honey, baby.

What makes him look totally different from those bunch of losers–no offense to all the nerds out there–is the fact that he is actually quite muscular for a college student. He does a part-time job every summer at his uncle's moving company where he's forced to lift stuff, ranging from boxes full of clothes and delicate dishes to a three-piece living room sectional. It builds up his arms and core, giving him a nice set of pecs and a pair of guns that don’t belong to someone who stays up all night playing Days Gone.

He’s taller than most of the nerds too, thankfully, standing six feet tall with his broad shoulders hunched slightly as he walks. And unlike Armin who has a human-size pillow featuring a printed image of a half-naked anime girl in a questionable lying pose, Eren’s bed is as dull as his life—a single size bed with normal size pillows and gray sheets that he wishes someday can smell pleasantly like a girl’s bergamot perfume instead of his yesterday’s sweat.

What makes him look a little bit like a nerd is probably the way he carries his Canon EOS 90D camera in his hands at all times. At one point, he swore he heard a girl named Hitch laughing behind his back, jeering, “Bet you a hundred bucks he named his camera Rachel or something and pretends it’s his girlfriend.” Eren pouted and groused under his breath for the rest of the day because Hitch was completely wrong about it. He doesn’t treat his camera as his girlfriend. He treats his camera as his life partner. They’re committed to each other. It isn’t just a fling. And no, its name isn’t Rachel. It’s Sarah. But that’s beside the point.

Nerds often wear thick eyeglasses due to their endless hours of gaming, binging TV shows and anime, or reading hentai mangas late at night. Even though Eren does all of those things, his eyesight is perfectly fine, maybe even better than most people. He’s shared infinite hours of gaming too—Overwatch is his favorite online game at the moment—but his vision is so perfect that he often catches the little details that people missed or perhaps he’s just pretty observant. But Eren doesn’t like his eyes that much. They’re too green, too radiant, and combined with his thick eyebrows knitted together in a neverending frown, they make him look a bit… frightening. They make him seem unapproachable.

“You’ve got a resting bitch face, that’s your problem,” Armin concluded one night as they sprawled next to each other on the floor with their Xbox controllers in hands. “That’s why you always scare people off. This is why you don’t have a girlfriend, man.”

“Yeah, 'cause you’re so popular yourself,” Eren snorted which was quickly followed by a groan when Armin’s character on the screen managed to shoot him dead for the fifteenth time that night. “You fucking kidding me right now? Gonna shoot me from behind like that? That's cheap, bro. I was still changing my weapons.”

“Pussy. I would’ve had your ass killed in a real war within seconds,” Armin mocked back, fixing his eyeglasses. “And excuse me, I don’t have a girlfriend because I choose not to have a girlfriend. I’m loyal to my wife.”

“Your wife is a 2D character with fox ears wearing a kimono that highlights her unproportional boobs.”

“Yes, your point?”

Eren sighed in defeat. When he said he was married to his fictional waifu, Armin wasn’t kidding. All those photoshopped pictures he hung on his wall and the silver wedding ring he kept around his fourth finger were solid pieces of evidence of that.

But Eren never really cared about finding himself a girlfriend. Actually, despite popular beliefs, he had a few girls asking him out for a coffee date. That goth girl Mikasa Ackerman was even obsessing over him at some point. He received a text from her one day that said, “Do you feel it?” which he answered with a frown, “Feel what?” Not a few seconds later, another text appeared on his screen. “I’ve got your voodoo doll. I’m sucking your balls right now.” And Eren, almost right away, thought All right, that’s enough social interaction for the day. He changed his phone number right after. He low-key wanted to change his name too and maybe invent a new whole identity for him, just to be safe.

Now, let’s go back to his video journal. Due to some personal reasons, Eren has been making one every night, usually right after he got home where his memory was still fresh. Today, his last class is canceled so he returns earlier than usual to the small house he shares with his Aunt Dina. She was the one who took him and his older brother Zeke into her home right after their parents passed away. Zeke, three years older than he is, has been taking a late shift at a local restaurant so he won’t be back before midnight.

“Hey,” Eren greets the beautiful old lady as he closes the front door behind him.

“Hey, darling,” Dina responds with a benign smile. “You’re early. How was your day?”

“Last class was canceled. A bit burned out from all the pop quizzes but if I could survive high school, I think I’ll live. I’ll be in my room if that’s okay?”

“Sure. Gonna talk to your girlfriend again?”

So, yeah, the camera is his life partner but his computer? Now that’s his girlfriend. “Yep.” Placing a little greeting kiss on her cheek, Eren makes his way to his room. He yawns as he tosses his bag without a care to his bed, switching on his iMac before he plops himself down on his favorite swivel chair.

Throwing his head back, he heaves the loudest sigh ever known to mankind as if he had the roughest workday on NASA trying to stop an asteroid from hitting the earth when all he did was try not to cry over the pop quiz he had in his advanced statistics class. It’s some kind of stress relief for him, sighing like that, which is another habit that he often does just like how he nibbles on his bottom lip whenever he feels nervous. That sigh is also a signal for his other girlfriend to come along.

“Hey ya, girl,” Eren coos as a little Siberian Husky climbs up to his lap. He just bought her from a very shady pet shop called “Bow Wow.” She’s a four-month-old puppy with a black and white fluffy coat and striking icy blue eyes. She always does this little bark whenever Eren tilts up his chin and howls at her as if she’s trying to communicate by imitating him but she’s too young to produce a howl. It never fails to make him laugh. “Who needs a girlfriend when I have you,” he giggles, nuzzling their noses together. “Not that I’m into bestiality or anything, but I think you’re super cute, Muffin.”

And yes, her name is Muffin, literally because the first thing he saw after he stepped out of Bow Wow—god, he hated that name—was this little girl wolfing down a blueberry muffin as if her life depended on it. Does he regret it? Probably. Should’ve named her something better like Grey Wind or Nymeria or something. Then again, Game of Thrones’ ending sucked balls so maybe he’s glad he didn’t name his dog after stupid direwolves that literally contributed nothing to the show but have cool-looking CGI.

Activating his iSight camera, Eren watches the little green indicator lights up above his monitor. He starts recording, staring blankly at the screen for a couple of seconds as he contemplates what he should say as a form of greeting. His favorite introduction had always been, “Today sucks donkey’s ass,” which promptly followed by him rambling for a whole thirty minutes about how ridiculously boring college was, or complaining about how good his archenemy Jean Kirstein’s hair looked that day—that stupid horseface.

If he was having a good day, he tended to be more chatty, not just talking about his day but also making theories about life itself. His last video lasted for almost two hours, trying to answer “Does fate exist? If so, do we have free will?” It was the stupidest two hours he’d ever wasted in his life as he, by the end of his session, couldn’t even come up with a single gratifying answer.

But today, Eren can't think of anything else but one thing, or rather, a person, which is why he gives up with a groan, rubbing a hand over his face as his cheeks turn rosy. Keeping one hand on his puppy’s head, idly stroking its fur, he stares straight at the camera and confesses, “So, there’s this girl.”

This girl is you, one of the most popular girls on his campus. You’re not notorious for your skimpy clothes or getting handsy at parties. Honestly, you’re not even sure why almost everyone—even several teachers—knows your name. Sure, you’re one of the brightest kids in the university who has a few science trophies under your belt, but surely, that’s not what makes you famous, is it?

But unlike you, Eren knows perfectly why you’re popular. You’re kind, every junior knows your name because you’re a reliable senior who’s always eager to help people. You’re not only smart, but you’re witty too. You have a wicked sense of humor, sarcasm is your weapon of choice, and your confidence level is over the roof. Eren can tell from how easily you can make people smile and laugh whenever you strike up a conversation. You have the sweetest smile he’s ever seen on a girl’s face—or anyone’s face, really, maybe even more beautiful than the smile he used to witness on his mother’s face. It doesn’t help that you’re super cute too—cuter than Muffin, even, and that’s saying something.

There are so many things he adores about you and he knows that once he opens his mouth to form your name, he’ll never stop until his computer explodes from overheating. He’s been trying not to talk about you for so long, keeping all of these emotions bottled up inside his chest because he doesn’t want to sound like an obsessive stalker more than he already is. He’s too ashamed to admit it, but he’s been keeping his eyes on you for… what, maybe a couple of years by now? God, he’s such an embarrassment. Even right now he’s giving himself secondhand embarrassment by watching his face turning all lovey-dovey on screen as he talks about you. But how can he not after what happened today?

It was during lunch break when he felt like his world was flipped upside down. He was sitting in the backyard of his campus, just chilling on the ground with his legs stretched out, not caring if it would leave grass stains and dirt on his dark blue jeans—which he would enormously regret in the next seven minutes as it made him look like he just shit his pants. He was playing with his camera—because what else could he be doing? Talking to himself? He already did that during the first period—when he caught sight of you sitting on a bench with a few of your close friends: Sasha, Historia, and Annie (yes, aside from knowing your habits and your favorite sweaters, he memorized your friends’ names too, what a loser).

Sasha was telling a story with her mouth full of a salami sandwich—which was nothing new, of course—and you looked so adorable when you pushed a lock of stray hair behind your ear, listening intently with a little angelic smile breaking on your pretty lips.

Now, Eren didn’t mean to be a stalker. He knew how terrible it felt to be stalked by someone after what he went through with Mikasa. But he had taken a thousand pictures of you without you knowing, so why should he stop now? Plus, he had never seen you wearing that blouse with that skirt before and he had to have this look in his collection.

“Eren you stupid fuck,” he mumbled to himself as he brought his camera to his face. “Could’ve just told her she looked beautiful–maybe even ask her out on a date, but no, you just had to be gross.” And yet, he still did it. Switching his shooting mode to portrait, he adjusted the ISO and focused the camera on you. He pressed the shutter button repeatedly, taking pictures after pictures, every bit of your smile, the way your eyes turned crescents as you laughed, the gestures you made as you took the lead of the conversation.

God, you were breathtaking.

He took a quick look at the photos, reviewing them with a little content sigh escaping his lips. “I am so whipped.” He had taken around twenty pictures, which meant he had to take another twenty before he was satisfied.

Repeating the same action, he zoomed in to focus better on your facial features. Through his lenses, he noticed how you were wearing a new shade of lipstick that day, a little bit pinker than red, which made you look younger—and made him want to kiss you even more but that was a secret he would bring to his grave (unless you are willing to stop for a full make-out session behind the bleachers, of course).

He was smiling to himself as he took your pictures when suddenly, you spun your head around and looked directly into his camera.

“Shit!” Startled so hard he almost pissed his pants, his camera slipped off his grip and fell onto his lap. Panicking, he tried to gather his belongings quickly in his arms because apparently, his pea-sized brain thought it would be a great idea to run away instead of trying to make up excuses like how a normal person would do in that situation. To his defense, being normal wasn’t really his thing. Being a fucking dumbass was more like it.

“Hey there, whatcha doin’?” You greeted in a sing-song voice with your hands placed above your knees as you bowed down to match his eye level.

“I—I—” Yeah, that’s great, genius, just stutter like a fucking idiot, that would make everything better. He gulped. “I was, uh…” Say something faster, say something faster. “N-not taking your pictures.” Say something better, say something better. “Landscapes. I do landscapes. I was—I was taking pictures of the, uh, the park—the yard—the campus.” Fuck, just stop speaking. Never speak again, oh my God.

He’s cute, was the first thought that entered your head. And an idiot was the second one. But that was what made your smile grow a little wider. “So you weren’t taking pictures of me?”

“N-no, why would I?”

“I don’t know, maybe you find me cute?”

He almost cho—no, he choked. He definitely did. “I don’t find you… c-cute.” Somewhere at the back of his head, someone is shouting, “LIEEEEESSSS!”

“Oh, no,” you faked a pout. “It would've made me happy if you did.”

Is she... flirting with me? This was your first time talking to him, and you were flirting with him? Eren was about to explode. He would've punched himself in the face to make sure he wasn't dreaming if you weren't looking down at him with your pretty eyes.

Marry me, oh my God, marry me. “I was just taking a picture of the cherry blossom tree. You just happened to be sitting under it.” Hey, for once, he actually made sense! Time to pat himself on the back.

“I see,” you said, taking a step back when he rose to his feet to avoid your heads bumping against one another—Eren was dumb enough not to think about that before he jumped up. “We’re similar then. ‘Cause I’m an artist and I draw landscapes from time to time. Can I take a look at your photos? Might give me some inspiration.”

“Umm—no.” He shook his head, more times than necessary.

You did this little cute thing where you tilted your head slightly to the side and Eren thought, Fuck, I should’ve gotten this look on camera. “Why not?”

“‘Cause, uh… My pictures are boring. They won’t inspire you.”

“I don't think so. You’re from the photography club, right? I think I saw you documenting our homecoming party. I saw the photos you took. They’re pretty cool.”

Eren was so happy he felt like he was about to throw up a bucket of rainbows—or his insides, which would've made more sense. You noticed him? You acknowledged his presence? He wasn’t a speck of dust in your world, but actually a whole size human being that you remembered by face? Holy shit, his heart rejoiced. Holy—

Holy shit, his eyes widened in horror. I am so fucked.

Because now he couldn’t lie, could he?

“What’s wrong?” That little angelic smile of yours turned into a devilish smirk, letting him know that yes, dumbass, I saw through your lies, but Eren only felt his heart thumping faster because damn, that smirk was hot.

“I–I have to go to class,” he stammered, slinging his bag on one shoulder before he made his run but you were fast to catch him by his wrist.

She’s touching me. She’s actually touching me. Her fingers are so soft, so delicate. I want–

“Just one look?” If your smile didn’t work on him, it was time for you to use your ultimate weapon: batting your eyelashes. “Please?” You asked with a pout and Eren swore, he just felt his jeans turn ten times tighter.

“I... can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I took pictures of my dick.” Now, clearly, that wasn’t the best excuse to say but it was the best one he could come up with when all he could think about was how you smelled pleasantly like strawberry (is it her shampoo? fuck, that's cute). His reason made sense too, in a way, so hopefully, that would work.

You quirked up an eyebrow, not judging him for his actions, but simply not believing him. “Fine,” you muttered, and Eren almost breathed out in relief, when suddenly your hand swooped in to steal the camera from his hands. He yelped in surprise—an actual girly yelp—before he felt like his soul just left his body. Right, so plans for today: jump off a fucking bridge and die.

Then, the devil whispered in his ear: or you can just steal it back from her.

Eren reached out a hand but you were faster, swinging his camera to the side and spinning your body around. No matter how many times he tried, he couldn’t snatch the stupid thing from your grasp. Growing desperate, he shrouded his arms around your body from behind, catching you off guard for a few seconds, enough for him to pry the camera from your hold (Eren was too caught up in a frenzy to realize that he was practically giving you a teddy bear hug). Instead of running away, he did the most brilliant thing his dysfunctional brain could come up with.

He deleted the pictures. All of them. And Eren thought, ah, so this is what dying must feel like.

Thankfully, he had already backed up all the photos he took yesterday on his computer but these last photos he snapped—with you wearing this new wonderful blouse—he had to kiss them goodbye.

“Here,” he said, returning the camera to you with his shoulders sagged forward, and a great wrench of sadness in his chest.

Your forehead creased in lines, a bit confused. Clicking your thumbs against the buttons, you realized that his memory card was empty. “Did you just delete all the pictures in here?”

“No,” he replied, rubbing his nape as he looked away. Then, he added a little, “Yes,” with his face turning scarlet.

“Do you have copies of them?”

“Some of them…”

“But not the ones with me sitting under the cherry blossom tree?”

He tucked his chin, kicking one foot against the ground. “No,” he murmured under his breath.

Ah, he’s so cute, you held back a laugh. You wished you could shrink his six feet tall body so you could carry him inside your pocket, maybe dress him up in a bunny suit so he could cheer you up during rainy days. “Well, let’s fix that, shall we?”

Eren almost dislocated his jaw when he saw you lift the camera in the air. Making a peace sign to accompany the gleeful grin on your face, you faced the lens and pressed the shutter button. “There,” you said, returning the camera to his hands with a radiant smile. “I’m not sure if I got the cherry blossom tree in the picture, but I can guarantee you got everything else.” Still flabbergasted, Eren could only stare at the camera, his fingers shaking as the screen showed a close-up picture of your beautiful face. “Don’t delete it this time, big boy.”

With one last smile, you pivoted on your heels, your hair fluttering as the warm wind of spring caressed your strands. Eren felt like he was living in a fucking shoujo manga where he was the heroine clothed in a frilly summer dress and you were his rugged, super masculine male lead. God, he could already hear wedding bells ringing in his head.

“And that,” Eren talks to his computer screen, finishing his video journal of the day (it’s already one and a half hours long for fuck’s sake), “ladies and gentlemen, is the story of how your best boy, Eren Jaeger, had his heart stolen from the very first meeting. I think it went well.” He brings his gaze to his lap, scratching his furry friend behind her ear. “Don’t you think so, Muffin?” The puppy lets out a growl in response. “Don’t worry, baby, you’re still my number one girl,” he chortles, lifting her in the air just so he can nuzzle his nose against her belly.

He exhales heavily, casting a dreamy gaze on the ceiling. “I can’t believe she knows I exist.”

This is the best day of my life.

If only a mere thought of you acknowledging his presence already makes him feel so surreal, then maybe he should start consuming his chill pills to avoid having a cardiac arrest because once he discovers the truth about your identity, he’s going to lose it for sure.

Because you’re not just the it girl on your campus now, are you?

“And we’re back on earth,” you say to the little boy in your arms as you return to your feet. The toddler, dressed in an adorable Spider-Man costume, wobbles on his little feet, dizzy from having his body suddenly lifted off the ground, right before he was hit by a passing car. He watches you let go of your web, cutting the natural fluid from your wrist. Your costume itself is already eye-catching enough even without the web—black on the lower body with a white upper body, complete with a hoodie and cyan soles. The underarms and inside the hoodie are magenta covered in cyan web patterns, while your lenses are white with magenta accents.

His mother embraces her child, smiling in gratitude with tears lining her cheeks. “Thank you,” she says. “For saving my son’s life.”

“You’re very welcome, Ma’am.” Your mouth twitches in a smile, even if it’s not going to show on your mask. Smiling has always come naturally to you. It’s harder not to smile than to do it. Offering him a fist bump, you say, “Stay off the street, Spidey.”

He knocks his little fist against yours, grinning at you. Ruffling his curly hair, you turn on your heels, ready to shoot your web to swing yourself from one building to another.

“Wait,” his mother calls right before you lift yourself off the ground. “Who are you?”

“Well, Ma'am,” you perform a little bow, being theatrical is a part of your job. “I’m your friendly neighborhood Spider-Girl.”

***

Hi, everyone! I'm back with a new mini series this time! This one is going to be all fluff with a sprinkle of comedy and smut (no angst, I promise lmao). I've decided to post early 'cause I couldn't wait to share this story with you hehe. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it ❤️

Thank you Sandra, Nissa and Ben for being my beta-readers for this one. I love you, guys! Oh, also, I've decided to go with Spider-Gwen's costume 'cause I think it's cute but you're welcome to imagine a different outfit for y/n.

Tagging:

@l6ffys @vivi-et @halparkebitch @fwess @littlemochi @thebeardedmoon @didiyogo @coyloves @erenbean @tehehebri @justasketch @infnteen @naiomiwinchester @spiderlingh @doyochii @ahornyenby @aengelren @sakurashell @the-princess-button @resonancesoul @blrqt @cacapeepee @persyhange @jaegersdiary @erentoes @trashgremlin36 @meed18 @j0livi0ni @snowflake-201 @jaymihawk @eva-gates @claudevonstrukesblog @sofijaeger @rinsie @blanccofiie @ereninbunu @natanialora @khinjito @ackersune @watermelon-online @tropicsoda @damselofblueroses @alexackrman @bblgumz @jurrasicpork @erenjaegercult @holycandypizza Thanks for reading, lovelies ❤️

And it’s not because you hate your job, on the contrary – it’s a pretty straightforward and easy job to handle. It’s just that Zeke Jeager, the CEO and founder of the company, had the brilliant idea to hold an interdepartmental meeting with all the directors and managers every. Single. Goddamn. Monday. And normally, you wouldn’t care about that either since you’re just the Board of Directors’ assistant, but he had to fucking find out you have a stenography certificate and guess who now has to take the minutes for a four-hour long meeting? That’s right, you.

Your only saving grace is the fact that it being a rather small company with a tightly knit community, there aren’t many official points of discussion you have to take note of. Which, on the other hand, can quickly turn boring as shit, because how much longer can you listen to various managers talk about how their children started crying when they were dropped off to kindergarten or how whoever the fuck went skiing in the Alps last weekend? No, you’re not happy with this weekly meeting, no matter how you look at it.

You place Pieck’s coffee in front of her and take your usual place between Zeke and Porco. She smiles up at you in gratitude, and from the dark circles under her eyes you’d bet a month’s salary she spent the whole weekend coding again, side-by-side with the junior programming team – whoever decided to make Pieck the CTO was either a visionary or an idiot. Zeke is obviously stressed, and no wonder with the new game about to drop in a month, but his energy drinks intake is starting to worry you and you make a mental note to magically have them disappear from the fridges in the kitchen. Porco, on the other hand, looks just the same as always, which is scowling and pissed off at everything and everyone. He’s only looked up from his laptop when you came in the conference room, raised an eyebrow when he saw the coffee and then buried himself back into his numbers and budget plans and whatever else he’s doing there. The King of Mean himself, as he is known around these parts.

“Right, people.” Zeke speaks up when everyone has taken a seat. “Let’s begin.”

Two hours later you feel you could practically rip your hair out and not feel anything because of how bored you are. There were no notes that needed to be taken, since the whole conversation was just a never-ending recap of everything that’s been decided for the past six months, since the Attack Titan: The Rumbling has been announced. Even you are pretty excited about the new game, but you’ve already heard these same discussions at least fifty times. Each day.

When the subject turns to who would fuck the Female Titan (yes, you are surrounded by teenage boys, apparently, and not grown-ass people with executive jobs), you decide it’s time to grab a glass of water. You take your sweet time going to and back from the kitchen, so it’s embarrassingly easy to be dragged into Sasha and Connie’s ridiculous debate on which pasta brand is the best. Unfortunately, ten minutes later, their phones start going off about a certain bug that needs to be fixed asap, so you’re forced to go back to purgatory.

When you get back, you’re relieved to hear that the conversation has moved on. Some of them are now talking about possible options for language preferences, while Zeke is animatedly explaining something to Eren and Pieck about an idea he had last night in the shower. You sigh and sit back down – you just really want to get back to your desk, before you nudge Porco with your knee. His head snaps up, he was obviously immersed in his Excel spreadsheets, and scowls down at you.

“What?” He barks, annoyed with the interruption.

You just hold out a chocolate bar for him, which he takes with a nod. He seems sorry for a second for having snapped at you for no reason but doesn’t apologise. You’re used to him – you don’t need him to verbally apologise to know what he’s thinking. You’ve never had any expectations from the abrasive CFO who can’t stand anyone. Maybe except for Pieck. And sometimes you.

“Aw, man, if I knew you were going to the kitchen, I would’ve asked you to grab me a chocolate bar as well.” Jean whines from the other side of the table.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” You say, tilting your head to the side, genuinely concerned you haven’t taken into consideration that maybe it was rude of you to not ask anyone else if they wanted something. “You want me to go grab you one?”

“Nah, don’t worry, darling.” Jean grins. “Your smile is sweet enough to tide me over until this meeting is done.”

You giggle, and roll your eyes. You’ve never met anyone who’s more of a flirt than Jean. He’s innocent, you know he wouldn’t actually try his luck with you, after you’ve turned him down a few years back when he just got started here. Yet he holds no hard feelings towards you and you don’t mind the harmless flirty jokes he throws at you.

“Kirstein, stop flirting with Y/N.” Porco suddenly barks. “Relationships in the workplace are prohibited.”

“No, they’re not?” Armin pipes up, confused as he’s sitting right next to his girlfriend.

There’s silence for a few moments, as everyone seems to have stopped talking among themselves. They’re all paying attention to what’s taking place on your side of the table now. You’re just sitting there confused, watching Porco get worked up over a non-issue. Everyone seems to be very confused at his reaction and you don’t know whether to excuse yourself or placate him to diffuse this whole situation.

“Well, it’s different for you.” He sputters, feeling he’s kinda putting his foot in his mouth right now. “You’ve started dating before getting your jobs here.”

“Porco,” Pieck says slowly, as if she’s explaining college level maths to a five-year-old. “We’re not prohibiting our employees to date.”

“Unless they’re on different hierarchical levels in the same department.” Annie drawls, to which everyone nods.

“So, since Y/N isn’t technically part of any department, she can date whoever she wants here.”

Porco frowns. You hate how you’re in the spotlight right now. You just wish this whole conversation would end. Why do they feel the need to point this out, when you already know all of this? It’s not like you’re interested in dating any of them.

“Except for her direct superiors.” Annie smirks. “So, she can’t date Zeke, Pieck or you, Porco.”

*

Three hours later, you’re focused on going over a presentation that Pieck’s asked you to review – like any other genius, this woman cannot deal with mundane things like remembering where commas should be in a sentence. Zeke’s holed himself up in a pod with Eren and you’re pretty sure they’re either discussing a new game idea or their father’s newest divorce. In any case, you’re left to your own devices when Porco sticks his head out of his office and snaps his fingers in your direction. God, you hate it when he does that.

“Y/N, my office. Now.” He barks and disappears back inside without waiting for a reply.

You wonder what this might be about. There’s a wide range of options you can pick from – from ordering him food from his favourite place to making sure the Marketing team isn’t slacking off again to asking you to tie his tie. Porco Galliard is the most obnoxious boss you’ve ever had, but he’s damn lucky you’re the only one in this company who doesn’t mind it – most of the time.

So, you get up from your desk and, planner and pen in hand, make your way into his office. He nods his head towards the door, silently asking you to close it. Since when have you learnt what every single one of his signals mean? You’d probably be able to read his mind at this point.

“I’m firing you.”

Or not.

You look at him dumbfounded. It’s a good thing you’ve sat down before he opened his stupid mouth, because you probably would have tripped over your own feet otherwise. You look at him, waiting for him to start laughing or say it’s an April Fool’s joke, but he’s just watching you in turn, his fingers interlocked in front of him. Hid golden eyes are serious, more serious than when he’d told Zeke making the Attack Titan the villain in the new game is a dumb idea.

“I’m sorry. I must’ve heard wrong.” You mumble, when no other explanation seems to be coming. “I think you said you’re firing me?”

“You’ve heard me right, Y/N. I’m firing you.”

You sit there in silence for a few seconds, as you’re watching each other. And then your temper starts to flare up, because god fucking dammit, have you not given this job enough? Have you not spent countless hours working on whatever shit he’s asked you to do that is definitely not in your job description? Haven’t you done so much for him that he can just simply wake up and choose violence with you?

“Porco, have you lost your entire mind?” You start, already feeling the rage start bubbling out of you. At this point, you’re not sure you can stop, even if you wanted to.

“You can’t fire me. What did I even do to deserve to be fired? You can’t just ask me to come into your office and tell me you’re firing me without a reason. I’ve worked my ass off all the years I’ve worked here. I’ve never fucked up anything that would justify you firing me. Plus, you’re not my only boss. Did you talk about this with Pieck and Zeke? Do they agree with you? Do they want to fire me as well or is this just you fucking with me today because you’re bored?”

You’ve never spoken this way to Porco in this context – it’s beyond unprofessional and to be honest, just your little outburst would be reason enough to actually fire you now. But, you’re so annoyed with him at the moment, you don’t necessarily care. You’re not sure whether your rage is fuelled by your confusion at his sudden decision or just because he hasn’t given you a reason yet.

You know that if you were a cartoon character, you’d probably have smoke coming out of your ears and your head would inflate in anger. Porco leans back into his chair, still closely watching you, and then he sighs.

“Because I’m tired of seeing people flirt with you.”

Okay, now he’s completely lost his mind.

“What?” You squeak, too stunned to be able to form a full sentence.

“I’m tired of seeing Kirstein flirt with you and watch how the entire software team practically drools when you’re passing through the hallways and hear people get drunk in team buildings saying how they’d show you a great time if you’d just give them the chance.”

“Porco, what the fuck are you on about?” You sputter.

He stands up from his chair, rounds his desk and kneels in front of you. You’re too bewildered to manage to even move at this point, so he takes a strand of your hair and places it behind your ear without a complaint from your part. There’s so much love in his eyes, you wouldn’t be surprised if he’d kiss you right now and you’re suddenly so damn relieved that his office has actual walls and a door. If anyone would walk past his office right now, you’d both be in deep shit. Probably would be thrown out the window by Zeke himself.

“I’m tired of hiding, baby.” He murmurs as he takes your hand in his. “I want everyone to know you’re taken. I want everyone to know you’re mine.”

You squeeze his hand in return and kiss his forehead. You finally understand what this whole thing is about – you’ve noticed how he’d casually ask you about him quitting one day and sending you links to jobs he thought you might be interested in the next day. You thought he was just exploring other options, but you never realised it has started bothering him to the point he’d actually do something about it now.

You’ve kept your relationship a secret for nearly two years and no one has suspected a thing. You’ve even moved into his apartment a while back, yet neither of you did anything about your professional situation to be able to finally go public with it. In all fairness, you didn’t necessarily mind it – your friends and families are well aware of your relationship and sure, you always have to be careful when you go out in public and you can’t kiss him whenever you’d like to, but it was a mutual agreement. What in the hell happened to suddenly make him change his mind?

“You know we can’t tell anyone here that, honey.” You whisper as you bring a hand to his jaw. He nuzzles into it and it fills your heart with love, as it always does.

“That’s why I’m firing you.” He grins.

“So let me get this straight.” You raise an eyebrow. “You want to fire me because you want to make our relationship official.”

“Yes.”

“I swear to god, for a CFO you’re really stupid sometimes. You do realise that even if we make it official, everyone will realise that we’ve started dating when I was your assistant, right?”

Porco sighs yet again and takes a seat next to you. He’s still holding your hand as he’s playing with your fingers. It still boggles your mind how mean and annoying he can be in a professional setting and how loving and tender he gets when it’s only the two of you together. You once told him that this is one of the reasons you’re certain he loves you – because he can’t seem to stand anyone else, but you.

“Well, we could wait a few months before we do that. I’ll help you find another job and then I can finally hold your hand when we go to birthday parties.”

“But I like my job here.” You whine, poking his cheek with a finger.

“And I want to marry you, but I can’t do that as long as we both work here.”

Ah, so there it is. You open your eyes wide, which in turn makes him roll his.

“You can’t tell me you don’t expect me to ask you to marry you someday, you dumbass.”

“I mean, I’ve never actively thought about it…”

“And you’re telling me I’m the stupid one?” He laughs. “Darling, I love you more than life itself. You’re literally the best thing in my life, of course I want to marry you.”

“Why don’t you quit then?” You frown.

“Because I’m the CFO.”

“And what? Just because I’m an assistant that means my job is less important?”

Porco looks at you with the same boredom and annoyance he reserves only for Reiner. You know you’re being overdramatic and of course he doesn’t think that, but you’re still pissed at him. This motherfucker can’t just fire you because he wants everyone to know he’s fucking you, no matter how cute he is. Plus, you’re not one to take his bullshit. Never did and never will, regardless of professional or personal context.

“No, it’s because you have a degree in journalism that you’re wasting away by working here. You can’t be an assistant for the rest of your life, baby. It’s time to do what you’re actually passionate about.”

“I also meant to show you this.” He says as he pulls out his phone and holds it out for you.

You take it and as you skim through the e-mail he has opened, you feel tears prickling your eyes. It’s a request for an interview. At Shiganshina Times. For you. Next week. You look up at him, still in shock from what you’ve just read.

“I know you’ve always wanted to work for them. It’s just an internship, but we all have to start somewhere, right?” He smiles, unsure of your reaction since you’ve yet to say something.

“You did this for me?”

“Well, I haven’t technically done anything. I’ve just sent Erwin your CV and he was pretty impressed with all the projects you did back in college, so he asked to talk to you face to face.”

You choke back a sob, because this man. This man. You pull him into a hug, not caring if you’re ruining his shirt – you’re the one who’ll be washing it anyway. He chuckles around you, rubbing his palms over your back and you feel so happy in this moment, you could start singing and dancing for all to see.

“I love you so much.” You snivel.

“I love you too, sweetheart. So can I fire you now?”

You pull back from his embrace just enough to look him in the eye.

You’d been messing with Gojo up until now, but this makes you pause. It was always a possibility for the kid to inherit the same technique as you, and now that it was reality, you were…excited. Excited to teach a young sorcerer in the way you had wished you’d been taught.

“Okay,” you agree, and Gojo looks momentarily surprised by your easy compliance. “But we’re gonna need some fly heads.”

—

“Why can’t Gojo-sensei teach me how to use my technique?”

Something clenches in Satoru’s chest as he watches you kneel in front of the small boy, smiling sweetly.

“Because that goofy beanstalk’s inherited technique isn’t nearly as cool as ours, so he doesn’t fully understand how it works yet.”

Ah, always so sweet until you open that pretty mouth of yours.

You’re merely gesturing around the room, but Megumi’s already showing more interest than he does during a full conversation with Satoru himself (the strongest sorcerer in the world, not that his kid was concerned).

“You may notice that the shadows around you…respond whenever you’re feeling things like anger or anxiety— Did Gojo-sensei teach you how to control your flow of cursed energy?”

From his spot against the wall, Satoru draws a deeper than normal breath. He likes the way Gojo-sensei sounds coming from your lips.

“Yeah,” Megumi replies, pointing to the bandage on his pudgy little cheek. “With the stuffed bear that punches.”

“It’s an unorthodox method,” you grimace, cutting a glare in Satoru’s direction. “But that makes this lesson easier.”

You hold your hands out in front of you, and Gojo watches as your cursed energy pulses around you, your shadows swirling in response to your jujutsu.

The Ten Shadows technique has always intrigued him. He’s seen - through you - how its versatility and power could easily outclass the strongest sorcerers and special grade curses.

Satoru knows he’s the strongest, but you? You’re a close second.

“We can hide a lot of things in our shadows. Like weapons,” you reach into one at your side, pulling a jet-black sword. “Or…wallets.”

Satoru can hear the smile in your voice when you hand Megumi a familiar black bi-fold, patting his pockets and groaning when he realizes they’re empty.

He should have known you didn’t put your hand on his thigh for no reason while he was driving.

Megumi giggles as you set the wallet in his palm, and his mouth falls open, because the kid’s never done more than scowl around him. Were you already his favourite?

You continue your lesson, clasping your hands together to summon one of your dogs. “But the best part is our shikigami.” Megumi’s eyes widen in awe as the dog dutifully flanks your side. “Basic shikigami users usually use a talisman as an intermediary, but we use our shadows. Do you know how to make shadow puppets?”

You smile when the boy nods, helping him position his little hands to form a dog. “Good. Now focus your cursed energy into it.”

It’s adorable, the way Megumi squeezes his eyes shut and concentrates so hard. What’s even more adorable is the way your eyes light up and you cheer when two little puppies appear at Megumi’s feet, tails wagging eagerly as they look up at their summoner.

“Satoru,” you call over your shoulder (and his heart absolutely does not begin to beat a little faster hearing you say his first name). “The fly head?”

“Oh, right,” he chuckles, recalling his role as assistant in this lesson, reaching into the box and pulling the low-level curse out by its neck, holding it out as far from his body as he can.

Eyes still on Megumi, you let out a quick, sharp whistle, and your white dog snarls, lunging forward and tearing the curse from Satoru’s hand. It’s teeth rip into the thing, powerful jaw crushing and tearing until the curse is nothing but pulp. (He’s seen that dog take on curses five times its size and win, this was but the tip of the iceberg when showcasing Ten Shadows.)

“They eat the curses?” Megumi asks, sounding more surprised than scared, like any normal seven-year old would be.

(Then again, he’s Toji’s kid.)

“The dogs do, yes,” you explain, rubbing your dog behind its ears before releasing it. “But like your other shikigami, they can also be trained for offense or support.”

“Can you teach me how to train them?” Megumi asks, glancing up at you hopefully, his puppies piled into his lap.

You’d have to be absolutely heartless to say no to him.

Satoru smiles a little when your expression softens. “Of course I will,” you tell him, then nod your head back towards him. “Don’t forget about your Gojo-sensei, though. He’s quite good at hand-to-hand combat, and the only thing more valuable than a sorcerer with Ten Shadows, is one who can also throw a punch. You want to fight alongside your shikigami.”

Megumi nods enthusiastically, and it’s perhaps the most excited he’s seen the kid react to the idea of spending more time with him.

—

“You ever think about it?” He asks as he walks you back to your dorm later that night. The last tendrils of sun stream through the windows, bathing the hall in warm streaks of sunset.

“Think about what?” You hum in reply, swinging the bag of kikufuku between you two.

“Teaching.”

You snort lightly at that. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious,” Satoru laughs, nudging you slightly. “You were really good with the kid.”

“We have the same technique,” you shrug. “And he’s one kid, not a classroom of them.”

“We could do it together,” he suggests lightly. “You, me, Shoko, Utahime, even Nanami. We’re always here between missions anyway.”

You pause in the middle of the hall, turning to stare at him, your eyes searching his. “You…really do want to teach.”

“I do,” he nods. “The world is changing, and jujutsu needs to do the same. It needs people like you and me to lead that change, and it starts with us teaching kids like Megumi.”

Your gaze seems to soften, switching your shopping bag to your other hand and interlocking your fingers with his.

“Okay, let’s do it. Together.”

Satoru can’t help but smile, using your hand to pull you closer, leaning down and peppering your face in kisses until you squeal, begging him to stop between giggles.

“By the way, can you start calling me Gojo-sensei in bed?”

The very familiar voice has you lift your eyes from the register to the man in front of you, and his presence brings a smile to your face, something you haven’t done since your shift started.

“Pokko! Why the fuck would you want to torture yourself here? I think I’ve complained enough about how bad this job is.”

“Inflation, babe. My rent’s gone up.”

“That’s fucked up and you should sue them.”

“Already asked Mikasa about this and I can’t. Fixed contract. I’m just gonna have to put up with your shit here.”

Oh, Porco. You knew him since you were, what? Two years old? You’re pretty sure he was still wearing a diaper when you met him, and practically grew up with him. He was your best friend, your cornerstone, the foundation of your house and all kinds of metaphors and similes that describe just how much he means to you.

And the feeling is mutual — Porco would absolutely murder for you (or just use you as an excuse to throw hands), he’s been your shoulder to cry on when you had your heart broken, he was there to pick you up when you’ve been stood up, and let’s not forget that one time he sent Floch to the hospital just because he looked at you the wrong way.

You two were inseparable — same primary school, same high school, same college, and, same university, but different degrees. For someone who’s a complete dumbass, Porco studied arts — “for the tits-” “NOT FOR THE TITS, Y/N!” — and you’ve finished a nice little major in fine art and film. Which, naturally, would end up in both of you being homeless if not for him being an apprentice in a tattoo parlour, and you working in this shitty coffee shop.

If anyone didn’t know the two of you, they’d be thinking you’ve been married for at least three years, that’s how domestic you were. Sure, neither of you wasted any time insulting the other, that was just your love language, but the way he held you while watching movies, or how he’d take care of you when you were sick, or how eager you were to cook his favourite food whenever he hung out at your place was visible proof to any stranger that you were in a relationship. But to your friends, nobody questioned your behaviour, because that’s how everyone else in the group treated you, right? Except, Eren doesn’t seem too concerned when you’re sick, and Jean doesn’t hold you in his arms, and Armin doesn’t stop by your workplace to make sure you’ve had enough food.

You’ve always brushed this behaviour off as just growing up together and being very close, so naturally, when he gets the job at the coffee shop, you’re excited to work with him. The shop is already understaffed, and having an extra hand would help, plus it’s your best friend working with you, not a stranger, and so it’s going to make everything a lot more comfortable, both for you and for him, right? There’s nothing that can go wrong.

*

Sasha’s the first to notice. It took her about 20 years, but she notices. She knows you and Connie better than she knows herself, and when she stops at the coffee shop and sees you smiling like an idiot, she knows. But she doesn’t say anything. Then Armin puts two and two together, by accident, when he calls you to ask for advice in his relationship with Annie and hears you laughing so hard at what seemed to be Porco tickling you at the other end of the line.

“Sorry, I know you’re serious, ‘Min, but do you mind if I get back to you later?”

And so, one by one, every single person that is friends with either your or Porco starts to see just how obviously in love you are with one another — everyone, butyou two.

What you dobegin to notice is how frequent your friends begin to show up at the coffee shop, like they’re coming to a goddamn museum, because why the fuck won’t they stop staring at you and Porco? You bring their orders (on the house, your manager doesn’t give a shit) and slightly bend over the table, hand gripping the wooden edge.

“Alright, you fuckers, spill the beans, give me the tea.”

Absolutely puzzled, they just stare at you like you’re some kind of wild animal with rabies, ready to bite.

“No gossip? Then why are you looking at me like someone died?”

“Y/N, since-“

“Ah, there you are!” Porco can’t resist the temptation of leaving a handprint on your asscheek before plopping next to Eren.

“Wassup, dipshits?”

Utter silence.

It’s like you’re at a funeral — everyone is either serious, shocked or confused. And even Porco picks up on their behaviour.

“Yo, who died?” He asks, and his eyes land on you, a hand covering your mouth as you chuckle.

“That’s what I said.” You tell him, and he fist bumps you.

They’re mortified. Each and every one of them is too stunned to speak, except Eren. He knows you don’t know shit, he knows you haven’t even had sex yet, he knows because he’s been in pretty much the same situation with Mikasa before he ended up drunk calling her and confessing. He knows you’re both idiots.

“Connie’s dignity died when he dropped his weed in a puddle outside.” Eren saves the day, because now everyone is groaning and complaining, even Connie’s own girlfriend.

“What the fuck, Eren? I thought you weren’t going to snitch, man.”

You excuse yourself when a customer walks in, and Porco follows behind you, picking up a few empty cups from other tables. He sees your narrowed eyes and the frown on your face. Oh, no, you’re thinking, and that never ends up well.

“What’s on your mind?” He asks between you taking the client’s order and him washing the dishes.

“They’re acting so strange.” You smile after handing the receipt to the customer. “Like they’re hiding something. Don’t you think?” You slide the milk jug to Porco and he catches it, as if he predicted your move.

“Now that you mention it, they are acting kind of sus.” He throws you the cocktail spoon and you move to the sink while he finishes the beverage.

“Do you think Armin wants to propose?” You glance at your friends from the corner of your eye and catch Eren telling them something. Whatever he’s saying, they stopped staring.

“No way, Annie was on board with them, I’ve never seen her so… curious. Tell me, is there something on my face, Y/N?” He hands the client their drink and spins around, a grave look on his face. You squint, trying very hard to find an imperfection but, as always, he’s perfect.

“Nope, you look as handsome as ever. What about me?” You close your eyes and lean forward.

“Pretty as a picture.” Porco boops your nose and you shrug.

“Then what’s their problem?”

“I don’t know but shit, it’s almost 1 pm, I need to go to the tattoo parlour.” He takes his apron off and dashes to the back room.

“What time is your break?” You shout as he scrambles to find all of his belongings and go to his second job.

“Three o’clock to half past three.” He’s out the door but then he sticks his head back inside. “Don’t bring me anything, I’ll just go to the shop down the street.”

“Fuck off and have a nice day! See you at three!”

It was a habit you picked up since even before Porco started working at Titanic Coffees (whoever named it that way should burn in hell). You both took your lunch breaks at the same time, so that you can bring him a cup of coffee and a sandwich, and today is no different. Your friends left soon after Porco, and time passed in pure slow motion until 3 pm. But when you saw Floch come for his shift, you knew it was time to eat. You didn’t even tell him hello, you just hung your apron in your little closet in the back room and fucked off.

“I told you not to come.” Porco scoffs, reluctantly grabbing the sandwich.

“Am I embarrassing you when you’re trying to pick up chicks?” You mock him, but hearing yourself say that made your stomach churn. Suddenly you’re not hungry.

“Believe me, I have no trouble picking up chicks. Here, let me show you.”

“N-no, I believe you.” You stop him before he makes a fool of himself (or before that nasty feeling kicks in again — it’s weird and disgusting and you don’t want to ever feel it again).

“Thanks for the food and the drink, but you have to stop doing this. You can’t keep giving out free coffee.” He seems almost concerned for your future.

“Yeah, I can, I don’t want to spend a lifetime in this shitty coffee shop. I want to actually use my degree.” You nibble on your sandwich, and a wave of questions is suddenly hitting you. What do you want to do? Do you want to leave this city? Leave the country? Get married? Have a fulfilling career? Wow, you didn’t stop and think until now, did you?

“You did fine art, maybe you can join me here and be my apprentice.” He so nonchalantly suggests, and now you stop and think. Sure, you can draw, but you're nowhere near as good as Porco is. And you didn't do fine art, you minored in it. Your major is still film. But no matter where you see yourself in two, ten, twenty years, the image of Porco's shit-eating grin is in your mind.

You are going to be friends until then, too, right? When you get a boyfriend and he gets a girlfriend, you're still going to be friends, right? When he gets married, you'll be by his side, right? Only, you don't want to be friends in two, ten or twenty years.

You like him. No, you love him.

"Earth to Y/N, you still with me?" Porco flicks your forehead and you come to your sense, panic written all over your face.

"I need to go." You abruptly get up, not giving a shit about your unfinished coffee or sandwich.

"Go where? Your break isn't over yet." God, he knows you so well.

"I've got stuff to do."

"Bullshit, I know your schedule inside-out. What's... wrong?" Porco’s voice dies down when you're already out the door of his workplace and in the coffee shop.

"Who got your panties in a twist?" Floch tries his luck but you shut him down quickly. "Fuck off, you slimy git." And you're in the freezer room, shivering to the bone, unlocked phone in your hand. You take a good look at what pictures you have with Porco in your gallery and, yes, you're undoubtedly and indisputably in love with your best friend.

Fuck.

*

Five (5) new messages from Pokko Loco:

You okay?

Where did you go? Pieck said you didn't have any plans and now i'm worried for your sorry ass.

Yo, did i say anything offensive?

I mean, i always say offensive shit but you never got mad, right?

Call me maybe?

Hi, sorry for storming off, I remembered I have an interview tomorrow and I need to prep. Good night.

In the two decades that you've known Porco, you never lied to him. Not when you got your first period, not when you had your first kiss, not even when you lost your virginity. And now you’re lying to his face. It feels like you're cheating on your boyfriend.

"Jesus Christ, what the fuck is wrong with me?" You groan, head buried in your pillow. It's easy to be evasive when you're both at work, because you have shit to do and can't always talk. But at night, when you lay alone in your bed, in dim lights and complete silence, you can't avoid him anymore. He's always in your mind, and the one time you can't push him out if your brain is before sleep. Sure, he's always been in your mind even before you had this epiphany, but now you can feel your chest tightening, your breath heavier whenever your phone vibrates. Because you would want the feeling to be mutual, to have him profess his undying love to you and actually be in a relationship with him, not just act like you're in one. But you know that is never going to happen, because he probably only sees you as a very close friend and that's that. Ding! One (1) new message from Pokko Loco:

Oh, shit, good luck then! What time is it?

For fuck's sake, you can't back down now, can you? It would probably be better to have it when he has his shift, so you don't have to give anymore bullshit excuses. 10 am. It's an assessment and all that shit so I'll be working half a day tomorrow. Wow, you feel horrible. You do the unspeakable act of texting Floch fucking Forster to cover your shift tomorrow, and surprisingly he doesn't complain too much, only a little. You promise you'll hook him up your second cousin twice removed and he shuts up.

Ding! One (1) new message from Pokko Loco:

Aww, i'm gonna miss your purdy face :( I'll bring you lunch, you brew the coffee ;)

Fuck, he doesn't make it any easier for you to be evasive, does he? And you can't live the rest of your life in love with your best friend.

I won't be taking my lunch break, I'll skip it and go home earlier since I'll probably be very tired after the interview. Aaaaanyway, I'm gonna hit the hay. Good night.

He knows. He knows something is wrong with you because you never put a full stop after your last sentence, and he’s not an idiot. But the more he stares at his phone, the more he becomes worried. Alright then, good luck and good night <3

Porco waits for a reply but it doesn't come. He thinks you must've fallen asleep already, even if it's out of character for you to fall asleep without insulting him in some way, so, naturally, he texts Sasha.

Ayo, Sash, what job did Y/N apply for?

I didn't know she applied for one, why?

She said she has an interview tomorrow and i was confused cause she didn't tell me anything about it

Maybe she doesn't want to jinx it?

Fair. Aight, g'night

His brain is short-circuiting because you tell him everything, yet you didn't tell him something so important? Oooh, maybe you have a boyfriend.

A boyfriend.

Somehow, the thought of you in a relationship with some dude makes Porco furious. He doesn't understand why, he's just your friend. A very close and personal friend. A friend who holds your hair when you throw up, a friend who holds you in his arms when you watch a horror movie, a friend who brings you painkillers and chocolate when you're on your period, a friend who tells you how pretty you are when you're feeling down, a friend who fantasies about moving in with you, a friend who sometimes (always) thinks about you when he jacks off. Is he in love with you?

Nah.

Or? "Fuck my life." Porco throws the duvet off of him and sits up. He can't believe what he's about to do, but he does it anyway.

"Heeeeeey, Eren, buddy, pal, amigo, wassup?"

"Galliard, it's past your bedtime. Give me one good why I shouldn't hang up right now."

“Right, listen, I have this friend and-“

“Alright, good night.”

“Wait wait wait, hear me out. And whatever you do, do not put me on speaker. I don’t want Mikasa to hear this.”

“Fine.” Eren groans, proceeding to do exactly that. “Go on.”

“So, this friend of mine, right? He just realised he’s in love with his best friend, and, like, he’s known this girl all his life. And he doesn’t want to fuck up their friendship cause he can be an asshole sometimes, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Right, so what I wanna ask you is what should I do?”

“You?” Porco can feel Eren’s sneer through the phone.

“As in what should I tell him, fuckface.”

“My bad, pea-brain. Do I get to think about this or do you want an answer now?”

“Now, preferably.”

“Aight, tell your friend to confess.”

“What? No!” Porco screeches at his phone.

“Galliard, you called me for advice, this is the advice. Take it or leave it.”

“Ugh, how the fuck are you the reasonable one?”

*

You’re sat in bed in the usual foetus position that you morph into when shit hits the fan. It’s 10 am and you’ve switched your phone off for the supposed interview. Hoping and praying that none of your friends will show up at your workplace today, you decide to finally drag yourself out of bed and take a shower.

You can’t possibly love Porco, right? It’s just the comfort, the fact that you’re used to being around him all the time.

Oh, who are you trying to fool? You love him — you adore his shitty jokes, his innuendos, his prefect face and gelled back hair, how annoying and caring he can be at the same time, and you especially love how you get lost in his eyes whenever he’s looking at you with that grin, like he’s about to do something stupid to lift up your mood.

What if he does like you? What if he’s into you and you just didn’t see it until now?

Nope, he’s been in relationships before, he’s been happy, and you sure as hell wasn’t the reason of his breakups, because if you were, you should’ve known by know. Oh, well, time to put on a show, just in case he spots you from the tattoo parlour. Jesus, why did the coffee shop have to be right across the street from his workplace? Well, you can’t move an entire café, can you?

You’re taking your sweet time doing your hair and putting on makeup to try and trick people into thinking you’ve actually been to an interview, hell, you even wear your best pencil skirt to have that professional aura around you, even if you’re going to change when you get to work. This lie is going pretty far, but if anyone asks, you’ll just tell them you’ve been rejected. Maybe you should actually look for a job.

At 12 pm you leave your flat, making sure to go on a completely different route to make your story more believable. Right now you really need a friend to talk to, ask for advice, but the problem is, the only one you talk about feelings is Porco, and you can’t just go up to him, be like “ay, so I’ve liked you for 20 years, how about we hook up?”

Unless… you can?

You are a genius. That’s exactly what you’re going to do! You’re going to tell Porco you have a friend that’s been in love with their best friend for a long time and ask him what he would do! Brilliant, flawless plan, because according to his answer, you know what to do next. Why didn’t you think about this before?

Feeling slightly, better, you actually find yourself smiling, strolling down the street in your uncomfortably tight skirt, but there’s no time to think about that. You get to the coffee shop, excited by your stupid amazing idea, and lo and behold, Porco hasn’t left for his other job. You’re so close to jumping into his arms for a hug, like you normally do, but you can’t, not after that epiphany. Besides, he has his back facing you.

“Pokko!” You get up on your toes, hands behind your back like you’re hiding something from him. “I’m back from my interview.”

“Oh, hi!” He smiles, but he seems hesitant. Fuck, what if he knows? He’s always seen right through your bullshit, what if he sees through you now? “Sorry, I can’t stay for long, I need to go to the tattoo parlour.”

“Right, yes, of course.” You go behind the bar and he finally notices your outfit. He can’t remember ever seeing you dressed in something so tight, and his mind wanders a place he didn’t want to be while at work. “Hey, before you go, I need to ask you something.”

“Go on.” Porco takes off the apron and throws it over his shoulder. Something about the movement made you notice his muscles better. Was he always this buff and toned?

“So, you see, there’s this girl I know, from uni,” You explain, trying not to give out too many details, “and she just realised she’s in love with her best friend. And she asked me for advice, but I told her I’d mull over it because, honestly, I don’t know what to tell her. And, we’ll, you’re a dude, what would you expect if you were in his shoes?”

“Funny you should ask, I know a guy who is exactly in the same situation.” He tilts his head, clearly lost in thought.

“Who?” You question him, brow quirked. Most of his friends are your friends, and you don’t know anyone who can possibly be in this situation.

“Guy from work, doesn’t matter. I asked Eren and he said the dude should confess.”

“You asked Eren? Damn, Galliard, must be a good friend if you did the unspeakable act of talking to Eren.” You laugh, and he can’t stop staring at the way your chest rises and falls with each chuckle.

“Yeah, well, I figured since he was in the same boat with Mikasa a few year ago, he’d know better.”

God damn it, why didn’t you think about asking Mikasa or Eren?

“Right, so you think she should confess?” You press on, and he takes one quick look at the time.

“Shit, yeah, why not, what’s the worst thing that could happen?” Porco stumbles into the back room and you follow because your shift is starting and you need to change. He’s seen you half-naked before, so you just shrug and unbutton your shirt.

“The worst that could happen is for their friendship to end.”

“Well,” He turns around, head first into your pink bra, “cover yourself, wench. What if Floch walks in?”

“Ah, so what, he gets to see a titty.” You laugh but your little joke isn’t amusing to Porco. “Not funny?” You ask and he shakes his head.

“You know I don’t like it when you have to be alone with him.” He pouts, but his tense muscles betray his anger.

“Pokko, you’re literally across the street. You see everything that happens in here.”

“But not the back room!” He slams his fist onto the door of his locker. You knew Porco to be aggressive and abrasive, but he really didn’t have to leave a dent in the metal door.

Your hand instinctively touches his shoulder in an attempt to reassure him that everything will be fine, and in a way, to test yourself and see if you can still be comfortable around him, knowing that you fucking love him, and you can’t. As if you touched molten lava, you retract your hand, turn around and put your apron over your clothes.

“You okay? Am I that hot?”

“You’re late for work.” You deadpan, exiting the back room. You can’t do this anymore, you can’t be friends with him if you can’t even touch his goddamn arm. He’s left confused, and when he walks out of the back room, you’re nowhere to be seen.

“Bathroom.” Floch has a sneer on his face that Porco really wants to erase with a punch, but at least he knows where you are. Jeez, since when is he so concerned? You’re a grown ass woman, not a child, you can take care of yourself. He knows you carry pepper spray everywhere.

But you found refuge in the bathroom to contemplate your options. Right now, there’s three of them.

You can either, A, just fucking tell Porco how you feel, B, try to get over your feelings for him and keep being friends or C, never get over your feelings, end up bitter and sabotaging his future relationships because you’re petty and can’t stand seeing him happy.

It’s going to be A. It has to be A. C cannot possibly be an option because you will hate yourself for choosing it, and you know too damn well you can’t get over him to be choosing B.

Besides, he said it himself, your hypothetical friend should confess. But you don’t have the balls to do it. Maybe tell him through a text? No, that’s pathetic. A note? So pathetic. For the time being, you’ll focus on work and just push this thought away.

*

Sasha drags you into the bathroom, music muffled when she shuts the door. You’re so confused, one minute you were having fun, drinking and forgetting most of your worries, the next you’re stuck in Eren’s bathroom with Sasha, who is giving you such a condescending look. You wait, like a child waiting to be chastised by their parents, uncomfortably sitting on the edge of the bathtub.

“Sash, why so serious?” You stick thumbs in your mouth and pretend you’re the Joker. Fuck, you’re drunk.

“You wanna tell me why the fuck is Jean so touchy with you?”

“We’re” hiccup “dating.”

“Since when?”

“Since I found out I’m in love with P-“ hiccup “Porco.”

She’s about to slap you into sobriety, you know it by the stern look on her face.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

“Relaaaaaaax, Sash,” hiccup “’s nothing serious, Jean knows it, I know it, now you know it.” You giggle, your ass sliding in the bathtub until you’re stuck, like a cockroach on its back. Jesus, you’re a mess. Ever since you chose option A, confess, you’ve done nothing but the opposite. You’ve been drinking, dating, fucking, and most importantly, avoiding Porco.

And it’s not like he didn’t try. He still texted you, talked to you at work, but you’ve just been so cold, he stopped doing all the little things that made you happy. You two were falling apart and it was all your fault. You say you don’t care, say that people come and go, but you’re in so much heartache that this is the only way you can cope.

“You need to talk to him.”

“Fuck. No.” You still struggle getting up and Sasha doesn’t give you a single finger to help. “I pushed him away, he’s seen the worst in me, now he can” hiccup “live his life.”

“You’re an idiot. You’ve both been in love with each other for as long as I can remember, you’re just too stupid to acknowledge that.” She bluntly tells you, but you can’t give yourself false hope. Besides, it’s a bit too late.

“Meh, even if we were to talk- no, even if he did like me, he’s probably over it by now. Been a month.” You finally get the help you need from your friend and get up. Sasha’s holding you by the shoulders, worry in her eyes.

“You’re self-destructing, Y/N.”

Shit. You knew this, but to hear it so loud and clear is just too much. You can feel saliva pooling up in your mouth, a sing that you’re about to cry, and you bury your head in Sasha’s arms to muffle the sounds about to come out of your mouth. For a few moments, that’s all you’re doing — crying. It feels liberating to let the tears fall, even if you’re going to ruin her shirt with your runny mascara and snot, but she’s taking full responsibility.

“Why the fuck am I so stupid, Sash?” You howl in the bathroom, and you’re so glad the music is loud. “I’ve been bitching about how I might ruin our friendship if I confess, and look what I’ve done by notconfessing. He probably hates me.”

“Shh, there, there.” Sasha brushes her fingers through your hair. “If anything, he could’ve said something, too.”

“For the last time, he doesn’tlike me.” Your throat is dry, voice hoarse.

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t dare say anything. You’re not in the right mental state to have this conversation, so Sasha just holds you. It’s going to be a long road to reconcile with Porco.

Before you go home, you end it with Jean. Sure, neither of you got attached, and neither of you planned to get attached, but it was encouraging to hear him say “go get your manchild.” You walk back home, grateful that you don’t live too far away from Eren’s place, and, like the queen of sadness that you are, rain starts pouring from the night sky, matching your mood. It’s fine, you deserve it, you think. You just hope you’re not going to get mugged, stabbed or assaulted on your way home.

Hey. Can we talk?

You don’t know what possessed you to send Porco that text, but you did and you can’t unsend it now.

Ding! One (1) message from Porco Galliard:

It’s 1 am. I have work tomorrow.

Right, of course. You forgot he’s not an apprentice anymore and works full shifts at the tattoo parlour.

You’re right. Sorry.

Pathetic.

You’re pathetic thinking a “hey can we talk” is going to fix everything.

Ding! One (1) message from Porco Galliard:

Are you okay tho?

Even if you’re an absolute fucking idiot, he still cares. Even worse, he still loves you, despite how cold you were with him. You really don’t deserve him as a friend, let alone a boyfriend. Seeing you with Jean, though, that’s what really put him off from ever trying to confess his feelings.

No. I haven’t been okay in a long time. Sorry for bothering you though, good night!

Porco absolutely hates you right now. Not because of how you treated him, not because of the text you sent him, but because no matter what he’s doing, who he’s fucking, how much he’s drinking, he can’t seem to get over you and your stupid smile.

Ding! One (1) message from Porco Galliard:

Are you home?

That’s a strange question to ask, you think, drying your phone with the back of your sleeve.

Almost lol. I just wished it stopped raining.

Ding! One (1) message from Porco Galliard:

You’re walking home??

Yes? I’m walking from Eren’s, it’s close.

You’ve walked down this road so many times lol

Hello?

Pokko?

Wow, you haven’t called him that nickname in a long time. It feels strange to do it now, but there’s still some alcohol in your system.

Ding! One (1) message from Porco Galliard:

Share me your location, I’m picking you up.

Ugh, fine. There.

You press send and keep walking. You can’t just sit in the rain and wait, besides, he’ll see where you are on the map. The more you walk, however, the more you sober up and process what exactly happened. You know what, fuck it. You’ll tell Porco exactly what’s going on in your heart and mind. You’ve already fucked this friendship up, it can’t get any worse. At least he’ll know, and you’ll finally be able to move on, finally free from the constraints of an unrequited love.

But you’re tired. So tired of walking, drinking, pretending. And you miss him so much. You crave his voice, his warm hugs, his insults and jokes. Oh, how you wished you had the balls to confess at the right time. Then you wouldn't have to go through so much shit now. But maybe you deserve it. After all, Porco did tell your hypothetical friend to confess, and you didn't, so it technically is on you. Tears well up again, and you just sit on the concrete pavement, crying your heart out. The lights from a car almost blind you, but you're relieved to see Porco coming out of it.

"Y/N, are you okay? Did someone hurt y-"

"I can't do this anymore, man. I'm tired. I'm sick of acting like this."

"Then stop it." He offers his hand to help you up but you just slap it away. "Y/N, get in the damn car." His voice is grave, almost angry.

"Why did you even come here? I've been nothing but a bitch."

"You're still a bitch." Porco walks behind you, crouches and shoves his forearms under your armpits. "Come on, get up."

"Oh my God, what are you, ten?" You try to push yourself away from him but he's far too strong. "I'm trying to be serious! Let me go, you dipshit!"

"No." He clasps his hands together and picks you up. His body is so warm, you could just melt in his arms. "You're a fucking cretin and you're driving me mad."

"Yeah, well, takes one to know one." You give up on trying get him off of your back and instead accept it, pressing your head into the crook of his neck, rain falling down onto your bodies.

"Talk to me." He whispers in your ear. "Why have you been acting this way?"

"Ugh, I just... I want things to go back to the way they were."

"And they will if you just stop shutting yourself in."

"Trust me, after what I'm about to tell you, nothing will be the same." You sigh for the hundredth time today.

"Jesus, what did you do? Kill a man?" He presses his chin onto your forehead. "That would be easier to confess." You close your eyes and the rain stops. "Look, I-"

"I love you." Porco cuts you off and your eyes are now wide open.

"You what?"

"I'm not stupid, Y/N. I figured something was off when you mentioned that shitty interview which, by the way, I know was a lie."

"Then why the fuck didn't you say something? Anything?" You turn around, still in his arms.

"Because you thought it would be a good idea to avoid me, dumbass. The fuck was I supposed to do? Show up at your door with roses and champagne?"

"Shit, I didn't think that far ahead." You avert your gaze but he lifts your chin with his fingers.

"You didn't, because you only thought about yourself. Did you ever stop and think about what this was doing to me?"

"No." You're ashamed to admit. "No, and I'm sorry! I was selfish but I was scared. I know nothing can excuse my behaviour, but I was terrified because I love you! I didn't think you'd love me back! What? Why are you laughing?"

"Say it again." Porco grins, his hand cupping your cheek.

"I fucking love you, assface!" You shout at him, and his eyes light up. You’ve never seen him so happy in all twenty years since you’ve known him, and you realise you’ve never been so happy either. Porco pulls you closer to him, one hand resting on your waist, the other brushing the wet strands of hair out of your face. “I love you so much, and I never want to go through not talking to you for a month ever again.”

“I’m gonna ask for a refund if you do that.” He pulls you closer to him, lips pressing onto yours into a feverish kiss. It all feels like a dream, ethereal and unreal, but it is real, it is happening, and you love every second of it.

“I’m never going to let you go, Galliard.”