Eren wasn't the type to settle. Never had been. Girls came and went like seasons. Easy, fast, and forgettable. Most people who knew him would say he wasn't the relationship type despite being in many. Commutement? Not in his vocabulary. He was the kind of guy who moved fast, kept his emotions tucked away, carried a temper that sparked just as quick as it burned out.

But somehow, despite every instinct to stay unattached, he found himself folding when it came to you. Not because you asked him to, but because you didn't. You didn't chase after him, didn't cling to him, never begged for anything. Never made him feel like he had to perform for you. You just were you. Blunt, chill, steady.

You weren't the easiest to read either. Some would call you cold, maybe standoffish. But Eren? He seemed to see under all that. It was the way your lip twitched when he said something stupid. The way you'd sigh dramatically, pretending to be annoyed when he showed up to your place uninvited with food and some excuse to linger around, hangout with you for whatever reason.

You were patient with him in ways that didn't make sense. Didn't make sense to him, at least. The girls he's been with hadn't been patient with him, and if they were, it was barely. And he could admit, he made it hard. The walls he built were hard to take down. They were like steel. And instead of forcefully trying to break down these walls, you leaned against them more than anything like you were waiting for him to open a door.

He'd never told anyone how it scared the hell out of him, how his chest would tighten when you looked at him way too soft. It wasn't lust. That he could handle, because the feeling of that was familiar to him. But with you, it's so soft. So tender. You didn't pull and pry but still managed to get under his skin. The comfort of your presence made him feel more naked than any bedroom ever could.

That's why he hadn't said the "L" word yet. Not because it wasn't true, because yes, he did have love for you somewhere in his heart. It's just the weight of it felt too real. It felt to permanent. And if he told you, really told you that he loved you, then it meant something had to change. And change to him was never safe, but you were. You are.

You knew his past. Not all the details, but enough. You'd heard the stories, firsthand from him and bits and pieces from his friends. Physical and otherwise. You knew his phone lit up more than it should. Girls from his past, lingering shadows. But you never made a scene. You'd arch a brow, call him out when necessary, just kept him in line. Never fight for space in a war you didn't start.

That killed him. You trusted him in a way no one else had. And trust, to a man like Eren, was way more intimate than touch. So now he stands in the low light of your apartment, half-sitting on the edge of your couch, fingers tapping against his knee like he's got a cigarette he doesn't smoke. His voice is unsteady when he speaks up, but it's real, like a confession is costing him his breath.

"You make me nervous when I’m with you. Not in a bad way. It’s just... I don’t know, it’s like you see through all the bullshit and still don’t run. That’s a first." His knuckles are turning white but he's not even grabbing on anything. Just so tense. "I think I love you, y'know?"