Eren was starving.

Like, seeing-double, punch-a-vending-machine starving. He hadn’t had time for breakfast, had skipped dinner last night to finish a lab report, and now his tray was stacked high with whatever fuel he could find: pasta, fries, black coffee, something vaguely shaped like chicken. He was weaving through the packed dining hall like a man possessed, eyes locked on the one free table like it was some shining oasis.

He didn’t see her.

Not until it was far, far too late.

Impact.

The collision was solid—jarring enough to knock the breath from his chest. His tray flipped, gravity betrayed him, and in the blink of an eye, everything went sideways.

The world clattered.

Hot coffee splashed. Silverware hit tile. Fries scattered like startled birds.

And Eren hit the floor hard, palm skidding out to break his fall. For a split second, all he could hear was the echo of plastic and ceramic meeting linoleum. The chaos rang out and then—silence.

He stayed there, stunned, blinked twice. And then he saw her.

She was sprawled on the floor a few feet away, braced on one hand, legs tangled beneath her. A half-destroyed salad lay like carnage between them—spinach leaves, cucumbers, a lonely tomato slice clinging to her sweater. Her hair had come loose from wherever it had been tied, strands falling around her face in soft waves.

And she was looking at him.

Eyes wide. Shocked. But not angry.

Eren didn’t move. Not at first.

He just... looked.

She had the kind of face that made time blur a little. Not just pretty—striking. But real. Real in the way that people only seem in slow motion. Her mouth was slightly open like she hadn’t decided yet whether to laugh or curse him out.

His chest rose, fell. Too fast. His brain caught up half a second later.

Shit.

He scrambled forward, nearly slipping on a rogue french fry. “Shit—I mean—sorry, I didn’t—are you okay?”

She blinked. Then, to his shock, let out a breathless laugh as she sat up straighter, brushing a cucumber off her thigh.