ʟɪɢʜᴛ ꜱᴘᴇᴇᴅ | 𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙣 𝙟𝙖𝙚𝙜𝙚𝙧

4. 𝙎𝙊𝙐𝙏𝙃𝘽𝙊𝙐𝙉𝘿

004, 𝙎𝙊𝙐𝙏𝙃𝘽𝙊𝙐𝙉𝘿

.⋆𐙚 🍒

YOU ALWAYS THINK YOU'RE READY FOR SOMETHING— UNTIL YOU AREN'T.

It wasn't like I was some sheltered kid with no idea what boys could do to you. I wasn't inexperienced. I wasn't a virgin. I'd kissed people before. Been touched. Had hands skim my waist, lips brush my throat, felt the feverish pull of another body against mine. 

I'd felt wanted before. 

But nothing— nothing— had ever felt like this.

Eren hadn't kissed me. He'd barely touched me. 

And yet my skin was still burning where his thumb had ghosted over my bottom lip, like he's left something behind. Like I could still feel the weight of his crouched in front of me, the scent of him wrapped around me—warm leather, smoky sweetness, the bite of spearmint—etched into the air I breathed.

He didn't kiss me. But he might as well have.

Eren leaned back just slightly, but he didn't pull away. He just kept looking at me—silent, steady, gaze heavy with something I wasn't ready to name.

And then—

The moment cracked.

Someone—Sasha, maybe—made a soft, choked noise. Like a squeal she was physically fighting not to release.

The world rushed back in all at once.

The circle was silent—but not still. Everyone sat frozen, like moving would somehow snap the tension still vibrating in the air.

Sasha's hand was slapped over her mouth, her wide eyes practically bulging out of her head. She was shaking against my side, vibrating like a soda can about to explode. The effort it took for her to not start screaming was almost visible.

Connie's jaw hung open so wide he looked unhinged. His eyes darted frantically between me and Eren like he wasn't sure if he should laugh, scream, or call an ambulance.

Armin sat stiffly, one hand hovering awkwardly near his drink like he'd short-circuited. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again like he wanted to say something—anything—and couldn't find words that wouldn't make it worse.

Mikasa's silver eyes narrowed ever so slightly. She sat straighter, arms crossed tight across her chest. Not angry—but watching. Calculating. Like she was preparing for the possibility that she'd have to intervene.

Reiner let out a low whistle under his breath, muttering, "holy shit," into the palm of his hand, while Historia buried her face into Ymir's shoulder, cheeks flaming scarlet. Ymir just grinned lazily, eyes gleaming with mischief, whispering something to Historia that made her cover her mouth in horror.

Jean, sprawled in his corner of shame, cracked one eye open, took one look at me and Eren, groaned loud enough to be heard across the room, and flopped back down with a muttered, "What the actual fuck."

Annie, who had chosen not to play, was perched on the edge of the larger couch, tilted her head slightly. Cool. Dispassionate. Her blue-gray eyes flicked from Eren to me and back again, a tiny, almost imperceptible smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. She said nothing—but she didn't need to. The faint lift of her brow said everything: Interesting.

Bertholdt sat frozen beside her, rigid as a statue. His eyes were wide, hands curled into fists on his knees like he didn't know what to do with himself. He stared hard at the floor, ears burning bright red. Every now and then he risked glancing up—and immediately looked back down, like the secondhand intimacy was too much to survive.