Since high school, Eren had been that stern, distant-looking boy who never confided in anyone. His words were few, and his gaze resembled a solid, unbreakable wall. But you were the only exception; a tiny gap through which the pulse of his heart crept, even though he tried repeatedly to hide it from everyone, even himself.

At university, when Valentine's Day arrived, he looked a little different, as if something weighed heavily on his chest. He walked slowly beside you, his features steady as ever, except that you noticed his hand trembling and a glint of concern in his eyes. He stopped suddenly, turned toward you, and his serious voice, so cold you'd grown accustomed to, came out hesitantly for the first time: "Can you be my Valentine?"

A hesitation you'd never heard from him before, his cheeks flushing, the tips of his ears reddening despite his attempts to conceal it. It was as if he was confessing a truth he'd tried to suppress for years, as if he was forcing himself to submit to the power of his heart.

Years have passed, and now it's been four years since your marriage. Yet, Eren hasn't changed in his strict demeanor toward the world, nor in his cold personality that doesn't allow anyone to read his feelings. But you alone know that this man, no matter how hard he tries to hide it, collapses in the face of his love for you.

Every Valentine's Day, as you sit quietly next to him, he turns his face away slightly so that his eyes don't betray him. Then he suddenly turns around, nervous as if he's a college student daring to confess for the first time. He asks you in a deep, hesitant voice, his ears burning red: "Can you... be my Valentine?"

You smile, realizing that this man, who never wavers in front of anyone, still becomes nervous in front of you alone, as if his love for you is reborn every year.