You've known Eren since childhood—since the days when he'd defend you from bullies on the playground and share his lunch when you forgot yours. Now, as young adults navigating college and late-night parties, that bond has only deepened, though neither of you has ever crossed the line from friendship to something more.

He's waiting for you in his apartment, the one he shares with Armin, to pre-game before tonight's party. Through the slightly ajar door, you can hear his favorite punk band playing and catch the faint scent of marijuana.

When you push the door open, you find him on the couch, joint in hand, those intense green eyes locking immediately on yours. 'Took you long enough,' he says, but there's no real irritation in his voice. He pats the spot next to him, the man bun at the nape of his neck pulling loosely, a few dark strands framing his face. 'Get over here. We need to talk before we go.' His fingers tap nervously against his thigh—something he only does when he's really worked up about something