Trost University's hallways hummed with the restless energy of midterms. Students wove through the crowded corridors in a hurried dance. Some clutched textbooks to their chests, while others half-jogged to make it to their next lecture on time. A few lounged on the worn benches lining the walls, laughing over coffee or scrolling through their phones, blissfully indifferent to the undercurrent of stress thickening the air.

Mikasa moved through the chaos with practiced ease, her sharp eyes scanning the sea of faces for anyone from her Pop Culture Elective. The dull roar of overlapping conversations, squeaking sneakers, and slamming lockers buzzed in her ears like static. Why did a sports science major like her need to waste time dissecting movies and memes? The administration had never given her a straight answer. Not that she'd asked twice.

Near the far windows, two familiar blond heads were bent over a table buried under a landslide of notes and textbooks. Though too distant to catch their words, she recognized Armin's thoughtful posture and Historia's energetic movements as they conversed. Her sneakers squeaked faintly against the linoleum as she navigated through clusters of backpacks and chairs toward them.

"Hey, guys," she called gently.

Armin's head snapped up at her voice. "Mikasa!" He shoved a precarious stack of papers aside with one hand while gesturing with the other. "Come sit."

Historia practically vibrated with excitement as she turned, sending a highlighter rolling off the table. "You're just in time," Historia said in an enthusiastic tone, hands gesturing animatedly. The afternoon sunlight caught the golden strands of her hair as she moved. "I was just going to tell Armin about this fresh tea!"

Mikasa's mouth formed an o in confusion. The sharp scent of coffee from a nearby cup mixed with the musty book smell surrounding them. "I thought you guys were studying."

"That can wait," Historia chided, waving a hand as if swatting away their responsibilities. A knowing smirk played on her lips. "You remember Franz and Hannah?"

Armin grimaced at the mention of their names, his nose wrinkling like he'd smelled something foul.

"Aren't they the couple Professor Shadis caught making out in the chem lab?" he asked. His fingers absently straightened a pile of flashcards as he spoke.

"Yep, yep!" answered Historia, eyes glistening with barely contained delight.

She checked her surroundings, eyeing the people in their vicinity, before leaning in so close Mikasa could smell her strawberry-scented shampoo. Her spiel continued in a more hushed tone.

"They broke up! Apparently, Franz's mom didn't want him to date a redhead."

"That's ridiculous," Mikasa blurted immediately, the words escaping before she could temper them. Shocked at her own outburst, she stiffened slightly and steadied her voice, fingers tightening around the strap of her backpack. "Over hair color?"

"I wouldn't be surprised," Armin commented, adjusting his glasses with one finger. "People have broken up for less."

Historia's hand shot out like a striking snake, her manicured fingers wrapping around her phone with practiced ease. The screen lit up instantly under her touch as she unlocked it, casting a pale glow across her eager features. "Hold on. Hannah posted something about it on her IG story."

For three agonizing minutes, the only sounds were the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of Historia's scrolling and the distant hum of student chatter. Then—

"Aha!" she exclaimed, nearly knocking over Armin's coffee cup as she thrust the phone forward. She carefully positioned her thumb on the screen, holding it at the perfect viewing angle.

Mikasa and Armin instinctively leaned in, their shoulders nearly touching as they squinted at the glowing rectangle. The image showed a battlefield of a bedroom floor - crumpled band tees tangled with lecture notes, empty energy drink cans standing like fallen soldiers among textbooks. Superimposed over this chaos was a wall of text in thick white font, the words blurring together from their awkward viewing angle.

diamant_is_unbreakable's story

one of franz's cousins showed his mom our couple pictures so now they dont want us together anymore its all just fcked up and im having anxiety god i need to remove these people from my dump i didnt expect this LASDJFLKSDJADF FCKKKKK

The raw, uncensored emotion practically vibrated off the screen - all lowercase rage, no punctuation to slow the torrent of frustration, culminating in that keyboard smash that said more than any eloquent phrasing could.

"You guys done reading?" Historia asked, rotating her wrist with a wince. The diamond charm on her phone case caught the light as she moved. "My hand's kinda aching now."

"I'm done," Mikasa replied, her voice flat but her dark eyes lingering on the darkened screen for a beat too long.

"Me too," Armin said as he leaned back on his chair, the plastic groaning in protest. "Where's the part about her being a redhead?"

Historia's phone clicked shut with finality as she locked it, the brief glimpse into Hannah's personal drama now sealed away. She placed it beside her notes with deliberate care.

"I heard that from Ymir," she said, her lips curling into a knowing smile that promised this was merely the first chapter in this saga. "Hannah didn't put any details in her story. It's frustrating, but I kinda get it."

Mikasa's eyebrows drew together, her usual composed expression cracking with genuine bewilderment. "What do you mean?"

The question came out sharper than she intended, betraying her growing frustration at being the only one not following along.

Historia's shoulders lifted in an exaggerated shrug, her manicured nails tapping against her phone case.

"I mean, why would you post the details if you have a snitch in your dump account?" A dramatic shudder ran through her. "I'd be losing my mind too."

Armin added, "She probably already filtered the people on her dump like ten times already." His mouth quirked in a half-smile. "I'm surprised I didn't get removed. I barely talked to her."

"Dump?"

The unfamiliar term rattled around in Mikasa's mind. The single word carried the full weight of her confusion.

Historia's jaw actually dropped. She whipped her head toward Mikasa so fast her blonde hair fanned out. Her voice climbed an octave, equal parts horrified and delighted by this social media heresy. "You don't know what's a dump account?"

Mikasa's fingers stilled on her notebook, her dark eyes flickering between her friends' astonished faces. "No...? Is it some new Instagram feature they added?" The slight crease between her eyebrows betrayed how hard she was trying to follow this conversation.

As Historia clutched her chest in mock distress, Armin turned to Mikasa with the patient expression he reserved for explaining complex concepts. "It's another account you have with less people following. You can post more personal stuff there. I dump all sorts of unedited pictures there."

"But why do you need another account?" Mikasa's thumb absently traced the edge of her notebook. "Can't you just use the close friends setting?"

Historia finally recovered, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear with practiced precision. "Yeah, but I want a separate archive for it." She waved her phone demonstratively. "Makes tagging stories a lot easier too."

Mikasa exhaled through her nose, the sound carrying years of exasperation in one sigh. She deliberately flipped open her pop culture notes. "Sounds like too much work. I'll stick to one account."

"Your account barely has anything," Historia lamented, propping her chin on her palm. "It's just your gym shots and outfits. No tea at all. I wanna see what you and Eren do on your dates."

Armin's quiet chuckle broke through. "That's a tall order. Eren's not any better. His Instagram's just the beach and some other scenery pictures." He gave Mikasa a knowing look. "If I only knew you through your profiles, I never would've thought you guys were dating."

The mention of Eren sent warmth flooding through Mikasa's chest. She remembered their quiet agreement - private but not hidden, no performative displays but no active concealment either. The memory of Eren scrolling through their private photo album last weekend, his calloused fingers gentle on her phone screen, made her pulse jump. She could feel the heat rising up her neck.

"I'd rather have that," she murmured, suddenly very interested in organizing her highlighters.

"You're no fun," Historia teased, sticking her tongue out in that childish way that somehow suited her perfectly.

Armin cleared his throat, his fingers drumming nervously against the table. "I think we should actually start studying now."

"Not you too, Armin!" Historia's whine was so dramatic it made a nearby student glance their way.

As their bickering continued, Mikasa let herself drift for just a moment. The corners of her lips lifted without her permission - a rare, unguarded smile that would have shocked anyone who only knew her stone-faced reputation.

Social media and its accompanying mental gymnastics remained a mystery to her, but she'd memorized the exact way Eren's eyes crinkled when he laughed too hard. She knew the weight of Eren's hand in hers and the particular cadence of his breathing when he fell asleep on her shoulder. These were the things worth cataloging, not in any app, but in the quiet spaces between heartbeats. Instagram be damned.


After surviving the Great Dump Account Debacle of midterms, as Armin lovingly coined it, Mikasa had foolishly assumed she'd finally cracked the code of Instagram etiquette.

The universe, it seemed, delighted in proving her wrong.

Now, hunched over a library table with Armin and Historia, she faced a different kind of digital-age horror: group project hell. Their usual chaos of handwritten notes had been replaced by the sterile glow of laptops. Armin's screen filled with a dense research article he was dissecting with terrifying intensity, Historia absentmindedly rearranging PowerPoint text boxes for the twelfth time.

Mikasa's own notebook sat abandoned, its margins crammed with half-formed attempts to apply Saussurean semiotics to MCU movie posters. Thor's hammer = signifier, but of what? Masculinity? Capitalism? The more she stared, the more the Iron Man helmet in her notes resembled a meaningless scribble.

A muscle twitched near her eyebrow. As a sports science major, she could break down biomechanics in her sleep—but this? This was academic torture disguised as pop culture analysis.

"I'm taking a break," she declared, shoving back her chair with more force than necessary.

"Go ahead," Historia replied, still idly resizing elements on their template, her cursor making endless loops between alignment guides.

Mikasa pulled out her phone with the quiet reverence of someone checking a holy text. The notification center was barren. She tapped her conversation with Eren, her thumb hovering over his last message:

Eren: gonna b busy 2day! got a few case digests to finish. have fun w armin n historia. ill chat u when im free later. I love you!

Mikasa: Take care. I love you too!

The contrast between their typing styles should have annoyed her - his chaotic abbreviations bumping against her precise punctuation - but the way he always spelled out "I love you" in full, those exclamation points like little fireworks, never failed to warm her chest.

She closed the app with a soft exhale, scrolling past rows of untouched applications until a garish purple-and-orange icon arrested her thumb. Instagram. Well. No harm in looking.

Her friends' stories unfolded in a familiar parade: Reiner's grass-stained football jersey, Annie's gloved fist raised in the ring, Connie's nonsensical meme repost. Then—Sasha's hand, fingers interlaced with another's over a half-eaten pain au chocolat. Mikasa's breath hitched. She swiped back urgently, thumb jamming against the screen to freeze the image.

"Historia, look at this," she called, leaning so far forward her chair creaked in protest.

Historia perked up like a bloodhound catching a scent, her boredom evaporating. "What's up?"

Mikasa barely had time to angle her phone before Historia snatched it with the reflexes of a seasoned gossip. The blonde's grip tightened as her eyes devoured the screen, pupils dilating with predatory delight.

"What a slay, Sasha!" she crowed, kicking her legs like an excited child. "She soft-launched her boyfriend!"

The phrase "soft-launched" barely registered before Armin's chair scraped back. "Let me see," he demanded, already halfway across the table, academic focus abandoned for something far more compelling: real-life romance playing out in 15-second increments.

"He's wearing white long sleeves," Armin observed. "It's either a nursing major or a culinary arts major. I'm leaning towards the second."

"It's a culinary arts student," Historia agreed, bringing her own phone out to check the story. "He probably just gave her his midterm project and boom. They're together."

Mikasa heard the telltale click of Historia's phone taking a screenshot before her own phone rang with a familiar ping. She checked her notifications and saw that Historia sent the photo to their group chat.

104th Circle of Hell 🔥😈

Cattle-Farming Goddess sent an image.

Cattle-Farming Goddess: Neigh Sayer step up your game

Cattle-Farming Goddess: also Hakuna Patata I NEED DETAILS

Walmart Airbender: damn what food did he give sasha HAHAHAHA

Neigh Sayer: WHAT

Neigh Sayer replied to Cattle-Farming Goddess: i'm not believing it until I see the guy! hard-launch or nothing!

Cattle-Farming Goddess: youre just jealous

Hakuna Patata replied to Cattle-Farming Goddess: i'll introduce him at the next 104th hangout!

Hakuna Patata: Neigh Sayer connie's gonna get a date faster than you at this point!

Walmart Airbender: hell yeah

Neigh Sayer: SHUT UP

Mikasa's fingers tightened around her phone as the words "hard-launch" bounced around her skull like a rogue ping-pong ball. Each new term they used seemed to widen the gap between her understanding and whatever secret social media language everyone else spoke. Suddenly, something warm enveloped her shoulders - familiar as sunrise, steady as heartbeat - cut through her confusion before she even saw his face.

She arched backward, her dark hair brushing against his chest as she took in that sun-bright smile and messy brown hair that always smelled faintly of pine needles.

"Hey, 'kas," Eren murmured, his lips grazing her cheekbone in a kiss as light as dandelion fluff.

Mikasa spun in her chair so fast the wheels squeaked, her face blooming crimson at the public affection. Her phone tumbled into her lap, forgotten. "Eren! I thought you were busy today."

His laugh rumbled through her where their shoulders touched as he slid into the seat beside her. "Prof got sick and cancelled on us." His knee bumped hers under the table. "Thought I'd hangout with you."

Eren's arm curled around her waist with the easy confidence of someone who'd done it a thousand times before, pulling her close enough that she could count the flecks of gold in his teal eyes. He leaned in, his breath warm against her lips -

"Get a room," Armin deadpanned, his voice dripping with the bitterness of someone who'd been third-wheeling since puberty.

Eren's response was to childishly stick out his tongue before turning back to the group. "Anyway, what's this I'm hearing about Sasha?"

"Check IG," Historia said idly, twirling a strand of blonde hair around her finger. "She soft-launched her boyfriend. Probably some culinary arts student. Or that's what Armin thinks."

Mikasa felt the vibration of Eren's breathing through his chest as he pulled out his phone, his left arm remaining firmly around her waist. She watched the familiar pattern of his thumb unlocking his device, the glow of the screen casting soft light across his features. His scrolling thumb paused momentarily at posts from people Mikasa barely recognized before landing on Sasha's story. She saw his eyebrows knit together as he studied the image—first the flaky pastry dominating the foreground, then the more subtle detail of intertwined fingers in the blurred background. A quiet "huh" escaped his lips as he swiped left, only to find no follow-up posts.

"How are we supposed to know who the guy is? She didn't show his face," he asked, his thumb making the image roll back into view. The confusion in his voice mirrored Mikasa's own earlier bewilderment.

"That's the entire point of a soft-launch," Armin explained. "It's all about teasing the reveal. Gets people talking and speculating."

Historia leaned forward, her elbows propped on the table as her eyes gleamed with excitement. "Or," she countered, twirling a strand of blonde hair around her finger, "maybe he's camera shy. Either way, I'm officially invested."

Mikasa shifted in her seat, pulling away just enough from Eren's embrace to grab her notebook. The instant loss of contact drew an audible sigh from him that made her lips twitch.

"So then what makes it a hard-launch?" she asked, her pen poised over the page.

Armin's chuckle was warm as his fingers flew across his keyboard. "Think of it like a grand opening," he said. "Full frontal couple photos, maybe a cheesy caption with heart emojis—the whole nine yards."

Eren scrunched his nose, his arm draping over the back of Mikasa's now-empty chair. "I still don't get the point," he grumbled. "Why post half a story if you're just gonna tell it later?"

Historia's grin turned wicked as she pointed between them. "Says the guy who treats his relationship like a classified government secret! Mikasa's basically non-existent on your Instagram."

If Mikasa's earlier blush had been a faint rose tint, it now erupted into a wildfire that consumed her entire face, from the delicate shells of her ears down to the collar of her shirt. The heat pulsed in time with her quickening heartbeat. It wasn't shame that colored her cheeks, but the overwhelming intensity of emotions she could never quite articulate. How could she explain that every casual mention of "Eren and I" threatened to unleash a torrent of feelings too powerful for casual conversation? So she remained silent, watching the verbal volley between Eren and Historia.

"It's not like I need to announce it," Eren countered, his voice vibrating through Mikasa's body as he rested his chin on her shoulder. His familiar weight anchored her even as her heart threatened to float away.

"Other guys are probably more scared of Mikasa than me anyway." His breath tickled her ear as he added with obvious pride, "She packs a killer right hook."

Mikasa's eye roll couldn't disguise the way her lips quirked upward. "You'll be on the receiving end if you don't behave," she warned, her voice softer than her words suggested.

Eren leaned back in his chair with an easy shrug. "Alright, fine." He glanced at her notes, his expression shifting to concern. "Do you need any help, by the way? You've been stuck on the same page for a while now."

"Please," Mikasa groaned, rubbing her temples like she could physically erase the Marvel knowledge from her brain. She shoved the notebook away with enough force to send a highlighter rolling off the table. "I'm so tired of Thor at this point. I'm gonna puke if I see more of his face."

Armin's chair screeched as he wheeled around to face her fully, one hand pressed to his chest in theatrical offense. "Hey now," he butted in, his voice climbing an octave, "I won't accept Chris Hemsworth slander in this household. That man," he punctuated with a finger jab toward Mikasa's abandoned notes, "is a generational icon."

Historia's phone hit the table with a decisive thud as she joined the fray, her eyes narrowing playfully. "And say anything bad about Chris Evans," she warned, miming a throat-cutting motion, "you're out." She gestured between herself and Armin. "It's two against one in this Marvel civil war."

Mikasa stared blankly at her traitorous study partners, their passionate defenses doing nothing to help her semiotic analysis. "Remind me why I'm stuck doing this assignment with the MCU Chris fanclub?" she deadpanned.

"I don't know about you," Eren muttered from his slouched position, twirling a pencil between his fingers, "but I'm personally more of a Tony Stark guy."

"Don't encourage them," Mikasa warned, though the corner of her mouth twitched.


The golden hues of late afternoon painted the apartment in warm light as Mikasa turned the key in the lock. The familiar click of the door closing behind her filled the quiet space, a stark contrast to the noise of campus. She sighed as she slipped into her indoor slippers, the soft fabric comforting against her tired feet.

Her hands moved instinctively toward the red scarf, the first gift Eren had ever given her, but she paused. The edges had begun to fray, threads loosened by years of wear. She set it carefully on the coffee table, making a mental note to mend it later.

Though her schedule held only two lectures that day, a peculiar exhaustion had settled deep in her bones. After mechanically tidying the apartment and scrubbing away the day's weariness under hot water, she finally sank onto the couch with her sewing kit in hand.

Her phone screen flared to life in the dim room, casting sharp shadows across her face. Only Eren's earlier messages remained - no new notifications, no updates. Just those familiar lines of text she'd already read three times since returning home.

Eren: captain shortstacks is making me clean the break room again, might be home a bit later, sry :((( love youuuu

Mikasa: Alright. Stay safe. Are you eating dinner at home?

Eren: yeppppp

Mikasa: Okay. I love you. See you

Eren: see youuuuu 3

A faint crease formed between Mikasa's brows as she reread the messages. Eren's internship at the Survey Corps law firm, the realization of a dream he'd carried since boyhood, should have filled her with nothing but pride. And it did. Mostly.

But in the quiet of the apartment, with only the refrigerator's intermittent hum for company, the absence of his voice settled over her like a second skin. She missed his laughter, the way he'd always pull her into a hug before she could even take off her shoes. The living room, once alive with their shared routines, now held only shadows and the faint scent of his cologne lingering on the throw blanket they'd fought over last winter.

She shook her head to dislodge the thoughts and reached for her phone. Music spilled into the silence, a familiar playlist they'd made together last summer. The needle glinted as she threaded it, her movements precise. With each careful stitch along the scarf's frayed edge, she wove an unspoken vow. Some things, no matter how worn, were worth mending. The red fabric pooled in her lap like liquid memory, every repaired thread a bridge between this quiet evening and the moment she'd hear his key in the lock again.

Mikasa secured the final knot with practiced fingers and returned the needle to its case. She lifted the scarf with both hands, letting the familiar weight drape between her palms. The crimson fabric bore a history of careful repairs—neat rows of stitches marking moments when time had threatened to unravel what mattered most. Eren had offered replacements over the years, always met with the same quiet refusal. No new scarf could carry the weight of their shared mornings, the winters it had warmed, the tears it had absorbed.

She was halfway to the kitchen when the metallic jingle of keys cut through her thoughts. The lock clicked, followed by the creak of hinges yielding to familiar pressure. There stood Eren in the doorway, his work coat bundled haphazardly against his chest, dress shirt wrinkled from the day's battles. The straps of his backpack dug into his shoulders like an afterthought.

"Welcome home!" Mikasa opened her arms automatically, her body remembering their old routine before her mind caught up. The space between them lingered just a moment too long.

"Let me take a shower first," Eren ducked away, already pulling at his tie with his free hand. "I probably smell like Windex." The citrus-and-bleach scent clinging to his sleeves confirmed his suspicion.

"Okay." Mikasa's arms dropped back to her sides. "I'll have dinner ready then."

The apartment hummed with separate movements - the squeak of Eren's socked feet retreating down the hallway, the clatter of pots in the kitchen. Mikasa hummed an off-key tune under her breath as she stirred the simmering pasta sauce, the steam curling around her face. Their culinary skills paled in comparison to Sasha's, but years of shared instant ramen dinners had taught them how not to poison each other. She dipped a teaspoon into the sauce -

Strong arms encircled her waist before she could taste it, damp shower-scented warmth pressing against her back. Eren nuzzled into the crook of her neck, his still-wet hair dripping onto her shoulder.

"Smells good," he murmured against her skin, lips brushing her pulse point.

Mikasa tilted her head, granting him better access. "Go get our plates," she said, even as she leaned into his touch. "I'm hungry."

Eren released her with exaggerated reluctance. Dinner passed in comfortable chaos - Eren's animated ranting about "Captain Shortstack" filled the dining nook as he gestured wildly with his fork, nearly flinging penne across the room.

"I'm a law intern," he protested around a mouthful of pasta, sauce dangerously close to dribbling down his chin. "He should've hired a maid if he wanted someone to clean his office."

Mikasa caught the stray noodle before it could stain the tablecloth. "I'm not surprised," she deadpanned. "Levi's been like that since he was a kid."

Eren's grumble vibrated through his barely-chewed food.

Mikasa arched one eyebrow as she leaned across the table, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I could snitch on you," she said, the corners of her mouth twitching, "and make your work life a lot worse."

Eren's fork clattered against his plate with dramatic emphasis. "You wouldn't!"

The genuine horror in his voice sent Mikasa into a fit of quiet laughter, her shoulders shaking slightly as she tried to contain her amusement.

"You would seriously leave me to die at your midget brother's hands?" Eren continued, his expression caught between outrage and betrayal.

She shook her head, still smiling. "He's not that bad." Wiping a nonexistent crumb from the tablecloth, she added, "You have to admit, he's a decent lawyer."

"Too bad he's a clean freak," Eren lamented, pushing back from the table. Then, with sudden sincerity, "Thanks for cooking, by the way. I'll clean up."

Mikasa passed him her plate with a gentle nod, then rose to wipe down the dining table. As Eren launched into a detailed account of his day, his voice animated with the same passion he brought to everything, she moved in comfortable circles around him. Though she couldn't follow every legal detail, the familiar rhythm of his storytelling wrapped around her like a warm blanket - the rise and fall of his voice, the occasional clatter of dishes, the way he'd pause dramatically before punchlines.

With the final dish dried and put away, they migrated to the couch in unspoken agreement. The cushions dipped under their combined weight as they settled into their usual positions, the evening stretching before them in quiet contentment.

"So," Eren mused, his fingers already combing through Mikasa's dark hair, "how'd your day go?" His thumbs pressed familiar circles against her temples, the kind of scalp massage that could melt away hours of lecture fatigue.

"Nothing much," she said as she turned the TV on to watch the news. "Just two lectures. We were supposed to meet for pop culture, but the prof just assigned readings for next week."

"Wait, that's the one with Armin and Historia, right?" His fingers resumed their work with renewed focus on her tension points.

"Yeah." She leaned back into his touch despite her tone. "Still don't see why sports science needs pop culture credits."

He chuckled. "Come on, analyzing movies sounds way better than tort law readings."

"Watching them is fun. Dissecting them?" She turned to make a face at him. "Sucks all the joy out."

A sudden flurry of notifications interrupted them. Mikasa stretched forward, breaking contact to grab her buzzing phone. The screen revealed their pop culture group chat - because apparently Historia and Armin had psychic alerts for whenever their favorite subject came up. That cursed three-person chat: small enough for safe gossip, but big enough to breed chaos.

Barbenheimer Brainrot 💖💣

Girlfailure Barbie: Malibu's Deadliest Soldier

Girlfailure Barbie: need you to see this ASAP

Girlfailure Barbie sent a video.

Oppenhimbo: is that eren?

Girlfailure Barbie: yeah i think

Oppenhimbo: who posted that?

Girlfailure Barbie: some girl named hitch

"What's wrong?" Eren asked, breaking Mikasa's stupor.

Mikasa's thumb hovered over the video link, her stomach tightening before the playback even began. The screen revealed an unfamiliar username and a girl with tousled blonde hair bouncing in the passenger seat—Eren's passenger seat. The girl swayed to the radio's beat, seatbelt straining as she shimmied, before flipping the camera to show the road ahead. The view panned right.

There he was. Eren, both hands firm on the wheel, eyes locked on the road. The girl's voice pierced through the music: "Meet my driver for today! Say hi, Eren!"

"Hello!" Eren responded, his voice polite but distracted, his posture rigid with a driver's concentration.

The video cut back to the girl's grinning face as she waved goodbye, Eren's Instagram handle glaring in the corner like an accusation.

Mikasa's grip tightened around her phone. The video had clearly been shared intentionally—tagged, public. She turned the screen toward Eren, her voice carefully measured.

Eren leaned over, his shoulder brushing against hers as he glanced at the screen. "Oh her. That's Hitch." His tone carried the same casual ease as discussing weather. "She interns in accounting at Survey Corps. She asked if I could drop her off since her ride couldn't pick her up."

Mikasa's silence stretched like pulled taffy. Her thumb hovered over the chat notifications now exploding with Historia and Armin's outrage. The video disappeared, replaced by their rapid-fire messages:

Barbenheimer Brainrot 💖💣

Oppenhimbo: i wouldn't let that slide if i were you Malibu's Deadliest Soldier

Oppenhimbo: people are thinking she hard-launched eren

Girlfailure Barbie: who does she think she is?

Girlfailure Barbie: this isnt her dump

Girlfailure Barbie: Malibu's Deadliest Soldier i see you reading these messages

Girlfailure Barbie: im ready to fight

Oppenhimbo: maybe we can talk to her about it

Malibu's Deadliest Soldier: Hold on, guys. I'll sort this out with Eren first

The plastic case creaked under Mikasa's tightening grip as she bit her lip.

"Mikasa?" Eren nudged her knee, his eyebrows knitting. "Hey, what's wrong?"

Her exhale came out uneven. "I can't explain it." The phone clicked shut.

"You know I'd never cheat on you, right?" His voice dipped, suddenly serious.

Mikasa's head snapped up, eyes wide. "Oh, it's not that." Her fingers twitched toward him instinctively before curling back. "It's her I don't trust."

She raked a hand through her hair, dark strands slipping through her fingers like the explanation she couldn't quite grasp. "I just—" The words stuck behind her teeth before tumbling out. "She flaunted you like some trophy boyfriend. Tagged you. Made it public." Her jaw worked silently for a beat. "That wasn't just a ride home."

"I feel pathetic," Mikasa confessed, the words scraping against her throat. "We agreed we didn't need to post about each other, but now..." Her fingers flexed in Eren's grip. "It feels like she stole something from me."

Eren's silence wasn't empty. It was the quiet of someone carefully listening, his thumb tracing circles on her knuckles. Logically, she knew this shouldn't matter. Eren's devotion shone through four years of early morning coffee runs and late-night study sessions, through every time he'd woken up early to walk her to class despite hating mornings. Yet the video still burned behind her eyelids—Hitch's performative grin, the way she'd framed Eren like some prized catch.

"Want me to talk to her?" Eren asked, his voice carefully neutral.

Mikasa focused on the warmth of his hand. "I'd like her to take it down." Simple. Reasonable.

Eren pressed a kiss to her cheekbone, the kind that always made her shoulders relax. "Alright. I'll message her." His phone screen lit up with determined taps.

Mikasa reopened the group chat, immediately assaulted by Historia's all-caps fury and Armin's diplomatic interventions:

Barbenheimer Brainrot 💖💣

Girlfailure Barbie: HER ACCOUNT IS PUBLIC!

Girlfailure Barbie: literally EVERYONE saw it

Oppenhimbo: i know

Oppenhimbo: but c'mon let's give her the benefit of the doubt

Oppenhimbo: she might not know about mikasa

Oppenhimbo: Malibu's Deadliest Soldier you should still do some damage control though

Girlfailure Barbie: hitch needs to take it DONW!

Girlfailure Barbie: **DOWN

Malibu's Deadliest Soldier: Calm down

Malibu's Deadliest Soldier: Eren's already messaging her about it

Girlfailure Barbie: she better!

Oppenhimbo: but if it isn't deleted soon, i'll have a friendly chat with her :)

Girlfailure Barbie: bring me w you

Oppenhimbo: i hate third-wheeling you guys, but i'll be damned if anyone threatens my otp

Malibu's Deadliest Soldier: It's fine now

Malibu's Deadliest Soldier: We don't need to murder anyone tonight

Eren's hand drifted to the back of his neck, fingers working at the tension there in that telltale gesture Mikasa recognized instantly. "Hitch agreed to take it down," he said, then hesitated, his voice dropping half an octave. "Though she, uh... might have called me an 'oblivious asshole' for never mentioning you."

The corner of Mikasa's mouth lifted despite herself. "Because announcing things has never been your strong suit." The words came out softer than she'd intended, carrying four years' worth of inside jokes about his terrible communication habits. She leaned into his shoulder. "Still... thanks. Even if people might get the wrong idea."

Eren's responding nudge was firm, purposeful. When she turned to look, his expression had shifted into that particular brand of stubborn optimism that always preceded his more dramatic gestures. "Then let's give them the right idea," he declared, already reaching for his phone.

Mikasa watched as his fingers danced across the screen, navigating to the sacred digital archive they'd built together, a folder simply titled "Us". She recognized the careful deliberation in his selections, the way he lingered on certain images before marking them for transfer. The glow of the screen reflected in his eyes like starlight.

"These look cute, don't you think?" His voice dipped into that playful register that always made her stomach flutter.

She leaned in to inspect his choices. A mosaic of their ordinary magic appeared - stolen kisses over breakfast, lazy Sundays tangled in blankets, that time he'd worn her scarf as a blindfold during a ridiculous game of apartment hide-and-seek. But the absence stood out immediately.

"Why no beach photos from last summer?" she asked, finger hovering near the screen. "Those were our best ones."

Eren's expression morphed into exaggerated offense. "Those," he said, pulling the phone closer to his chest in mock protection, "are for my eyes only. I don't want anyone else ogling you in a bikini."

Mikasa's laughter filled the room, bouncing off walls that had witnessed countless moments just like this. "Fine, but tag me so I can repost."

"Wait!" His sudden urgency made her jump. "Let me pick the cover pic first."

She watched, amused, as he conducted his meticulous analysis - zooming in to examine lighting, angling the phone this way and that. Finally, he landed on their couch photo, the one where their cheeks pressed together in contented silence, her red scarf cocooning them both. The image radiated warmth, comfort, home.

After typing with unusual concentration and strategically tilting the screen away, he tagged her and hit the post button with a triumphant tap. "And done!"

Mikasa opened the app to share it, her breath catching when she saw his caption.

"Really, Eren?" She swatted his arm, cheeks warming. "That's so cheesy."

He shrugged, that infuriatingly charming grin spreading across his face. "Armin said proper hard-launches should have full frontal photos and a cheesy caption. I'm just following protocol."

Her response came in the form of hands framing his face, lips meeting his in a kiss that conveyed everything words couldn't. When they finally parted, breathless and flushed, foreheads resting together, the words came easily:

"I love you, Eren."

His arms tightened around her. "I love you too, Mikasa."


104th Circle of Hell 🔥😈

Cattle-Farming Goddess: OH MY GOD OKAY ITS HAPPENING

Cattle-Farming Goddess: EVERYBODY STAY CALM

Neigh Sayer: what the hell is up with you

Neigh Sayer: you're the one who needs to stay calm

Coconut Bomb: WHAT'S THE PROCEDURE, EVERYONE? WHAT'S THE PROCEDURE?

Cattle-Farming Goddess: STAY FUCKING CALM

Hakuna Patata: geez historia chill

Walmart Avatar: NO GOD PLEASE NO

Coconut Bomb: do you know what's happening, connie?

Walmart Avatar: nope HAHAHAHAHAHA

Walmart Avatar: i thought we were just sharing the office memes

Hakuna Patata shared a GIF.

Cattle-Farming Goddess: ANYWAY

Cattle-Farming Goddess: LOOK everyone

Cattle-Farming Goddess sent an image.

Cattle-Farming Goddess: my otp finally hardlaunched!

Hakuna Patata: no way! rlly?

Hakuna Patata: u already beat my softlaunch 😭

Hakuna Patata: this is unfair!

Coconut Bomb: why didn't you guys tell me? Suicidal Bastard KasaNova

Neigh Sayer: i never thought i'd see the day

Neigh Sayer: you finally done hiding her Suicidal Bastard?

Walmart Avatar: im so happy for u

Walmart Avatar sent an image.

Suicidal Bastard: yall dont need to make it a big deal!


eren_jaeger and posted
𝅘𝅥𝅮 I Love You Will Still Sound The Same - Oh Honey 𝅘𝅥𝅮

I'll wrap that scarf around you as many times as you want. Now and forever, as much as you want 💝✨

139 likes 11 comments 2 shares

Comments

queenhistoriareiss - THAT'S MY SHIP

aarmin_arlert - don't break up please 💔