𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 | 𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐢𝐧

𝐗𝐈𝐗 : 𝐑𝐞𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐚𝐬𝐭

It would storm soon.

"So, now you're flat-out ignoring me?" Eren asked. "Is this some kind of prank?"

"I'm not in the mood to talk."

"Well, I am, and you're the only one awake." Eren wrapped his hands around your shoulders and tried to pull you into him. You remained locked by the glass. "Come on. Talk to me. What happened? Did... Did Kirstein... did he try something slick on your walk or something? Do I need to beat some chivalry into him?"

"Of course not. He's already a gentleman."

"A gentleman? Is that what we're calling him?" Eren scoffed but accepted your answer. "If not that, then what? Did Hitch go for your throat while I was gone?"

"No." But she had shown you something you would never forget and unknowingly gave you information that dissolved your brain into a storm of mourning and foreboding.

"Can you please just tell me?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Maybe I could if you gave me a chance." Eren gave you another tug, much more firmly this time. Your back slumped into his damp chest. "Don't make me guess the whole way home. We still have at least another hour, and you can't return to the lake with the weather looking so dreary. I'll bother you about this all night when we get to my room."

"I can't stay over."

"Yes, you can. Look at those clouds." Eren pointed out over the fields at the gloomy sky. "There's going to be a real downpour."

"You don't know that," you lied in a breath,

"I do." He wrapped his pointed arm over your clavicle and his other forearm over the first. Eren lowered his chin to the crook of your neck. His hammy, moist breath warmed over your jaw. "You taught me that the leaves change when it rains, remember? And they've changed."

Your eyes grew heavy the more you basked in Eren's warmth. He smelled strongly of the ocean, but the unmistakable scent of home still clung to his clothes: cotton, old wood, and antiseptic. It ribboned around your senses and gifted the tightened sensation of safety you craved above all things.

"We should go drinking tonight," Eren whispered. "Might loosen up that pesky tongue of yours."

"It's too busy in the tavern on Saturdays, and I drank far too much last night as it is."

"But I'll be there. I'll bring you home at the first sign of trouble."

"I need to go back to my house tonight, Eren."

"No, you don't. You complained about not seeing me enough, and now I'm inviting you to spend time together. Just say yes. I'll even let your little loverboy stay the night in the guest room."

"Who?"

"Kirstein. I've noticed how he looks at you like a pup to a fresh bone. Too bad you're going to break his heart when he finds out you're in love with Armin," Eren teased, trying to bring some normalcy back into your deflated lungs.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," you mumbled as you finally relaxed into Eren's embrace.

If anyone would end up with a broken heart, it was you.

Because it was different in Europe, despite what Mr. Kirstein said. Because if anyone ever had genuine feelings for you, those feelings would be as clear as the glass shielding you from the breeze, just as it was in the book resting in your lap. Because the type of man that could see past your curses and still hold you near to his heart only existed in fairytales.