𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 | 𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐢𝐧

𝐗𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈 : 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡

"I just don't understand why you felt the need to say that I should eat something when I was obviously just upset."

"Jesus, Hitch," Eren moaned, rubbing his forehead. "I thought we were over this. It's been two hours."

"I'm allowed to be upset! You called me fat!" Hitch shrieked.

"When?! If you can tell me the exact words I used, I'll cop to it, but you can't because I never actually said it! I said that some food might help fix your mood, and I was right!"

"You may not have called me fat, but you implied it! That's just as bad as actually saying the words! What do you think, Marlowe? Do you think he called me fat!"

Sweat slipped from under Marlowe's dark bangs. His thumb nervously tapped Mrs. Yeager's picnic basket, which rested on the empty seat beside him. "It's not my place to get between your friendly disputes, dear," he said.

"So you're on his side? You agree with him?"

Of course, there was a correct answer and a very wrong one that would land poor Marlowe sleeping on the sofa for the evening. Maybe even the rest of the week.

Part of you wanted to save Marlowe from his wife's tirade, but the last thing you wanted was to find yourself in the crossfire. You barely skirted out of the trenches with a light scolding for being an hour late. That was more than enough warfare for the day.

Not to mention, you were slightly preoccupied and wholly mystified with the sleeping giant that dug his sharp cheekbone into your shoulder and drooled on your sleeve.

Mr. Kirstein had slipped into sleep within a few minutes after the carriage began rolling. His unconscious body decided that your arm would serve as a perfect pillow.

You had no room to complain. You had done the same to him last night. You also took pleasure in how comforting the weight of his body felt against your own.

No one paid much mind to the foreign pressure weighing down your bones. Hitch was too busy dragging out the unnecessary defense of her weight. Eren couldn't see your physical predicament as he sat directly on your right-hand side. Marlowe only offered a tentative smile when he noticed Mr. Kirstein snuggling into your cotton.

"I think you're always beautiful, sweetheart," Marlowe finally answered, his voice shrouded in fear.

"But you don't disagree that I've gained weight?"

"Well... Of course, you haven't. You look–"

"So, as my husband, should you not defend me against Eren's assault on my figure?"

"I never said you were fat!" Eren yelled.

"You implied it!" Hitch shouted back. Her voice echoed through the closed carriage.

Mr. Kirstein grumbled at the sudden peak in volume and burrowed his face deeper into your shoulder. The vibrations of his grunt sent lightning bolts into the deepest part of your abdomen. You sharply clenched the bag slung over your shoulder from the lowness of his moan.

Hitch continued, "Telling a woman that she needs to eat to 'regain her composure' is one of the most patronizing, condescending, imperious, impertinent... misogynistic messes that could ever spill from a man's mouth!"

"Can't you talk some sense into her?" Eren begged hotly in your ear. "I can't reason with a crazy woman who whips out her dictionary to argue with me."

Your eyes darted from the napping man on your arm to Hitch, whose pretty eyes were forest green with wrath, and her pale skin was red with frustration. Anger hung on her face like Niccolo's holy wreaths on the front door during Christmas.