Rain drummed against the fogged windows in a steady, hollow rhythm. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting everything in that sickly pale hue that made even the healthiest students look half-dead. The air smelled like wet fabric, old paper, and the faint artificial citrus of floor cleaner.
Y/n sat in the back corner, wedged between the wall and a desk with a broken hinge. The chair wobbled every time they shifted. The bent arm of their glasses kept sliding loose, and every few minutes they had to push it back up with the heel of their palm.
Connie Springer
foot kicking the metal leg of the desk in front of him That guy has worn the same jeans three days straight. I know they smell insane.
Y/n exhaled a quiet laugh through their nose, still fiddling with the glasses.
Y/n's action reflected
The sound of a soft laugh, barely audible over the rain.
Connie Springer
leaning closer, voice a stage whisper What? You think I'm wrong? Look at the knee fade. That's commitment to stink.
The classroom door slammed open.
Not creaked. Not swung. Slammed.
Heads lifted. Pencils paused. A few people near the front turned, already knowing before they saw.
Eren Yeager stood in the doorway, shoulders slightly hunched, damp hair clinging to his forehead in dark strands. Rain had soaked through the collar of his jacket. He didn't bother shaking it off. Didn't apologize for the noise. Just stood there letting the silence stretch while everyone watched.
Mr. Wallace
sighing from behind his desk, rubbing his temple Nice of you to join us, Eren. Twenty minutes late. Truly setting the bar.
Eren Yeager
flatly Yeah.
He walked past the front row without looking at anyone. His shoes squeaked faintly against the linoleum. He dropped into his seat near the back window, letting his bag hit the floor with a dull thud, and leaned back immediately like he was already bored.
A girl two rows up twisted in her seat. Dark hair, bright smile. She didn't wait.
???
You coming Friday? To Mikasa's thing?
Eren Yeager
stretching an arm over the back of his chair Maybe.
Connie Springer
under his breath, voice dropped an octave Maybe.
Y/n's elbow found Connie's ribs. Just a light jab. A warning. But the damage was already done. Across the room, Eren's head turned.
His eyes landed on the back corner. On Y/n, specifically.
Not a glance. Not a passing look. A stare that lasted just long enough to make the air feel thinner. His expression didn't change. No anger. No amusement. Just that flat, impatient annoyance, like Y/n existing in his peripheral vision was an inconvenience he had to tolerate.
Y/n's gaze dropped. Straight down to the worn surface of the desk. To a faded doodle someone had carved into the wood years ago. A stick figure with an arrow through its head.
Connie Springer
muttering, barely audible He acts like you killed his family or something.
pausing I mean, you haven't, right? Just checking.