorrow at the bonfire at Titans Shore."

You nod. The Titans Shore Bonfire is legendary at Eldia U—easily the biggest party of the semester. A beach filled with half-drunk students dancing, smoking, and pretending the semester doesn't exist. Of course you're going.

"You're going, right?" Sasha asks, raising an eyebrow.

You grin. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

You've always wanted to go to one of those movie-style beach parties—and this one, from what Sasha and Connie have said, sounds exactly like that.

After a mini photoshoot in the fitting room and some mirror posing, you both check out and head home. You've got three solid hours to prep before your date. Sasha makes herself another snack while you jump into your everything shower.

By the time you're done curling your lashes and fixing your lip gloss, Sasha's already out the door—wishing you luck and telling you to "wear a condom if you fuck," which you respond to with, "I'll try to keep it in my pants, thanks."

A knock pulls you from your thoughts, your hands go clammy as you give yourself a final look in the mirror "you look great, everything will go great" you smile as you try to make your voice sound believable.

Jean's leaning casually against your doorframe. He's in a white linen button-up, a few buttons undone, paired with khaki Bermuda shorts. His sun-kissed skin glows slightly, and his mullet looks freshly styled. A faint crimson hue colors his cheeks when he sees you.

"Hey, pretty girl. You ready?" he grins, eyes trailing up and down your outfit.

You let him in, giving him a playful smile. "You look... decent," you tease.

He lets out a low whistle. "You look so good right now."

"So I don't look good every day?" you smirk.

"You know you always look good," he says with a chuckle. "But tonight we're on a schedule, and I have everything planned—so let's go."

You grab your bag and lock the door behind you.

You step outside your apartment complex,the sunny sky kisses your face bringing you warmth as Jean's hand grazes the small of your back, gently leading you to his car. Just as he's about to open the door for you, he stops. Without warning, he presses you softly against the car, the cool metal biting your thighs.

You blink.

"If you think I'm going to kiss you not even ten minutes into the date, you're in the wrong, Kirstein," your eyes widen for a second as you place your palms against his chest and giving him a light push.

He chuckles low, the sound vibrating under your hands. "I wasn't going to do that... at least not yet," he murmurs, shaking his head as he pulls something out of the pocket of his bermudas — a silk scarf.

"Oh"

"When you said you'd take me to the hottest tourist spots, I didn't expect you to be one of them." you tease.

His eyes widen in disbelief, and then he completely loses it. Jean throws his head back laughing, the kind of full-body laugh that makes his whole frame tremble. He's laughing so hard, actual tears form at the corners of his eyes.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Y/N, that's not what I was going for," he wheezes, hand on his chest like he's been wounded. "Also—rude. I mean, I can be a flirt, but not enough to be a whole-ass tourist attraction." His amber eyes glitter with amusement. "But no, get your head out of the gutter, L/N," he says with a crooked grin. "I just want to surprise you."

You sigh in mock relief. "Not that I can say I'm not surprised. You are a freak."

He smirks and steps closer — close enough for your breath to catch. "Do you trust me?" he whispers, voice low, teasing but gentle, like he's offering a secret.

From this distance, you notice the slight stubble on his jaw, how it's grown a bit more since the last time you saw him.

You think about it for a second.

Your voice comes out as a soft exhale, "Yeah. I trust you."

There's something about Jean that feels easy.

He grins, then lifts the scarf and wraps it gently around your eyes, tying it just tight enough so it doesn't smudge your makeup. "Alright," he says, voice honeyed with excitement.

The passenger door opens. He guides you carefully inside, his hand never leaving yours. The door shuts with a soft click, and then he's in the driver's seat, the engine purring to life. Music spills from the speakers, warm and vibey.

The car starts to move.

"Sooo," you stretch the word out with a grin, "are you going to tell me where we're going?"

"If I did, that would totally ruin the whole point of blindfolding you," he says, the smile in his voice audible.

"Ugh, come on. Just a little hint?" you plead.

"If I give you a hint, you'll figure it out. You're annoyingly smart like that," he teases.

You pout. "At least try to give me something."

He's quiet for a beat, then another. Only the soft hum of the tires against asphalt and the music fills the car.

"Okay, what is it?" you finally snap. "Did your brain lose the ability to think, or do you just have an edging kink?"

Jean snorts. "Hey, I was thinking! Gotta keep the mystery alive, alright?"

His right hand drifts from the wheel to the center console, brushing against your thigh. Neither of you move.

"Irrgarten," he finally says.

"Umm, yeah, I have no idea what you just said," you deadpan.

"Good. That was the whole point." He chuckles.

You groan. "Okay, show-off, I didn't know you spoke German."

"Actually, I don't think I know a lot about you," you add, curiosity blooming in your chest. "Just that you're an art major and a few bits here and there."

"Yeah, my father's half German, half French. My mom's from here," he says, eyes still on the road. "I was born in Germany, but we moved here when I was three. My dad's a historian. Came to Paradis for a summer abroad and ended up meeting my mom. He finished college, they got married, and... well, the rest is history."

You hum at his answer, a soft smile blooming on your lips. "So, how were you as a kid?"

He shifts a little in his seat. "I was a chubby little dude with a weird fixation on my mom's tomato omelets."

You burst out laughing. "That's cute. I wish I could've seen your squishy baby face."

"Yeah?" he smirks. "I think I would've liked you as a kid too."

"Oh God, no," you giggle. "I had this huge gap between my teeth and I was annoyingly hyperactive."

Jean snickers. "Yeah? Bet your mom had to put a tranquilizer in your juice."

That word hits you like a crack in the windshield. Your smile falters. Your body stills, rigid in your seat. The thought of you and your mother playing together, laughing, tucking you in at night, telling you bedtime stories—feels so foreign. Like a memory that was never yours to begin with. You always wondered if there was something wrong with you. Why she was so affectionate with Beck but never with you. Why your presence felt like static to her.

That thought still lingers, no matter how much time has passed.

Jean notices the shift immediately.

"Hey," he says gently, his hand giving your thigh a squeeze, "you good?"

"Yeah, sorry," you lie. "Guess I got a little nauseous, that's all."

You don't know why you said that. It's not that you don't trust Jean, but trauma dumping on a first date just doesn't feel right. Besides, it took you months to even bring it up to Hannah, and that was only after she noticed how cold your house felt—like a museum. Like maybe you weren't even living there... just haunting it.

Jean squeezes your thigh again, reassuring. "Hang in there. We're almost there."

The car slows and turns as he pulls into a gravel path. The engine cuts off. He opens his door and rounds to yours, offering his hand. You take it, his fingers warm as he guides you a few steps forward.

The scent of lavender and pine hits you, carried by a warm breeze. The air feels softer here—floral and earthy. You hear birds chirping in the background.

Jean guides you forward, his hand steady on the small of your back.

"One more second..." he says. "Okay. Now."

He stops you as he gently takes the silk out of your eyes, your vision gets blurry as you try to adjust the sunlight and you see it.

It's a stone castle The walls are brick stoned, overgrown with wisteria and crawling ivy. Sunlight pours through tall arched windows, and at its base, a sprawling botanical garden unfurls—roses, orchids, hydrangeas, and plants you don't even recognize. Butterflies flit between them. People walk through the greenhouse-like glass corridors that wrap the sides of the castle like ribs. And at the very center of it all?

A massive, spiraling maze made of perfectly trimmed hedges, tall enough that you can't see through.

You take a step forward, stunned. "Wow I didnt knew Paradis had this" your hands move toward the beautiful scenery

Jean stands proudly beside you, arms crossed like he built it himself. "Locals call it Fort Slava."

You blink at him.

"There's a legend," he adds, walking you deeper into the garden, the greenery swallowing you whole, the smell of flowers thick in the air. "Back when royals lived here, a homeless girl came looking for shelter. The royals—well, they were real pieces of shit. So they made her a deal: if she could make it through the maze without being caught by the guardians, she could stay as long as she wanted. But if the guardians found her..." he shrugs, "they'd kill her."

Your fingers curl around Jean's, curiosity buzzing like static in your ribs. "Okay, but what happened? Did the guardians find her?"

Your voice comes out faster than you intended—like you need the answer to sleep tonight. He chuckles.

"Yeah. They did. She begged for mercy... but just when they were about to kill her, this strange creature appeared from the maze. No one knows exactly what it was—some say a forest spirit, some say it was a god. Whatever it was, it merged with her somehow. Gave her power." He lowers his voice, tone deepening with each step. "She became a massive creature, ripped the guardians apart. They tried to hide in the maze, thinking the walls would protect them, but it was no use. She stormed the palace and devoured the royals."

You glance up at the castle, where birds circle the broken tower.

"After that, she vanished. Poof. No one ever saw her again. The only thing she left behind... was this." He points to the ivy-covered ruins. The ceiling's been torn open. Vines crawl through the cracks like veins.

"Castle's off-limits now. People say the spirits of the royals still roam the halls, trapped in their misery." Your eyes widen, excitement blooming.

You've always had a thing for horror stories. You used to force Hannah to watch scary movies during sleepovers, and then had to calm her down with My Little Pony so she could fall asleep.

Jean leans in slightly.
"They say if you come at night and walk through the maze... you can still hear her pleading."

You gasp, wide-eyed.

Jean tugs your hand, chuckling as he guides you toward the maze. "So then we should definitely come at night one day," you grin.

He nudges you. "Yeah? You sure you're not a scaredy cat?"

"God no. I live for this kind of stuff."

He hums, giving you a sideways glance. "Good. Last time we came here at night, Connie nearly pissed himself. Mikasa had to carry his ass to the car while he cried for his mom."

You burst into laughter, imagining the chaos.

"Honestly, not surprised. Sasha scared him at that party and he almost spilled his drink on a girl. Tried to play it cool, but he totally botched it."

"But, I'm a sucker for scary movies," you add. "I know it's weird, but I've always had this fantasy that if I were in a slasher film, I'd be that girl being chased by Ghostface through a corn maze or something. Not in real life, obviously, but like—movie magic." you shrug.

Jean halts. The look he gives you is part amused, part dumbfounded. "Jesus. I knew you were a weirdo, but this? This is some next-level shit, L/N."

You roll your eyes. "Come on! It's fun. Picture it: Halloween night, you and your friends are in costume, there's a maze at this creepy-ass party, and suddenly a shadow moves. Ghostface appears, and no one thinks twice 'cause it's Halloween. But then people start disappearing, and—boom—you realize you're in the movie."

He smirks, leaning close enough for his breath to brush your ear "Well, if that's what you want..."

You freeze.

"I'll give you ten seconds to run. But if I catch you..." His voice drops. "You'll have to kiss me." Your breath catches. His hazel eyes gleam with mischief—and something darker, a little hungry. He licks his lips, the corners curling into that cocky smirk as he starts to count.

 

[Now Playing – Mona Lisa by Dominic Fike]

 

You don't even think twice, you just bolt.

Laughter spills from your lungs as your feet hit the gravel. You don't even glance back, just sprint into the maze like your life depends on it. The hedge walls tower above you, green and wild, blocking any sense of direction. The sun filters through the vines, casting gold over your skin. Your skirt sways with each step, and your Mary Janes clap against the path with uneven rhythm.

Behind you, you hear Jean's voice call out numbers between laughs.

"Eight ... Seven..."

Your heart races. You take a sharp left, nearly colliding with a couple holding hands. "Sorry!" you yell, giggling as you dodge around them. Their confused faces blur behind you.

"Three... Two..."

The rush is real now. Your chest tightens in the best way. The maze splits again—you take the right this time, pushing past a hedge that looks a little too grown-in. The branches snag your skirt, but you yank free.

"One..."

"Shit," you whisper under your breath, your grin widening.

You hear him call out the last number just as your foot skids slightly on the gravel.

And then—you hear it.

Jean. Full sprint.

His footfalls are louder now, heavier, sharper. He's chasing you.

You laugh again, high and breathless. "Catch me and I swear to God I'll bite you, Kirstein!"

"You promise?" His voice is behind you, smug and panting.

You duck under a vine that's drooping across one path and veer left again. You're weaving through the maze like you've been here before—even though you're just guessing, praying the next turn won't be a dead end.

Your lungs start to burn, but it feels good—like every muscle is awake, alive.

You take another turn. The wind rushes past your ears. You're not sure if it's the actual breeze or just your blood pounding.

Jean yells again from behind, voice winded "You better run faster, Y/N... or I will catch you."

You laugh. Loud. Reckless.

"From the sound of it, you're the one wheezing! Did you lie about running track in high school, old man?!"

You dodge two tourists taking a selfie, burst through a narrow cut in the hedge, and pick up speed.

Another turn.

Then another.

You feel like you're flying.

Your chest rises and falls rapidly, mouth parted from the heat and the thrill. And just as you think you might be in the clear—when you're sure you've put enough distance between you and him, you turn the corner—

And slam into something solid.

Arms wrap around your shoulders before you fall. Your hands splay across a chest, warm, sweaty, firm.

You don't even have to look up.

Jean.

His breath is hot on your face, fast and shallow. His shirt clings to his torso, darkened with sweat.

His hair is a mess, strands stuck to his forehead. Lips slightly parted, still catching his breath.

His fingers are gentle but steady on your shoulders, grounding you.

And his eyes? Locked on your lips.

That signature Kirstein smirk starts to rise.

"What was that?" he pants, eyes gleaming. "Didn't you say I wouldn't catch you?"

You can't speak.

You can't even think.

Of course he took the shortcut. Of course he's done this before.

And now he's got you—exactly where he wanted.

Your heart beats like a war drum in your chest. You try to speak—but all you manage is a half-breath, half-laugh.

He steps closer.

"And now," he adds, tilting his head, "I believe you owe me something."

You tilt your chin up slightly, meeting his gaze. "Yeah?" you say, trying to steady your breath. "I don't remember signing a deal."

He grins. "Oh, come on. You agreed to the terms. Don't back out now."

You scoff, placing your hand on his chest, feeling the rapid rhythm of his heartbeat underneath. "You said if you caught me. You didn't. I ran into you. Technically, I caught myself."

The sunset filters through the leaves, casting shifting shadows over his face. His hand still rests on your waist, not pulling you in, but not letting go either. His thumb brushes softly against the fabric of your skirt, and the sensation is barely there—but it lingers.

Your heart thuds against your ribs.

How he's looking at you like he's debating whether to make the first move... or wait to see if you will.

His voice is barely audible when he speaks again. "So if I didn't catch you... and you caught yourself..." He leans in closer, breath tickling your cheek again. "What happens now?"

You smirk, heart pounding. "I guess that depends..."

"On?"

You lock eyes with him. "Whether you still want that kiss."

His breath catches, just slightly. You see it in his throat. Hear it in the silence that stretches between you. He's about to say something, maybe even close the distance—but...

A kid runs past the maze corner, screaming in delight as someone yells after him. You both flinch slightly, snapping out of the moment. Jean clears his throat, pulling back half a step, his hand still lingering at your waist.

He laughs under his breath. "Guess the maze is haunted after all."

You grin, cheeks flushed. "By cockblockers, apparently."

Jean groans. "Unbelievable."

You start walking again, brushing his fingers as you pass. "Come on, loverboy. Maze isn't gonna finish itself."

After wandering the maze, snapping a few pics of the scenery and strolling through the greenhouse garden, Jean leads you back to his car. The sun is now setting, casting the sky in a warm wash of peach and pink. He drives one-handed, steering smoothly as the other hand rests on your thigh—his thumb brushing slow, lazy circles on your skin. Each movement sends ripples through you.

The road curves along the cliffs, and suddenly, the ocean opens up in front of you. Waves crash into the shore far below, surfers catching their last runs as seagulls glide across the horizon. You glance at Jean. His hand taps rhythmically on the steering wheel, his gaze sharp and focused on the road. The wind lifts the ends of his hair, curls brushing his nape. He grins without looking at you.

"Enjoying the view?"

You smirk. "Well, it's not a hard sight to look at."

Ever since that kid cockblocked you at the castle, the tension between you has been razor-thin. You haven't spoken about it, but every lingering glance, every shift in his jaw, every time his eyes drift a little too long to your lips—it says enough. You feel it too. That pull. That heat.

The drive to the pier isn't long. Jean parks near a line of food trucks, the boardwalk bustling with life, and in the distance, a lighthouse towers above the waves.

You step out into the hum of music and laughter. Kids sprint past, dragging their parents toward candy stalls. Jean squeezes your hand and hands you a dark cherry ice cream cone.

"So?" he says, that smug glint back in his eyes. "Am I the best tourist guide ever or what?"

"Yeah, I guess you're a pretty solid guide," you tease, licking the cold cherry swirl. The tartness stings a little in your throat.

Jean leans in, thumbing a smear of ice cream from the corner of your mouth. "Well, I try. Especially for a pretty girl like you."

You follow him toward the beach. He lays out a blanket he grabbed from his trunk. You both sit, letting the breeze play with your hair. A dog digs frantically in the sand nearby. Kids fly kites. The sky fades to lavender.

"We used to come here a lot," Jean says, eyes on the surfers. "Mika would tan, Annie, Bert, Rein and Sasha would play volleyball, Armin sat on the sand reading or filming us. Connie always tried to steal my waves, and Eren... Eren was the fucking bomb. Made it look effortless. I used to envy that fucker."

You glance at him. His tone has changed—softer, more distant.

"Yeah? So why'd you guys stop?"

He's quiet for a moment, he grabs a fistful of sand and lets it fall slowly between his fingers. His jaw ticks.

"I probably shouldn't be the one telling you this. It's not really my story. But maybe you should know." He exhales, voice rough around the edges.

"Eren used to be a pro-level surfer. Like... legit. Everyone knew who he was. RedBull had their eye on him for years. And at this big competition, he killed it—scored a 9.9, highest single-wave of the entire event. They were going to offer him a contract the next day."

Your stomach tightens. You can feel the shift in the air.

"But something happened," Jean continues, his eyes distant now. " After that night, he never surfed again. He just... shut down. Cut ties with the sport. With us, too. He pushed everyone away."  He rubs at his jaw, like he's trying to scrub the memory away.

You feel the weight of it settle over both of you.

"I tried to reach him. We all did. But it was like... the closer we got, the more he pulled away. So eventually, we stopped coming here. None of us said it, but it felt wrong without him. Like, enjoying this place without him was some kind of betrayal."

You stay quiet, watching the tide roll in. Your heart aches—not just for Eren, but for what it must've felt like to lose a part of yourself and pretend like it never mattered.

You place a hand gently on Jean's shoulder. He doesn't speak. Just breathes.

"So that's why everyone went stiff when Connie brought up surfing at the diner..." you whisper, the pieces falling into place.

You think about Eren's face that night at the diner—the way his mask cracked, only for a moment. The stillness in him. The exhaustion. You've worn that same look. The one that says I'm fine but means don't ask me about it.

You don't know exactly what happened. But you know pain like that.
You know what it feels like when a part of you dies quietly, and it starts haunting everything you love. When joy becomes something you have to perform, not feel.

Jean speaks softly, gaze still on the ocean. "After that... It took a while for him to come back to us. He eventually did, but it wasn't the same. Like we were all walking on eggshells, scared we'd say something that would trigger him. I know he feels it. And I know he hates it."

He pauses, swallows. "Even if he won't say it out loud, I think... he wants us to keep enjoying the things he can't anymore. But it's hard. It's like we all feel it hanging there. And maybe we act differently. Not on purpose. Just—our way of caring, I guess. Even if it's the wrong way."

He shifts, brushing his thumb along the seam of your hand. "The ones who get it the most are probably Armin, Mikasa... and especially Ymir. Like they just know. That he doesn't want pity, or concern. But somehow, we give it anyway."

You look down at the sand between your fingers, the way the grains stick to your skin like tiny ghosts.

You understand.

You've lived in that silence too—the one that comes after loss, when people stop asking how you're doing but start looking at you like you're something broken.

You remember the whispers after your father passed.
And especially after Hannah and Franz.

You heard them echo in classrooms, bouncing off the tile floors and cheap plastic desks like secrets never meant to be kept. "Did you hear what happened to her friends? That's a tough blow to get over..." "I heard her mom moved on real fast. Found someone richer to fill the void."

And worse.

"I heard they died 'cause they didn't wanna be friends with her anymore..."

It made your blood turn cold. The way people rewrote your story to make it more interesting. Like your pain was a rumor to chew on during lunch. The way grief got twisted into gossip. The way people could take something human and shrink it down until it fit their own version.

You hated it.

You hated how easy it was for others to reduce it all to a whisper. A look. A lie passed hand-to-hand like a secret note.

And Eren? He must have felt the same. Maybe still does.

Jean's voice breaks the silence again. "You okay?"

You nod, giving him a faint smile. "Yeah," you lie, voice barely above a whisper.

You don't need to explain it. Not now. Maybe not ever.

But Jean looks at you for a second longer—like he sees through it—and instead of pressing, he just shifts closer, resting his hand over yours. He squeezes, once. Firm. Steady. Reassuring.

And for once, that's enough.

The breeze shifts, bringing with it the salty tang of the ocean and the distant sound of someone playing guitar near the pier. A dog barks. Laughter ripples through the air like wind.

Jean lets out a soft breath and leans back on his palms, watching a group of kids race along the shoreline, glow sticks tucked into their hoodie pockets like tiny lanterns. "Okay, enough of the sad stuff," he says with a faint smile. "This is supposed to be a date, remember?"

You smile at him. "How could I forget?" you tease, nudging your shoulder into his.

He chuckles, eyes crinkling at the corners, and you feel something in your chest loosen—like tension finally letting go of your ribs. Then, casually, like he's done it a hundred times before, he leans over to grab what's left of your ice cream and steals a bite.

"Jean!" you gasp.

"Don't be greedy," he grins through a mouthful of dark cherry. "This is what love is. Sharing."

"Bold of you to assume I love you."

He shrugs. "Bold of you to say yet."

You shake your head, laughing. "God, your ego is astronomical."

"I've been told it's charming." He winks, standing and brushing sand from his shorts. Then, without warning, he offers his hand again and pulls you gently to your feet, your bodies now only inches apart. "Let me take you home... but first," he says, voice lower, rougher now, "I guess I need to reclaim my prize. Don't you think?"

You arch a brow, smirking. "Oh yeah? And what would that be?"

Jean tilts his head, licking his bottom lip, the teasing glint in his eye slowly darkening. "I could explain it..." he murmurs, closing the small distance between you, "...but I'd rather just show you."

He cradles your jaw with one hand, warm and steady, and leans in.

His lips press against yours—soft at first, a question more than a claim. You melt into him slowly, tasting the last of the dark cherry ice cream on his lips. His breath is warm, laced with mint, and his kiss deepens in seconds. Hungrier. Sloppier.

His other hand slides to your waist, pulling you in, and when his tongue grazes your bottom lip, you part for him without thinking. It's messy and desperate in the best kind of way, like neither of you can remember what came before this moment.

You pull back first, just barely, lips still brushing his, your grin curling upward like a secret. "God, I wanted to do that so badly," he groans, voice lower now, hoarse with heat as he kisses you again—rougher, needier, like he's making up for all the time he spent pretending he didn't want to.

And then—

A blur of fur whips past you with a manic burst of energy. A golden retriever, tongue out and eyes wild, zips around the sand like a rocket, throwing up grains as he does full-speed zoomies right between you two.

Jean stumbles back a step, blinking.
"What the f—?"

The dog circles once, twice, then races toward the water like it's training for the Olympics.

You're doubled over laughing now, holding your stomach as tears prick your eyes.

Jean watches the dog, deadpan. "Okay. I think that's our cue."

You wipe your eyes, still giggling.

"Let me take you home before another animal third-wheels us," he says with a shake of his head, slipping his fingers through yours again as the chimes of the food truck wind bells tinkle in the distance.

 

✧･ ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Jean steps out of the car and circles around to open your door, holding his hand out like some kind of gentleman. You take it with a teasing smile, fingers brushing against his, warm and grounding.

Once you're standing, you fumble for your keys inside your purse, blindly digging through lip glosses and receipts until you hear the satisfying jingle. Jean stands close behind you, saying nothing, just waiting—like he doesn't really want the night to end.

You reach the front entrance, press the elevator button, and both step inside the golden-lit space.

"So," you say casually, "it's a shame you can't make it tomorrow night." You fake a pout, just to mess with him.

Jean sighs dramatically. "I know, trust me, I'd do anything to change the trip dates. But my mom's pulling the guilt card—apparently, my aunt's heading back to Germany and this is the 'last chance' road trip to the mountains." He air quotes. "So, three days of family bonding and no cell service. Lucky me."

The elevator dings. You both step out and walk the short hallway to your apartment. Jean slows when you reach your door, his steps hesitating like he's looking for an excuse to stay just a few minutes longer. But you know he has to leave soon—his mom's waiting, and she lives way out in the bougie suburbs.

"So... I had fun today," you say instead, smiling up at him. "I'll leave you a five-star review on Google as the best tour guide in all of Paradis."

Jean laughs, and his thumb rubs little circles on the back of your hand. "That'd help my ratings, yeah... I had fun too, Y/N."

He leans in, kissing your cheek with lips that linger just a second longer than they probably should. You feel the ghost of his touch even after he pulls back.

"I guess I'll see you later," he says. "Have a good night."

"Night, Jean," you reply, giving him a soft smile. You watch him walk back to the elevator, hear the familiar ding, and the doors close.

You're still smiling when you unlock your door.

Inside, Historia and Ymir are curled up on the couch, a movie playing in the background. The scent of buttered popcorn and vanilla hangs in the air.

"You're back!" Tori practically launches off the couch, her gold hair bouncing as she runs to hug you. "Ymir told me you went out with Jean—tell us everything! Did you kiss?!"

You laugh as she squeezes you, her skin warm and smelling like vanilla. "Hey, Tori," you say, pulling back. She gasps dramatically. "You look so hot. Red is definitely your color."

Ymir, still curled on the couch, scoffs. "Babe, I'm literally right here."

"Okay, Tori," you say with a grin, "ditch Ymir and date me instead."

Tori giggles as Ymir hurls a pillow at your face. "Stop flirting with my girlfriend, asshole. But... you do look good, though," she mutters with an eye-roll.

You collapse into the couch, limbs tangled and cozy, and you start telling them everything—from the moment Jean blindfolded you, to the castle, to the chase in the maze, to the kiss on the beach.

Well. Almost everything. You leave out the part about Eren. The conversation still lingers like a shadow, tucked somewhere in the back of your thoughts.

When you get to the kiss, Ymir whistles. "Okay, even I have to admit, the chase thing was hot." Tori is practically squealing. "Oh my god, Y/N, I'm so happy for you! You guys are gonna make such a cute couple—"

You freeze a little at the word couple.

It's not like you didn't enjoy yourself—it was perfect, honestly—but labeling it right now? It feels like too much. Like stepping into something too soon, too fast. Not long ago, your heart was still somewhere between healing and hiding. Jean is amazing, but you just want to take your time, let this be whatever it's meant to be.

"Let's not get too excited, babe," Ymir says, cutting in smoothly.

You shoot her a grateful smile. It's one of those unspoken things you and Ymir seem to share—this quiet understanding. It hadn't even been that long since you met her, but something about that talk on the beach cracked you open in a way nothing else had. You both poured your hearts out over cheap wine like you'd known each other for years. And now, it's like she sees your thoughts before you even say them.

Tori sighs, flopping back against Ymir. "I know, I know. But still. I'm allowed to get excited, right? It's a vibe. I guess I'll just have to see for myself next time." She pauses dramatically, then sighs . "Sucks he won't be at the party tomorrow."

Ymir shifts, casual—but there's something calculated in the way she speaks next. "Yeah... but you know who is going?"

You tilt your head, sensing the setup.

"Eren," she says. "He texted me earlier. Said he's coming.

Her tone's light, but she's watching you. Closely.

Your heart does a weird skip, and you try to keep your expression neutral.

"Cool," you shrug.

Ymir watches you a second longer, like she knows you're lying. Maybe she does. But she lets it slide.

After what Jean told you at the beach, you honestly weren't expecting Eren to show up. Especially not there. Not at the beach he swore he'd never set foot on again. The whole thing leaves you spinning again, unsure what to feel. What to expect

You haven't heard a word from him since that night. You don't know why he seemed angry, or irritated, or both. Eren's moods shift like tides—hot and cold, intense and distant. And even if nothing has really happened between you two, the moments you've shared... they feel like something.

Still, you push him from your thoughts. Try to.

Tori stretches, grabbing her soda. "I have a good feeling about tomorrow. Like... something big's gonna happen."

You lean back against the couch cushions, feeling the ghost of Jean's kiss still on your cheek. Your fingers absentmindedly brush the spot. And yet, in the back of your mind, another set of eyes lingers—teal and unreadable.

Something big, huh?

You just hope you're ready for whatever it is.

 

Chapter 8: 7. Titans shore bonfire

𖥸 CW: this chapter contains some sensitive material. You'll see mentions of drug use, a scene with blood and violence, and it also touches on themes related to SA. Please read with care.

 

The sound of kids yelling echoes in your ears as you sip your iced coffee, praying the caffeine kicks in fast enough to make their chaos bearable. Pieck invited you out for a morning walk at the farmers market. Well, invited is generous—Gabi and Falco barged into your room at 9 a.m., bouncing on your bed until you agreed to join them for the farmers market down Fritz Avenue.

"So, meet me at my place by six," you say, dodging a toddler on a scooter as you stroll past a row of stalls. "Tori's driving tonight, so she's the DD."

Canopies of every color line the grass, each one bustling with people selling fresh berries, jars of marmalade, handmade jewelry, and the most mouth-watering tacos you've ever smelled.

"Can we come too?" Gabi asks, mid-bite of a cinnamon-glazed donut.

"Of course not. It's Eldia U students only," Pieck says, tousling Gabi's hair.

"That's not true," Falco cuts in. "It started as a school thing, but now anyone goes."

"Still not taking you," Pieck replies with a smirk. "Ask Colt. Oh wait—" she pauses, dramatically— "he still hasn't recovered from the frat house incident last semester."

Gabi groans. "This is so unfair. I wanted to see Y/N's drunk ass making a fool of herself."

You scoff. "Not happening. And even if it did, you wouldn't be there to witness it." you tease ruffling her ponytail, which is already halfway undone.

Your little beef with Gabi somehow stuck, even if her chaos gets under your skin sometimes. You've always wanted a little sister, and now it kind of feels like you have two hyperactive younger brothers instead.

Pieck and you laugh as Falco tries to defend your honor, only for Gabi to shove him.

"Besides," Falco adds like it's the most obvious thing in the world, "Y/N's boyfriend wouldn't let her get too wasted."

You freeze. Both of them smirk.

"Oh yeah. The mullet guy sooo loves her," Gabi grins. "What was his name again? John? Josh?" she taps her chin mockingly

"His name is Jean," you snap, cheeks hot with embarrassment. "And he's not my boyfriend."

After yesterday's date, Jean headed to his mom's place in the suburbs for the night, so they can head early in the morning to their mountain roadtrip —but not before calling you first thing in the morning to say he'd miss you. The memory makes your stomach twist in a way you don't quite know how to label.

"Y/N and Jean, sittin' in a tree—K-I-S—" Falco sings as Gabi shoots him a look.

"Falco," Gabi cuts in, "please. They've probably already had sex." She says matter of factly.

You nearly choke on your coffee, coughing so hard you almost spill it to Pieck.

Falco gags in response, his face twisting like he just ate expired yogurt.

"Jesus, Gabi!" Pieck laughs, eyes wide. "Let Y/N have a private sex life." Gabi just shrugs as falco looks like he's trying to erase the memory of his brain.

"Nobody is having sex!" you say, your voice a little higher than normal.

"Yet," Gabi smirks.

You groan. It's not like you haven't thought about it. Jean is... hot. Really hot. But it's also still new. And yeah, you've had a few hookups before— but with Jean, it feels like you'd want it to mean something. Something real. Not just a hookup.

You're still processing all that when Pieck leans in slightly, her tone dropping lower.

"Speaking of..." she starts, glancing at Gabi and Falco who are still arguing about donuts and frat parties in the background. "Look, I know it's not really my business. But I care about you, so... I think maybe you should know this."

Her tone shifts—lower, more careful, as she reaches for your hand.

"I don't know if things with you and Jean are getting serious or not. He's a good guy—chill, funny, decent. But... three years ago, he was really into Mikasa."

The name lands in your stomach like a stone.

"I don't know why Sasha didn't mention it," Pieck continues gently. "It's not that I don't want you two together... I just want you to be careful." She squeezes your hand.

You try to smile, but your face feels too tight.

You don't know what to say.

You shouldn't care. It was three years ago. People change. People move on.

But still.

Jean flirts easily, laughs easily, makes you feel comfortable in a way that terrifies you a little. What if you're just another girl on his list? What if you're a temporary distraction before he falls back into something more familiar—something like her? You're not mad — not really. It was years ago. People have crushes, and Mikasa is... well, Mikasa. Gorgeous. Intimidating. Smart. Basically a goddess. You can't blame anyone for falling for her.

But it still stings.

You don't blame him. But still... It makes you feel small. Uncertain.

Maybe you're not ready for something real. Maybe it's too soon.

Maybe Jean isn't, either.

"Hey you good?" Pieck squeezes your hand, her voice softer now, her eyes searching your face.

You open your mouth, trying to say something—anything—but nothing comes out. So instead, you give her a small, quiet smile.

"Thanks for telling me, Pieck," you finally manage. "I care about you too, so... yeah, I appreciate it. And honestly... I mean, I can't really be mad at him. It was years ago. Not that it doesn't make me feel a little unsure, but... I don't know." You sigh, tugging your sleeves down a little. "I've barely been here a week. Saying that me and Jean are even a thing... it just feels rushed. Too soon."

Pieck watches you closely as you give her another small smile, like you're trying to convince yourself as much as her. "But yeah. I'm sure it's in the past." The words come out a little too carefully. They feel like swallowing sand.

You want to believe it's nothing—just a harmless old crush. And if it was, that wouldn't be the end of the world. Wouldn't ruin whatever this thing is between you and Jean.

Unless...

Unless Mikasa feels something for him too.

And that thought punches you a little harder than you'd like to admit. You would never choose a guy over a friend—especially not Mikasa. She's loyal. Protective. Kind. She's been good to you since the first day you got here. The kind of friend you keep.

And you're not about to risk that over a crush with a good smile and a mullet.

"Of course, Y/N," Pieck says gently. "I'm just glad I told you before things got... deeper."

You nod as you try to stop overthinking, from Jean, the whole Mika situation and see where the flow guides you.

She pulls you into a sideways hug as the two of you walk toward the chaos unfolding a few feet away. Gabi is yanking Falco's ear while yelling over him about boy bands.

"You literally don't know what you're saying, Falco," Gabi huffs. "Obviously One Direction is better than Big Time Rush."

"Ow! I'm sorry, okay?" Falco hisses, trying to squirm out of her grip.

You and Pieck laugh, letting the noise fill the silence that your thoughts have left behind.

The market hums with life. You see couples sharing a cup of shaved ice, girls taking selfies with their dogs, people crouched by plant stands or snapping content for their feeds. It all feels... peaceful.

You can't help but think back to Stohess. The farmers market there used to be the spot. Every Saturday, people gathered to sell homemade soaps, paintings, bread, trinkets—until the mayor shut it all down, claiming it hurt store profits. Another good thing swallowed by greed.

You won't lie—Stohess scarred you. Deep. But not everything there was awful. It was a beautiful city, once. Massive, vibrant. The kind of place that could have felt like home.

It wasn't the buildings that ruined it. It was the people.

The gossip. The pettiness. The way everyone was always watching, waiting for your story to turn sour just so they could have something to talk about.

That's what stole the beauty from Stohess.

And part of you is still scared of that happening again—scared that here, too, something good could sour before you even know what it is. So you try to spend the rest of today's market thinking of anything to distract you from that, which wasn't hard at all, considering those three are like a fuse to the fire with their chaotic energy.

You stop at a strawberry stand, the ripe berries glistening in the morning sun. Ymir's favorite. you buy two baskets, tucking them into your tote when your phone buzzes.

Jean.

You freeze. Your fingers hover over the screen, stomach knotting. You want to ask him about Mikasa—but now's not the time. Not on the phone. Not with two days of no signal ahead.

You pick up anyway.

"Hey, Jean."

"Hey, pretty girl," he chuckles. "We just made our last pit stop. Figured this might be the last chance I get to hear your voice before I'm off-grid."

You smile, trying to ease the tension forming in your gut "I'm still at the market. It's chaotic—Gabi and Falco just got in trouble for trying to juggle apples."

He laughs. "Sounds about right....Hey, don't make plans for next saturday."

You raise an eyebrow. "Why?"

"There's something I want to show you. Actually... I need your help with it." His voice shifts—suddenly a little shy, almost boyish. You smirk.

"Is this another one of your tactics to impress me, Kirstein?"

He lets out a lazy laugh. "Maybe. But this time, I think you'll be the one surprising me."

You grow curious. "What are you planning?"

"It's a surprise. Just promise you won't ghost me that day, alright?" a horn roars into the other side of the line as jean mutters a curse in his breath.

"Okay," you say softly. "Have a good trip, Jean."

As much as you want to shake it off, Mika lingers in your head. Maybe it really was just a dumb crush. But then why didn't anyone mention it before? Sasha knew—Sasha practically lives in Jean and Mikasa's heads.

Was it really nothing?

Maybe. Maybe Jean really does like you. And maybe that's enough. So you try not to spiral. Not about Jean. Not about Mika. Just... flow with it. Let it be what it is, for now.

You turn back toward the crowd—and suddenly Pieck grabs your arm like she's seen a ghost.

"Shit. Shit. Fuck. Why?" She pulls you into her shadow, practically burying herself in your side. Her face is white. Not just pale—sheet-white. She steals your hat and Gabi's oversized sunglasses, her long hair sweeping around like a curtain.

"Pieck? What—" you grow confused as you've never seen Pieck act this way, her lip quiver as she curses something in her breath.

And then you see him.

A few canopies down, there he is. Laughing with a vendor. Porco. Wearing a green trucker hat, a fitted tee, black cargos, and Timberlands—he looks nothing like the "frat disaster" you heard about. Just... normal. Chill. A hot guy buying chili sauce.

Gabi squeals. "Oooh, Pieck! Come on, it's not like you haven't seen him naked." her brown eyes glint with amusement as Pieck cuts her off

"SHUT UP," Pieck hisses, her voice cracking. Her cheeks are crimson. The sunglasses are doing nothing to hide her flustered face.

Falco's choking. You try, and fail, to stifle a laugh.

Porco hears Pieck's name. He suddenly drops the lemons as the vendor yells at him. He scrambles to stack them back up muttering some sorries, his head snapping around like he's scanning for a sniper.

Then his eyes land on you.

And behind you?

Pieck.

He walks toward you. His face is bright red. His voice cracks. "Hey."

You all try not to burst out laughing.

He clears his throat, lowers his pitch. "Hey."

"Porco," Falco finally speaks as he nods at Gabi and Falco. "You guys good?" Then—to your surprise—he turns to you. "How are you?" he says, shuffling in his feet as you grow amused to see Porco, the infamous president of a frat getting all flustered.

"I'm good," you reply with a grin. "You look... good." He rubs his jaw sheepishly. "Pieck... I know you're behind Y/N. Can we—can we talk?" his voice grows softer, shy even.

Pieck slowly steps out from behind you, sunglasses crooked, face unreadable.

You take that as your cue.

"Falco. Gabi. There's a golden retriever that looks exactly like Nala stomps. Let's go." You wink at Pieck as she glares daggers at you for leaving her alone. From the corner of your eye, you see Porco gently take Pieck's hand. His whole body language shifts—like a golden retriever waiting to be adopted.

You, Gabi, and Falco keep a safe distance, watching the scene unfold.

"God," Falco mutters. "I hope he doesn't fuck it up again."

"Same," Gabi groans. "I want to go back to the good times. Family beach days, Pieck braiding my hair, Porco letting us dig him in the sand." she takes a huge bite go her donut as she dramatically sighs.

Your curiosity gets the better of you. "What even happened to them?"

Falco sighs. "Three years together. Then Porco failed a huge exam. It was also Pieck's dad's birthday. He got blackout drunk at the party—wrecked the dessert table, started beef with Pieck's grandma over the last slice of cake. Total disaster. Pieck's dad kicked him out. They had a huge fight. So they broke up."

"They talked after," Gabi adds. "Pieck said she needed space and porco spiraled. Total douche era." "But Pieck? She calmed him. Kept him grounded."

You glance back.

Porco's hands are in hers. He's talking fast. You can't hear what he says, but Pieck's face softens.

Then, she nods. He beams as he picks her up and spins her around like a movie scene. People literally clap. Someone in the background yells "Awwww!"

Gabi and Falco jump like toddlers on a trampoline.

Pieck meets your eyes. Her face glows. You give her a big grin and two thumbs up. She mouths, "You're dead." You just laugh.

Porco kisses her, and she lets him.

After that, Porco turns to you with the softest smile you've ever seen on him.

"Mind if I steal my girl for a while?" He looks at Pieck, and the way she beams at him makes your chest flutter.

You glance at Gabi and Falco, who both nod in unison. "I want her back at my place by six. Don't be late, lovebirds," you tease with a grin. Porco takes Pieck's hand, and just like that, they disappear into the crowd, fingers laced.

"Young love. It's so pure," Falco sighs dramatically, pressing a hand to his blue tee like it's his heart.

You snort, rolling your eyes. Gabi doesn't miss a beat— she smacks the back of his head as he yelps. "You are so corny for a twelve-year-old." Her voice comes out sharp. 

"Hey, he's got a point," you shrug. "Hopeless romantics are a dying breed."

There's something in the way he looks ahead — a quick flick of his eyes toward Gabi.
It's not obvious, but... you catch it.

You nudge him with your elbow. "Yeah? So when's your turn to confess your undying love to her?" You gesture toward Gabi, who's a few steps ahead, completely oblivious.

Falco stiffens like you just threw ice water down his back. "I-I don't know what you're talking about," he stammers in a high-pitched squeak, eyes wide like he's about to faint.

You burst out laughing and ruffle his blond hair. "Relax, Romeo. Just saying—maybe she feels the same way."

He mutters something under his breath and shakes his head. "I'll tell her when the time is right."

Just as you're about to press him further, Gabi spins on her heel and grabs both your wrists.
"Look! They have a thrift section!" she squeals, already dragging the two of you toward a row of colorful tents.

"Let's go, slowpokes!"

 

✧･ ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

You hop in the shower, steam curling around you as the late sun begins casting golden streaks across the sky, a quiet reminder that the bonfire is just around the corner. You reach for your lavender shampoo, the scent blooming in the warm air as droplets race down your skin.

You think of the party while rinsing your hair.
Pieck told you it was a huge deal. You already knew that from the way Connie and Sasha hyped it up,  but what they didn't mention was how intense it really is. Multiple DJs, a massive tiki bar, LED lights flooding the entire beach. It's more than a party, it's a coastal rave.

And according to Ymir...
Someone unexpected will be there tonight.

Eren.

Ever since Jean told you what happened, your mind keeps drifting back to him.
His teal eyes.
The silence between you on Wednesday.
His past.

You want to ask. You want to know.
But you can tell he's avoiding it for a reason. And who wants to be reminded of the moment something they loved was ripped from them?

Still...

You can't help but wonder what it would've been like to see the Eren Jean described.

Eren at the peak of his glory.

Red Bull sponsorship-level good. The kind of surfer that carved through waves like they were nothing. Not just talent ...devotion.

To lose that must have carved something out of him.

But if he's going to the bonfire... Maybe something's changed.
Maybe he's ready to reconnect with the part of himself he dismissed.

A knock cuts through the fog of your thoughts.

"Hey" Ymir's voice comes muffled through the door. "Not to pressure you... but yes. Pressure. We leave in an hour." You hear Tori laugh somewhere behind her.

You finish your shower and start tearing through your closet. A soft shimmer catches your eye, a baby pink sequin skirt. You pair it with a white halter silk top. The moment it hits your skin, you know it's the outfit.

You smooth lotion across your legs, rubbing in body oil until you've got that perfect glowing, sunkissed sheen. You style your hair into soft, effort-waves that look casually undone... even if they took forever. Tori helps with your final makeup touches: gold shimmer on your lids, gloss on your lips, as you admire how beautiful she looks.

She looks like a goddess herself, slicked-back ponytail, cascading gold hair, and a silk blue dress that floats around her like water. Ymir's already chugging a strawberry BuzzBall in the kitchen, muttering about how good the bonfire will be. Her hair bandana's colorful, black shades adorn her freckled face, her black vest cropped, and she's paired it with green army jorts.

After a beat, the door swings open and Pieck steps in.

Her black hair is down, long and straight, like ink against her soft features. She wears a short sun dress and lip gloss that shines even in the dim apartment light.

"Good," Tori says, keys in hand. "Now that everyone's here... let's go."

Ymir tosses you a BuzzBall.

You catch it.

You squeal, "Wait!" You grab your Polaroid and take a snapshot of all four of you at the door. It clicks and hums, printing the memory.

The flash lingers like the start of something unforgettable.

The drive is surprisingly less chaotic than you imagined. Tori's white G-Wagon rolls down the palm-lined road with the windows down, pop songs thumping through the speakers. The warm breeze lifts your hair as the sky melts into a golden orange, casting a soft glow over everything. As you pull up, distant music starts bleeding into the air, and the energy of Paradis is electric — buzzing with anticipation.

 

[Now playing –Doses & Mimosas By Cherub]

Tori parks, and you step out, jaw slack.

Whatever they said about the bonfire being a big deal was an understatement.

The beach is bathed in string lights. Palm trees are wrapped like candy canes in LEDs, and a massive disco ball spins above a glowing tiki bar, already packed with people taking shots and chugging beer cans. In the center, a bonfire roars — flames crackling like they're dancing along with the crowd.

A DJ spins under a tent, head bobbing to the beat while girls in glitter scream and take selfies like they're at Coachella. On the sand, a group plays volleyball — and every time someone misses, the whole team downs a shot. Chaos, but beautiful chaos.

In the distance, you spot a brunette bouncing like her life depends on it, a blur of sequins and energy. Beside her, a black-haired girl sips from her solo cup, looking way too sober for the scene.

You make your way over.

"Fucking finally," Mikasa sighs, pulling you into a tight hug.

You grin. "Aww, missed you too, babe."

She pulls back and you take a second to admire her — black lace corset bodysuit, chunky red belt, mini skirt, signature liner sharp enough to kill. Classic Mika.

Suddenly, Sasha yanks you into a messy dance. "Well, well, well, look who it is! One of my besties looking extra hot tonight!" she yells over the music, voice a little slurred.

You laugh. "Babe, we're matching!" You point to her sparkly orange sequin skirt.

She squeals and hugs you tighter, and the two of you start swaying to the beat like you've done this a hundred times before.

As if on cue, Connie bursts onto the scene with a bottle of Tito's in hand.

"Ayyy! My favorite girl is here!" he grins. "Y/N, please tell me you're gonna scream the loudest when I hit the stage."

"Wait—you're playing tonight?" you shout.

"Hell yeah, baby! The Con-Man is here to bless this party with fire tracks!" He jumps like a kid, bottle raised, Sasha hyping him up like it's his Grammy moment.

Ymir scoffs. "You sure about that, baldie? Last time you played, the crowd booed your ass into another zip code." that makes the whole circle cackle with laughter as Connie looks genuinely offended.

Tori gently smacks her. "Babe! That wasn't nice. I mean... it wasn't great, but it wasn't that bad." She gives Connie a lopsided smile as she recalls last semester fiasco.

Connie clutches his chest. "Wow. Okay. Everyone just shit on my artistic vision."

"Let's not forget," Mikasa chimes in, eyes sparkling with mischief, "he tried to mash up Adam Sandler's 'Medium Pace'with Run the World'" she smirks as Mir wheezes, grabbing Tori's arm so she won't fall.

You nearly choke. "Noooo. You didn't."

"Hey," Connie defends, "that was genius, y'all just weren't ready for it."

"Yeah, genius," Pieck mutters, taking the bottle from him. "We're gonna need a shot before you go up."

She leans over and whispers to you, "I swear to God if he plays that mashup again I'll set the table on fire myself."

You burst out laughing.

God, you really wish you'd been there to witness Connie getting dragged off the DJ booth last year.

The chaos continues as Hitch, Reiner, Bertolt, and Marlowe stroll down the sand. Reiner carries a red cooler over one shoulder like he's in a music video. He's shirtless — abs gleaming under the string lights — wearing a ridiculous straw cowboy hat covered in seashells. Unfortunately... It works. Like, a little too well.

"Damn, Rein," Ymir whistles. "I want to roast your yeehaw ass hat, but I gotta admit — you look...decent. Let's hope your personality doesn't ruin it the moment you speak." she smirks as she eyes Reiner up and down.

And there it is. The beef begins.

Reiner just laughs. "Hey, every girl wishes she had this western swagger." He shrugs, flexing slightly. With that, Ymir gags dramatically.

Bertolt slaps Reiner on the back. "Maybe tone down the cowboy talk if you want to meet girls tonight."

Hitch makes her way to your circle, arms wide. "Hey bitches! Pieck, baby, I didn't know you were coming!" They hug, instantly lost in their own side convo.
Marlowe stands a little stiffly behind her, looking exactly like the boyfriend who got dragged to a party and has no idea what to do with his hands.

You sip the paloma Reiner handed you — grapefruit and tequila cutting through your tongue like citrus and chaos. The last light fades from the sky, and soon everything is LED and firelight. After a few drinks, the world grows fuzzier, softer — like nothing exists outside of this glowing bubble. You dance, spin, laugh with your girls. The guys are doing shots. Pictures are taken. The vibes are vibing.

"Mika, you look gorgeous!" You yell over the beat as you both dance under the dizzying disco lights, grabbing her waist as she drapes her arms over your neck, swaying her sleek black hair with the rhythm. The music pulses through your chest like a second heartbeat, while the salty ocean breeze kisses your glowing skin. The warmth from the alcohol makes your body feel lighter, freer—like nothing else matters.

Mika grins wide, the faint scar near her eye twitching slightly as she spins you in a little twirl.
"We look gorgeous," she smirks, and the both of you burst into laughter.

Sasha stumbles in like a hurricane of glitter and joy. "HEY, why are my besties dancing without me?!"

You shriek, grabbing her hand and pulling her in, your bodies now a whirl of arms, hair, and laughter. The three of you scream-singing lyrics, jumping in rhythm, living like nothing outside this dancefloor exists. For a moment, you feel like just another normal girl, dancing with her friends, at peace.

"I just..." you start, then pause. A knot forms in your throat, unexpected and bittersweet.
"I just wanted to tell you guys that I love you. I didn't really have many friends before you, so... just, thank you for letting me in."

Your voice wavers near the end, heavy with sincerity. The alcohol buzz makes you more emotional than usual, but it's not just that—it's the realization that these girls, these people, opened their arms to you without a second thought. You remember DMing Ymir about the apartment, how nervous you were, and then how Sasha had immediately sat next to you at Pixis' lecture and started offering snacks like you'd known each other for years. You didn't have to explain yourself. You didn't have to be anyone but you.

You think about Hannah and Franz—how much they would've loved it here. Franz would've bonded instantly with Bert and Armin over conspiracy theories and weird facts. He would've egged on the Ymir-Reiner beef with dramatic fake bets. And Hannah—her and Sasha? Pure chaotic soulmate energy. They'd have been glued to each other, sharing snacks, pranking Connie, and dragging you into it with a wink.

Sasha's eyes go wide with emotion and she tackles you into the warmest, tightest hug " You have absolutely nothing to thank us for. We love you. You're ours now, deal with it."

You wheeze into her shoulder, giggling as Mika lets out a soft laugh. "She's literally suffocating her—Sash, let her breathe."

Sasha loosens just enough for air to return to your lungs.

Then Mika takes your hands in hers, her eyes steady and soft in the swirling lights.
"Even if we only met not too long ago, you're part of us now, Y/N. You matter. And we care about you—a lot. You're one of us. Don't ever forget that." She presses a gentle kiss to your cheek. Something in your chest cracks open. You beam.

And suddenly, you get it.

You finally get what Hannah meant about Paradis. The way she'd talked about it like it was more than a beach town—like it was a feeling. Like it was home. A place you never wanted to leave. And now... it's making sense.

The three of you start dancing again, arms tangled as you sway together, hugging and laughing like your hearts can't hold all the love at once.

Until...

Connie barrel-rolls into the scene like he's sliding into a movie frame.
"HELL YEAH! My favorite girls are about to kiss?? Am I dreaming?!" He's grinning ear to ear, beer in one hand, chaos in the other.

You roll your eyes, laughing as you shove him by the shoulder.
"Connie, you just missed the kiss by like five seconds—but maybe next time will be your lucky day." you fake pout as he clutches his chest like you just told him Santa Claus isn't real.

"FUCK. That's worse than missing an early-bird promo at Taco Bell."

Mika and Sasha cackle.

"Anyway," he continues like nothing happened, "I came to drag Y/N's fine ass to dance with me." Before you can even respond, he yanks your arm, pulls off his army cap from his buzzcut, and plops it right onto your head like it was meant to be yours all along.

Mika rolls her eyes. Sasha yells behind you, "Good luck, conman gets way too excited with reggaetón—don't let him break your kneecap!"

"Shut up, I've only dislocated two knees in my life," he calls over his shoulder proudly, tugging you through the crowd.

[Now playing– Dile By Don Omar]

"Connie, have you been pre-gaming with jet fuel?" you question as connie moves like a pro.

"Only love, baby. And tequila." He grins, handing you a half-finished shot like it's a peace offering. "Drink up. We're about to become legends."

Before you can protest, he twirls you straight into the dance circle. The beat hits heavy—reggaetón, loud and sticky—and Connie's already doing the kind of dance moves that would get flagged on national television.

"Shame loverboy couldn't make it," he leans in, voice low enough just for you to hear, breath hot against your ear.

You stiffen slightly. Jean.

His name hasn't crossed your mind since the buzzball kicked in, since the first beat dropped and the lights made everything feel a little less serious. But now—there he is, floating in the back of your thoughts like smoke.

"Maybe it's not such a shame," you tease, voice light. "Maybe fate wants me to be with you, Conman." You ruffle what little hair his buzzcut left behind.

He laughs, canines flashing. "Fuck horse-face. Date me instead, Y/N. I've got moves, charm, rhythm — that man has nothing on me." He spins you into the beat like he owns the dancefloor, dragging your body against his with smooth confidence. The reggaetón track pulses through the speakers—deep bass, seductive rhythm, sweat-slicked bodies all around.

He moves like he means it—hips in sync with yours, hands lingering just a second too long on your waist, eyes daring you to play along.

"Cuéntale que yo soy mejor que él..." he sings under his breath, lips brushing your ear like a secret. You can't help but laugh.

"Connie," you chuckle, putting your hands on his chest, "when did you learn Spanish?"

"My dad's half Mexican, half Dominican," he smirks, stepping back to show off a ridiculous body roll. "Spice runs through these veins, baby."

You choke on your drink. "Okay, okay — so when's the carne asada then?"

"Whenever you want it, guapa. I make chicharrón that'll make you forget that French-ass boy's name." he wiggles his brows as you shake your head with a lopsided smile.

"You're trouble," you say, breathless.

"And you like trouble," he grins.

You grab him by the shoulders. "Okay, okay. Dance break over, Romeo. I need a drink and a breather before you start grinding me into cardiac arrest."

He mock-pouts but lets you go with a bow. "Anytime, princesa. When you want more spice, you know where to find me." he winks at you as you look for sasha in the crowd.

As you walk toward Sasha and Hitch, you feel your chest rise and fall—half from the dancing, half from the Jean spiral inching back in.

The fun dulls for just a second — not enough to kill the mood, but enough for you to notice.

You can't stop thinking about what Pieck said. And you're done pretending it doesn't matter.

"Sash, can I talk to you for a sec?" The words tumble out before you can stop them. There's a pinch in your chest, like anxiety's got a grip and won't let go. The thought of Jean not fully over Mikasa keeps looping in your brain.

Sasha freezes mid-dance, her orange sequin skirt catching the light. "Yeah, sure," she says, suddenly more alert. "You okay? You're starting to scare me," she adds with a chuckle, brushing her hair off her shoulder.

"Yeah, I'm alright. I just wanted to ask you something." You shift your weight, trying to sound casual. She cuts you off before you can get the words out.

"Wait—this is about Jean, isn't it? Girl, I completely forgot to ask about your date! I spent like an hour rambling about mine." She laughs, clearly unaware of the storm brewing inside you. "I already knew where Jean was taking you, but how was it? Tell me everything."

You offer her a small smile, grateful for the breather. So before you drop the bomb, you tell her everything. The maze. The kiss. Her eyes widen with each word, and she grabs your arm like she's holding in a scream.

"Okay, wait—STOP. That's so hot. Why didn't you fuck him after that much tension?! You're stronger than me," she laughs, swaying you slightly by the arm.

But your smile fades a little.

"Yeah... about that." You trail off, your fingers start fidgeting without you realizing. "Pieck told me something. And I just... I need to know if it's true."

Sasha's face shifts instantly. She knows what's coming.

"Did Jean... did he have a thing for Mikasa?"

There it is.

The second the words leave your mouth, it's like you've cracked something open.

Sasha's eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you brace for her to say no, to laugh it off. But she doesn't. Instead, she sighs and grabs your hand, guiding you a bit further down the sand, away from the crowd and the music.

The sand feels weird under you, like it's too sharp, too cold, too real.

"I mean... yeah," she says, voice soft. "It was a while ago, and honestly, I didn't want to say anything because it was nothing. Like, really nothing. He liked her for a bit, but nothing ever happened between them."

Your stomach twists, even if part of you expected this.

"I'm so sorry I didn't tell you," she adds quickly. "But Jean begged me not to. Said he wanted to tell you himself, and that's kinda how I knew he was serious about you. He told me he hadn't thought about Mikasa that way in forever."

You nod slowly, still holding onto a chunk of sand in your fist. Sasha notices.

"I swear to you, if I thought for a second that Jean still liked her, I would've told you. Hell, I would've canceled the date myself and punched him in the dick if he was playing you." her voice comes out serious, her brown eyes locked on yours as you slowly nod.

Despite yourself, you laugh. A small, fragile laugh.

She squeezes your hand tighter. "And just so you know, Mikasa doesn't like him like that either. I think she liked the idea of him maybe, but it was never real. You're not stepping into some love triangle, Y/N. That's not what this is."

You blink hard, overwhelmed by the flood of relief and... guilt. For feeling jealous, for spiraling, for even thinking about ditching something that felt good just because of a ghost from the past.

"I'm sorry for bringing this up here. I just... I couldn't stop thinking about it. I almost lost it today." relief washes all over you, like a weight you've been carrying all morning has finally been pulled away from your body.

Sasha smiles and wraps her arms around you. "I'll always love you, idiot. If Jean ever does something stupid, I'll kill him myself."

You laugh into her shoulder. "Thanks for telling me."

She pulls back and grabs your wrist. "Okay, now that you got your closure, stop thinking about horse-face and come party."

She starts dancing dramatically in front of you, making you burst out laughing again. Just as you're walking back, you catch her eyes shift and widen.

"Oh my god," she says under her breath. "God, he looks so fucking hot." her eyes glint as she catches a glimpse of Nico.

You turn to see Niccolo standing near Bert and Marlowe, casually holding a drink. His blond hair shines under the tiki lights, and the second his eyes land on Sasha, he lights up like he's been waiting for her all night.

You choke on your drink, laughing. You remember her rambling on FaceTime last night—the restaurant, the walk on the pier, the kiss that kept going for hours.

You pass them as the music starts to swell. The DJ's now into house beats, and the party's gotten even louder. Pieck has disappeared, definitely off somewhere with Porco, who looked like he'd been waiting his whole life to hold her hand again. Hitch and Marlowe went to the tiki bar for refills.

And then, from the corner of your eye, you see him.

Eren.

He steps onto the sand like he's walked into his own ghost. A white compression shirt hugs his frame, the golden key around his neck catching the firelight. His jorts hang low on his hips, his hair tied up in that perfect, messy bun. A few strands fall across his face.

Those teal eyes find you immediately.

Your chest tightens.

People whisper around him. Some stare. Some pretend not to. Armin walks beside him, saying something low, clearly aware of the attention. Annie walks just ahead, her posture sharp.

You don't know why you're nervous.

Maybe it's because Eren's here. Maybe it's because you weren't expecting him to show up like this — like someone trying to remember who they used to be.

"Jaeger?" Reiner stares, eyebrows drawn like he's not sure if it's the alcohol or if his eyes are betraying him.

He masks the shock fast — not fast enough to go unnoticed, but fast enough to pretend.
"Shit, man, didn't think you'd come." He claps Eren's shoulder and hands him a beer. "Here, take one."

Sasha's frozen in place. Like she's seeing a ghost — and from the looks of it, she's not the only one. The only people who knew he might come were Tori, Ymir, Armin, Annie... and you.

Mikasa steps in, face unreadable but her voice edged in surprise. "Eren, I thought you said you weren't coming." She touches his arm like she's trying to check he's real.

"I know," he says, brushing a hand through his hair. "Changed my mind." His voice is low. Different, not cocky, just... unsure. His usual sharp confidence looks like it's taken a backseat. Something quiet lingers under his eyes — something like nerves.

"Ayyye, Eren, my guy!" Connie appears out of nowhere, his voice a half-drunken shout. His arm snakes around Eren's shoulder. "You made it just in time. I'm about to go on in, like, ten and  VIP section's calling your name, baby!"

Eren chuckles, amused, dimples flashing. "After last semester? I need to see what disaster you've cooked up."

Connie launches into some chaotic rant about his new playlist, but Eren's only half-listening. His attention isn't on the party.

It's on you.

His eyes meet yours across the bonfire crowd. That familiar stare — steady, focused, quiet. It sends something straight to your ribs, and suddenly you forget how to breathe.
He doesn't say a word. Doesn't need to. You feel it in your chest anyway.

You haven't spoken since Wednesday. And yeah... you kind of miss it.

Eren makes you feel seen. Like he hears the words you don't say. Like you don't have to explain yourself around him. And ever since that rooftop, something about him has felt... familiar. Like déjà vu wrapped in skin.

But then he pulls away. Every time people are around, he shifts. That version of him you peeled back— it disappears in seconds. He stares at you like he barely knows you. Like none of it ever happened.

But when it's just the two of you, he's real.
He makes you feel like you don't have to perform, like you don't have to mold yourself into this perfectly curated version of who you're supposed to be.

Because alone with you, he's softer. Quieter. Real.
And when he looks at you, really looks at you, it's like you don't have to be anyone but yourself. Not perfect. Not composed. Just you.

So why did he push you away? Was it because of Jean? Did he know about the Mikasa thing and get weirdly protective?

Was that what that moment was—a warning?

You're about to walk toward him, to say something — anything — but then someone grabs your arm.

"Hey," Hitch grins, already buzzed. "Since when did you finish that drink and not plan to get another? Tiki bar's got the best Sex on the Beach in the galaxy." She giggles, tugging you along. Sasha squeals and follows, excited.

Just as hitchdragging you toward the bar, you glance back, locking your eyes with Eren's as you walk away.

The tiki bar is alive.

It's packed wall to tall with students. LED lights glow in pinks and purples, a disco ball spins above your head like something out of a teen movie. You push your way through the crowd, the bass thumping in your chest, sweat and sea air mixing with the scent of cheap beer and coconut rum.

Inside, it's all flashing lights and motion. People dance like they've got nowhere else to be.

Sasha takes a sip from her frozen margarita, her face practically glowing. She turns to you with that full, open smile she always gives when she's drunk and happy.

"I'm so glad he's here," she murmurs. "You have no idea how much we've missed him."
There's something gentle in her voice now—nostalgia bleeding through the edges.

You look between her and Hitch, who nods in agreement. "We missed having him next to us. We used to be at the beach every other day. Surfing until dark. Playing stupid card games on the sand. Stargazing until the last star faded."

You can picture it. The way they talk about him—it's with longing, like the kind reserved for someone who once meant everything.

And now he's here again. Trying.

And you? You just want him to remember what he loved.
To reconnect with the version of himself that lit up every time someone said "waves" or "sunrise" or "surfing."
You want him to see he's still allowed to want that. Even if you don't know the whole story.

Before your thoughts can wander too far, Hitch grabs your hand again, tugging you into the dancefloor, where the bass is so loud it drowns out everything else.

Hitch snakes her hands to your waist as you both dance, her hips moving in rhythm as you try to match her energy.

Niccolo steps into the tiki bar, awkwardly shuffling toward Sasha. You watch him, amused—his movements are clumsy, almost painful to witness—but Sasha, effortlessly wild, grabs him by the neck, positions herself in front of him, and guides him into the beat like they've done it a hundred times before.

Niccolo's face is tomato red, but he catches the rhythm quickly. Together, they move like it's only ever been the two of them in the room.

You lean into Hitch, her white halter dress glowing under the lights, hair a little frizzy from the salt in the air. "Hey," she says, voice close to your ear, "don't look, but there's a very cute guy checking you out."

You already know the smirk on her face without even looking. "I mean, I know you and Jean have your whole will-they-won't-they thing, but..." she shrugs, mischievous, "...you're not official, so technically? No rules." She squeezes your arm, her hazel eyes gleam with excitement as she guides her way off the dancefloor, leaving you curious.

And then you see him.
And something in you snaps cold.Your body goes rigid.

Your breath stalls. Your fingers tremble, and your heart drops like someone yanked the floor from under you.

Thomas.

He's leaning casually against the tiki bar, two guys on either side of him—but all you see is him.

A ghost of your dark past..

He wasn't the worst. But seeing him here, in this place, surrounded by light and people you're finally starting to trust, feels like a crack splitting the earth beneath you.

He's a reminder. Of what you crawled out of.

The blackouts. The pills. The toxic high of chaos disguised as love.
The grief so heavy it pulled you into a cave so dark, you swore there was no way out.

Until something dragged you back. The promise you made to her.
The dream you promised to fulfill.

Thomas nods at you. Sips his drink like this is any other party.
You step closer. Your hands are clammy. You can barely hear the music anymore.

Please let this be a sick joke. A hallucination born out of tequila.

"Well, I never thought I'd see you again," he says, amused.

You freeze. Your stomach knots.

"What, no greeting hug?" he adds, like you're old friends and not a fucking landmine.

"What are you doing here, Thomas?" Your voice is sharper than you meant, but you don't take it back.

He shrugs, rubbing his jaw like he owns the place. "My cousin goes to Eldia. Said there was this epic bonfire and figured I'd check it out. Gotta say... seeing you? That's what really made it worth the trip."

He smirks, tilting his head slightly, like he's waiting for a reaction "You know," he continues, "Luke felt pretty lonely without you. Not that I didn't miss you either. You were our little trouble, Y/N. A wildfire in a bottle."

He chuckles, low and nostalgic. "Too bad you didn't stick around."

There it is. The familiar chokehold of your past dressed up like small talk.
But this time, you're not the same person.

He leans in, and that smell—too much cologne, too much memory—hits you like a punch.
"Hey, you still into those little white ones?" he asks, too casually.

Your stomach drops.

"No." Your answer comes fast, clipped, final.

He blinks. "C'mon, don't be so uptight. Just one won't kill you."

You shake your head harder this time. "No, Thomas. That's not me anymore."

He raises his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. Jesus." Then, a beat later, "At least let me buy your drink? You still like tequila sunrises, right?"

You don't want to be rude. But your gut is already screaming.
"No, I'm good."

He shrugs again—always so nonchalant.
Then turns to the bar and orders one anyway.

You glance around, distracted by a group of girls taking pics behind you, one of them accidentally bumping your shoulder.

"Here," he says, holding it out. "No pressure."
You don't take it.

Before you can say anything else, Connie bursts through the crowd, buzzing with the same chaotic energy that follows him everywhere.

"AYYYEEE, THERE SHE IS!" He throws an arm around your shoulder, sweat and cheap beer on his skin. "My muse, my number one groupie, the reason I'm brave enough to embarrass myself publicly—Y/N, you better scream your lungs out or I'm throwing hands."

You laugh, grateful. He doesn't know it, but he just saved you.

"I got you, DJ Conman," you say, taking the half-full Tito's bottle he shoves in your hand like a trophy.

You grab your drink off the barstool and let him drag you toward the DJ tent.

You shoot a glance back.

Thomas is still at the bar. Still watching. That same smirk curling his lips.

A sharp shiver runs down your spine.

Inside, the tent is vibrating from the bass. Literally. The floor shakes as the first notes drop, the crowd packed tight with sweaty, glitter-covered students screaming like they're about to see Beyoncé.

Connie clutches the mic like he's about to deliver a Grammy performance.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, DJ CONMAN IN THE FUCKING HOUSE!"

The crowd around the tent cheers — mostly out of confusion and alcohol — but a few people who remember last year's disaster groan dramatically.

Sasha cups her hands around her mouth. "YOU GOT THIS CONNIE, REDEEM YOURSELF!"

"Redemption arc incoming," Mikasa deadpans as she takes a sip of her drink.

You laugh, your body already swaying with the crowd as you lean into Hitch's ear, "Okay wait... is he actually good or are we about to be publicly humiliated by association?"

She doesn't even get to answer.

 

[Now playing – Satisfaction - Just_us Remix by Benny Benassi, The Biz]

 

The beat drops hard. The tent goes insane.

Connie throws confetti – from god knows where –  and screams into the mic, "PARADIS, I WANT YOU TO MAKE SOME FUCKING NOISE!" He pushes a button and some shitty trumpet sounds echoes the tent.

With that Reiner howls, the crowd cheer and claps like they're on a Ted talk.

Armin appears beside you, smiling "He's improved," he says proudly like a proud mom watching her kid on stage for the first time, sipping his drink. "Kind of."

"No way—wait, why does this kinda slap?" you laugh. Hitch screams. Marlowe nods to the beat.

"GO CORNELIA!" Ymir slurs from a pile of tequila and glitter.

You glance around. Eren's at the corner of the tent, sipping from a red cup, chatting with Bert. His eyes flick briefly toward you. Something in your stomach does a little flip, so you look away, focusing on the chaos unfurling around.

Connie is vibing. He's soaked in sweat, shirt riding up, wearing Ymir's stolen sunglasses  and his baseball cap sits sideways as a group of girls scream around him like he's headlining Tomorrowland. One kisses his cheek, another takes a video. He's sweating like he's two seconds from passing out but smiling like he's in heaven.

Hitch twirls under the LED lights, Marlowe is bobbing his head, Sasha throws her arms around Mikasa, and Reiner waves his cowboy hat in rhythm from atop his cooler. Annie dances to the beat while Armin is recording the whole scene looking like the proud dad he is.

And you?

You laugh. You drink and dance like there's no tomorrow.

You're all huddled together in front of the booth, trying to take a pic with Connie. He tugs on his shirt just in time for the camera to catch it — "MUSIC IS MY DRUG" plastered in bold letters across his chest.

He throws Ymir's shades on Sasha dramatically, who's already double-fisting drinks like a pro.

"Connie, I swear," Sasha yells, "you deserve your ass ate for this mix."

You choke on your drink, sputtering as Reiner turns to Sasha in complete disbelief.

"Hey—don't knock it till you try it," she shrugs, sipping her margarita.

That's all it takes for Tori and Hitch to completely lose it, laughing so hard Hitch nearly spills her drink on Pieck.

The bass hits. The tent vibrates. Connie looks like he could actually ascend.

But then...
You blink.

The lights suddenly go brighter.The bass? It's not outside your chest anymore—it's inside it. Your skin gets too warm. Your mouth feels too dry, like every drop of water got drained out of your system. Your whole body feels like it's vibrating.

You try to shake it off. Tequila. It's just tequila.

Connie's voice booms over the mic again.
"OH, YOU THOUGHT I WAS DONE?! BITCHES, I GOT BACHATA!"

The tent erupts.

"THIS IS MY CULTURAL RESET!" he yells, attempting to spin the mic on his finger. He drops it. No one cares.

You're laughing so hard your ribs hurt. Hitch grabs your hands and spins you, Sasha cheers—
And you stumble.

Just for a second. Your knee buckles. "Whoa—you good?!" Sasha shouts.
You nod too fast. "Yeah! Just... dizzy."

But your vision starts to stutter, the lights smear into neon watercolor. Voices slow down but then speed up.

Your heartbeat? It's off.
Too fast. Too loud.

You push through the crowd. Hitch is twirling with Annie. Armin is talking to Reiner. You try to spot someone—anyone—but your eyes don't focus right.

The sweat on your back goes cold.

No no no. Something's wrong.

You push past a group of people and stumble out of the tent, the night air hitting you like a wave. Your legs feel loose. Your thoughts stutter.

And there he is.

Thomas. By the path, like he was waiting.

"Hey. There you are," he says, voice too casual. Smile too wide.

You try to move back, but your body isn't cooperating.
"Back off," you manage, slurred and trembling. "Leave me alone."

He steps closer.
"Relax, Y/N. You look like you need someone right now."

He grabs your wrist.

"Ow— you're hurting me," you gasp.

Your chest tightens. Your vision pulses.
You know this feeling. You know it too well.

He drugged you.

"Let me help you. Lets go to my car" he yanks you towards him.

And then, without warning—

BAM.

Thomas hits the ground hard.

You blink.

Eren.

Fists clenched. Jaw tight. Eyes burning. "Don't fucking touch her," he says. His voice cuts through the noise like a blade. Pure rage.

Thomas stumbles to his feet, blood in his mouth as he rubs his now sore jaw. "Dude—what the fuck? I was helping her!" He swings a punch to Eren, but he dodges it. Eren grabs his shirt and slams him into the sand.

One punch. Then another, and another.

Thomas is coughing blood now, trying to curl away as Eren's fists don't stop. You swear you hear a bone snap.

"Eren—Eren, stop!" Reiner's voice cuts in. He wraps thick arms around Eren, trying to yank him off. "Jeager, you're going to kill him!" concern fills his low voice.

Eren thrashes. "Let me go, Braun, or I'll knock you out too!"

You're frozen. Everything is too loud. Too fast. Too much.

Mikasa appears at your side, hands on your shoulders. "Y/N. Are you okay?"
You don't answer. Your legs give out.

"That fucker drugged her!" Eren roars.

Reiner still holds him tight, struggling even with his strength. Bert bolts over and helps, both of them wrestling Eren away.

Thomas lies unconscious in the sand. His white tee filled with blood, eyes crimson red from all the punching. 

People are screaming. Others are filming or too drunk to care about the scene.

"Eren, you beat him good," Bert says calmly. "If you don't stop, he'll die." Eren breathes hard. Blood trickles from his nose. His eyes flick to you, wide, terrified, burning with protectiveness as he slowly exhales.

And finally... he lets go.

He breaks free of Reiner's arms—not to fight, but to get to you.

His hands find your arms, grounding you. Steady. "Hey ,I've got you," he whispers. "You're okay. I've got you."

And you believe him. Even in the chaos. Even with the blood.

You believe him.

"Mika," he says, eyes still on you, "tell Ymir we're going. Now."

Mikasa nods and vanishes into the tent.

And Eren just holds you. Like letting go would break him.

"What the fuck just happened?" Ymir races to your side. She looks at your face—your eyelids feel too heavy, your skin too warm.

"That little shit drugged her," Eren snaps, still holding your limp body.

Tori gasps as Ymir shakes her head, fury burning in her eyes. "You motherfucker. If I see you step foot near Y/N again, I will personally kill you." Ymir kicks Thomas in the stomach. He groans in pain.

At least he's not dead.

"We'll take her," Tori says, grabbing your shoulder to help you walk, but Eren doesn't let go—he stays glued to your side.

"Yeah, I'm coming with you," he states firmly as everyone steps out of the tent.

Sasha looks horrified. Mika tries to calm her down. "Y/N, just hang in there. Everything's going to be okay. Mika, let's head to her apartment. I'm not resting until I know she's okay." her voice comes out rushed as Mika nods, already texting the group chat—explaining what happened and why they had to leave.

You try to walk, but your legs feel wobbly. You groan, exhaustion crawling all over you. Eren stops. He kneels down so he can lift you, gently grabbing your legs and carrying you through the parking lot where Tori's car is parked.

"Ren..." you groan softly.

"Shhh. You're okay. I got you," he murmurs, smoothing down your hair.

You can feel his heartbeat—fast, uneven, like it's trying to catch up to itself. You place your hand on his chest, looking up at him.

"Are you okay?" your voice cracks as you open your eyes. His hair is a little messy, long strands draping down to his shoulders as a streak of blood smears across his nostril.

Your thumb brushes it away. He chuckles.

"Don't worry about me. I'm just glad I was there for you." His voice vibrates through your body—calm and low.

His teal eyes catch the light like ocean waves at night. You study his face as he walks, his skin glowing with every streetlamp and distant firelight. A few strands of hair cling to his forehead with sweat.

You smile softly, tucking the strand behind his ear.

He blinks, surprised from the sudden act as a grin appears his sharp features—dimples flashing, his face relaxing despite the blood still drying on his skin.

"You know... that's something I do to you, not vice versa," he says scrunching his nose, voice low near your ear.

You giggle. "I like when you wear your hair down... You look like Jacob from Twilight."
The words slur out before you can stop them.

Eren barks out a laugh—hard.
He shakes his head, smirking as he tries to recover. "God, you really are a dork, Y/N."

Tori opens the back door of the G-Wagon. Eren gently places you inside—the leather sticks to your sweaty legs as you shuffle to find a good spot.

He shuts the door, then slides in from the other side, already buckling his seatbelt as he rolls down the window. "Mika. Hey, don't worry—I'll text you how she's doing, so you don't have to come over." he offers.

Mika looks concerned. She knows you'll rest better at home—and that Ymir and Tori won't leave your side until you're okay.

After a beat she finally gives in. "Keep me updated, Eren. Take care of her." She squeezes his hand.

He nods once, seriously.

Tori's G-Wagon starts to move. You shift uncomfortably in your seat—the leather too sticky, the music suddenly too much. Almost like Eren can read your mind, he gently lifts your legs and places them in his lap, your back now resting against the door.

He rubs your calf lightly. "That better?" he whispers.

You nod. "Yeah."

"Who the fuck was that?" Ymir says, her voice sharp with rage. "If he wasn't unconscious, I would've beat his ass even more." Tori grabs her hand to calm her down.

Eren looks at you. His jaw clenches.

"He's... a guy from Stohess," you say finally, voice quiet. "He was a... someone I knew." You hesitate. Even though Ymir knows parts of your past, there are pieces you never fully explained. Ymir looks at you, like she knows, like you don't have to explain anything, so, she just hands you a water bottle squeezing your hand as you take it, her eyes grow soft, as she nods quietly.

 

[Now playing – David by Lorde]

The memory of those days floods back—days when your pain consumed you entirely. When falling into Luke's hands felt like the only way out. His voice, wrapped in warmth and comfort, promised to make it all better. And you believed him.

But comfort was a lie.
Love was a disguise.
And soon, you found yourself alone in dark rooms, again and again.

His touch, once sweet, turned into something else—something that only looked like safety. The person you loved treated you like nothing more than a shirt crumpled beneath his bed.

He'd take you when he wanted—wear you, soothe your pain, whisper that he cared— only to toss you aside. Again. And again.

Until the crinkles became permanent.

Until the damage couldn't be smoothed out, no matter how hard he tried. Until he decided to toss you completely—never caring about your feelings, how scarred you were, or how many raw wounds he reopened again and again.

His love always drained you. He always took—like you were nothing but an unconditional well, filled with love for someone who never once checked how much was left.

He never asked how you were doing. Never asked how it felt to lose the two people who brought you back to life.

And now—now you're scared. Scared that after running as fast as you could from his control, from his domination disguised as love, he'll find you again.

You know Thomas won't shut up about seeing you.
And this place—this secret—could be exposed.

Paradis.
The one place you never told anyone about. The one dream you refused to stain.

The dream you built with Hannah.

And now, it's at risk. At risk of being ruined.
At risk of being found by the same flood you thought you had escaped.

So you ran.

With nothing but Hannah's memory, a few clothes, and the most precious thing you owned—
The postcards she brought you from her trips to Paradis.

The one you can't look at without breaking down. The one that reminded you that no matter how bad things got—

Paradis would be waiting for you. With open arms and an open heart. The promise of something big was waiting for you on the other side of the sea— Something filled with a kind of love that never felt conditional.

Somewhere you can finally belong, like everything would clicked the second you got there, making you feel full of hope and love.

A place that would finally feel like home.
A place where your life would finally feel like living— not just surviving.

Eren, like he can hear your thoughts starting to spiral, squeezes your calf.
"We're here. Don't move—I'll carry you."

He opens his door and runs around to yours, then lifts you into his arms bridal-style. His skin is warm, and his cologne wraps around you like a soft blanket. The cold sweat dripping from your forehead chills your skin in contrast.

Tori presses the elevator button, and you all step in. Ymir talks to Sasha on the phone, reassuring her she doesn't need to come, that she'll take care of you, that she's not leaving your side.

When the elevator opens, Eren walks you into your apartment.
The air shifts. What used to feel light and full of laughter from today's party now feels tight, heavy with concern.

He opens your bedroom door and steps in, setting you gently on your mattress. Ymir follows with a cold towel for your forehead, while Tori grabs your pajamas.

Eren steps out to give you privacy.

"Don't worry, Y/N. We're here," Tori says, her voice low and sure, her blue eyes full of love and concern. "We won't leave you."

Something about those words cracks you open.
You can't remember the last time someone said that.

You were always the one left to clean up the aftermath.

When Luke gave you pills, he never stayed. Never cared. He left you alone while he partied, while you drowned.

You reach for Tori, and she hugs you, her golden hair brushing your face. "I—Thank you," you whisper, your voice muffled. She helps you into your pajamas, the soft fabric clinging to your clammy skin. a shiver runs down your spine as Mir tucks you in your mattress, reassuring you that everything is going to be okay.

A knock at the door. Eren opens it slightly—just enough for Historia to nod and give him the okay.

Ymir grabs Tori's hand. "We'll be in my room if you need anything," she says. But her eyes are on Eren, like she knows this is something he needs to do.
He nods.

They leave. The door clicks shut.

"Hey." he murmurs.

A chokehold of a thousand unspoken words tightens in your throat, and you can't seem to breathe, let alone speak. You never, in a million years, wanted him to see you like this. Vulnerable. Exposed. A mess. Even as you know it's not your fault, the shame coats your skin, heavy and cold. It's the same old, familiar weight, and it's smothering you.

He kneels before you, his gaze locked on yours. The blood on his nose has dried, a rusty stain against his skin. His knuckles are split, the raw, red skin smeared with dried blood. He lifts a hand, slowly, and the gentleness of his touch on your jaw is a punch to the gut.

"I'm so sorry, Eren," you manage, your voice cracking, a pathetic sound even to your own ears. You turn your face away, ashamed. Ashamed of the situation, of the burden you've become, of the fact that if you'd just been more careful, if you'd just looked at your drink, none of this would have happened.

"Look at me," he says, his voice a low, steady anchor in the storm of your thoughts. "You have nothing to be sorry for. He drugged you. You did nothing wrong. Don't pull away from me. I'll never judge you".

Your eyes widen, stung by the truth of his words. That unspoken language you and Eren seem to share—he reads your soul without a single word passing between you.

He knows you didn't want to be seen this way.
But he doesn't flinch. Doesn't back away.

Doesn't look at you like you're ruined.

Not like Luke did.

Eren stands and moves to the bathroom, leaving you alone for a few moments to sit with the silence and the chaos still swirling inside you. When he returns, he's holding a makeup wipe. He hesitates, his gaze seeking your permission. You give a slight, shaky nod.

His touch is feather-light as he begins to wipe your face, the cloth a sudden shock of cold against your burning skin. You flinch, but he holds your chin with the same gentle pressure. "You don't have to do this," you murmur, your voice barely a breath.

"I know," he says softly, his thumb gently stroking your jawline, a quiet reassurance. "But I want to." The simple phrase cracks open something in your chest, and a fragile, genuine smile breaks across his face.

He sets the wipe on the coffee table, a small act of quiet finality. His eyes drift, catching on a framed photo. In a single, jarring moment, the warmth in his teal eyes is replaced by a shock of surprise, and he freezes.

The picture from the day Franz died.

Your graduation.

You're in the middle, grinning like the sun. Hannah is wrapped around you, hugging you like she'll never let go. And Franz is on the other side, flashing a peace sign straight into the camera.

Eren stares. His eyes widen slightly, but he covers it quickly.

"Who—who are they?" His voice sounds almost careful.

You swallow hard. "Those were my best friends. Franz and Hannah." The words catch in your throat.

He stares at you, eyes wide—filled with something between disbelief and recognition. He coughs, trying to collect himself, his breath uneven. "I—um... I should go," he says, the words rushed, barely shaped.

He starts to stand.

But your hand finds his.

"Wait... don't. Don't go." Your voice comes out weak, threaded with exhaustion. Your eyelids grow heavier by the second. But you manage to hold on.

He pauses. Sits back down.

"I won't," he says, his voice steady now. "I'll never leave you."

Those words echo in your chest as your body finally gives in to the weight of the night.

But as sleep takes you, it's not just his voice you hear.

No.

You hear hers, too.

 

Notes:

I cried a little making this chapter, I really hope you enjoyed it, this next chapter had me giggling and kicking my feet.

Chapter 9: 8. The sunset inn

𖥸 CW: this chapter contains sensitive material. You'll see mentions of drug use, grief and and it also touches on themes related to DV.

You groan as the sunlight pools in your room, your eyelids too sensitive to the brightness as you squeeze them shut. Your head is throbbing—you feel the pulsations in your brain as you rub your temples, trying to ease the pain. As your mouth feels like you've spent a year without water.

You stretch your limbs from the curled position you slept in.

What the fuck happened last night? I can't remember how I got here.

You open your eyes and see, in the corner of your room, your chair pulled out with a pillow and a blanket on it— but no one's there.

You get up from your bed. Your legs feel sore as you try to remember anything from last night. One of your last memories being jumping around laughing too hard with Mir at Connie's set.  Maybe she brought me back... but I don't remember getting that wasted.

Just as you're about to open your door, your gaze falls on a golden key reflecting the sunlight, sitting where the chair is pulled in your room.
Your eyes widen.

That golden key—you know exactly who it belongs to.

It's Eren's.

What was Eren doing in my room?
But more importantly—did Eren sleep here?
Or... did I sleep with him?

You sprint out of your room, your heartbeat fast and uneven. The thought of Eren possibly sleeping with you makes your breath hitch—mostly because you can't remember a thing.
And you can't do this to Jean. Even if you're not together yet, the thought of sleeping with his best friend makes your stomach ache.

The smell of fresh brewed coffee envelop the living room as you spot Tori. Her back is turned, pouring herself a cup of coffee. Her hair's in a messy bun, wearing Ymir's oversized tee.

She hears you behind her and says, "You're finally awake. Here, let me get you some water."

She turns and grabs a bottle from the fridge. Her blue eyes sparkle under the morning sun.
You take the bottle and sit at the barstool by the kitchen table.
"Thanks," you say, giving her a soft smile.

She sips her coffee. "I—Tori... what happened last night?" Your voice is quiet.

You don't really want to know.

What if something did happen with Eren?

Your fingers wiggle with anxiety as she gently takes your hand.

"You don't remember anything?" she asks, voice low, careful.
You shake your head.

"No. The last thing I remember was Connie's DJ set—and actually, he was really good," you chuckle, rubbing your head as the pain pulses behind your eyes.

"Well..." she exhales. "Y/N, something happened last night. This guy—a guy you knew from Stohess—was at the party. Do you remember that?" she looks at you, those blue eyes filled with concern as realization hits your brain fast.

Your eyes widen as everything starts to click.

Thomas.

He offered you a drink. Connie dragged you away before you drank it.
But you picked up a drink from the bar anyways.

Shit.

You're sure now—you grabbed the wrong one.
You drank what he gave you.

He drugged you.

Your breath hitches. You remember now, It's still blurry, but pieces return.
The weak legs. The tent spinning. The way your chest felt tight.
Thomas, waiting for you outside. Creeping in the shadows.

His hand grabbing your wrist.
And Eren. Eren, punching the shit out of him.

But everything after that—like watercolors in the rain. A blur.

Tori squeezes your hand. "Hey... are you okay?"
You nod slowly, even though you're not sure.

"Yeah. I mean... kind of. I remember now. Just a few parts. He drugged me... and Eren beat the shit out of him." Your voice trembles slightly as the full weight of it hits you.

And then... another thought crashes through...

Thomas saw me.
Here. At Paradis. A place you never told Luke about.
A place only Beck and your mother knew.

And now, it's at risk. This safe space you built with grief and courage is now exposed. And if Thomas tells Luke... it's all over.

After you left Luke, you never looked back. You stayed at Beck's all summer long, hiding from him as you got your shit together. Before Hannah died, the two of you applied to Eldia U, but, after her death, that dream shattered.
You drowned in grief.

That's when Luke came.

The golden boy. Captain of the soccer team. The charming popular jock everyone adored.
He saw your broken pieces and made it seem like he wanted to hold them. At first, it wasn't all bad. He was there. Supportive, even. But after a few months, everything shifted. He became possessive,controlling, and, when he offered you pills—said it was "just to take the edge off"—you believed him.

One pill turned into two. Then three. Then mostly every day.
His sweet voice came laced with commands. With threats.

You lost yourself in him, and then, one day, when his words turned into fists so you ran.

And never looked back.

Thankfully, Eldia U accepted you for the next semester, so you didn't thought twice. You packed what you had and moved.

To a place that once held so much hope. So many dreams.

Tori exhales gently. "Oh... so you don't remember the rest?" her low voice cuts your thoughts
You shake your head again "not really, just a few pieces" you say rubbing your temples from the throbbing ache.

"Well... Eren beat the shit out of him," she says, blowing the steam off her coffee. "And after that, we brought you home. Eren stayed with you all night."

She takes a sip. "We told him he could leave if he wanted to... but he refused. Said he wanted to be there in case you needed anything."

She smiles.

And your eyes widen.

Okay... Thank God nothing happened with Eren.
You exhale, letting the relief settle in your chest.

Little by little, the pieces return.
The sound of his voice. His arms around you.
The softness in his eyes as you drifted to sleep.

"I– I don't know what to say," your voice cracks as the memories come in waves—how the three of them helped you, stayed by your side while the effect of the pill drained out of your system. You want to thank them—thank Eren—for beating the shit out of Thomas, for not leaving you alone, for being there even when he didn't have to.

"You don't have to say anything, Y/N," Tori tells you, her voice low and soft, like she's trying to keep you from cracking again. "You're one of us. We love and care about you. There's no need to thank us."

She hugs you, and suddenly it feels like something in your chest unclenches. She smells like roses and sunlight, her grip tightening around you as if she's trying to stitch you back together. You give her a soft smile, still feeling a little shaky.

"Where's... where's Eren and Ymir?" you ask, your voice quieter now, more hesitant. Something about this new warmth from all of them feels so unfamiliar, so foreign that it aches.

Tori grabs a mug and pours the last of the coffee for you. You take it in your hands, the heat from the cup grounding you for a second.

"They went to get donuts," she says casually, and right on cue, you hear laughter coming from the hallway, followed by the jangling of keys and the loud bang of the apartment door flying open.

"My girl! I'm so glad you're alive—what the fuck happened last night?!" Connie practically launches himself across the room to hug you, nearly knocking the air out of your lungs. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you, my love. But I swear—if that fuckass man comes near you again, I'll be throwing hands." His grip tightens as he says it, and you actually do start to choke.

"Idiot! If she wasn't dead already, you'd kill her with that grip," Sasha says, smacking Connie on the back of the head as she appears beside him. He lets go immediately, his face sheepish. Sasha gently grabs your arms, scanning your face like she's looking for something broken.

"I was so worried," she murmurs. "I couldn't sleep last night wondering if you were okay. I called Ymir like... more than forty times."

"Yeah, she woke me up at six in the morning with twenty missed calls," Ymir announces, stepping in with a paper bag in hand as she kisses Tori. "These are for you," she adds, handing you the bag.

Inside are warm, glazed donuts, the bag is already stained with grease, and one of them's clearly been half-eaten.

"Sorry, I kinda ate one in the elevator," Sasha confesses, rubbing the back of her neck with a sheepish smile. "Nervous eating. I didn't know if you were okay. Or even alive." She chuckles softly as Ymir rolls her eyes at her.

"Thank you. God, I needed this," you say as you pull one out. "Also, what I need most right now is—"

Your head throbs mid-sentence. Even with caffeine in your system, everything still feels too loud, too bright. The voices feel like they're echoing off the walls.

"Ibuprofen," Eren says, cutting through the noise like he read your mind. He steps into the room, wearing that same white compression shirt, his long hair down, the golden key no longer hanging from his neck.

He tosses a small box toward you and you catch it with a quiet, "Thanks."
Your eyes meet, and his gaze stays locked on you, steady and soft.

Mikasa walks in behind him, closing the door. She moves toward you without hesitation.

"Hey," you greet her, but she cups your face before you can say more.

"You scared me," she says, her thumbs brushing your cheeks. "I'm never leaving your side again." She draws little circles into your jaw as you smile, and this time it feels real, even through the hangover headache and emotional exhaustion.

"Thanks, Mika."

She grins, then takes the seat next to you. The apartment now feels full—of people, of warmth, of energy that buzzes around like static.

"Also, Pieck wanted me to tell you she was worried. She stayed the night with Porco, but she was glad you were taken care of," Mikasa adds. You take a bite out of the donut. Sasha's standing nearby, giving you her best puppy-dog eyes.

You laugh softly and hand her another donut from the bag. She kisses your cheek in thanks and devours it immediately.

"Okay, now that we know everyone's intact—well, not everyone, 'cause that fucker did mess up your nose, Jeager—" Connie claps loudly, gesturing to Eren as everyone starts to gather around the living room.

You glance at Eren again. A soft purple bruise is forming on the bridge of his nose. You stare a second too long, and your thoughts start spiraling again.

He got that because of you.
Because Thomas drugged you.
Because you didn't check the drink.
Because you let your guard down.

"This?" Eren points to the bruise. "This is nothing compared to what I gave that fucker." Ymir scoffs, "Okay, show-off. Stop trying to act all casual about it."

Tori giggles as Connie cuts back in with his usual chaotic energy.

"ANYWAY, back to what really matters—was my set fire or what?! Like, I'm telling you, I've got girls DM'ing me asking if I'm available for their next party."

He thumps his chest dramatically like he just won a Grammy.

Sasha bursts out laughing, nearly spitting the donut. "Yeah, Con, you conveniently forgot to mention one of them also asked if you did funerals or divorce parties."

The room erupts. Mikasa's wheezing, holding onto your arm for balance.
Ymir nearly chokes on Tori's coffee.

"Aye, that's fair," Connie says, still trying to defend himself. "But I'd kill at a divorce party. Like imagine: 'Turn Down for What' playing while they sign the papers. Iconic."

"No, 'cause I actually think your set was really good," Mikasa says suddenly.

Everyone stops.

Connie literally blushes. He goes in for a hug, but Mikasa dodges him like a pro.

"Yeah," you chime in, ruffling his buzzcut. "I mean, I would've loved to see your little 'medium pace' DJ fiasco from last semester—but you, Conman? You were the best DJ last night."

He practically vibrates with excitement.

"For you, sunshine," he grins, "I'll play that track as many times as you want."

There's a beat of silence. He gets a glint in his eye. "Yooo actually—lemme go get my Mac, I'll play it for you right now—"

The whole apartment collectively groans.

"Connie, no one—literally no one—wants to hear that crap again," Ymir deadpans as she downs the rest of her coffee.

"If you played that at a funeral," Mikasa adds, voice flat, "I'm sure the dead would be shaking in their graves, begging for it to stop."

Everyone bursts out laughing.

After two hours of Connie yapping about his set from last night and a bunch of chaotic gossip you're not even sure is real or not, you're now rotting in bed, half-wrapped in a blanket, watching anime like your life depends on it. Ymir left an hour ago with Tori to have brunch with Frieda,Tori's half-sister, and now it's just you, a bag of chips, and Ao Haru Rideplaying in the background.

"God, just kiss already," you groan, curled in fetal position, crumbs on your shirt, the chip bag dangerously close to empty.

I wish I had a boyfriend like Kou.

You're getting more and more frustrated watching these two pine like idiots when you catch your phone buzzing out of the corner of your eye. You reach for it, not expecting much, and your eyes widen.

Ren🦅
Hey
Are u up?
3:56 pm

Your fingers hover over the screen for a second. You hadn't seen Eren since everyone left, and even though you wanted to talk to him, thank him for everything, it's like every time you got too close, he pulled back. So seeing him text you now? Definitely not expected.

You:
Hi
Yeah, what's up?

Minutes pass. Anxiety instantly sets in.
Tori told you what happened, and you do remember bits and pieces, blurry pieces, at best. But maybe you said something weird. Or worse... maybe you did something and now he's avoiding you. Maybe you made him uncomfortable, maybe having to take care of you ruined his night. He was finally going out, finally letting loose, and instead he—

Ren🦅
Cool. Are you up for smth?
4:00 pm

You
It depends. What do you have in mind, Jaeger?

Ren🦅
You'll see.
I'll pick you up in 30.
4:02 pm

Okay. So... he's not mad.
And he's definitely not avoiding you.

You launch yourself out of bed like a girl on a mission. Thankfully, you already showered earlier, so it's just a matter of not looking like an exhausted goblin. You scan your closet for something halfway decent and land on a white dress. Cute, soft. You throw on an oversized denim vest and a pair of brown boots, then sit in your vanity, dabbing some makeup to hide the war crimes under your eyes. Your favorite lip combo goes on, and with music playing and the vibe slowly returning, you hear a knock on the door.

Perfume. Purse. Mirror check.

Okay. Am I serving?
You smirk at yourself. Yeah. You kinda are.

You open the door, and there he is.
Low-rise jeans, black tee, leather jacket. Hair down. Dimple out. Smile soft.

"Hey," he says, voice low and casual, and somehow it makes your heart race. "Ready?"

His eyes glint under the hallway light and you scan him for a second, brain buffering before you nod. "Yeah. Lemme just grab something real quick."

You dart back to your room and grab the golden key—the one you found on your floor yesterday. It's cold in your hand, glinting in the sunlight. You run your thumb over the metal. What is this key? What does it even unlock?

Eren's already followed, leaning against your doorway with his arms crossed.

"Hey," he says, voice quieter now, careful, like he's weighing his words. "About last night... there's something I should tell you."

You freeze for a second. His eyes drop to the floor, uncertain, and you cut in before he can say more.

"No. I mean—Eren, I'm really thankful. For everything. But I'd rather not know what happened. It's already so embarrassing that you guys saw me like that..."

You rub your forehead like you're trying to erase the memory altogether.
You take a breath and step closer to him, eyes finding his again.

"Thank you," you murmur. "For helping me. For staying. You didn't have to."
A pause.

"And... thank you for beating the shit out of Thomas," you add, trying to smile, but it fades as your eyes drop to his hand.

"I'm sorry, Eren. I'm sorry you got hurt because of me." The bandage wrapped around his knuckles feels heavier now that you've said it out loud. Mir patched him up last night—after you'd fallen asleep.

"Hey," he says softly. His voice coaxing. "Don't worry about me." His eyes meet yours, gentle and unwavering. "I'm just glad you're okay."

You give him a soft smile, something about it aching in your chest. Then you hold out the golden key.

Eren's gaze lingers a second longer than necessary. Like he wants to say something—but doesn't.

He finally takes the key, his fingers brushing against yours, featherlight and warm. And for a moment, neither of you moves.

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, voice low. "If that's what you want. And... I know you don't want to talk about it. But I did it because I wanted to. I want to be there if you need someone."

The way he looks at you when he says it makes your breath hitch. That soft, burning sincerity in his voice still lingers even after he pulls away.

"Okay," he says, smile returning. "Let's go before we're late."

He grabs your hand and leads you out the door, that warm, grounding grip still wrapped around your fingers.

As you step into the elevator, you nudge him gently with your shoulder. "So... where's the man bun?"

He shrugs, scratching the back of his neck, suddenly shy. "I dunno. I guess I just like it down too."

You hum in response seeing how blush dusts his cheeks and it's honestly unfair how good he looks like this.

When you both step outside the building, you glance around. A red car catches your eye down the street, and you're already heading toward it when Eren gently pulls you back with a laugh.

"Yeah, that's not our ride," he says, amused. "This is."

He leads you to a gorgeous, glossy black motorcycle.

Your jaw drops. "You're kidding."

He just smirks. The engine roars to life and you swear your entire body vibrates with excitement.

It's a vintage Harley Davidson. The kind you used to daydream about riding when you were sixteen and your mom told you bikes were only for "delinquents."

He notices your excitement and grins wider, reaching into the bike trunk and pulling out a white helmet. "This is for you."

He steps closer, gently placing it over your head, adjusting the strap with careful hands. "How do I look?" you ask, striking a dramatic pose.

"Like a cute dork," he mutters, voice rough around the edges, and those dimples make another appearance.

He helps you get on behind him, then puts on his own black helmet.

"You ready to go for a ride, L/N?" he asks, voice full of teasing energy.

You raise a brow. "Are you ready to go for a ride, Jaeger?"

He laughs, shaking his head, and in the next second, the engine growls louder—and just like that, you take off.

[Now Playing – Feel It by D4vd]

The late August wind picks up, brushing against your cheeks, cool and constant, as if the city itself is sighing with you. The sun dips lower in the sky, setting everything aglow with that hazy golden hue that turns sidewalks into memories and traffic lights into art. The world blurs past in long streaks of color: palm trees, shop signs, old brick buildings with ivy creeping up the sides. Street vendors shout out orders. Skaters zigzag through alleys, and a street performer is rapping his heart out while a small crowd cheers him on like he's famous.

Eren's bike hums beneath you, smooth and loud all at once. His jacket smells like leather and faint spice, like warmth and a little danger. You lean into him more, arms snug around his waist, chin hovering over his shoulder as you watch the city blur by.

You tilt your head, yelling over the motor, "Where exactly are we going?"

He shifts slightly, glancing at you just enough for you to hear him through his helmet, "You'll see. It's worth it, trust me."

The road turns slick with sunset as the two of you leave the city behind, streetlights flickering to life in your wake. You pass open parks where kids play soccer in the dying light, dogs bark behind fences, someone's blasting Bad Bunny from a balcony while watering plants. The breeze picks up. It whips strands of hair from your helmet and swirls them across your cheeks.

The buildings begin to shrink, replaced by open fields and wide skies, and your grip around Eren's waist tightens instinctively as the bike speeds up. He laughs softly through his helmet.

"Try screaming," he yells back to you, teasing.

"What? No! It's gonna sound like someone's slaughtering a pig!" you yell, half-laughing, but your voice shakes with that same spark you feel racing down your spine.

"Exactly! That's the point. C'mon—just once." he pleads.

You hesitate. Then scream.

It's chaotic and stupid and so loud, and he immediately bursts into laughter that echoes over the roar of the wind.

"Oh my god—you're right. That was tragic," he wheezes, voice crackling with amusement. You smack the back of his helmet as he retaliates with his own dramatic scream, and suddenly you're both yelling like maniacs as the city disappears behind you. You feel yourself loosen, like some weight's been shaken off your shoulders and thrown into the wind behind you.

"God, you're such an idiot, Jaeger," you mumble, pressing your cheek to his back. The fabric feels warm against your skin, and you feel the vibration of his laughter echo through it.

"Maybe," he says, voice low. "But you're smiling."

He's right.

You are.

He turns his head just enough to catch your eyes for a split second. You're still squished into the back of his jacket when he starts to slow down, the wind calming as the road narrows. You sit up straighter, scanning the space around you. The neighborhood shifts—houses in pastel colors line the streets, from small cozy homes to big two-story ones. A guy walks his dog, waving as you pass. Then the road tilts uphill, the houses start to thin out, and after what feels like thirty-five minutes, Eren finally pulls over in what looks like an empty lot.

He parks the bike and swings his leg off with ease, offering you his hand like it's second nature. You take it, stepping down carefully, pulling off your helmet with a squint.

"Sooo... you brought me house scouting?" you raise a brow, trying not to smirk. "Wow. Super edgy of you, Jaeger."

He shrugs, cool and casual as ever. "Are you always this annoying?"

"Are you always this cryptic?" you tease.

"Just keeping the mystery alive," he smirks.

"Right, emo boy," you scoff, nudging him. "Okay, okay," he relents, voice dropping a bit as he gently takes your hand. "There's this place hidden out here. Not a lot of people know about it. Kind of a local secret."

He starts guiding you across the empty lot, weaving through tall grass until you reach a narrow, half-hidden trail that disappears into dense greenery. You stare at it, brows raised.

"Okay... are you about to kill me or something, Jaeger?"

He doesn't even flinch. "Damn. You caught me."

Deadpan. Of course.

You both laugh as the trail winds further down. The smell hits first—the sharp, salty tang of ocean breeze. Then the sound—the soft roar of waves crashing somewhere nearby, like a whisper getting louder the closer you get.

You take one last step over a rocky slope and—

There it is.

A massive cliff stretches out before you, overlooking the ocean like something out of a dream. The horizon glows in soft golds and hazy blues, clouds floating like cotton candy above the sea. The waves crash against the edge of the cliff just beneath you, sparkling under the sunlight like they're alive.

Scattered across the cliff are small groups of people—some sitting and watching the sunset with their friends, others laughing, blasting music, a few bold enough to jump straight into the sea.

You gasp without meaning to.

"Eren... this—this is amazing."

You turn to him, but he's already looking at you, eyes soft and unreadable.

"They call it Sina Walls," he says, stepping closer, voice quiet like it's a secret. "People come here to snorkel... or—"

He nods toward the waves, where a lone surfer is catching the tail of a swell, slicing through the water like it's silk, while others float nearby, waiting for the next one.

"—or to surf."

His voice is right by your ear now. You can feel his breath tickle your skin, the way the air around you shifts from just salt and sea to something heavier—his cologne, warm leather, a presence that somehow wraps around you without touching you.

And for a moment, you forget about the noise of the world, the past, the ache of yesterday.

Right now, there's only this.
The golden sky. The crash of waves.
And Eren, standing beside you.

You look at him as your breath hitches.
This close, you can see the freckles scattered across his nose, the way the sunlight picks up every detail in his face. His teal eyes lock on yours, and there's something different in them—like a shimmer, faint but real—as he talks about something that once meant everything to him. Something he let go of.

And it hits you,  why did he bring you here?

He gestures gently, leading you further down the cliff. You follow him toward a quieter edge, away from the noise, the scattered groups, the crashing waves below.

But just as you're settling into the silence, a voice cuts through the air.
"Yoo, is that you, Jaeger?!"

A tall, tan guy with sun-bleached hair and a huge smile approaches. He's holding a surfboard and wearing a bright tank top. Eren turns, blinking as if pulled out of a dream.

"Tony," Eren says, his voice shifting to something light and performative. "Hey, man. How's everything?"

The two guys dap each other up, like old friends picking up right where they left off.

"You know, everything's good," Tony grins. Then he notices you. "Hey... that your girlfriend?"

You give a polite little wave. Before you can even say anything, Eren shakes his head.

"Nah, just a friend. She just moved here. I'm showing her this spot."

Tony nods, easygoing as ever. "Cool, cool. Hey—look, man, if you ever wanna come back, you know you're always welcome here. We'd kill to see your signature aerial again."

He throws up a shaka sign before walking off with his board under his arm. Eren nods after him, watching him disappear down the trail.

But you don't miss it.
The way something shifts in Eren's face.

The shimmer in his eyes is gone. His jaw ticks, like he's clenching it without even realizing. Whatever softness was there a second ago—it's gone now.

And you feel it. The weight of whatever memory lives in this place.

You hesitate, then decide not to push. Instead, you step closer and say softly

"Soo... how did you discover this place?"
Your voice cuts gently through the silence, light as the weight from before slowly lifts. You glance at him and offer a soft smile.

Eren's eyes flick to yours, and something in him seems to shift. His shoulders drop, more relaxed now, as he lets out a quiet laugh. "It's kind of a weird story," he says, rubbing the back of his neck as you both make your way to a smooth, flat rock tucked away from the crowd. The wind is calmer here. You can still hear the waves crashing, but it's distant—muted. Like the world's taken a step back to let this moment exist.

"So..." he starts as you sit side by side, "Armin's grandpa lives a few blocks from here. One summer we got this idea to do a little bike race—Mika, Armin, and me. Just us being dumb kids. And, well, I guess I was a cocky little shit because I saw this narrow path off the main road and decided to take it—thinking it'd be some cool shortcut or something."

He laughs again, shaking his head as the memory plays out behind his eyes. "Turns out it led right to the edge of this cliff. My bike got stuck, and I flew off a few feet from the cliff and got this scar right here" he points at the little scar at the tail of his brow "and a couple of surfers saw the whole thing. They helped me pull my bike out, cleaned my wound and then... just kind of hung out with us. Showed us the place, shared their food, their music. I think we stayed until the stars came out."

You glance over at him, and his face is soft—lit by nostalgia.

"After that, we brought everyone. Connie, Sasha, Bert, even Marco. Every weekend we'd ride out here. Sometimes for no reason. Just to sit and breathe." He laughs again, eyes glinting with mischief. "We even saw Connie catch his first wave here. And his first kiss. It was so awkward I swear we couldn't stop roasting him for weeks."

You can't help but laugh with him, but there's something else. Something in the way he says it all that tugs at your chest. Like he's holding on to the weight of something he doesn't say.

He pauses, staring out at the water as it glimmers gold beneath the sinking sun.

"Also... after that day," he continues more quietly, "we spent the whole afternoon talking with the surfers. I guess they saw how hyped I was, 'cause they offered to teach me a few basics. Just paddling, balance, nothing crazy. But when I got home..." He stops for a beat. You hear the faint hitch in his voice.

"I begged my mom to sign me up for lessons. Like, I wouldn't shut up about it."

There's silence after that. Not heavy, but quiet in that way where something is sitting just beneath the surface. His voice cracked a little, not enough to draw attention, but enough to tell you that whatever he's remembering is still sitting deep in him. His eyes are far now, lost somewhere in the shimmer of the sea. Somewhere only he can see.

You shift a bit closer.

"Yeah?" you say, voice low. "I bet she was proud."

His eyes flick to yours, a chuckle rumbling from his chest as he runs a hand through his hair. "Yeah. She was my number one fan. Loudest in every single competition. She didn't care if I wiped out or came in last, she was just happy to be there."

His eyes soften at the memory. "She used to make this huge-ass sign—like ridiculously big—with these sparkly letters that said 'That's my baby!' I hated it at first, thought it was embarrassing as hell." He pauses, smiling. "But after a while, I'd always look for her in the crowd. It didn't feel right unless I saw that dumb sign and her giant grin."

He exhales as the memory wraps around him.

"She used to yank Mika out of bed at 6 a.m. too, even when she didn't want to go. But Mikasa loved being there." You smile at that thought, little Mika cheering with his mom.

"She used to say the ocean would always keep me safe," he continues, his gaze fixed out on the water. "Said it had a soul. That it watched over people who needed it most." He smiles, but it's the kind of smile people wear when they're remembering something that hurts too much to hold for long. "She had this weird way of saying stuff like that. Like the sea knew things we didn't."

There's a beat of silence.

You wait, hoping he'll say more, but instead he just lets the words hang there. And for a moment, it's just the two of you and the sound of the tide.

"She sounds... magical," you say softly, watching the waves.

There's something in your chest that tugs at that.

You don't push. You don't ask the obvious questions

Where is she now? Why haven't you talked about her before? Why does it feel like she's both everywhere and gone?

"She was."

That's all he gives you. Two simple words. But they land heavy.

"After..." he starts, then hesitates. The waves crash gently as silence stretches between you. "After what happened, I just— I can't bring myself to face the ocean the same way."

He exhales, shaky. "I'm scared of it now. And I miss it. God, I miss it so much." His voice breaks on the words, and when he finally looks at you, those teal eyes shine like there's a storm trapped inside them. "And I miss her. I just... I don't know how to do any of it without her."

You reach for him, your hand finding his shoulder, your fingers curling softly at the edge of his shoulder blade. Not to pull him in—just to remind him you're there.
You stay like that for a beat before speaking.

"I know what that feels like," you say gently. "Getting lost in grief. The kind that swallows everything else until you forget what it's like to feel okay." Your thumb rubs over the seam of his jacket, slow and careful. "It's terrifying—realizing they're not there anymore. That they won't come back. But... I like to think they're still with us somehow. Maybe not the way we want them to be. But in the way they left their love behind."

You pause, and he doesn't look away.

"And I think... your mom wouldn't want the thing you love most to turn into something that haunts you. She'd want you out there—riding waves,feeling free again. Not scared to live."

For a moment, the only sound is the tide and the wind in the trees behind you.
Then Eren lets out a breath. Long. Quiet. Like he's been holding it in for years.

"I don't know if I can get back to that," he admits.

You squeeze his shoulder just a little tighter. "Then start slow. And when you're ready... let the ocean in again."

His expression is still weighed down by memory, but there's a softness now, a flicker of something gentler in his eyes. Something that feels like the first breath after a storm.

"You don't need to rush it. Or do it all at once. It's okay to be scared. It's okay to feel lost," you say, your voice low and steady, like you're trying not to break it. "Just... know she's still with you. Watching over you. Cheering you on when you finally make your way back."

You run your fingers along the edge of his sleeve, feeling the soft worn leather beneath your touch. "I don't know exactly what she was like," you add, your voice low and careful, "but from what you've told me? She sounded like the kind of woman who was made of sunlight. Someone who loved big. Who loved you with everything she had."

A small strand of hair falls over his forehead, and without thinking, you reach out—tucking it behind his ear, gentle like it might shatter something if you move too fast.

That's when he takes your hand, softly, like its instinct.

His fingers graze over yours, grounding himself in the moment, and suddenly the world narrows into a bubble that only holds the two of you. The teal in his eyes, once a crashing storm, is quiet now. Gentle. Calm.

"Carla," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "That's her name."

Your thumb moves over his knuckles as he lowers your hands, letting them rest between you on the flat, warm surface of the rock.

"That's a beautiful name," you say, and he hums in response, the smallest smile on his lips.

And just like that, the horizon glows with the last breath of sunlight—gold bleeding into deep blue, the kind of sky that makes the ocean shimmer like glass.

The silence stretches on, but it's not uncomfortable. It wraps around you like a soft blanket, heavy with meaning. You don't need words.
The silence says it all.

He leans in, slowly, resting his head on your shoulder.
His hair is soft, the strands tickling your collarbone, and his warmth seeps into your skin like sunlight after a long winter. You keep your eyes on the ocean, but your thoughts stay on him.

Your heart aches for Eren—for everything he gave up. For how deeply he loved, and how badly he lost. For the way he stopped doing the thing he loved most because the one person who believed in him most was no longer there to see it.

You wish you could tell him that it's okay to want again. That even though she's not here, he's still allowed to dream. That he's still surrounded by people who care. People who love him.

That you care.

From the corner of your eye, something moves. You blink, turning toward the cliff's edge, where a baby sea lion rests on a rock, howling quietly as its mother licks his tiny whiskers. Another sea lion waddles closer, feeding their pups.
You nudge Eren softly, still holding his hand. "Eren, look," you whisper, pointing.

A low chuckle rumbles through his chest, and you feel it through your shoulder.
"Oh yeah," he says, smiling faintly. "I totally forgot to tell you... this is also kind of a sea lion hangout spot."

You both smile, watching the little family curl up together for the night, their soft grunts and movement blending with the distant music and the growing hum of wind.
A few stars begin to dot the darkening sky. Someone lights a bonfire near the edge of the cliff, and it flickers gently against the stretch of ocean. The world slows down.

"Thank you," Eren says suddenly, his voice low as he watches the sea lion pup nuzzle into its mom's chest. "For listening."

You turn toward him again, warmth settling in your chest.
"Thank you for sharing," you reply. His hand squeezes yours. A dimple flickers on his cheek.

You both stay there for a few more quiet minutes, letting the moment stretch. But far in the distance, beyond the surf and sky, something shifts—
A flash. Thunder splits through the clouds, low and warning.

You glance toward the road, where the bike waits beneath the now rapidly darkening sky.
Another lightning bolt cuts through the horizon. This time closer.

You and Eren exchange a look before you both break into a run, feet hitting the dirt path as the first drops of rain begin to fall—slow at first, then faster, colder, heavier. Your white dress darkens with each drop, clinging to your legs. Eren throws his leather jacket over your head, shielding you as much as he can. The two of you sprint toward the bike, sliding into position as he kicks it into gear and speeds off.

The road glimmers in the downpour. Tires skimming over slick asphalt, thunder chasing behind you, the wind whipping past your face as you bury yourself against his back, hands tight around his waist.

"Hold on!" he yells, but the rain muffles everything. His body is tense, focus sharpened—he shifts his weight, adjusting for both of you, steering cautiously but fast.

The rain is coming down hard now, each drop like a slap, and everything is soaked—your dress, your boots, his jacket. The streets are nearly empty, lights from buildings blurred like watercolors through the sheets of rain.

Up ahead, you spot it. A neon sign glows through the storm, buzzing faintly in the haze.
He slows the bike as you both squint through the downpour. The glowing words come into focus: Sunset Inn. He parks at the curb, both of you drenched to the bone.

Without a word, he grabs your hand, guiding you up the steps. You burst through the door just as a low chime rings overhead. A small concierge desk manned by an older man with silver curls and a spotless maroon uniform. He raises a brow as you two walk in, dripping and flushed.

"Welcome to Sunset Inn. Can I get you two a suite for the night?" he asks, polite but clearly curious.

You step forward, trying to sound composed. "Oh...uh, no. We're not staying the night. We just needed some shelter from the rain. Is it okay if we wait here until it clears up?"

He hesitates, eyes flicking to the thunder still rolling outside, then back to your soaked state. He clicks his tongue softly. "I really shouldn't..." he mutters, then gives you a wink. "But for you two, I'll make an exception. We've got a small public bar just down that hallway. You can wait there. They sell some t-shirts too—just so you don't catch a cold."

You flash him a grateful smile, thanking him as he waves you off kindly.

You and Eren follow the signs until the glow of another sign welcomes you in—Sunset Bar. It's cozy, buzzing with conversation and the low hum of classic rock pouring from a corner speaker. The smell of beer, fries, and warm wood hits you immediately. A few booths are packed, a pool table flickers with neon light in the back, and a TV plays muted karaoke lyrics on loop.

Eren approaches the bar, where a young, laid-back bartender is pouring drinks.
"Hey man, someone told me you sell shirts or something?" he asks.

The guy squints at you both, then laughs. "Oh yeah—man, rain got you guys good. Give me a sec, I got you." He disappears into the back.

You glance around, droplets still trailing down your legs, your hair plastered to your back.  The bartender returns and hands over two neon-pink t-shirts. "Here," he says. "These were from some bachelorette party" the shirt reads 'Good girls go to heaven, bad girls go to Sunset Bar Inn.' 

"Limited edition. You're welcome."

You and Eren both wheeze. The shirts are soft, a little oversized, but they're warm—and more importantly, dry.

You excuse yourself and head into the women's bathroom. It's cramped and loud, the kind of place with too many mirrors and sticky floors. You duck into a stall, using one of the towels to dry off best you can before peeling off your wet dress and sliding the t-shirt over your head.

As you're wiping down your legs, voices echo through the room.

"Did you see the hot guy who just walked in?" the first girl says as her friend chimes in "God, I bet he looks even better without the shirt. I'd die for a night with him. Seriously."

Drunk giggles spill into the room as you roll your eyes, trying not to snort. You shake your head, towel wrapped around your shoulders like a cloak. The warmth of Eren's jacket still lingers, clinging to your skin like safety.

You step out of the stall, the bathroom lights casting a soft yellow glow on the mirror as you glance at your reflection. Your hair is still damp, clinging slightly to your cheeks and neck, and the oversized t-shirt looks absolutely ridiculous on you—but somehow, it fits the chaos of tonight. You laugh under your breath, grabbing the white shorts you usually wear under your dress. Thankfully, they're not too soaked, just a little damp, so you take them to the hand dryer and hold them awkwardly under the hot air. The shirt clings to your skin while you wait, and the second your shorts are warm enough, you shimmy into them, feet squeaking slightly on the sticky tile floor.

You walk out into the bar again, only to spot Eren already perched on a stool, one arm propped against the counter, beer in hand. The same neon-pink shirt hugs his torso a little too perfectly, and you wheeze the second he turns toward you.

"Oh my god, I have to take a picture of this. You look like such a bad girl," you tease, grinning.

He glances over his shoulder at you, dimples on full display as he raises his bottle.
"Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up. I'm reinventing myself. This is the new me—sunset bar fashion icon."

You slide onto the barstool next to him, and he pushes a cold beer toward you. The bottle sweats in your hand, condensation dripping down the glass like melted ice.

"What happened to just staying until the rain stopped?" you raise a brow at him. Something about him shifted, like he's now too comfortable staying here on a sunday night like you two haven't got classes tomorrow, and your shift at the cafe.

He lifts both hands in mock defense, mouth tugging up into a smirk.
"Hey, it's just one beer. We're literally trapped here. Blame the clouds, not me."

You squint, trying to look unimpressed, but your lips twitch. "Fine. One beer," you say, clinking your bottle lightly against his. The cold hits your throat, sharp and tangy, and you exhale. For a second, the warmth of this place pulls you in. The music, the laughter, the weird t-shirts. Eren.

"You look like a total loser in that outfit," he says, his tone casual, but the smirk is already forming.

You scoff, rolling your eyes. "I look like a loser? Have you seen yourself?"

He raises a brow, grinning, then pulls out his phone."Say cheese."

You strike a quick pose, nothing fancy, just a dumb peace sign, but he snaps the pic like it's an editorial shoot. "Oh yeah," he says, dramatically. "There it is. That's the money shot. Now gimme surprise. Now model off duty. Stunning. Natural. So raw." He's absolutely mocking you, but his camera keeps clicking anyway.

You're laughing as you grab his phone from his hands. "Okay, Jaeger. Your turn. Pose for me." You lift the phone and speak in a terrible French accent. "Give me passion. Give me drama. Give me your soul."

He leans into the act, puckering his lips and winking exaggeratedly. You snort so loud people glance over.

"That's enough," he says, laughing, trying to take the phone back, but you step just out of reach.

"Wait—at least one selfie. We have to freeze this moment forever. You, me, the legendary Sunset Bar Inn."

You step beside him, angling the phone as you both lean in. You grin wide, cheeks flushed from the beer and laughter. He doesn't look at the camera though—he's looking at you, dimples out, teal eyes soft. The big stupid shirt only makes the moment funnier.

"Hey," you say, looking at the pic. "You were supposed to look at the camera, not at me, dork."

He just shrugs, reaching out to ruffle your hair. You swat at him, but the smile doesn't leave your face.

You take another long sip of your drink. The buzz of the bar grows louder behind you, and you catch sight of a group of girls a few booths away—one of them flashing a smile toward Eren, while the other two side-eye you like you just committed a felony.
You're about to laugh it off when your phone vibrates.

Mir 🪷Calling...

Shit.

You hop off the barstool quickly. "Hey, I gotta take this," you tell Eren. He nods, eyes flicking toward the windows. You step a little away from the noise, pressing the phone to your ear.

"Hey, what's up?" you say casually, even though your heartbeat kicks up a little.

Ymir's voice comes muffled, like she's chewing something. "Not much. Just letting you know I'm crashing at Tori's place. That brunch turned into an all-day event, and now I'm too full to move. I'll tell you about it tomorrow—" she pauses, then adds, "Wait. Where are you? Sounds loud."

You freeze.

She probably didn't saw the sticky note you left on the fridge, you have been out since 5, and it's almost 10. You chew your cheek, trying to stay cool. The last thing you need right now is Ymir connecting the dots. Not because you don't trust her—because you do. But if she finds out you're at a bar, in matching t-shirts with Eren, soaking wet and laughing like this? She won't let it go. And right now, you're not sure you could even explain it if you tried.

Your hand grows clammy around the phone. You swallow.

Just play it off.

"Yeah, Pieck dragged me to a bar close by," you say, going for the half-truth. Of course, you're nowhere near Pieck—but it's better than saying who you're actually with.

"Oh, tell her hi for me. I guess I'll talk to you tomorrow. Have fun," she says, still chewing something on the other end.

"Okay. Have fun with Tori. See you tomorrow. Bye." You hang up and rub your forehead, your fingers pressing into your temples.

You hate lying—really, you do. But with Ymir? It's complicated. After your date with Jean, she kept asking the same questions over and over: Did you like it? Do you like him? Is he the one? Every time you answered with "He's nice," or "I want to get to know him better," she'd just hum, like she was waiting for you to say it sucked. Like she wanted you to say it sucked.

So telling her you're with Eren tonight? Yeah... no. That would send her into orbit.

You turn around when a loud laugh cuts through the noise behind you.

Your eyes land on that same girl—the one who had been eyeing Eren earlier—now sitting in your spot, her pink acrylics casually resting on his bicep. Her mini dress is barely holding on, her body angled just right so that her chest is front and center in Eren's line of sight.

Of course.

Of course he's flirting with her.

Why wouldn't he? She's pretty, perfect blonde waves cascading over her shoulders, laughing like he just told the funniest joke in the universe. You scoff under your breath, stepping closer as you clear your throat just loud enough to interrupt.

"Hey," you say, shifting awkwardly. "Looks like the rain's stopped. Maybe we should head back?"

The girl keeps talking. Like you're not even there.

Eren looks over at you, something flickering across his face, but before he can say anything, she keeps pushing—like she owns the conversation.

He stands up slowly, gently removing her hand from his arm. "Yeah, let me just pay and we'll go."

The girl finally turns to you, eyes narrowed. "Do you mind?" she says, attitude bleeding from every syllable.

Your eyebrows shoot up.

Who does she think she is?

"Excuse me?" your voice comes sharp, instinctive.

You're not even with Eren, but the way she talked to you—like you're no one—sets something off in you. You've never understood why girls feel the need to tear each other apart over guys. You're not in middle school anymore. No one should be gutting someone else for a crusty man.

"Yeah, you heard me." She points a bedazzled nail at you. "We were having fun before you came and cockblocked us."

You scoff and before you can fire back, an arm snakes around your waist, grounding you.

"Let's go, baby," Eren says softly for her to hear as he tucks a strand of hair behind it. The air in your lungs disappears, and you let him guide you away, your body still tense.

You don't have to look to know the girl is staring daggers at you.

"What the hell was that?" you ask once you're outside, though you're already half-laughing.

You glance at him, watching the smirk bloom across his face.

"You know I had that covered," you say, arms crossed, voice with a hint of sharpness.

"Yeah," he says, puffing a breath through his nose, "but she was annoying the hell out of me. And she took your seat like you didn't even exist." he says and something in your chest does a little flip you try to shove it as you begin to walk to the exit.

You pass the concierge desk and wave at the old man, who gives you a polite nod. The air outside is crisp, thick with the scent of rain and earth, like the whole city's been rinsed clean. A calm after the chaos.

You both head toward the bike. You toss your wet clothes into the trunk and pull your helmet on while Eren fiddles with the keys.

A low hum comes from the engine—but something feels off. He tries again. And again. His body grows rigid as he lets out a groan.

"C'mon... not now," he mutters, trying again. You glance at him, anxiety curling in your stomach. His brows are furrowed, frustration blooming across his face as he leans forward, inspecting the bike's engine.

"Is everything okay?" you ask cautiously.

"Not really," he mutters, trying the ignition again. It sputters. Dies.

Eren groans. "Fuck."

"Want me to call someone? Maybe there's a mechanic still open?" your voice comes a bit rushed, as he looks to seconds from crashing out.

He hesitates, nodding slightly.

You rush back inside. The old man is still at the concierge desk, flipping through a worn paperback.

He looks up and smiles. "Ah, back again. What can I do for you, young lady?"

"Our bike broke down," you say. "Do you know any mechanic shops around?" anxiety coats your tone as the man sets the paperback at the desk

He hums thoughtfully. "At this hour? Not likely. But I used to ride myself back in the day—maybe I can take a look."

He follows you outside, moving slowly but steadily.

Eren is crouched beside the bike, still poking at the engine.

"Let me see, son," the old man says as he kneels beside him. "Ever think it might be the battery?"

Eren sighs. "Yeah, probably. Is there a shop close by?"

The man chuckles. "Not tonight. But my brother owns a place. You can tow it over there first thing in the morning."

Eren looks at you. There's concern in his eyes, like he's trying to figure out what you want to do. You shift your weight and nod. "I mean... we could stay the night and leave early. No big deal." you say nervously.

He watches you closely, like he's trying to gauge how okay you really are. "I mean, it's not the end of the world, right?" he says, cautious.

You exhale softly. "Yeah. I guess we're staying the night."

The old man—Farlan, according to his name tag—smiles warmly. "Perfect. I'll book your room."  You follow him back inside, where he begins tapping at a computer.

"So," Farlan types, "one room with a queen bed?"

You freeze. But before you can say anything, Eren clears his throat.

"Uh—can we get two doubles instead?"

Farlan chuckles. "Ah, my mistake. You two just have that look, y'know?"

He finishes the booking, and you both bicker over who's paying—Eren ultimately wins, shoving you aside gently as he hands over his card.

As he hands you the keys, Farlan grins. "Bar's still open, if you're in the mood."

He settles back into his chair, cracks his book open again, and disappears behind the yellowed pages.

You turn to Eren. His teal eyes meet yours, glinting with mischief.
He shrugs. "I mean... might as well enjoy the situation."

You sigh, shaking your head. "Ugh. Fine. But I'm paying for the first round. It's the least I can do."

"Yes ma'am," he smirks, following you back to the bar like this whole thing isn't the weirdest, most unexpected night of your week.

You both step back inside. The bar's still buzzing, though not as full as before. Sam, the bartender, is still working the keg, pouring beers like muscle memory. The girls from earlier? Long gone. Maybe after your little show with Eren, they decided to call it a night.

You both slide back into the barstools, and Sam gives you a confused look until you explain the whole bike situation. He just laughs and pours two shots of tequila without a second thought.

You raise a brow at Eren, who just lifts his hands like he's innocent.
"Hey, you said you were buying the first round. I just took the opportunity to make it tequila."

You eye the glass suspiciously, clear liquid shimmering like danger. "God, I'm so going to regret this." But you clink glasses anyway.

The tequila hits your tongue like fire. You gag a little as it burns down your throat, but Eren slams his glass onto the bar with a grin. He shakes his head like the sting sobered him. His eyes find yours. He's smiling.

"Look at you," he says, still recovering from the shot. "Who would've thought we'd end up spending the night at the—"

"Magnificent Sunset Inn Bar," you cut him off, laughing.

He chuckles. "Yeah. The magnificent Sunset Inn Bar."

You grin back at him, eyes flicking to the ridiculous pink shirt stretched across his chest, the way the gold key glints under the bar's amber light. "I mean, when else am I ever gonna see the infamous Eren Jaeger looking like this?"

"Another round for you two?" Sam asks, suddenly behind the counter again. His shaggy blond hair falls into his glasses, towel still casually slung over his shoulder.

"Yeah, why not," you say before Eren can object.

He ruffles your hair as you take the glass. "Don't you have a shift tomorrow?"

You shrug. "Might as well enjoy the situation right now."

He smirks, but the kind that says he's not gonna forget you said that.

Sam sets down the next round. You watch as Eren takes his shot, his Adam's apple bobbing with the motion. His skin's starting to glisten just a little, the bar getting warmer with every second.

"You play?" Eren tilts his chin toward the empty pool table.

You give him a look. "Do I play? Please. Prepare to die, Jaeger."

You hop off the barstool and saunter over, the tequila kicking in just enough to make you bold. Confident. Like the warmth is wrapped around you, making your limbs looser and your grin wider.

He follows with a laugh. "You talk big for someone I've never seen hold a pool stick."

"That's because I can back it up, I learned from the best. Franz was a beast at pool." you shoot back, lining up the balls in the triangle.

He chalks the tip of his stick with mock seriousness. "Alright then. Let's make it interesting. Loser buys the next round."

You glance up at him. His eyes are gleaming, playful but sharp. You can tell he's good. But you're better. Franz taught you well, and you're not about to lose to some man.

Especially not Eren.

"It's a deal, Jaeger." You take his hand. It's rough, calloused, warm. He gives it a light squeeze before letting go.

"Ladies first," he steps aside, gesturing dramatically.

You lean in, aim, and hit the cue ball. It cracks against the formation. The balls scatter. Solid yellow drops into the pocket.

He clicks his tongue. "Beginner's luck. Let's see if you can actually keep up."

You smirk, pointing at the purple. Another smooth hit. It slides right in. You spin to him with a flourish. "What was that? I think you should go ahead and order my fancy tequila now." You laugh, a little tipsy and very proud. The next shot, red ball—close, but not quite. You groan as it circles the pocket and bounces out.

Eren slides into position. "We'll see about that, L/N."
He closes one eye, takes aim, and sinks a striped ball. He doesn't even flinch. You scoff as a smug grin spreads across his face.

A few turns later, the table's down to two solid balls and three stripes. Your turn. You move into position, tongue peeking out as you aim. The stick feels slightly heavier now, or maybe you're just feeling a little drunk.

"You look cute when you do that," Eren says suddenly, his voice low, teasing.

"When I do what?" you snap, trying to focus.

He's smiling now, leaning casually on his pool stick. "When you focus. You stick your tongue out a little. Like it helps you line the shot."

You try to hide the flush creeping up your neck as you reposition. The stick hits the cue, and the blue knocks the green — solid — straight into the pocket.

You jump a little, fists in the air. "Boom!"

Eren's laugh rumbles in his chest. "See? It does help."

You glare playfully at him. "Shut up."

But his smile just grows, dimples cutting into his cheeks as his eyes stay locked on yours.

"See? I told you. I can back it up."

[Now playing: "Bennie and the Jets" by Elton John]

The piano kicks in—fuzzy and electric—bleeding through the old speakers like a glitchy jukebox memory. The bar lights flicker slightly, warm and amber, buzzing with low voices and cheap beer fumes.

Eren saunters back toward the pool table after his tragic, humiliating loss—two shot glasses in his hands and the most dramatic pout you've ever seen stamped across his face.

"I come bearing the taste of defeat," he announces, lifting the glasses like a ceremonial sacrifice.

You snort. "Tastes like tequila and ego, I bet."

He hands you your glass. "Careful with that tone, L/N. I let you win."

"Please," you scoff, already lifting the shot. "You cried about it. Twice."

He gasps "That's slander."

You clink glasses. The tequila hits your tongue sharp and fast—burning and bitter and somehow perfect for the moment.

And then it happens.

The burn in your throat flares just as the lyrics kick in.

Hey kids, shake it loose together...

Eren drums his fingers on the edge of the pool table, and you can see it happening—the shift. That chaotic spark in his eye like he's about to do something entirely stupid and way too loud.

He turns toward you slowly.

"Oh no," you say, already laughing.

"Oh yes," he grins.

And then—he starts singing.

Not well. Not badly. But with enough dramatic flair to convince a stranger he's performing for an audience of thousands.

"Bennie!" he yells, pointing a finger gun in your direction.

You choke into your glass. "Stop. People are actually staring."

"I'm giving the people what they want!" he insists, tapping the pool table matching the song rhythm.

His hand shoots out toward you. "C'mon."

"What?" your brows quirks up

"We're doing this."

You glance around. A few drunk people are already slurring their way through the chorus, an old man shimmies near the jukebox singing so painfully off-key it makes your stomach hurt from trying not to laugh.

You look back at Eren. There's something about that look on his face—wild, ridiculous... and a little bit irresistible.

"Fine," you say, taking his hand. "But if you start dancing on tables, I'm out."

You don't even finish the sentence before he belts out—

"B-B-B-! Bennie and the Jetsssssss!"

So off-key, so loud, it makes you wheeze.

You try to keep up—half-singing, mostly laughing.

"You're such an idiot," you gasp, out of breath, trying to keep him from face-planting into the dartboard.

He grins wider. "Takes one to know one!"

Now you're both yelling the lyrics—completely off-tempo but somehow perfectly in sync.

She's got electric boots, a mohair suit, you know I read it in a magazine, ohhhhhhhhhh—

The bartender dances with a brunette girl, his face is tomato red and you can see the corner of his mouth twitching like he's trying not to smile. He half-sings a line under his breath, probably wondering if he should cut this off or let this trainwreck keep rolling.

You can barely breathe. Your chest burns from laughing, tequila and adrenaline humming through your body. And then—

Eren grabs your hand, spins you once—then twice—and pulls you back into him right as the song starts to fade.

You crash into his chest, breathless and flushed, your palms flat against his t-shirt.

Neither of you moves.

The music shifts into something slower in the background, but it barely registers. He's looking down at you now—still smiling, but softer. Quieter. His thumb brushes lightly across your wrist.

You look up at him, your breath caught somewhere in your throat.

"I still think I let you win," he murmurs, his voice teasing but low, a little rasp from the yelling.

You raise a brow. "You sure about that, Jaeger? Because you're the one buying the next round."

His gaze flicks to your mouth for just a second. Then back to your eyes.

"Worth it," he says.

And for some reason, that makes your heart skip.

 

Chapter 10: 9. Back to the Surface

After too many shots to count, a few chaotic rounds of darts, and a whole lot of bickering over Eren's devastating pool losses, you finally call it a night. Your legs feel too wobbly, your hair's a mess, and the bed spins the second your head hits the pillow.

The clock reads 2:30 AM, glowing in angry red numbers as you glance toward Eren's side of the room. His back is to you. Hair down. Shoulders rising and falling with each breath.

He's probably fast asleep by now.

You turn to face the ceiling. Your eyes are heavy, your body exhausted, but sleep refuses to come. You've been lying there for almost two hours now, and nothing—just this slow throb in your chest and the faint hum of the air conditioner above.

You don't know why, but something about tonight left your heart heavier than you expected. Maybe it was the conversation at Sina Walls—the weight of it still looping in your head like a song stuck on repeat. You know what it's like to lose someone who meant everything. To go back to the places you shared, or the things you used to love, and feel... wrong for enjoying them. Like smiling is betrayal. Like you're not allowed to keep living because they're not here to do it with you.

You know Eren's mom wouldn't want him to give up on something he loves. She'd probably be cheering for him louder than anyone. But saying that out loud and actually believing it—those are two very different things.

Hell, you should probably take that advice for yourself.

Because when you lost Hannah... everything burned. Losing Franz felt like the earth beneath your feet had cracked, a deep, painful fissure—but losing Hannah? That was like losing the sun. The warmest, brightest part of your life went dark, leaving the world cold and unfamiliar. It felt like the air itself had been stolen from your lungs, an absence so profound that every breath was an act of will.

The world around you kept spinning, oblivious to your pain, while you were left alone, drowning in an emptiness that hollowed out your chest and left you reaching for a memory that would never answer back.

You still can't bring yourself to look at too many photos. You can't even hold her things for too long without feeling like your chest might cave in. But the worst of it—the part that never really stopped hurting—is the postcards.

Her last postcard.

She used to send you one every time she visited Paradis. It was your thing. A tradition that felt like a quiet promise. You'd wait by the mailbox like a dog for its owner, a breathless hope coiling in your chest, fingers crossed that she remembered. And she always did. One postcard became five. Five became twenty. Each one a little snapshot of the world through her eyes, a window into a life you were promised.

The first was from Christmas. She wrote about how it felt like a fairytale—the glowing lights on the pier, the hot cocoa shared with her family, snow falling like it was a dream. You can still remember the way she described the light. The faint smell of cinnamon. The pristine, glistening snow blanketing the beach in ethereal embrace. The sound of the waves whispering secrets at night.

And one of her last ones...

She said she'd met someone. She bumped into him at a cafe, and they talked for hours. Apparently, he was the sweetest. She said she'd introduce you once you moved there.

Said you'd like him. Said it so casually, with a breathless excitement you could almost feel through the paper, like there'd be a million more postcards to follow. Like she'd always be around to write them.

But there weren't.

And she didn't.

And now that last one just sits there, unopened for weeks, folded too many times, words engraved in your brain—too painful to read out loud.

Your body finally begins to give in, muscles relaxing, your thoughts growing soft at the edges as sleep starts to win. the sound of the air conditioning sounding like a lullaby to your ears. But then, a faint shuffle pulls you awake. A sound that doesn't belong in the stillness of the night.

"No. Don't go."

Eren's voice cuts through the silence like a blade, slurred and broken. You turn, eyes adjusting to the dark. Eren's still lying down, but his breathing is erratic—too fast, too shallow. Sweat clings to his skin, his chest rising like he's running, even in sleep.

"Don't go," he mumbles. "D-don't leave me."

He shifts again, eyes snap shut closed but twitching rapidly beneath the lids. Like he's trapped somewhere far away, and fighting to get out.

You don't even think twice, jumping out of the soft mattress in an instant.
"Eren," you whisper, reaching for him, fingers brushing his broad shoulders, "Eren, wake up."

He doesn't.

You shake him gently. Concern filling your core, "Ren. Hey, wake up. You're dreaming." His skin is hot—clammy under your touch. His hands curl into the sheets like he's holding on for dear life. You don't know what he's seeing. But you know this. His grip on it—on Eren—is stronger than anything you can pull him out of right now.

"Eren—please." You plead, pressing your hand firmer against his arm, your heartbeat is erratic, pulsing so hard you swear the sound can be heard in the thin walls, you shake him again— harder this time, careful enough not to scare him but for him to regain consciousness again.

Then, like something snapped, his eyes fly open. A loud gasp escapes his throat, chest heaving, eyes darting wildly around the room as if something's chasing him still.

"Hey. Hey—Ren, look at me," you say, grounding your voice, anchoring him. "You're okay. It was just a nightmare." you place your hands on his shoulders, the beat of his heartbeat pulses rapidly beneath your fingertips.

His eyes lock onto yours—wide, glassy, almost lost. Like he's not sure if you're real or if he's still clawing his way out of whatever nightmare just had him.

"Ren, shhh," you whisper, your voice a thread of calm.

You notice it then—a single tear clinging stubbornly to his lashes before it slips free, carving a hot, shimmering trail down his cheek. Your fingers move on instinct, brushing it away, a feather-light touch. His skin burns beneath your touch, soft as silk, fever-warm.

He blinks hard, his chest rising unevenly. Before you can process it, he gently guides your shoulders, easing you down onto the mattress beside him. The duvet gives softly under your weight.

His hands find your arms, gripping them—not harshly, but firm. Like if he lets go, even for a second, he'll get dragged right back into whatever hell he just escaped, and you are the only tether.

Your eyes widen faintly. "It was just a nightmare," you whisper, your voice low and even. "You're safe. You're here with me." You brush the damp strands from his forehead.

After a minute, you're about to stand to get him a glass of water when his voice stops you. "Wait. Don't go... just—can we stay like this for a while?" It's so quiet you can barely hear it.

You settle back into the mattress. "Yeah. We can stay like this as long as you need."

You feel the rise and fall of his chest begin to steady, the grip on your arms starting to soften.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs.

It fractures something in you—the way he says it. Fragile. Worn. Like an apology carved into his chest a long time ago, one he's been bleeding out in silence ever since. You don't know every detail of his past, but you see it in him now—the unbearable weight of a grief he never chose, the guilt that was never his to claim, yet he carries it like it's the only thing keeping him tethered.

Your heart twists. Why does he think he has to apologize for simply hurting? For existing with all that pain bottled up inside him?

You lean in, your hand finds the sharp line of his jaw, urging his eyes to lift, to meet yours. His skin is warm under your palm, but he feels far away—like if you let go, he'd disappear into the dark he keeps burying himself in.

"Eren," you whisper, voice breaking against the weight in your chest. "Don't apologize. Don't you ever think you're an inconvenience."

Slowly, his eyes rise to yours. Teal, glassy, overflowing with everything he refuses to say. A storm held back for far too long, finally cracking at the edges.

"I'm here for you," you say softly. "I'm always going to be here."

You wish you could pull the pain from him. Take every bad dream, every shadow in his chest, and lock it away somewhere it can't touch him again.

For now, all you can do is stay.
So you do.

You don't know how long you stayed like that—Eren curled up against you while you softly ran your fingers through his hair, back resting against the headboard. You don't remember when sleep took you, only that the sound of his breathing and the hum of the AC became white noise that pulled you under.

You didn't even notice when he carried you to bed, or how carefully he tucked the blanket around you. You don't hear him whisper something barely audible as his hand brushes against your cheek.

By the time morning light filters through the window, your body feels like it's carrying sandbags. Your limbs ache as you stretch out with a satisfying groan—the kind that curls your toes and makes your jaw pop.

You drag your palms across your eyes, rubbing slow circles. When your lids finally part, blotches of black bloom across your vision, blurring everything into shifting shadows, until the shapes around you begin to steady and take form.

Wait.

You're in your bed.
You sit up groggily.

When did I fall asleep? Did he carry me?
Where's Eren?

As if summoned by your thoughts, the bathroom door creaks open. Steam spills out in soft curls, ribbons of warmth unfurling into the room. The air is laced with the herbal-sweet scent of shampoo—citrusy with a hint of rosemary,

And then—

Eren steps out.

His hair hangs damp against his forehead, droplets sliding down to catch on the sharp line of his collarbone before tracing lower, over the ridges of his abs. His torso gleams with condensation—like he's just stepped off the set of a perfume ad, or out of some Baywatch scene. He hasn't noticed you yet, too wrapped in his own thoughts, towel moving lazily as he dries himself.

You turn away just slightly, enough to hide the bloom of crimson spreading across your cheeks. Still, curiosity betrays you—you steal another glance, biting the inside of your cheek before he can catch you looking.

Getting caught wouldn't just be mortifying; it would bare something you can't even name. Something that sits heavy in your chest, unformed and dangerous—a feeling you don't want to touch. And knowing Eren, he would just tease your ass off, sending his ego sky-high. You don't plan to give him the satisfaction.

"Uh—morning," you yawn, rubbing your eyes in a poor attempt to mask your flustered face.

"Hey. I thought you were still asleep." His voice is a little raspy as he towels off his hair. His gaze lingers on you, tangled in the sheets. You can't see yourself, but from the way his mouth quirks and a quiet chuckle slips out, you know your hair's probably sticking up in every direction, eyes still swollen with sleep.

"You know you snore like a trailer truck?" he teases, the corners of his mouth tugging wider.

You scoff. "I do not."

He smirks, stepping closer. "Yeah you do."

He ruffles your hair, this close, his canines make an appearance as you swat his hand away with a laugh. You glance at the bed—blankets tangled like a war zone.

You sleep like a hurricane. Hannah always said so. She hated it at first, but over time you both adjusted, curling together like burritos wrapped in the warm sheets.

"Hey, I'm going to take the bike to the shop. I'll be back, okay?" Eren's voice is casual, turning away from you as he reaches for his dried shirt slung over the chair.

"What, no, I'm—"

You don't finish the sentence.
You can't.

The sight of his bare back stops you cold. You've never noticed it before. Maybe because his clothes always covered it, or because the first time you've seen him shirtless. What catches your attention isn't the faint flower tattoo on his bicep, but a scar.

It's big, jagged—like lightning frozen mid-strike—and stretches about four inches long along his right shoulder blade. Faintly red—must be recent. Your breath hitches. You weren't expecting it. Your eyes trace the angry line, a stark contrast to the smooth skin around it.

He grabs his shirt, oblivious of your shocked state. "No, stay here. I don't know how long it will be until I get back and maybe, you can stay and rest more, or take a shower" he turns and his eyes meet yours.

You find yourself reaching out, your hand instinctively moves upward, stopping a few inches from his scarred skin. A silent question forming on your lips.

Eren..." your voice is a whisper, a careful question that hangs in the air between you. Your eyes are soft, heavy with concern, and your voice cracks slightly. "Eren... what... what happened?"

He looks at you, his mouth opening and then closing. He finally sighs, his gaze dropping to his hands.

"After my mom passed," he begins, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, "I went back to the water. I thought I could handle it."

Eren takes your hand, his grip gentle but firm. You can feel the frantic, rapid pulse beneath your palm.

"I wanted to prove to myself I could go back," he starts, his voice cracking just a little. "That I wasn't scared anymore. Jean warned me not to. He said the tides were too strong, but I didn't listen." He looks away, and the soft expression you just saw is replaced by an impenetrable armor. His teal eyes, the ones you can get lost in, have turned a dull gray, as if all the light has left them.

"Eren, it's okay... you don't have to tell me. Just... don't do that," you say, squeezing his hand. After a beat, you add, "Don't push me away."

His gaze returns to you, his eyes now filled with a turmoil of emotion, like waves crashing against a shore. He exhales slowly, his voice raw. "The tide was too high, too risky. Jean warned me it was dangerous, but I had to go. I had to prove I could do it. I got in, and a massive wave just... wiped me out." He closes his eyes, as if reliving the moment physically hurts him.

His breathing becomes shallow and uneven, each shaky inhale and exhale a testament to the terror he felt. He holds your hand tighter, his knuckles turning white as he fights to regain control. You lift your other hand, your fingers gently cupping his jaw, thumb brushing along his cheek. Your chest aches with a pain that is not your own. You can't imagine the weight of the physical and emotional pain he must have gone through, the struggle to get back to his passion, only to have it turn on him.

"it's okay," you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. "You don't have to keep going if it's too much"

But he does.

"No..." he takes a slow, deliberate breath, his grip on your hand tightening. "I want to." His gaze anchors in yours. "The current pulled me under. I kept getting hit. One wave after another. I tried to breathe—tried to get out—but one slammed me into the reef."

He exhales.

"I don't remember much after that. Lifeguards said it took them almost ten minutes to reach me. By the time they pulled me out, I was unconscious."

Your heart tightens, a lump forming in your throat so big you can barely swallow.

"I spent two weeks in the hospital," he says, the words a heavy confession. "And even longer pretending like I was fine."

"Hey," you murmur, your voice barely audible. "You don't have to pretend with me."

His jaw clenches, but his eyes—his eyes look at you like maybe, just maybe, he believes you.

"That's why..." he exhales, his voice cracking. "That's why I can't go back into the ocean. There's too much there. Too many memories... too much pain."

You take a moment, weighing your words carefully, making sure they land softly.

"I get it," you say. "And I'm so sorry you had to carry all that by yourself. No one should have to."

He doesn't respond, but something in his shoulders loosens—just slightly, as if a small part of that heavy burden has finally been lifted.

"You don't have to go back to the ocean to be whole again," you state. "Healing isn't a race you have to win. But maybe one day, when it feels a little less heavy, you'll walk by it again. Not because you have to, but because you want to. And it won't be about proving anything. It'll just be... a moment for you. A moment of peace you deserve."

There's a moment of silence. Not an awkward one, but a shared space of understanding that speaks louder than any words could. In that quiet, something in him finally gives way, and for the first time, he nods.

"I ... uh" he coughs trying to collect himself from that moment. "I should keep going, the shop will open in 10 and I have to make sure you get to class on time" he tucks a strand of hair in your ear as you bite the inside of your cheek, nodding softly.

You want to reach for him, to pull him into a hug that says everything you can't put into words. To tell him he doesn't have to carry this crushing weight alone, doesn't have to prove his worth to anyone—not to the ocean, not to his past, not to himself. That no matter how long it takes, you'll be there for him, a constant presence in a world of shifting tides.

Eren. A boy who has lost too much. A boy who somehow still laughs at your dumbest jokes. The one who grounds you when you spiral and lets you see him—truly see him—even when it scares him. You want to be that for him, too. You want him to know that the vulnerability he just showed you is not a weakness, but a profound strength.

"Okay," you whisper, the word feeling too small, too hollow to hold the immense weight of what he just shared. He gives you a small, fragile smile—the kind that doesn't quite reach his eyes—and a part of you aches more than you can say.

He pulls on his shirt, and heads out, leaving you alone in the quiet room. But the silence isn't empty. It's filled with the echoes of his confession, with the weight of his vulnerability hanging in the air like a physical presence. You stand there for a moment, the air heavy, thick with the unspoken, as if the room itself is holding its breath.

✧･ ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

You step out of the shower, towel wrapped around your damp body as you scan your clothes. Thankfully, your dress has dried now. You slide into it—the soft fabric brushing your skin like silk—then check the clock.

7:30 a.m.

No sign of Eren.

You grab your belongings as well as the hotel key. Since eren took his stuff, you decide to check out, keeping an eye on your tight schedule. There's a coffee shop just around the corner, so you head there, hoping to pick something up before class.

The bell above the door rings as you step into the café, the scent of freshly ground coffee and a hint of something sweet hitting your lungs. The barista calls out an order, a rag slung over his shoulder.

"Hi, welcome! What can I get you started with?" the barista chirps.

"Hi, can I get a dirty chai and... a cold brew, please."

"Name?" he asks, scribbling your order on a plastic cup.

"Y/N," you say with a quick smile as he taps on the computer.

You pay, then wait by the window seat, sunlight spilling across the tile floor. The sky turns from a tangerine hue to a yellowy pastel, like watercolors blending together in a canvas. A few clouds dotted the sky, making an appearance like cotton candy.

The cafe wasn't as crowded as you would have expected, just a few people were scattered around the tables. An old man sips from a mug what you assume is tea—newspaper in hand, his round glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. You softly smile as you see the scene unfold right before your eyes, a young woman enters the cafe, holding a little girl by the hand. The girl's eyes search the cafe as she spots the man.

"Bubba!" the little girl squeals with a big, toothy grin. The young woman releases her hand, and the girl runs to the old man. He chuckles, setting down the newspaper as he crunches down, arms open. The girl tackles him in a big hug, her school skirt swaying lightly as he rocks her from side to side, murmuring sweet things. The younger woman joins them, she slightly resembles the man—you assume she's his daughter as the older man gives her a quick kiss on the cheek.

Warmth pools in your body as you remember back when you used to visit your grandparents on Christmas, back when beck and you were close, and your mother was—at least, there, present. Your dad's side of the family was always so loving, even if they didn't always approve of your dad's choices—like marrying my mom.

You always waited for Christmas to arrive, so you can spend the holidays with your grandparents. Those days filled you with an indescribable joy, your dad used to leave snowy footprints by the tree, leave crumbles of cookies by your christmas card. But it wasn't the gifts that made the holiday special, it was being surrounded by your family. Feeling their warmth and affection towards you—yes the gifts were nice—but spending time with your loved ones made you feel loved, happy. Seen.

After your dad died, you still spent the holidays with your grandparents. Your mom used the perfect excuse to dip Christmas for her "spa" trips, which consisted of sneaking around with Kristoph. Beck would visit sometimes, but she was often busy with Ben or at her internship. Still, even when things fell apart, your grandparents were always there, surrounding you with their love and affection, showering you with that paternal love you so desperately craved for.

Nostalgia wraps you like slow waves, watching the scene take place.

Your name gets called out, bringing you back to the present. The barista finishes up Eren cold brew, pouring the dark liquid into a cup, the slight swirls of milk giving it a marbled appearance.

You thank the barista as you walk toward the exit, not without glancing back one last time to the happy family. They all laugh about something the little girl said, which makes your heart flutter.

In the distance, a low hum gets louder and closer. The sound echoes down the street as you spot Eren pulling up in front of the inn. He kills the engine, helmet in hand, and you meet him halfway.

"Hey, you're back." You smile, holding out his drink.

"Yeah. All fixed," he says, patting the bike proudly. His teal eyes drift from your face to your hand, the cup sweats with condensation as he pauses for a second, "You remembered?" he questions, his voice is coated with surprise as he slowly takes the drink out of your hands.

"Of course. How could I forget?" you chuckle as he takes a sip out of his drink, humming in delight.

"Don't tell me... yours is..." he points his index to his chin, tapping it rhythmically as if he's trying to remember your go-to order "iced dirty chai with—what? Two shots of espresso?" He holds up two fingers and raises his voice an octave, mimicking your tone.

You roll your eyes. "Wow, okay. I do not sound like that." you scoff, putting a hand to your waist in defensiveness. He just chuckles, shaking his head as a lopsided smirk appears his sharp features—his canines pop out as the pearly white shimmers form the morning light, giving him a mystical appearance.

"Sure you don't," he shrugs, grabbing your drink and stealing a sip.

You scoff. "Yeah, go ahead. Take it. No worries"

He takes a long sip, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows the liquid, humming dramatically. "Okay, I admit... It's pretty good." A raspy laugh escapes his lips.

He scans your drink just as you notice a drop of cinnamon foam sitting on the tail of his lip. Instinctively, you step closer.

"Here," you say, your thumb brushing the corner of his mouth. The cushion of your thumb grazes the wetness of the foam against the hot, velvety contrast of his skin. The muscle of his jaw tenses slightly from your sudden touch, and his teal irises widen for a flash of a second. "You've got some—"

Before you can finish, he catches your hand, his grip firm enough to keep you frozen in place. His mouth hangs agape, and the tip of his tongue slowly slips from his parted lips. He takes your thumb, his lukewarm tongue tracing a slow, deliberate path across the skin, his gaze locked on yours. The contrast sends a chill shivering down your spine, and you feel the back of your neck hair start to rise as your cheeks grow too hot.

Your eyes widen, completely taken aback. When he finally detaches his tongue from your thumb, his teal eyes glint with mischief and something you would describe as hunger. A smug smirk tugs his lips from your lack of words.

You forget how to breathe for a second, all the oxygen in your lungs ripped away by that stunt Eren pulled. You know you shouldn't feel this way, but your mind betrays you, wandering to deep, dark places you'd never say out loud, whispering what else he could do to make you feel even hotter than you already do.

You're too lost in your thoughts to register Eren's voice. The sound of your own heartbeat echoes too loudly in your ears, but you know he said thanks because your gaze is locked on his lips, reading the soundless words.

You finally rip your eyes from his face, snapping back into reality. You know the moment only lasted a few seconds, but in your mind, it played out in slow motion.

"Yeah. We should get going," you say, yanking your hand away too abruptly as you try to mask your flustered reaction.

He laughs, obviously proud of the chaos he just caused.

Of course he did it to mess with you.

You shouldn't be surprised—not with what Sasha told you about Eren's flirt record. And sure, he's ridiculously good looking, but you're not about to fall for the game.

Especially not when you're seeing someone else.

The thought of Jean hasn't crossed your mind since your little conversation with Sasha at the bonfire—which was yesterday, but everything that's happened since makes it feel like a lifetime ago. You're not sure what you're feeling.

Confused? Happy? Something in between?

Sasha said he really likes you. People change. Maybe he's serious.

Still, a voice deep inside your brain whispers all the things that could go wrong. It tells you that maybe he isn't into you the way he was with Mikasa, that you're just a replacement—a temporary bandage he's using on a wound that's too deep to be healed by a little sticky fabric. Your anxiety whispers in your ear, a haunting voice that preys on your deepest insecurities. It reminds you of every time you've felt like you weren't enough, leaving you to wonder if you're a safe harbor or just another passing storm.

You're so lost in thought that you don't realize the ignition has purred to life until Eren hands you the white helmet. You shake those thoughts, breathing the salty morning air, glancing back at the hotel. A strange wave of nostalgia crawls across your chest; you're already missing this moment, even though you're still in it. It feels like a quiet goodbye. The last orange slivers of the sunrise dissolve into a soft, calm blue.

The drive is faster than you expect—too fast, honestly. You're left with just enough time for a lightning-fast outfit change, a dab of concealer, and the short walk to Eldia. Your heart is a drum against your ribs, still racing from the caffeine and the adrenaline of the ride. You fumble with your keys, the cold metal rattling in your trembling hands.

"So... that was something," he says, his voice a little sheepish around the soft edges, a lazy chuckle trailing after his words.

You finally unlock your door and shoot him a half-smile over your shoulder. "I had fun. Really. Thanks for... everything, Jaeger. You're actually pretty cool to be around." You give him a light nose scrunch, as the smile on his face grows wider.

You step inside. Your place is tidy—just as you left it yesterday. You sigh in relief, sending a silent prayer to every higher power that Ymir isn't home. If she is, you're already dead. Not because you went out with Eren, but because you lied about it.

"You're not terrible company yourself...I—uh... I can give you a ride to Eldia if you need it, since your class starts in twenty," he offers as he scans your place.

You don't want to ruin this moment—this quiet, easy bloom of your friendship. How disarming he is, which scares you but also makes you feel so...alive. How a few moments of silence with him feel more intimate than a thousand words.

Maybe also wishes not to burst the warm bubble you two are standing in.

But just like a perfectly timed horror movie cue, a voice says, "Yeah, that won't be necessary, Jaeger."

Ymir.

She leans against her doorway, her shaggy hair down and framing her freckled features. Her cropped, sleeveless top rides high on her torso, and her arms are crossed, making the ink on her slightly tanned skin pop. A smirk plays on her lips, and her eyes shoot daggers laced with fake sweetness. "Little Miss Y/N and I have a lot of catching up to do. Right, Y/N?" Her brow quirks as she glances at you.

You force a nervous laugh. "Right. Guess I'll... see you later, Eren."

You hug him quickly, and he leans in just enough to murmur, "Bye, Y/N." his airy voice tickles your ear. This close, the woody smell of the citrus combined with the rosemary fills your nostrils. His gaze lingers a second too long focusing on you, before he shifts it toward Ymir. "See you," he says, giving her a quick nod before closing the door, leaving you with a hollow feeling, a feeling you secretly hoped to stay longer, talking, teasing each other and just being with him.

Ymir gives him the most sarcastic, two-finger wave you've ever seen in your life.

Crap. Im cooked

You turn around and see it, the room getting colder by Mir icy stare—full mom stance. Arms crossed as her left brow raises an inch. Judgment cranked to 100.

"Ugh, don't look at me like that," you groan, strutting past her into your room.

"I will look at you exactly like that," she says, following. "Now start talking. What was that 'something' Jaeger was referring to?" She makes dramatic air quotes as she flops onto your bed.

You peel off your dress, grabbing a pair of pants and a black cami in a rushed motion. "Okay, yes. I should've told you the truth." you mutter, sitting at your desk and dabbing rapidly concealer on your sleep-deprived face. "But seriously, nothing happened. He texted me yesterday, I met up with him, and his bike broke down. So we had to crash at a hotel." you turn to face her—brown eyes glint with amusement as she nods rapidly, a loud snort escaping her. 'Yeah, I'm calling bullshit.'"

You roll your eyes. "Mir, come on. It wasn't like that."

You dab a bit of your favorite blush onto your cheeks, your hands working at lightning speed. You had to move fast, since Ymir's presence left you less time to get ready—and since you'd turned down Eren's offer. You'd rather be on time than have to deal with Mr. Pixis and his legendary lectures on discipline. The last time a girl was five minutes late, he gave her a fifteen-minute sermon about not having her life together. She cried until he finally dismissed her. You were not going to be that girl today, especially when your patience was being held together by just a single coffee.

Ymir grins wickedly "You expect me to believe you stayed in a hotel room with Eren Jaeger, and nothing happened?"

"Yeah, because nothing happened," you deadpan, tossing your beauty sponge at her.

She catches it without missing a beat, then starts rummaging through your tote bag like a raccoon in a trash can. "Okay, okay—wait." She holds up the neon tee. "What the hell is this?" she wheezes, reading the bold black letters out loud. You laugh, recalling how absurd you both looked in those shirts. You give her a brief explanation as her laughter echoes through the room.

"God I cant believe you two" she shakes her head in disbelief.

You turn to the mirror, taking in your reflection for a final look. Okay. Not great, but decent. You don't look like you drank six tequila shots and slept in a hotel bed with Eren last night. Perfect.

"Okay, let's go," you say, dragging Ymir with a groan towards the door as she refuses to let go of the shirt.

"Alright, fine," she says as you both step into the hot morning sun. "Let's say I believe nothing happened. But don't tell me—don't tell me—it was one of those 'the bike broke down, there's only one hotel room left, and oh no! Only one bed' situations." She pulls her heart-shaped Vivienne Westwood lighter from her pocket, flicking it open as the amber flame dances in the breeze. The cigarette hisses as she takes a slow inhale.

You glance at her, roll your eyes, and laugh. "What? No. That's the most cliché crap I've ever heard."

"Oh, and your little bar-hotel-bike-breakdown saga wasn't cliché as fuck?" she snorts, the smoke slips her mouth like she just won an argument on a debate stage.

You pause. Your brain short-circuits at the memory—how easy everything felt with Eren. How he made space for you in a world that often felt too small. He was a force of nature, an unexpected storm you didn't know you needed.

Ymir exhales smoke through a small smirk. "So where does that leave you with horse face?" she questions, nudging your shoulder.

Jean.

The name alone makes your chest flip. He's supposed to be back today. You don't know when exactly, but the thought of seeing him makes something bloom, a quiet, reassuring warmth.

You exhale, dragging your feet through the busy city. "Same place as before, I guess. I mean, I'm still going out with him Saturday."

Ymir narrows her eyes at you, her brown irises gleaming as if she's reading something between the lines. Like she knows there's more to the story. "You sure?"

"Eren's just a friend," you say quickly. "Nothing more. And Jean... he's a friend, too. Just... a friend I'm seeing." You smile at the thought.

She hums, the slow kind that screams bullshit. Even though she hasn't said it, you know Ymir has had her doubts since you told her you were going out with Jean last Wednesday.

From what you've learned about her, she's not one to wear her heart on her sleeve with others besides Tori, but ever since your heartwarming talk, you've felt like you've found a sister in her. Maybe she's just worried, like Pieck, because she knows something about Jean you don't—about his past? His past crush on Mikasa?

You halt in place, a sudden irritation bubbling up. It's not like you're dating him yet, but since she found out about your date, it's like she feels the need to bash Jean. "Okay. Spill. What's with the vibe? You're not exactly radiating 'Team Jean.'" Your voice comes out sharper than you intended, which makes Ymir stop in her tracks, turning toward you, a cigarette dangling lazily from her fingers.

"It's not that I don't support it. Jean's chill. I just... I want you to take your time. Weigh your options. You don't have to commit to anyone a week in." Her voice softens, her face taking on a concerned look, far from her usual sarcastic demeanor. And that catches you off guard.

You sigh, instantly regretting the way you snapped at her. You know she's just trying to look out for you. After all, she's known them a lot longer than you have. She knows exactly why she might be concerned about you going out with a guy like Jean.

Besides, even if things are going well with Jean, you're not on steady ground yourself. Ever since you fell for Luke, trusting a guy on a romantic level has scared you more than you could ever say out loud. Even after months of being out of his grip, the thought of losing yourself again for a guy makes your body physically sick.

"Yeah, I know," you nod once as you give her an apologetic smile. "I won't. Not after the last relationship. No way."

Ymir yanks your arm, pulling you into a side hug. Her arm hooks on your shoulder blade, the ink on her skin wrapping around your arm. "Sorry if I sounded like a bitch," you say, growing sheepish as you bite the inside of your cheek.

She looks at you for a second before erupting in laughter. This close, the morning light accentuates her freckled face, making it shine as if she holds a constellation there. "You could never sound like a bitch to me," she says, squeezing your arm. "If anything, I'm sorry if I'm not as supportive toward whatever the hell you two are." She offers you her halfway-done cigarette as a peace offering.

You chuckle, taking a draw to take the edge off. The tobacco smoke fills your lungs, making you feel dizzy. A sense of easiness wraps around your body as it slowly starts to loosen all the tension and sleep deprivation you feel, sending you into a cloud of stillness. You two share the cigarette until it hits the filter.

From a distance, you spot the old gothic building. People are either sprinting to class or spread out on the grass, either studying or sleeping.

"So how was your brunch?" you finally break the silence.

"Oh god, let's just say Frieda knows how to throw a good brunch," she laughs. You can already tell Ymir is hungover from too many mimosas. Every time she's hungover, she buys McDonald's, claiming the nuggets taste like out-of-this-world food.

You chuckle as she keeps telling you about the brunch that turned into a chaotic, all-day mimosa-drinking marathon. You stop in front of your building, where people are already entering the lecture hall.

"Hey, so pizza night is still on right?" you say, as Mir nods.

"Yeah, Tori and I are going to get some groceries later, so text me if you need anything" she takes her phone out of her pocket as she looks for Tori's contact.

"Good. Now go, before you're late. Text me later." She waves you off like a mom dropping her kid off at school.

✧･ ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Class was... something. A few essays were handed out, and opinions were traded. You and Sasha exchanged snickers and side-eyes the entire time Mr. Pixis went off to bash a frat boy who got in too late to go by unnoticed.

Afterward, Sasha insisted on taking you to Swaney's & Beans for a coffee run, and of course, Connie tagged along like the chaos gremlin he is. She pulls up to the curb, parking just outside.

"Ayooo Y/N!" Connie calls as he steps inside the cafe "Can you make me a caramel latte with oat milk? 'Cause if I drink whole milk, you'll be scrubbing the warzone I leave in the bathroom."

You turn, staring at him with a mix of disgust and disbelief. "Jesus, Connie."

"Hey, just lookin' out for you," he shrugs, tugging at the green beanie hiding his buzzcut as he scans the new items at the gift shop.

"Yeah yeah, let me clock in." You step behind the barista station, waving to Petra as Hange and Levi descend from the office upstairs.

"Well, if it isn't one of our favorite customers," Hange beams as they pat Connie's beanie.

Connie puffs his chest. "Hange, the swaney to my bean, my joy—so glad to see you. I'm so glad you hired my girl." He winks at you like he's being suave as you roll your eyes stifling a chuckle.

Levi stares at Connie like he just stepped on dog shit. "Springer, if you shit in our toilet again, I'll have you banned." he deadpans as you almost choke from laughter.

Connie goes tomato red. "I—I was kidding, Levi. I mean, Professor Ackerman, sir—" he stutters, growing more embarrassed with each word.

Levi just sighs, as if he's used to Connie's absurd behavior. He looks up and down, then scoffs. "Can't believe you actually grew since I last saw you."

Right, you forgot that Levi is Mikasa's uncle. He used to visit the Jaeger house when Mikasa was little, and Hange would take the kids to the aquarium and tell them fun facts about the animals. When Mikasa's parents died, Eren's family took her in, because Levi was too young to take care of her. But when they moved to Paradis, Levi went out of his way to spend time with his niece, and he never thought a bunch of kids would tag along to their family time, which made everyone start calling Levi their uncle, too.

You smile at the memory, handing Connie his drink. "Here you go, Connie baby. Oat milk as requested. Don't want to see what lactose does to your intestines," you say, gagging at the thought of having to scrub the mess Connie would drop in the bathroom.

Connie tosses a five into the tip jar with a wink. "Bless your soul."

Sasha chimes in with a mischievous look. "You really don't want to know what happened last time." She leans in closer, as if to tell you a juicy secret, "At his quinceañera, he begged his mom for a tres leches cake. They had to shut down the men's bathroom and ban Connie from reentering the party salon ever again."

Connie gasps as if she just exposed state secrets. "Sasha! That was supposed to be between us!" If you thought Connie getting embarrassed by Levi's bathroom remark was funny, this is epic. He grows ten shades of red, and his hazel eyes look like he's reliving those mortifying moments.

You're wheezing.

Connie shakes his head, cursing Sasha under his breath for bringing up a memory he swore never to remember out of pure embarrassment. "Nooo, wait—Connie had a quinceañera?" you say between gasps of laughter.

"Hell yeah," Connie grins, his skin returning to its normal shade. "It was sick. I even convinced Reiner to be my chambelán."

That mental image—the guys in suits, slow dancing with dramatic arm flourishes, and Connie doing a spin move—makes you lose it.

Hange nearly falls over laughing. Levi groans and rubs his temples, stifling a laugh and masking it like a cough. Petra is gripping the edge of the counter, trying not to collapse.

"I don't know what's funnier," you gasp, "the tres leches disaster or the quinceañera itself."

"I REGRET NOTHING," Connie declares proudly, lifting his oat milk latte like it's a trophy.

“Oh you would have loved it" Hange beams, “the boys surprised Connie with a banda dance, Reiner whopped Connie from the floor as he rocked him side to side dancing” she pauses “Connie what's it called again?” They turned to Connie, as Connie grins “A quebradita” he grins as Hange straights up wheezes. 

“Oh and poor Bert, dude cant even dance, but connies tias thought he was a catch, so they pulled him into the tías table as they all wanted him to date one of connies primas” sasha says, she laughs as she remembers connies legendary quinces. 

"God, please tell me there's a video of Connie's quinces'" you ask while prepping Levi's tea exactly how he likes it. You hand it over and get what you think is Levi's version of a smile—a single approving nod.

"Actually…" Connie grins, his eyes gleaming. "There is. My tía Rosario recorded the whole thing. I have it on a CD." 

Sasha is already wheezing as Connie continues, practically vibrating with excitement. "YOOOO, we have to watch it. And take a shot every time Jean cries."

"Hold up. Jean cried?" You blink, stunned.

Sasha covers her face with both hands, choking on her laughter. "Horse Face did this heartfelt speech about how much he loved Connie. He full-on sobbed mid-sentence. Like, nose running, voice cracking, the whole thing."

“He had too many cantaritos” she says “Eren had to take in his speech since Jean couldn't stop crying” 

You double over, laughing so hard your cheeks hurt. These three are unreal. Reiner as a chambelán, Jean sobbing through a speech, and Connie battling lactose at his own quinceañera? Legendary.

"We have to watch it," you say between giggles. "Jean might actually kill me, but it'll be worth it."

A customer approaches, and you quickly rein in the chaos, smiling as you slide into work mode. As you're mid-espresso pull, Sasha calls out from behind the counter.

"Alright, we'll stop distracting you," she says, backing toward the door. "Check the group chat, though. We're hitting Virtual Vault on Friday—two-for-one beers."

She flashes a grin while Connie waves like he's in a parade.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," you call out, handing the drink to your customer.

The rest of your shift flies. It's busier than usual—students doing study sessions, some parents on their third espresso shot just to survive Monday, a few regulars who barely look human until their caffeine hits.

Petra brings out more pastries while you crush the drink queue. The two of you slip into a rhythm.

Some indie songs play low through the café speakers. You hum along as the espresso machine hisses and clinks. The time passes faster than expected.

By the time you finish closing, you finally clock out and your limbs ache in that oddly satisfying way. Petra waves you off with a tired but warm smile. You step outside, locking the door behind you.

That's when you see it.

A silver BMW rumbles to life at the curb. Leaning against the hood is Jean, a black cap pulled low over his forehead, his mullet tucked beneath it. His arms are crossed, and a smirk is already plastered on his face.

You stop in your tracks, a genuine smile breaking across your face. "Jean? You're back."

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. Wanted to surprise you." He reaches into the front seat and pulls something out: a single, perfect red rose.

Your eyes widen, and your smile grows even bigger. "Okay... now I'm actually surprised."

He steps closer, his arm sliding around your waist, pulling you into his warmth. "How was your shift?"

"Busy, but fun. What about your trip?" you murmur, your hands resting on his shoulders.

He sighs, leaning his head close to yours. "My aunt's still as chaotic as ever, but it was worth it. Not hearing from you, though? Torture." He hisses the last word, a lopsided smirk playing on his lips.

A flutter runs through your chest as his familiar cologne envelops you. "Well," you smirk, growing bolder, "show me how much you missed me." you whisper, low enough for only him to hear.

He doesn't hesitate.

His lips are soft—warm and certain—and the kiss pulls you in like gravity. You melt into it before he pulls away, groaning into a smile. "Don't tempt me, Y/N," he murmurs. "I won't be able to stop... and I do want to hear about your weekend."

You pout playfully, your hand brushing through his cap's brim.

"C'mon. I'll take you home," he says, opening the passenger door for you.

You raise an eyebrow, a teasing smile on your face. "Such a gentleman."

"For you?" He takes your hand and brings your knuckles to his lips. "Always."

You slide in, and he closes the door behind you, hopping into the driver's seat as the ignition hums to life. The BMW drifts into the warm night, the streetlights flickering past like stars blinking awake.

✧･ ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

"Wait—he what?" Jean's voice rises in disbelief, and he turns to you on the couch, his brows pulled tight. "Did that motherfucker drug you?"

You hand him a glass of water, exhaling a shaky breath as you sit beside him. "Yeah," you say, the word barely a whisper as you try not to let the memory pull you under again.

Jean runs a hand through his hair, his jaw ticking. "If I was there, I would've beat the living shit out of him." His tone is bitter, and the rage on his face is undeniable.

You offer a small, tired smile. "Don't worry. Eren got that covered. I'm pretty sure Thomas won't show his face in Paradis ever again."

Jean stiffens slightly at the mention of his name. He shifts on the couch, the air suddenly thick with a new kind of tension. "So... Jaeger, huh?"

"Is Jean-boy jealous?" you tease, your voice a little distant, like a part of you is still stuck in that hotel room. Those teal eyes looping in your brain.

You watch as a flicker of something raw and possessive passes through Jean's gaze.

Jean's jaw ticks. "Y/N," he says flatly, his eyes locked on yours. "I'm glad he was there. But I don't like sharing what's mine."

He pulls you in, his hand curling around your waist, the grip firm and deliberate. Your brows lift. "Oh? So now I'm yours?"

He hums, a low sound of satisfaction. "Not yet." His lips graze your jaw, a slow burn that makes your skin tingle. "But you will be."

You scoff playfully, the bravado a mask for the flutter in your stomach. "You talk a big game, Kirstein."

"Only 'cause I can back it up," he rasps, and then he kisses you.

It's slow. Confident. Measured. There's a heated certainty in the way his lips press against yours, a kind of possessive claim that makes your chest tighten. You kiss him back, your fingers reaching behind his cap, pulling it off so you can run your hands through the soft, velvet feel of his mullet. His hand travels your waist, firm and warm as he pulls you into his lap. The kiss deepens, and you try to stay present—you really do—but your mind flickers.

It flickers to another pair of hands, brushing your hair back gently, tucking a strand behind your ear. It flickers to your pool session, how Jean's words now mimic exactly what you told Eren. It flickers to the way Eren's voice had dropped when he confessed the ocean scared him, how he'd let you see something so real, something so raw.

You shake the thought away and press into Jean's mouth harder, like kissing him might be enough to silence the ghost of another boy's vulnerability.

But the feeling lingers.

He breaks the kiss, only to trail a line of soft heat down your jaw to the curve of your neck, peppering slow, open-mouthed kisses that make your spine arch slightly. "Jean," you whisper, your breath catching in your throat.

His lips hover just above your skin, his pupils blown wide. "God. Say my name again," he murmurs, like it's a prayer.

You open your eyes, your breath still caught. His gaze meets yours, pupils wide, lips slightly parted, a glint of hunger in the way he looks at you like he's memorizing every second.

But before you can say anything—

The sound of keys turning in the lock.

"Shit," you whisper, panic rushing through you.

Tori steps in, her blue eyes widening at the scene. "Oh my god," she gasps, stopping in her tracks. "Did we just—did we ruin something?"

Ymir follows right behind her, a wide grin on her face, as if she knew exactly what she was walking into. "Nah. I think we got here just in time. No sex on the couch, thanks."

You shove Jean off you, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. He awkwardly adjusts his shirt, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as he mutters, "So nice to see you, too, Ymir."

"Jesus, Mir—we weren't going to have sex," you huff, standing up quickly and grabbing one of Tori's grocery bags, a flimsy shield against Ymir's smirk.

"Sure," Ymir drawls, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "That's totally what it looked like."

Jean stands, too, clearing his throat. "Yeah, uh—I think I should head out. I'm still beat from the drive."

You follow him to the door. "Thanks for the rose," you whisper with a small smile.

He leans in, kissing your cheek. "Night, Y/N."

"Night, Jean."

And just like that, he's gone, leaving you alone with the chaos he left behind and the questions you can't answer.

 

Chapter 11: 10. Beneath the Break

𖥸 CW: this chapter contains a scene with blood and violence.

 

Eren's POV

Friday night

 

"Bro—cover me, cover me!"

Connie's yelling like his life depends on it, bouncing on the couch like a maniac as he mashes the controller. "Shit, I'm getting sniped—Jaeger, what the fuck, you just gonna sit there?"

The big red YOU LOSE flashes across the screen. Connie groans like he's been personally betrayed.

"Dude, what's with you lately? You're here, but like... not really. You just died five times in under two minutes and vibed through it"

Eren doesn't respond. He just drops the controller onto the table with a tired thud.

The truth is—he's not here. Not really.

He's back on that couch in your apartment.
Back under the soft glow of your living room light, your soft fingers running through his hair, your voice steady and warm like the ocean right before a storm.

He swears he can still smell your perfume on his hoodie. That soft, honey-sweet scent that clings in waves.

Every time he catches a whiff of something similar—on campus, on the street—his chest tightens before he even realizes what he's doing.

Looking for you.

Pathetic.

He told himself to let it go. To get a grip. But your laugh keeps echoing in his head.

The way you smiled at his dumb jokes.

The way you made space for him.

No fear. No disgust. No pity.

Just... presence.

And then that moment in your room. That gut-punching moment—seeing you talking to Jean over the phone, your laugh, the way you blushed about something Jean had said.

And then you said it.

"Why are you acting like this? It's not like you and I... have a thing."

Those words loop in his head like a curse. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees you.The bitter sound of your voice haunts his brain, echoing the finality of your words, a sound like nails screeching down a chalkboard.

No. We don't have a thing.

And yet.

And yet...

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck with a tired groan. "Yeah, just tired," he finally mutters. "Didn't sleep much."

Or the day before that. Or the one before that.
Because you're still intoxicating his mind, lingering like a ghost haunting every part of his brain.

With you, it was like... standing in the quiet after the wave had passed. Like the terrifying force of the ocean had finally receded, and for a moment, the water was still.

And more than that—

It felt familiar.

He doesn't get why he feels like this. You've barely known each other. A few conversations. A couple silences that meant too much. But still—there's something about you that stuck.

Like déjà vu.

Meeting you felt like remembering a part of himself he hadn't known he'd forgotten. The second you spoke on that rooftop, something inside him clicked into place.

You didn't push.
You didn't ask the wrong questions.

You didn't know the whole story. Not the trauma, not the mess, not the headlines. And you didn't need to.

You treated him like a person. Not a problem.

And now he's here, sitting in a living room that smells of microwaved taquitos and weed, pretending the ache in his gut has nothing to do with you, but rather with the familiar sleep deprivation that always catches him at night. Pretending like it doesn't bother him that you're out with Jean tonight.

Jean.

One of the few people who didn't bail when his world fell apart. One of the people who stuck with him when things got ugly, who, no matter how hard he tried to shove him away, to hurt him with the nastiest words he could think of, was there. A constant presence in the wreckage of his life, a hand reaching for him in the darkness he had created.

One of the few people he'd trust with anything—

But the thought of you, out there, right now.
Getting dressed.
Fixing your hair.
Smiling at your reflection.

For him.

Yeah. That part fucking sucks.

"Well..." Connie nudges him with his elbow, a lopsided smirk on his face. "You better get your shit together, Jaeger. Or I'm kicking you out."

Eren's still lost in thought.

So much so, he almost doesn't see it—but Connie's grin fades a little, replaced by something quieter. Something concerned. Connie's always been good at rage-baiting him. It used to work, too. Eren would snap, bark back, curse him out—but right now, Eren doesn't even blink at his remarks.

"Hey man," Connie says, voice low, careful around the edges . "You know I'm here, right? If you ever wanna talk. Or... whatever."

Like a switch, those words drag Eren back into the room.

He turns his head slowly, meeting Connie's gaze. Eyes dull with sleep deprivation, but aware. Present.

"Is it because of the bonfire?" Connie asks gently, testing the waters. "Look, we can hang somewhere else, or bail altogether. I know you hate when people walk on eggshells around you, and we're not trying to do that. I just..." he scratches the back of his neck, searching for the right words, "I just want you to feel better, man." Connie finally says, his voice quaver, as he places his hand into eren's shoulder.

Eren pauses, letting the silence stretch, the only sound eren can hear is his shallow breathing.

He could tell him the truth. That it's not about the bonfire. Not really. That it's you, laughing at someone else's jokes. That it's the image of you reaching for Jean's hand while he sits here, pretending it doesn't gut him.

But instead—

"Yeah, about that," Eren lies smoothly. "I think I'm gonna go this year."

It's easier to let Connie think it's about the ocean. That's the version people expect. That's the version that makes people uncomfortable enough to not push the subject.

Connie blinks. "Wait—seriously?"

Eren shrugs, leaning back into the leather couch. "I guess I wanna see what everyone was raving about from your last semester set. You do hype yourself up like a goddamn headliner." He chuckles, remembering Connie's last set. Someone had recorded the whole thing, the crowd's booing Connie's shitty remixes went viral, getting millions of views.

Connie's face lights up like he just won the lottery. "No fucking way. You're serious?" His voice rises half an octave in disbelief. "Dude—are you sure? Like, sure sure? I don't want to drag you into something that might—y'know. Be too much." His hazel irises gleam from excitement.

Eren slaps a hand on Connie's back, firm. "Relax, man. I'm good. I want to go. Don't overthink it."

Connie practically explodes off the couch. "YOOOO. Jaeger in the motherfucking house!"
He fist-pumps the air like this is the best thing that's happened all month.

"You won't regret it, I swear. I've been working on this mix for weeks. You'll see. You're gonna be obsessed. Like, play-it-at-my-funeral levels of good." Connie grins, looking like a kid who got told he is going to Disneyland.

Eren lets out a low chuckle, genuine, even if it's brief. Connie's hype is contagious like that.

After a few hours of playing Call of Duty and listening to Connie hype up his set for tomorrow, Eren finally texts Ymir that he's planning to show up at the bonfire. Something in him settles. Not all the way, but enough.

Maybe he's hoping to see you there. Maybe he's hoping for a second to breathe near you, to apologize for Wednesday—for snapping, for the way he shut down.

He overheard Jean talking about some family trip this weekend, something about his aunt dragging him out of town.
So maybe—just maybe—he'll get a moment alone with you.

✧･ ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Saturday morning comes faster than expected. The air in Paradis is sticky-sweet with summer heat and the scent of blooming citrus trees. The sun rises high over the vendor-packed streets as the farmer's market takes over downtown. The crowd moves slowly, buzzing with chatter and the scent of baked bread and fruit.

Eren's drenched in sweat. His shirt clings to his chest, his breath coming in shallow pulls as he rounds the corner near the plaza, his man bun coming loose from the morning run. He glances back—Ymir's dead on the sidewalk, bent over, hands on her knees, cursing under her breath as she slams back water like it's tequila.

"Told you I could handle it," she pants, glaring up at him as he smirks.

"Sure. You just need a two-minute break every half-mile," he teases, pulling a small towel from his pocket to dry the sweat from his forehead.

"We've been running for two hours, Jaeger," she groans. "You're not training for a marathon, you're running from your feelings."

He snorts, checking his watch. Nearly ten miles.

The streets around them pulse with life—children weaving through booths, couples holding market flowers, dogs tugging leashes toward the pastry carts.

"Alright. Let's head back," Eren mutters, tightening his man bun, sweat trickling down his spine.

Ymir squints at him from beneath the brim of her navy cap, that feral grin forming like a slow wave. "I still can't believe you're actually going tonight."

He doesn't answer.

She keeps grinning. "So? Any specific reason for the sudden change of heart?"
The silence stretches like a rubber band. "You didn't even want to hear about the bonfire before."

Eren's whole body tenses—subtle, but she notices.

They've known each other too long.
Too long to pretend.
Too long to hide anything worth hiding.

"Nah," he says finally, voice low. "Just thought I'd drop by. See what all the hype's about. That's all."

She snorts. "Uh-huh. Totally has nothing to do with the fact that she's gonna be there."
Her arms cross. "Or that horse-face is conveniently out of the picture for the weekend and you might actually get a second alone with her."

Eren's brows furrow. "I'm serious."

"Yeah," she says dryly, "and your ears are redder than a tomato."

He flinches.

Goddammit.

He forgot about that.

His ears always betray him—always have.
Back when Carla was alive, she used to tease him for it relentlessly. Said it was his tell. His truth trying to crawl out.

He couldn't lie to her if he tried.

He remembers one Mother's Day—he wasn't even ten—when he tried to surprise his mom with a cake. He forgot to take it out of the oven on time as the kitchen filled with smoke. Carla walked in, eyebrows raised, eyes already knowing.

And Eren? He pointed at Mikasa.
"She forgot to turn the oven down." Mikasa rolled her eyes, poking her tongue out at him.

Carla just laughed. She pulled them both into a hug, ruffling his hair with that loving smile. "Bird," her sweet voice said, "don't bother lying. You know I can see your ears."

Bird.

That was what she always called him. Her little bird.

Now, years later—same reaction.
Same stupid ears.
And Mir? Yeah, she's definitely not letting it go.

"You're down bad, huh?" she laughs, already jogging ahead. "I'll shut up about it for now. But just so you know—I'm supporting you on this one. But you better not fuck it up. I mean it, Ren. If I lose her because of your shit, I will kick your balls into another state."

She squints at him like she's ready to do it right now. Daggers in her gaze.

Eren huffs a breath through his nose, somewhere between a laugh and an exhale. "'Kay," he says, simple and quiet, but he means it.

And Ymir hears it, too. After all these years, she knows exactly how to read him.

"Good. Now—race you to the car, loser buys the coffee round." Ymir shoves him and bolts.

Eren just laughs, shaking his head, his dimple making an appearance as he sprints after her.

Both of them, competitive as hell.

✧･ ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Eren steps out of the shower. Ribbons of steam curl from the bathroom, a towel slung low on his hips, droplets clinging to his freckled sun-kissed skin. His place is tidy, the faint scent of mint drifting through the air.

He stops by the closet, rummaging through clothes for tonight's bonfire. Outside, the sky has melted into a golden haze—a reminder the party's already in motion. His phone buzzes: a text from Armin.

Already on my way to yours.

Something about tonight makes him uneasy. It's not like he hasn't been to the beach since the accident—he's gone plenty of times, but only at night, alone, just to stand and watch the ocean. His favorite spot is Sina Walls. That place carries nothing but good memories. Maybe because it's where he first felt the pull toward surfing—watching strangers ride the waves until something bloomed in his chest so fierce that it carved onto his bones .

It was the same summer Zeke stayed with them in Paradis. The same summer Zeke, him and Mikasa would watch Surf's Up every weekend—Zeke tagging along to every lesson like he belonged there. Getting the famous nickname Big Z, while Eren—he of course was more like Cody. Impatient, a young soul searching for his passion.

But going tonight—walking into a crowd, feeling eyes on him—makes his skin prickle. After it happened, people talked. They twisted the truth until it fit their narrative. The golden surfer boy who fell from grace. Whispers followed him everywhere on campus, each one heavy with pity ricocheting in every place he went.

He hates it.

Hates that they took his grief and turned it into gossip.

His scar starts to tingle—the same sharp, restless feeling it always brings when the memories  of his failed past creep in. He groans, low in his chest, running his fingers over the ugly mark. The redness still lingers, a constant reminder of the sharp sting of that day. But the pain isn't what gets him. It's the truth that he tried to go back to the one thing he loved most and couldn't.

Because every time he closes his eyes, every time his feet touch the ocean, he sees her. His mom's warm brown eyes. Her softness. Her beauty, dulled by the weight of pain. And then the memory shifts—to that night.

The one that loops in his mind every time he tries to sleep. His nightmares have only gotten worse each time, so much, he barely gets any sleep—haunted by the ghost of the past, of the fate he brought upon his mom.

A knock yanks him back to the present. From the other side of the door, Armin's muffled voice filters through."You done yet?"

Eren shakes his head like the motion alone might be enough to shove the memories back where they came from, pulling on a white compression shirt and his worn jorts, raking a hand through damp hair before swinging the door open. The cool hallway air meets the warmth clinging to his skin as he steps out and makes his way down to where Armin's parked.

The quiet hum of the electric engine fades as Armin shuts it off, leaving only the muffled bass of music spilling across the beach parking lot—heavy and dull against the night air. Somehow, the sound makes the silence between the three of them feel louder. Armin's blue eyes flick towards Annie, and something in his face tightens, concern settling in the crease between his brows as he exhales.

Annie watches him for a moment before she speaks, her voice low and softer than usual, the kind of softness that almost doesn't sound like her. "Hey, you don't need to go out there if you don't feel like it, no one's pressuring you, and if Connie says something about you not being here, I'll personally kick his ass." Her cold edges have been replaced by something warmer as she glances back at Armin, who still looks like he's weighing his words.

Finally, he turns to Eren in the backseat. "Eren, it's okay to back out if you want, or it's also okay to go if you want to. We'll be by your side."

Eren's gaze drifts past them, through the window, to the glow of the bonfire in the distance where amber light flickers against moving bodies. People are laughing and dancing, tossing a volleyball back and forth.

The scene feels both familiar and foreign, warm and stinging all at once. After a long beat, he answers, voice quiet but steady. "I know, I just need a minute."

He exhales slowly as Annie nods, her expression sharpening just enough to promise she means what she says next. "Also, I'll be the first one to throw hands if I hear some bullshit gossip about you, just say the word."

That's enough to make Eren huff out a laugh, because he knows she means it—because he's seen exactly what Annie can do. Back in high school, when he tried martial arts as a curricular with Mikasa, Annie had wiped the floor with him like it was nothing. She flipped him onto his back with effortless precision, his eyes lighting up with a mix of shock and admiration.

He'd begged her to teach him, which of course led to Mikasa stepping in, protective and stubborn as always, daring Annie to a fight. To this day, it's one of those memories he'll never forget—the way that sparring match became legendary enough that even the teachers wanted a front row seat.

"Ready?" Armin squeezes Eren's arm bringing him back to the present, he nods slowly, his breath hitching as he opens the door. The smell of woodsmoke and salt air rushes in, clinging to his lungs as he steps out. Annie glances back at them once before moving ahead, cutting through the crowd like some kind of bodyguard.

Eren's hands start to go clammy, suddenly hyperaware of the stares. Whispers and sideways glances ripple through the crowd until someone says, loud enough for him to hear, "Oh shit, look."

It's not often he feels like this—once, he'd walked these sands like they belonged to him, like he belonged to them.

Now, his gaze is fixed on the ground, dragging his feet through the grit. He breathes in once. Twice. Like it might settle the nerves clawing at his chest. Armin's lips move beside him, but Eren can't hear the words. Everything feels too loud, too sharp, too close. The only sound that cuts through is the pounding of his own heart, hammering like he's sprinting a race he never signed up for.

And then, like a rope thrown into deep water, a voice hauls him out of it. "Jaeger?" Reiner's eyes go wide before he schools his face, careful not to set off whatever landmine might be hidden under Eren's expression. "Shit, man, didn't think you'd come." He claps a broad hand on Eren's shoulder, the other holding out a beer. "Here, take one."

Eren gives him a tight smile.

He's trying—trying not to let the cracks show, trying to be present for his friends the way they'd been there for him when he'd needed it most.

If it means wearing a fake smile for a few hours, he'll wear it. He hates knowing they stopped coming to the beach because of him, because of what happened. They never said it, but he knows they missed it—missed the salt wind, the boards, the break of the waves—as much as he did. He never told them. He never wanted anyone to see the version of him he keeps buried: the broken, angry, messy side he can't even meet in his own reflection.

Mikasa appears, her face unreadable, though there's a flicker of surprise in her voice. "Eren, I thought you said you weren't coming." Her hand lands on his arm like she's checking he's really there. He wanted to tell her, but knowing Mika, she would've shown up at his apartment, interrogating him until he caved. She's younger, but she's always been his protector.

"I know," he says, brushing a hand through his hair. "Changed my mind." The unease sits heavy in his chest. He tries to mask it, but if there's anyone who can see through him, it's her. She furrows her brows like she's about to press, but Connie barrels in before she can.

"Ayyye, Eren, my guy!" Connie slings an arm around his shoulders, the smell of booze clinging to his words. "You made it just in time. I'm about to go on in, like, ten, and VIP section's calling your name, baby!" Connie does a little shimmy as he hypes himself up.

Eren chuckles, dimples flashing. "After last semester? I need to see what disaster you've cooked up."

Connie launches into some drunken rant about his new playlist, but Eren's only half-listening. His attention isn't on the music, or the party, or the volleyball game still going strong by the fire.

From the corner of his eye, he sees you.

It's like the world tilts. You're standing there, firelight spilling over your skin until it glows, your eyes wide in a way that makes the air around him thin. His gaze softens before he can stop it, the weight pressing on his shoulders easing just from the sight of you.

Every thought, every knot in his chest, every echo of earlier—gone. But something else catches his attention, an uncertainty in your eyes. It may be slight, but it's there. He can see right to you, noticing the faint tremor in your hands that no one else would.

Is it because of him? Is it because of your discussion on Wednesday? Or is it something else, something deeper?

As Connie keeps talking, Eren wants nothing more than to close the distance. To tell you he's sorry for Wednesday night, to hear your voice, your laugh, to make some stupid joke just to see your smile—to watch your eyes light up like they're holding the whole damn galaxy inside them.

He's just about to cut Connie off, about to move toward you, but someone gets in his way. Hitch appears. Her hand finds yours, saying something slurred and playful as she leads you toward the tiki bar.

Eren sighs, rubbing his temple, the curse slipping out under his breath.

He wants to apologize—even if it means seeing you happy with Jean. He'd take that. He'd take you ranting about your date with Jean if it meant he got to be by your side for just a second.

But he doesn't move. He stays where he is.

Because he's a coward, and he knows it. And it makes him feel pathetic.

That night of the party, up on the roof, he wanted nothing more than to speak to you—really speak to you—but of course, like it was some higher power mocking him, your phone rang. The moment cut short. But he'd told himself there would be another chance.

When he saw Sasha's name on your screen, something small bloomed in his chest. You'd be in the same friend group. You'd see each other again. Maybe talk.

But then came Suck and Blow. And Jean. And the two of you exchanging glances, laughing at something horse face had said.

That was when he knew.

Eren's always been selfish in his own ways. As a kid, when Carla's attention leaned toward Mikasa, when Carla teached Mika to sew, or when she took Mika to her first karate lessons where she grew too much love for the sport; he'd get himself hurt or do something reckless just to pull her focus back to him.

Carla always knew what he was doing. She never called him out—just hugged him tight, kissed his forehead, and pulled out the Polaroid camera.

It became their thing. A private tradition. Freezing moments in glossy little frames. His first surfboard on Christmas morning. The ugly, unsweetened cake he'd baked for Mother's Day. Matching Halloween costumes. His first time skateboarding. A thousand tiny snapshots of a life she wanted to keep.

After she died, that ache never left. But he tried to keep the tradition alive. Bought everyone in the group a Polaroid. Told them it was something he used to do when he wanted to hold onto a moment. So they could look back one day and remember the good parts. The parts worth keeping.

That was the first time he wasn't selfish enough to keep something he loved only for himself.

Something in his chest tightens just thinking about it. He takes a long pull from the beer Reiner handed him. The cold bitterness burns down his throat, settling heavy in his gut.

That's when they approach— three girls, laughing, perfume cutting through the smell of smoke and saltwater. He knows them.

Or at least, he's known them like that before.

"Well, if it isn't Eren Jaeger in the flesh." A brunette steps forward, smug smirk curving her glossy mouth as she plants a hand against his chest. "You didn't text me back the other day. I felt really lonely without you this summer." She fake pouts as the other girls giggle.

Eren sighs. He's never been a saint. There was a time—hell, most of last year—when this was his thing. Flirt, fuck, leave. No feelings. After his accident, something in him cracked. He got lost in his pain, brooding, so when some girls said they could take his pain away, he didn't hesitate. He knew some random girl could never truly take or even understand how he felt, but it became easy—an easy distraction from all the things life took from him.

Feelings were dangerous. You handed someone the power to either love you or ruin you. It was easier to stick with strangers whose names he could barely remember.

After leaving Paradis this summer, he went to the only place he knew could bring him a sense of ease—his old house in Shiganshina. The cabin that was once a dear home to him, now a refuge. With no Wi-Fi connection and no distractions, he spent the entire summer alone with his thoughts. He realized he never wanted this. He was ashamed of himself for ever thinking sex was a coping mechanism for his grief and a substitute for the ocean.

"Hey," he says flatly. He doesn't remember her name, so it's better to keep it neutral than guess wrong.

"'Hey?' That's all I get?" she scoffs, her acrylics grazing the lines of his stomach. "This party is sooo boring. Maybe we should leave. You know... like the old days."

Her friends hang back, watching him like he's a plate they're all ready to share.

His libido is sky-high, and the thought of falling back into those same patterns is tempting. But then he hears the girls laugh, and something in his stomach curls with unease. It's not just a rejection of them, but of the person he used to be. He takes the girl's hand from his stomach, a chuckle under his breath.

"Nah," he says flatly. "I'd rather stay here."

The girls stare at him, a sense of shock on their faces. He would have said yes—he's said yes to this exact thing a hundred times before. But the thought of you, a constant presence in his mind, has intoxicated him. He looks at them, at their pretty smiles and painted-on interest, and he feels... nothing.

Eren turns and walks away, ignoring the curses they throw after him. He pushes into the tent, the heat and the smell of weed hitting him all at once. The place is packed shoulder to shoulder, bodies swaying, drinks sloshing, the bass thudding through the floor like a beating heart.

In the corner, he spots Bert mid-conversation with some guy. Bert's gaze lifts and he waves.

"Hey, man." Eren claps a hand on his back, eyes sweeping over the chaos. Some people are too drunk to stand straight, while others are lined up right at the DJ booth like they're about to see Disclosure walk out instead of fucking Connie Springer.

"Hey man, glad you're here," Bert says with a small smile.

Eren nods. Back when they first met, Bert and Reiner were always the older ones— taller, steadier, the guys he looked up to. Eren had been a scrawny thirteen-year-old then, barely scraping five feet. Even now, taller and broader, Bert still towers over him.

"So... how's everything?" Eren asks.

Bert rubs the back of his neck, sheepish. "You know. Good... I guess I just need to get over the fact Annie's with Armin. Not that I'm not happy for them—I am—it's just..."

Eren nods. "I get it. I'm sorry, man. It sucks when someone you like chooses someone else."

Something tightens in his gut.

It's not like he likes you that way, right?

But he likes being near you. And there's something about you that pulls at him, something familiar. Like you're both carrying things you never asked for–hiding the cracks you don't want anyone to see. He saw it on the rooftop that night– the weight you keep tucked away, the way you guard yourself from the world... maybe even from yourself.

"Yeah... I guess it was my fault, though," Bert says, face flushing. "I never really had the courage to talk to Annie like that, you know?"

Before Eren can answer, the tent shakes with a surge of bass. Connie's at the booth now, cap sideways, Mir's shades hiding his eyes. A few girls crowd behind him, snapping photos like hes headlining some fucking music festival instead of the same beach party where they'd booed him offstage last semester.

Connie grabs the mic like he's about to accept a Grammy.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN — DJ CONMAN IN THE FUCKING HOUSE!"

"You think he's gonna get thrown out again?" Bert asks, shaking his head in amusement.

Eren grins. "Nah, I think it'll go pretty good."

Bert's brows lift. "You mean that?"

"Not in a million years," Eren snorts, taking a sip of his drink.

The tent erupts as Connie hits play. Confetti bursts and the whole place goes feral. His voice comes through the mic slurred, but somehow, whatever he cooked up last week is actually good. Eren's proud of him... though a dark, petty part of him wouldn't have minded watching the crowd booed his shitty remixes again.

Scanning the crowd, Eren spots Reiner howling like a maniac, Armin recording with the emotional intensity of a dad watching his kid's first recital—Eren swears there's a tear in his eye. Next to him, Annie is dancing—rare enough to notice—and beside her... you.

Your gaze meets his. Wide-eyed for just a second, before you turn back, laughing with Annie and Hitch, hair flying as you jump to the beat.

Something about it—about you—carefree and grinning—makes something in his chest stir.

Eren furrows his brows and takes a slow sip from his drink, trying to drown whatever the hell that feeling is.

The air in the tent feels heavier now. Sweat prickles the back of his neck, the crowd moving around him in slow, suffocating waves. He yells something to Bert over the music — Bert just nods, and Eren pushes his way out toward the beach.

His boots drag through the sand, leaving uneven patterns behind. Even with the party still blaring, he manages to find a stretch of quiet. The music is distant here, just the faint echo of Connie yelling something about his "cultural reset."

Finally, he can breathe. The air is cooler out here, sharper in his lungs. His eyes drift to the waves— dark and glassy under the night sky, folding in on themselves over and over. It's calm for now, but he knows better. The tide will rise before the night is over. He can feel it. Hear it. Like the ocean's speaking in a language only he knows, one he learned to read years ago.

He pulls a cigarette from his back pocket and flicks the lighter. The paper hisses, catching flame, and he draws the smoke deep into his chest. The nicotine dulls the edges of whatever storm is turning over inside him.

That's when he notices him. A guy he's never seen before. Tall, blonde, a smug smirk on his face like he just won something. He's facing the tent, waiting. Then a shadow appears in the glow of the entrance, and the world tilts on its axis.

"Leave me alone." The voice is slurred, and Eren's focus sharpens to a razor's edge. He can't see clearly—the tent's light cuts hard shadows over the figure—but then he catches the shimmer of your skirt as you stumble. The guy's hand is clamped around your arm.

"Let me help you," the stranger says, smirking. "Let's go to my car."

He yanks you harder.

Eren's moving before he even realizes it. Sand kicks under his feet, lungs burning. All he can see is red.

His fist connects with the guy's jaw,  hard. Hard enough that the man staggers back.
"Don't fucking touch her," Eren snarls, his voice raw with rage.

The guy spits blood, clutching his jaw. "Dude—what the fuck? I was helping her!"

He swings at Eren, but Eren dodges easily.

His body is vibrating now, a low hum of pure adrenaline and white-hot rage, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles ache with a dull throb. The sound of the party becomes a muffled, distant drone over his ringing ears. He grabs the guy by the front of his shirt and slams him into the wet sand, the rough grains scraping against his knuckles.

A wild punch grazes Eren's nose—he barely feels it. The pain is a ghost, swallowed by the searing, all-consuming fury. He drives his fist into the man's jaw. Once. Then again by the eye. And again. The hits come faster, harder, the wet, sickening sound a counterpoint to the distant music. He doesn't know whose blood is streaking his knuckles anymore.

Doesn't care.

Somewhere far off, a voice cuts in— Reiner. Muffled, like Eren's underwater. Then arms wrap around him, yanking him back.

"Jaeger, you're going to kill him!" concern fills Reiner's voice.

Eren thrashes. "Let me go, Braun, or I'll knock you out too!" His voice cracks with fury, a sound torn from the deepest parts of him. Because that motherfucker drugged you. He's sure of it. He doesn't know when, doesn't know how, but he saw the way you could barely stand, the way your words came out sluggish and broken. The image keeps replaying in his head—your gasp when the guy pulled you toward him, your eyes wide with fear. And the thought of what would've happened if Eren hadn't been there, if no one had heard you...

His blood boils ten degrees hotter.

He yanks hard against Reiner's grip until it falters. The guy's still on the sand, his face an unrecognizable mess— swollen, split, his white shirt soaked through with blood.

From the corner of his eye, Eren catches Mikasa holding you close, eyes shut as she murmurs something low against your hair. Her hand moves slow over your back, steadying you.

Bert steps in front of Eren, eyes wide, palms pressing against his chest— but Eren barely feels it. Something about seeing you like that, limp in Mikasa's arms, makes a crack split open inside him.

"That fucker drugged her!" Eren roars, voice hoarse, ragged with fury.

"Eren." Bert's voice is calm, deliberate, like he's trying to thread through the static in Eren's head. "You beat him good." He pauses, eyes locking hard onto Eren's. "If you don't stop, he'll die."

Eren blinks, once, twice, the world sliding back into focus. Warm trickles of blood drip from his nose. Bert's gaze stays fixed on him— steady, grounding. Pulling him out of the spiral and back into the moment.

And then he looks at you.

Terror grips his chest. Not because of the fight, not even because of the blood smeared across his knuckles— but because of what almost happened. The thought of you alone, maybe just needing air, maybe thinking someone was helping you... and that bastard knowing exactly what to hand you, exactly how to drag you away.

Eren shrugs Reiner's hands off and crosses to you in three long strides. His arms fold around you, firm and protective, his head dipping low so only you can hear him.

"Hey," he breathes, his voice softened into something almost unrecognizable. "I've got you. You're okay. I've got you." Your skin is hot under his touch, your lids heavy. He smooths a hand over your hair, the action a familiar, comforting weight.

"Mika," he says without looking away from you, his tone coming out rushed, adrenaline still in his system, "tell Ymir we're going. Now."

Mikasa nods and disappears into the tent. Eren just keeps holding you—like letting go might shatter something in him he wouldn't be able to fix.

After a minute Ymir steps out of the tent.

"What the fuck just happened?" Ymir's voice cuts through, sharp with panic as she rushes over. She takes one look at your face, and Eren gives her the short version. People are starting to crowd around, some just here for the spectacle. The guy is still on the ground, unmoving.

For a second, Eren's conscience stabs at him—wondering if maybe he really did... but the groan that comes when Ymir kicks his bloodied stomach proves otherwise. He exhales, tension loosening just slightly.

Tori pushes through, keys already in hand. You try to stand, but Eren stops you. He drops to a knee, scooping you up like you weigh nothing. You groan softly, "Ren."

Everything inside him freezes. It's the first time you've ever called him that. His reply comes as a whisper meant only for you. "Shhh. You're okay. I got you." His hand finds your hair again, stroking slow, careful.

His heartbeat is erratic, and he's not sure if it's from the fight, the adrenaline, seeing you in danger—or just hearing you say his name like that. No one calls him that except Ymir. Hearing it in your voice feels... intoxicating.

"Are you okay?" you ask, your gaze locking with his.

He opens his mouth but nothing comes out right away. Your hand brushes a smear of blood from under his nose, and he chuckles at the absurdity—how you're worrying about him when it should be the other way around.

"Don't worry about me," he says, eyes softening. "I'm just glad I was there for you."

In the distance, he spots Tori's G-Wagon pulling up. The party roars behind him, but all he sees is you—your brow furrowed, eyes catching every flicker of amber from the firelight. He holds you a little closer, afraid you might slip away, and then your fingers are brushing back the sweat-damp strands sticking to his forehead from the fight.

The touch sends a spark straight through him—electric, effortless. It's his thing, the one he does to you. The first time had been at Revolutions, done without thinking, and he'd been so flustered he'd offered to find a table while you waited for drinks so you don't see his pathetic face.

It had become his thing after that, almost a secret ritual between you.

He grins, dimples deep despite the blood drying on his skin. "You know... that's something I do to you, not the other way around," he murmurs, nose scrunching.

You giggle, voice lighter than he's heard all night. "I like when you wear your hair down... You look like Jacob from Twilight."

Eren barks out a laugh, sharp and sudden. "God, you really are a dork, Y/N."

Tori swings open the G-Wagon's back door. Eren sets you inside gently, closing it behind you before sliding in on the other side. He buckles his seatbelt, one hand already finding the window controls, the other still feeling like it's carrying the heat of your touch.

"Mika. Hey, don't worry—I'll text you how she's doing, so you don't have to come over," Eren says. He knows exactly how she gets with the people she loves—it's something he's always admired about her.

Even as kids, when she'd jump in like he was some menace the whole world was out to get, Mika was always there, shielding him. He'd never admit it back then—usually he'd snap that he was older, that he didn't need protecting—but deep down, he admired that loyalty like nothing else.

Mikasa hesitates. He knows her well enough to catch the signs—the slight squint in her eyes, the way her scar pulls tight at one edge when she's worried. Finally, she looks at you and nods slowly.

"Keep me updated, Eren. Take care of her."

Her hand squeezes his, a silent warning wrapped in trust. Eren just nods. Of course he's going to take care of you. Even if it means staying awake on the couch all night, even if it means keeping himself half-alert in case you so much as stir—he will.

Tori starts the car, easing it out of the lot. From the corner of his eye, Eren catches Mikasa still standing there under the amber wash of the parking lights, Armin and Annie at her side. Armin's pacing like a caged animal, muttering to himself while Annie keeps an arm looped loosely around his shoulder. Eren turns his attention back to you.

You shift in your seat, restless, searching for a comfortable position. He hesitates—it's dangerous terrain, letting himself cross that invisible line—but he does it anyway.

"That better?" he asks as his hands find your calves, warm against his palms. He rubs slow circles into your skin until you hum in quiet response.

"Who the fuck was that?" Ymir cuts in, voice sharp enough to slice through the hum of the engine. "If he wasn't unconscious, I would've beat his ass even more."

Tori reaches over, catching Ymir's wrist to calm her down.

"He's... a guy from Stohess," you say finally, voice so low he almost misses it. "He was... someone I knew."

Eren's jaw locks.

He sees it instantly—the way your eyes drop to your lap, the way your voice catches on the last word, how you curl just slightly into yourself. He doesn't know what Stohess means to you, not really, but he can feel it—that place left marks, ones you probably never want anyone to see.

And it hits him in the chest, sharp and quiet.  You look exhausted, but there's something else there—a shadow behind the fatigue, something he can't name.

Every few minutes you shift, like you can't quite find the place where your body will settle. Your legs brush his arm, and each time his hands twitch with the urge to adjust them, to make sure you're warm and anchored.

But there's a weight in his stomach he can't shake. You're here—close enough to touch—yet somehow you feel miles away, caught somewhere he can't reach. Somewhere he's not sure you'd even let him follow.

His fingers curl around your calf, a grounding squeeze.
"We're here," he says quietly. "Don't move—I'll carry you."

He slips out of his door, circles the car, and opens yours. In one smooth motion, he lifts you feeling the faint warmth of your perfume. The scent feels familiar, safe, and he hates himself for clinging to it.

Inside your room, he lays you gently on the mattress. Ymir is already there with a cold towel for your forehead, and Tori is fishing your pajamas from a drawer. Eren steps out, giving you space, but the quiet in the living room gnaws at him. He paces, his jaw tight, rubbing at the back of his neck while the thump of his own heartbeat drowns out the party still raging outside.

When Ymir cracks the door and tells him it's okay, she and Tori slip past him. Ymir's eyes hold his for a beat too long—like she's reading him, like she knows this is something he needs to do.

He crosses to your bed. "Hey," he says, kneeling so he can look at you. The blood on his nose has dried; his knuckles are split, skin raw, dark with smears that might be his or the other guy's. He doesn't care.

"I'm so sorry, Eren," you whisper, voice shaking as your eyes gloss. You glance away, but his hand comes up, gentle on your jaw.

"Look at me. You have nothing to be sorry for. He drugged you. You did nothing wrong. Don't pull away from me—I'll never judge you." His voice cracks, the words trembling like he's holding them together by force. Your gaze softens, but you still look away.

Eren rises, jaw tight, and crosses to the bathroom. The harsh light spills over the mirror, catching the faint red mark on his nose, the dried blood crusted along his skin. He splashes cold water over his face, the sting clearing his head just enough to focus. He digs through the cabinet until he finds what he needs.

When he returns, there's a makeup wipe in his hand. He hesitates, waiting for your nod. When it comes, his touch is feather-light, brushing over your cheek with painstaking care. The cool cloth sweeps away the smudged mascara, chasing off the remnants of the night one slow, deliberate stroke at a time.

"You don't have to do this," you murmur.

"I know," he says, tilting your chin until your eyes meet his. "But I want to."

He sets the wipe on the coffee table—and that's when he sees it.

Your graduation photo.

He doesn't have to lean closer. He knows that face, even from here. The bright, laughing eyes– the wild curls he remembers being the exact shade of fiery orange. He sets the wipe down, a slow, deliberate movement.

His shoulders go rigid. A muscle jumps in his jaw. For a second, he forgets to breathe, his lungs seizing in his chest as his vision narrows to a single face in the photo.

When he does speak, his voice isn't his—it's quieter, thinned out.

"Who—who are they?"

"Those were my best friends," you say, voice cracking. "Franz and Hannah."

The name hits him like a physical blow. Hannah. His stomach drops. For a beat, he just stares—not confused, but caught in something older, heavier. It's in the way his eyes shift, like some locked door in his head has just creaked open, spilling light into a place he's avoided for years.

Three summers back, salt air thick in his lungs, the taste of grief still bitter on his tongue. He stands on the cliff overlooking the ocean viewpoint, watching the tide churn and pull, trying to drown out the noise in his head.

He blinks, dragging himself out of it. Clears his throat. "I—uh... I should go." The words come out too fast, as if speed alone could outrun whatever's clawing at him.

Your hand catches his before he can stand, your touch a sudden anchor against the storm.

"Wait. Don't go."

He looks down at your fingers curled around his. He breathes, sitting back down. "I won't," he says, voice steady now, anchoring himself. "I'll never leave you."

But the name keeps echoing. Loud.

Relentless.

Hannah.