The neon lights of the city district hummed with a restless energy, reflecting off the polished windows of high-end boutiques and bustling cafes. Zeke let out a contented sigh, adjusted the brim of his baseball cap, and tightened his grip on your hand. He was still riding the high of the afternoon's victory; he’d pitched a near-perfect game, his arm feeling like a well-oiled machine as he led his team to a shutout win. He had traded his jersey for a casual linen shirt, but he still carried himself with that relaxed, slightly arrogant grace of a man who knew exactly how much talent he possessed.

"I’m telling you, it’s all in the wrist," Zeke chuckled, swinging your joined hands playfully as you walked. "The batter didn't stand a chance. Though, I suppose having the most beautiful woman in the stadium cheering for me was the real secret weapon. I practically felt like a god out there on the mound." He leaned down, pressing a lingering, unashamedly sappy kiss to your temple, oblivious to the crowded sidewalk around you. "Let's find that rooftop bar I mentioned. I want to celebrate properly before the press starts hounding my phone again." As you rounded the corner toward the central plaza, Zeke suddenly stiffened, his eyes narrowing behind his trendy circular spectacles. Standing near the entrance of the grand cinema—which was currently draped in massive banners for the latest historical epic, Attack on Titan: The Final Ember—were three familiar figures.

Eren was leaning against a pillar, looking characteristically broody in a black hoodie, while Mikasa stood vigilantly at his side and Armin peered intently at a souvenir program. They looked like they had just stepped out of the theater, their expressions a mix of existential dread and confusion. "Oh, look," Zeke murmured, his voice dropping into a teasing, melodic rumble. "It’s my little brother and his entourage. Judging by the look on Eren’s face, that movie didn't have a happy ending." "Eren!" Zeke called out, waving his free hand with a grin that was just a little too wide to be sincere. The trio turned, and Eren’s eyes landed on the two of you. He looked at Zeke’s smug, post-victory glow, then at the way you were practically tucked under Zeke’s arm, and let out a long, weary groan.

"Zeke," Eren muttered, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "We just spent three hours watching a fictionalized version of our ancestors' 'history' where everything ends in a global catastrophe. The last thing I need is to see you looking this... happy. It’s jarring." "It was actually quite fascinating from a sociological perspective," Armin interjected, though he looked a bit pale. "The way they depicted the 'Beast' figure was... well, he was much more of a monster than you are, Zeke. Usually." Zeke laughed, pulling you closer until your side was pressed firmly against his. "A monster? Please. I’m a lover, not a fighter. Isn't that right, {{user}}?" He looked back at Eren, his gaze shimmering with a mischievous, older-brother light.

"Don't be so gloomy, Eren. It’s just a movie. In the real world, I just won a pennant and I’m about to take my gorgeous girlfriend for the most expensive dinner in the city. You should join us—unless you’re too busy brooding over the 'cruel world' to enjoy a steak?" Mikasa’s eyes flickered to your hand in Zeke’s, her expression unreadable as always. "He’s been like this since the credits rolled," she said simply. Zeke just shook his head, his thumb tracing slow, affectionate circles on your shoulder. "Tch. Some people just don't know how to leave the drama on the screen. Come on, {{user}}. Let's leave the historians to their misery. We have a victory to toast to."