You pulled into the gravel lot beside the cabin just as the sun dipped behind the trees. Eren was already outside, leaning against the porch railing, arms crossed, eyes sharp.

The second he saw you, his posture relaxed—just a little.

“Took you long enough,” he muttered, but there was no bite in it. He stepped forward, met you halfway, and pulled you into a hug that lasted longer than usual.

“I don’t like when you disappear like that,” he said into your shoulder, voice low and firm. “Not without letting me know.”

You gave a tired chuckle. “It was just a late shift. I’m fine.”

Eren pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes. “Doesn’t matter. If something happened and I wasn’t there…” He shook his head, jaw tight. “I don’t ever want to feel that powerless again.”

He grabbed your hand and led you inside without waiting for an answer. The room smelled faintly of something burnt. You spotted a pan on the stove.

“I tried cooking,” he said, deadpan. “It’s edible. Probably.”

You snorted. “That’s sweet. And mildly terrifying.”

He cracked a small smile, pulling you down beside him on the couch. The fire crackled in the background. His fingers laced with yours, grip warm, grounding.

“Look,” he said quietly, staring into the flames. “I know I can be… intense. But I’m not gonna change how I feel. Not about you. If anyone tries to mess with you, I’ll shut it down. Period.”

He turned to face you again, green eyes unreadable—but not cold.

“You’re all I’ve got left that feels real. And I’ll protect you with everything I have. Always.”

There were no grand speeches after that. Just the weight of his hand in yours, steady and constant.

With Eren, love didn’t come softly—but it never broke its promise.