Now, it was you who was avoiding Jean.

The distant chatter of a beautiful brunet and his blonde companion was nothing more than faint distortion with the way Jean now invaded your thoughts. With your cheek pressed against the palm of your nervously shaken hand, the other five set of fingers held tightly onto your device— thumb hesitantly hovering over the text message Jean had sent over an hour ago.

"You sure you're okay?"

It's Eren who's come to check on you for the second time since the two of you had joined Armin back out into the living room. The coffee table was cluttered with copious amounts of food from his favorite little breakfast joint— it was a mouthwatering sight to behold, if only you had the appetite to accompany it. Instead, your plate full of fruit and pastries sat untouched, growing warmer and more stale with each agonizing minute that passed.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

You do your best to force a smile, but Eren's not buying it. He grabs onto your wrist, delicately so— just enough to pull you out of your slumped state and up onto your feet.

You stumble a bit, the weight of your heavy heart almost forcing you to hit the ground. As if there was any semblance of doubt, Eren's there to catch you— strong arms wrapping around your waist with a devilishly handsome smile to match the teasing glint in his eyes.

"Falling for me already, huh?"

"That was lame." Armin chimes in from somewhere in the background, but you're too distracted by Eren's intensive emerald gaze to notice. He may be right, but you don't seem to mind the corny rom-com dialogue when it comes from Eren's pretty mouth.

"You got any of that fancy Beethoven shit?" Eren seems to disregard his friend's taunting and instead asks him a question that sparks your curiosity.

"What? You mean like classical music?"

"Yeah, or whatever— something we can slow dance to."

"Wait," you speak up, slightly panicked and a tad bit embarrassed, "I can't dance..."

"Neither can I." He chuckles, leading you further into living room to allow more space for a makeshift dance floor. "When I was a kid my mom used to dance with me whenever I was sad or anxious... didn't solve the problem but it helped me forget about it for a little while."

He holds out his hand, patiently waiting for you to take it. You can hear Armin hauling in an old, extravagantly vintage record player, accompanied by some beautifully composed classical piece that you can just tell he's been dying to showcase.

"Armin, I meant play it on the speaker— not... whatever the fuck that is."

"This makes it more authentic." The blonde quips, an adorably excited smile on his face as he sets the needle down onto the spinning record— the sound of a freshly tuned piano filled the otherwise awkward atmosphere as you stare back at Eren, who still holds his hand out for you to take.

"Come on," he reiterates, placing a devilishly handsome smile onto his glistening lips, "just trust me, okay?"

Trust him.

Whether you do or not, it doesn't really matter in this instance... because with looks to kill and an entrancing aura to match, you may as well already be caught deep into the deadly trap that is known as Eren Jaeger. Maybe that's why you don't even give it a second thought to take his hand as he pulls your body flush against his, wrapping an arm around you waist before settling his hand down onto the small of your back.

The scent of Armin's sea foam breeze body wash smells too good on Eren. With your head pressed against his chest it's hard to miss— the way his heart beats staccato against the rhythm of the music slowly lulled you into a state of euphoria as the two of comfortably sway in each other's arms.

He was right after all; Jean was the furthest thing from your mind right now— sadness long gone with him.

"Your mom, she sounds great." You mutter quietly into his t-shirt, feeling his grip on your hand tighten just a bit.

"Yeah, she was."

Oh— you were familiar with that tone, having used it many times yourself. Melancholic, yet content; somberly accepting of something that cannot be changed, no matter how hard you've willed it. Still, you don't bring up what you've deducted, not wanting to put a damper on the elation you've acquired.

Maybe you'll ask him about it some day. The thought oddly comforts you in the way that you realize you have someone who may understand a piece of you that you've subconsciously buried long ago.

You feel dizzy as you're being spun out, then back into Eren's arms— though, perhaps it' more of a 'head in the clouds' type of feeling, then a sickly one— while his deep voice teases you with a chuckle when he dips you lower, before smoothly snapping your body back up against his. It's hard not to smile when he holds you like this, and you're sure he knows it because he manages to squeeze you just a little bit tighter.

"Thought you couldn't dance." You quip teasingly, making a conscious decision to peek over at Armin who happily drinks his coffee burying his nose into a book in his hand, hardly even phased by the two of you making use of his home as your own personal dance studio.

"I may have a few moves." He responds confidently, allowing his hand to slip lower over the curve of your ass before hooking his plan underneath your thigh to lift it around his waist— the action is hardly smooth enough, causing you to lose your footing as the two of you tumble down onto floor.

Eren hovers just ever so slightly above you, managing to catch himself just before the weight of his body crushes you beneath him. His hair is messy, chestnut strands loosely framing his face after escaping the hold of his elastic. The two of you gaze at each other for a while, neither of you fully grasping that there's something happening here that feels a bit different that the usual physically charged encounters that you've shared thus far.

Soon enough, you're bursting out in laughter— Eren's own chasing closely after yours— and you're absolutely positive that it's the most beautiful thing you ever seen. A true, genuinely elated laughter— eyes crinkled shut, big toothy smile... and a subtle dimple, just there on the right side of his cheek. You've never noticed it before now, but then again, you've never had the chance to experience such a moment with him.

"Guess your moves need a bit more work."

You pant between chuckles, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes on account of how hard you were laughing.

"Oh? Didn't seem to have any complaints about them last night."

He says it just before catching your lips on his, bringing a heavy hand up to cradle the back of your neck, forcing you deeper into his hold. His tongue teases yours briefly as he pulls away, giving you one last peck before hoisting himself onto his feet, holding out his hand to assist you back onto yours.

As if right on cue, your phone rings— but this time it isn't Jean who's calling, it's the campus bookstore— a shot of panic rips through you as you realize you were supposed to show up for your afternoon shift thirty minutes ago.

"Shit!"

You grit, making quick work to grab your belongings as you scramble to pick up the phone.

"Hello? Mr. Ackerman, I'm so sorry, I— yes, sir— I understand. Thank you, I'll be right there." Your heart beats wildly as you hang up the phone, anxious but very thankful that you still have a job, despite Mr. Ackerman's 'No tolerance policy' for lateness.

"I have to go— I completely forgot about my shift today." Your eyes are truly apologetic because truthfully so, you'd stay here all day if you could.

"It's okay, sorry for distracting you."

You can't help but smile, because as far as you were concerned, Eren was the best kind of distraction you could have asked for.

"Um, do you need a ride home? Since we're going to the same place... I just have to grab my things from my friend's apartment first." You ask hesitantly, not even fully aware of what you were asking. It was risky to go home with Eren, too fucking risky. Yet, you asked it anyways, as if your heart was completely overriding any semblance of reasonable thinking.

"Yeah, definitely. Thanks." He's tone mirrors the surprised expression on his face, but he's all too eager that you've offered.

"Thank you Armin, for everything. I owe you one." You offer your best politely sweet smile as a means of silent expression for the way he assisted you this morning when you first arrived after your initial encounter with Jean.

"Don't mention it." He smiles back at you just as sugary sweet, maintaining an air of innocence— all while exposing just a glint of mischief in those pretty blue eyes of his. "See you around, y/n."

Eren's fingers soon lace delicately in between yours— his palm warm and comforting with the way it fits so naturally into your own. You glance at him to witness his softening expression when he squeezes your hand in reassurance.

"Ready?"

"You should've seen her face, bro. Hardly any remorse— admitted the shit too easily."

Jean's voice is harsh as he converses with his best friend next to him on the couch of Connie and Sasha's apartment. The two stare at the tv screen, their thumbs furiously clacking away at the PlayStation controllers in their hands as they obliterate the opponents en-game.

"Fuck."

He curses, now on his last life as Connie grumbles next to him about it being his fault that they're losing.

Maybe he wouldn't be sucking complete ass right now if he wasn't so concerned about you, but how could he think about anything else when you just admitted you fucked another guy— and not just any guy— your fucking next-door neighbor?

Jean leans forward, brown eyes intently focused on the screen as he imagines the zombie in front of him is you— just for a brief moment, enough to satiate his need for vengeance as he blasts in it the face with a shotgun. He smirks as Connie compliments him on his headshot, and it would've made him feel a tiny bit better if the fucking zombie didn't respawn and rip his fucking heart clean out of his chest.

"Stupid fucking game." Jean seethes through gritted teeth, throwing his controller onto the floor infront of him.

"Hey, that shits expensive!" Connie scolds, picking it up and examining it for any injury.

"I don't know what the fuck I'm gonna do Connie." Jean runs a hand through his mussed hair before his bangs fall back in front of his eyes, which he's thankful for because he doesn't want his friend to see him cry for the second time today after you left your shared apartment.

"It's my fault, isn't it? I fucked up." He sighs, head hung low as his elbows support his weight against his thighs. "If I wasn't such a piece of shit, she wouldn't have done it."

"Well, you know what they say," Connie takes a sip of his beer as he slumps back into the plush cushions of the couch, "a shoulder to cry on is a dick to ride on."

Jean scowls as he lunges himself at Connie, who can't help but laugh despite the seriousness of the conversation— he was truly just trying to lighten the mood, and if it had been anyone else who said it, Jean would've beaten the shit out of them.

"Fuck you." Jean spits, about to pop him in the back of the head when he's suddenly interrupted by the sound of a gentle knock on the door. Both men glance at each other before averting their attention to your bag of belongings stuffed into the corner of the living room.

"Sasha?"

A gentle, familiar voice calls out from the other side of the door after a moment too long of silence.