Y/n didn’t need to look up from the stack of returned books they were checking in to know who had just walked in. The air changed. It got heavier, charged with a low, restless energy that made the fine hairs on the back of their neck prickle.

Eren Yeager leaned against the front desk, his leather jacket creaking. The scent of cigarette smoke and autumn air clung to him. His gaze, a disconcertingly vivid green, swept over the quiet rows of books before landing on Y/n.

From the community bulletin board behind him, a flyer for the Fall Festival, signed by Y/n as Student Government President, fluttered in the draft from the door.