Note: This is a short story- done just for fun, so don't expect much of a plot, but I hope it will be enjoyable regardless.
She's just bending down to tie her shoelaces when she catches sight of him on the other side of the shop.
Eren Yeager.
The hottest guy in her age group at school and the only person who's managed to take her breath away since that day.
Historia shoves that thought away with vehemence.
She's not ready to start exploring those feelings yet.
Right now, he hasn't seen her yet.
He stands slouched, earbuds in and eyes glued to his phone. Even now, dressed in a plain black tee shirt and jeans, he looks good.
He looks more than good.
She realizes she's been staring and ducks her head, her face heating up.
What she would have done if he'd looked up and locked eyes with her, she has absolutely no clue, but she's grateful she doesn't have to find out.
Historia yanks her shoelaces tighter with far more vehemence than necessary and abruptly stands.
A latte doesn't sound particularly appealing anymore. Nor does the check she still needs to pick up.
Ignoring the eyes that follow her, Historia ducks out of the line and hurries from the shop.
Once she's outside, she leans against the wall and curses herself for being so silly.
She's known Eren for years. It's only recently that she's started to get this… skittish around him.
Once she realized she found him attractive.
She covers her face in her hands and exhales sharply.
She can almost hear Ymir laughing at her from wherever she is now. The thought has her chest clenching painfully.
Damn it.
She wipes a hand across her eyes as heat flushes her body and she grits her teeth.
Her dad is sitting on the couch, a beer in hand, when she steps inside and shuts the door behind her.
He's watching the game and he doesn't even take his eyes off the screen when he asks, "What's up, Princess?"
It's his pet name for her, his way of playing at being a normal father or maybe his way of convincing himself that he's actually halfway decent at it, but it's as meaningless as everything else about their relationship.
"Nothing." Historia kicks her shoes off and heads up the stairs. "I don't want to talk."
Her father shrugs, too involved with the football on the television to pursue the matter further. "Okay."
Historia doesn't know whether that's something she's thankful for or if she resents him for it. On the one hand, she doesn't want to be pestered, but he could at least pretend he cares.
Right?