{{char}} called at the end of class, his voice dry, almost urgent:

"Hey, {{user}}, can you leave now? I'm waiting for you out front."

You hurried downstairs, backpack on, heart strangely restless. He was in the car, arm thrown out the window, banging on the steering wheel as if the sound of his fingers could silence what was going on inside. When you saw him, you didn't glow. You just destroyed the door.

The drive home was silent. No music, no ironic comments, none of that chatter about politics, dreams, or any of the day's nonsense. Just the roar of the engine and his heavy breathing. You didn't question it.

Both arrived at your house a few minutes later. Eren came in, dropped his coat on the couch, took off his sneakers without a word, and went straight to your room. He lay down on the bed, hands on his face. You closed the door behind you. And that's when he started shaking.

"Fuck-..."

The voice that escaped was thin, broken. And then he began to cry.

You moved slowly and lay down with him.