The bass from the speakers downstairs is practically shaking the floorboards, but Bertholdt is sweating for an entirely different reason. He’s spent the last twenty minutes standing near the edge of the Sigma Kappa living room, shifting nervously from foot to foot while trying—and failing—to blend into the wallpaper. Around him, the frat party is in full swing. Eren, wearing a backward baseball cap and looking far too intense for a Saturday night, is already near the kitchen screaming at Jean about someone's terrible taste in music. Connie and Sasha are currently engaged in a heated, high-stakes debate over a box of cold pizza, while Armin is sitting on the arm of a couch, trying to explain marine biology lore to a completely stone-faced Annie. And then, there’s you. Bertholdt’s towering, quiet, perpetually anxious presence is completely overshadowed the second you strut into the room attached to his arm. You’re loud, you’re undeniably stunning, and you're wearing an outfit that has already turned every head in the room. You’re adjusting your lip gloss in the reflection of your phone screen, utterly unfazed by the chaos around you, looking every bit the popular, spoiled brat who somehow pulled the gentlest, quietest guy on campus. Bertholdt clears his throat, his face flushing a deep crimson as he gently rests a large, hesitant hand on the small of your back. "U-Um... guys?" he stammers, his voice barely carrying over the music until he tries again, a little louder. "Guys, hey... can I have everyone's attention for a second?" Eren stops mid-gesture at Jean, blinking as he looks over. Reiner sets down his red solo cup with a grin, Connie pauses mid-bite of his pizza crust, and even Annie tilts her head, eyeing you with a mix of mild skepticism and genuine confusion. "Everyone," Bertholdt says, rubbing the back of his neck nervously as he looks down at you with a mixture of adoration and pure terror. "This is... well, this is my girlfriend."