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THE RAIN HAD STARTED sometime after six. Not the kind that thundered against windows, but the soft, steady kind that blurred the edges of everything outside: the cars, the lamplight, the people rushing by with jackets over their heads. It made the whole world feel a little quieter. Softer, somehow. Like the sky itself was taking a deep breath and trying not to collapse under the weight of the day.
You'd opened your window just a crack. Enough to let in the sound of it, that rhythmic tapping against the sill. The air inside your dorm had gone still and cool. A little damp at the edges. You were sitting at the table near your bed, legs tucked under you, notebook open in front of you with half a page of scribbles that didn't yet add up to anything useful.
Eren sat across from you, his chair pulled in close, one arm braced against the tabletop while he scrolled through something on his laptop. His hoodie hung damply on the back of the chair — he'd taken it off as soon as he came in, rain still clinging to the sleeves — and now he wore just a dark T-shirt, the cotton soft and a little wrinkled, like it had been stuffed in a drawer that morning. He hadn't said much since he arrived. But that was normal, wasn't it?
You'd been staring at your open notebook for ten minutes.
The table between you and Eren was scattered with papers: the 36 Questions handout, a half-eaten protein bar, and two copies of your joint personality profiles, complete with the typed answers from your last sessions. Tonight's part of the project involved a short written reflection and a final exercise, one that asked you both to sit down and identify your most dominant traits, how you believed others perceived you, and whether those perceptions aligned with who you really were.
Perception versus reality, the paper said in bold. How does your external self match or conflict with your internal self?
You hadn't gotten very far.
Eren hadn't either, as far as you could tell. He was sitting across from you, hunched slightly, one elbow resting on the table while he skimmed something on his laptop screen. His hair was tied back again, but a few strands had fallen loose, curling damply at his temples. He hadn't said much since he arrived. But that was normal, wasn't it?
Only it didn't feel normal anymore.
You shifted in your seat, then cleared your throat softly. "Eren."
He looked up. Not startled. Just... ready, in the way that made your stomach flip. His eyes were steady, quiet, like he was used to expecting the worst from people who opened with his name.
You didn't want to fumble this. "I just wanted to say... I'm sorry. About what Jean said. At the library."
Eren blinked once. The corner of his mouth twitched, but not into a smile. "You don't have to apologize for him."
"I know," you said quickly. "I just... I didn't say anything. And I should've. I didn't like it either. It was weird and unnecessary, and it made you look like—like some kind of joke, and I hated that."
There was a pause. Not a cold one. Just... quiet.
You looked down at the table, your fingers curling slightly against the edge of your notebook. "I think I froze up, honestly. I didn't know if stepping in would make it worse, or if you'd think I was trying to defend you in a way you didn't want. But afterward, I just felt... guilty. Like maybe you thought I agreed with him. And I don't. I'm on your side. I always was."
The words hung there longer than you expected. Long enough that you felt the weight of them drop somewhere behind your ribs.
When Eren finally spoke, his voice was soft. "It's fine."
You looked up again.
He wasn't looking at you this time. His gaze had drifted out the rain-smeared window beside your table, his expression unreadable. Not closed off, not angry — just distant, like he'd taken one small step backward into himself.
"I'm used to it," he added after a moment.
"Used to what?"
His eyes slid back to yours. There was a tightness around them now — not defensive, exactly. Just tired. Like he didn't have the energy to lie but still didn't want to say too much.
"People deciding who I am before I say anything."
You felt your heart kick once in your chest.
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't flinch. But the sentence sat between you like something unfinished.
You leaned forward slightly. "Can I ask what you mean by that?"
He looked at you for a long moment, then breathed out through his nose. "It's not a big deal."
"It feels like one."
Eren's fingers tapped once against the side of his laptop. Then stilled.
"I don't talk a lot," he said finally, "but it's not because I don't have anything to say. I just... I feel a lot. Too much, sometimes. And when people can't see that, or don't bother looking, they fill in the blanks with whatever makes sense to them."
You didn't realize you were holding your breath until he stopped talking.
"I never thought you didn't feel anything," you said, quiet. "Honestly... it's kind of the opposite."
He didn't answer right away. But something in his expression shifted, like a window cracked open just slightly. Not enough to let everything out. Just enough to let some air in.
The rain tapped gently against the glass.
You glanced back down at the worksheet between you. Perception versus reality.
"I've been staring at this prompt for fifteen minutes," you said. "And all I can think is how different I must look compared to what's actually going on in my head."
Eren glanced at your paper, then back at you. "You don't seem that different."
"You don't know me that well."
"I think I'm starting to," he said quietly.
You looked up.
There was no smile. No tease. Just honesty.
A slow warmth curled in your chest, unexpected and strange. You didn't want to move too fast. You didn't want to make this moment something it wasn't. But still, it felt like a shift. A tether pulled just slightly tighter.
You both fell into silence again, but this time it wasn't strained. Just still.
It's not immediate.
After your apology, the air between you holds steady in something unspoken. Not cold, not tense... just still. Like a room that hasn't remembered to breathe again.
Eren doesn't look away. His hands are folded lightly in front of him, knuckles pale from where they'd earlier been clenched too tight. Now, his fingers trace the edge of a pencil as if he needs something to keep them occupied. His mouth is slack, neither smiling nor frowning, and his eyes remain fixed on the table, then flick — quickly, deliberately — to you.
It makes your stomach twist.
You don't speak again. You don't trust yourself not to say something too heavy, too eager. You've already laid yourself bare once tonight. Any more and it might turn fragile.
But Eren breaks first.
"So..." He lifts the pencil slightly, rolling it between his fingers before setting it down. "Does your friend always make a scene, or was I just the lucky one?"
His voice is dry, but not sharp. It catches you off guard.
You blink. "Jean?"
He doesn't answer, but his brow lifts a fraction. The corner of his mouth twitches, just enough to be visible if you're looking for it.
You are.
"Oh, constantly," you say, sinking back into the cushions. "You should feel honored. That was practically a formal greeting."
Eren's head tilts. "Good to know. I'll add 'verbal sparring' to my list of red flags."
You smile at that, and it almost catches you off guard — how natural it feels again.
"He's not always that bad," you offer after a second. "He just... likes getting reactions. And you didn't give him one, which probably made it worse."
"I noticed." He pauses, then glances sideways. "You looked like you were going to say something."
Your smile dims. "I was. But I didn't. And that's on me."
He watches you, expression unreadable.
"I wanted to," you say. "I was just... I don't know. Caught. And then it was over. And I felt like I'd already said too much."
A beat. You glance down at the notebook on the coffee table between you. "I wasn't okay with it, though. I didn't think it was funny."
The silence stretches again, but now it's warmer. Less brittle.
Eren exhales, just once, then gives a faint nod. "Thanks."
He doesn't say it like someone brushing you off. He says it like he means it. And that, somehow, makes it worse.
You shift in your seat. He watches the movement with the kind of subtle attention that makes your skin prickle. You think about that last question on the worksheet — the one you skipped before, the one neither of you wanted to read out loud.
What makes you feel like you're really seen?
You glance at him. His eyes are on you again, steady and unflinching.
You speak before you can second-guess it. "What even is this project supposed to be teaching us?"
Eren's mouth lifts faintly. "How to fall in love in thirty-six questions."
You snort. "Seriously. What are we even supposed to be learning?"
Eren taps the back of his knuckles against the table, thinking. "I guess... how to get close to someone on purpose. How to be vulnerable. Or how to listen."
You nod. "Or how to pretend you're not terrified while doing all of that."
He huffs softly, almost a laugh. "Yeah. That too."
You look at him, and the quiet returns, but this time, it stretches differently. The edges of it feel uncertain. Curious. Like both of you are trying to decide if this is still just about the project. If this is still just school.
You glance down at the question sheet again, scanning it with half your focus. "Okay, real talk," you say after a second, tapping your pen against the margin. "What kind of psychopath wrote these questions? 'What is your most treasured memory?' Who opens a conversation like that? Imagine using that on a first date."
Eren raises an eyebrow, interest piqued.
You smirk, leaning back. "Hi, I'll have the iced matcha and — oh, by the way — what's your deepest fear and when did it first appear in childhood?"
It's not even that funny. Not really.
But Eren laughs.
Not a scoff. Not a breath. A real laugh. Full, deep, rich with surprise. His shoulders lift and his eyes crease in a way you've never seen. His teeth flash briefly, uneven and perfect. His head tips back like it's muscle memory from another life.
You blink, stunned.
It makes something in your chest flip over.
"You're laughing," you say, barely above a whisper. You can't help it.
He wipes a hand down his face, still grinning. "God. That felt weird."
"Good weird or bad weird?"
Eren breathes out, and when his eyes meet yours again, there's something brighter behind them. "Good weird."
And now you're both staring.
Your legs are folded under you, hands idly toying with a pen you haven't used in an hour. He's watching you in that way he does — quiet, absorbing, like he doesn't want to blink.
It's not quite romantic. Not yet.
But it's not not romantic either.
The space between you feels thinner somehow. The questions feel less like a game and more like a window, like someone's been handing you keys without telling you what doors they unlock. You wonder if he's thinking it too, if he's waiting for something to happen.
You feel it.
That hum beneath the quiet. The hesitation before a line is crossed. Your eyes drop to his mouth for half a second too long, and you hate yourself for it.
He clears his throat. Doesn't look away.
You do.
Eventually, you both pretend to return to the worksheet. Only one question left. Neither of you reads it.
Eren leans back again, more guarded now, but his gaze still flicks to you occasionally, like he's checking if you're still there. Like he's making sure that whatever just happened didn't vanish the second you stopped talking.
You pack up slowly. Neither of you says much. Your fingers brush when you hand him a paper, and the contact feels louder than it should.
At the door, he pauses. One hand on the knob.
"Thanks again," he says, quieter this time.
Your eyes meet his, and it feels like you're standing on a threshold. Not just the doorway. Something else. Something invisible and unspoken that neither of you is quite ready to name.
But it's there.
You nod. You want to say something, maybe Don't go just yet, or Did you feel it too? But the words don't come.
He leaves.
And when the door clicks shut behind him, you stay where you are. Heart tapping against your ribs like it knows something you don't. Like it's counting down to whatever comes next.
The door shut softly behind him, but it might as well have echoed.
You stood there in the silence, your fingers still faintly curled as if they missed the weight of something, something you weren't supposed to be holding onto in the first place. The space Eren left behind felt oddly full. Not empty. Not cold. Just... suspended. Like something lingered in the air between the couch and the door and refused to leave with him.
You crossed to the window slowly, drawing one blind aside to watch his retreating figure vanish down the path. He didn't look back.
You pressed your forehead gently to the cool pane of glass. The laugh still echoed in your ears. That rare, startled sound like it had been pulled straight out of him. And then the way he looked at you after — like he was surprised too, like he wasn't sure if he'd crossed some invisible line or if you had. Maybe both.
Your heart hadn't stopped climbing your ribs since.
You turned back to the room and let yourself drop onto the couch, hugging one of the pillows into your stomach like it could anchor you.
What was that?
What just happened?
You could still feel the brush of his fingers when he took the notebook from your lap. Still feel the shape of his presence beside you, warm and quiet and far too easy to fall into. And that laugh — God, that laugh. You hadn't even meant to say something funny. You were just being... you. A little self-deprecating. A little ridiculous. And he had laughed like he hadn't in years.
What if it meant something?
What if you ruined it by not saying something more? Or worse — what if you ruined it by hoping?
The sound of keys fumbling at the front door snapped you out of it. You sat up quickly, heart kicking.
The door swung open and Sasha's voice followed it. "Do you want Pad Thai or the illusion of emotional stability?"
You blinked.
She stepped into the room with her tote bag sliding down her arm and a skeptical look on her face. "You look like someone just confessed a murder."
"I—" You hesitated, mouth opening and closing.
She dropped her bag on the floor and squinted at you. "Wait. Did Eren come over?"
You nodded slowly.
"And?"
You picked at the hem of your sweater. "He just left."
Sasha's face lit up like she had walked into a soap opera finale. "Oh my God. What happened? Tell me everything. Was it awkward? Did he cry? Did you cry? Did someone make eye contact too long and now you're questioning your entire sense of emotional boundaries?"
"...Yes."
She flopped dramatically next to you, pulling the pillow from your hands. "Okay. Start from the beginning. And don't you dare leave anything out."
You glanced down at your lap, where the corners of Eren's handwriting still peeked out from the worksheet. "I apologized to him... about Jean. I told him I wasn't okay with how that all went down. That I should've said something."
Sasha's face softened immediately. "And what did he say?"
"He said he already knew. That he didn't think I was the kind of person who'd take sides like that."
"Okay, wow." She blinked. "That's... kind of a big deal coming from Eren."
You nodded slowly. "And then we kept working. We got through like... three questions. But we didn't really finish anything. We just started talking."
Sasha tilted her head. "About what?"
"About being misunderstood. About how he doesn't like how people see him. That he doesn't talk because he doesn't want to be cold, he just — feels too much. And doesn't know what to do with it."
She let out a low whistle. "That's the most emotionally intimate thing I've heard since Connie cried during The Iron Giant."
"I just... I don't know. We were working on the project, and we got to one of the questions, and I made a joke," you say slowly, the memory already playing again behind your eyes. "It wasn't even that funny, honestly. Something stupid about ordering an iced matcha and then asking someone about their deepest fear."
Sasha blinks. "That's—okay, kind of funny."
You shrug. "Yeah, well... he laughed."
She tilts her head, sensing something shift in your tone. "Like, actually laughed?"
You nod. "Not a huff or a smirk. A real laugh. He tilted his head back. Showed teeth. It caught me so off guard, I just stared at him like an idiot."
Sasha's grin creeps in slowly. "Shut up. Eren Jaeger laughed because of you?"
"I didn't think it was possible," you murmur, eyes still distant. "He even said it felt weird afterward. Like he hadn't done it in a while."
There's a beat of quiet. Sasha sits beside you, the teasing gone from her voice. "That's kind of sweet."
You nod, lips pressing into a faint smile. "It was. It felt... different. Like I saw a version of him no one else really gets to see."
Sasha watches you for a second longer. "And did anything else happen?"
You look at her. "No."
"Not even a brush of the hands? A soft, lingering gaze?"
You roll your eyes. "You sound like a Regency novel."
"I aspire to Regency drama," she says proudly, then nudges your knee with hers. "Still. That kind of thing... it means something."
You don't answer right away. Because you've been asking yourself the same question ever since you left that room.
Sasha was quiet for a second, for once not filling the silence. Then, softly: "And what do you think was supposed to happen?"
You shook your head. "I don't know. But I wanted to stay in that moment a little longer."
She nudged your foot. "That sounds like more than just a project."
You looked over at her, eyes a little glassy. "I don't think I meant for it to be. But now I can't stop thinking about it."
Sasha smiled, and it wasn't teasing this time. Just understanding. "Then maybe it's okay to lean into it a little. You don't have to define anything yet. Just... notice what it feels like when he's around."
You nodded slowly, exhaling as if your chest had been tight the whole time.
Sasha stood, stretching. "I'll grab us something from the café before it closes. You, process your existential romance spiral."
She vanished down the hall.
And you sat there, staring at the notebook in your lap, wondering if Eren had felt it too.