Eren's POV:

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(Y/N) >:(

I told u.

It says "I love you"

Can't you read?

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"Arminnnn," I moaned in frustration. "What do I doooooooo?" I spun around to face him, my leg bouncing up and down from the stress. "She keeps pushing it— even though I pretended not to know what she's talking about. What do I tell her?"

Armin sighed, probably imagining all of the better ways he could be using his time. "I told you, Eren. Either continue to act oblivious, or just confess that you wrote it."

"And if she asks why I wrote it?"

"Lie. Or tell her the truth." Armin twiddled his thumbs and stared into space in contemplation. "Either way... I think this will open a can of worms," he breathed quietly.

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me

oh. im not sure why that's there

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"Playing dumb, are we?" Armin raised an eyebrow. "That's not going to last."

"It was your idea!" I countered.

"It was the weaker option out of the two awful choices you had."

"Whatever," I mumbled back. "We'll see who caves first."

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(Y/N) >:(

It's in your handwriting

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"Fuck me," I cursed.

"Wow," Armin propped his head up on his hands. "I can't believe she said it— Why are you pacing everywhere?"

I hadn't even noticed that I was standing. "Stress, I guess," I replied, looking at my feet. "Still—" I was struck by a moment of genius, "— Wait. Armin," I started, spinning towards him. "I don't even have to lie. I don't have any obligation to tell her why it's on the blanket. That means I win."

He looked at me apathetically. "I was wondering if you'd ever come up with that conclusion on your own."

"I have no choice but to be dry," I said honestly. "What a shame. I liked talking to her."

I typed back to (Y/N) with a renewed sense of vigor:

—————————————————

me

cool.

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(Y/N) >:(

Are you going to tell me why?

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"Wow. She has guts," Armin commented from the side. "(Y/N) never fails to surprise me. Although, sometimes she is quite predictable."

"Mm," I mumbled in agreement. "I'm going to end things here, I think."

(Y/N)'s POV:

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xxx-xxx-xxxx

No.

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"What a dick," Jean said, reading the messages over my shoulder.

"To be fair, it's not really my business anyway," I said reasonably.

"Maybe not, but—" Jean elbowed my side and smirked, "— you still want to know."

I scowled. "Do I give up here? I mean— he flat out rejected me."

"Hm," Jean scratched his chin. "You don't really have any other options... Are you sure it's in his handwriting?"

"Yes."

"Can I see it?"
I hesitated. The proof was in the letter. The letter Eren handed me right in front of Jean. "I—"

"Just give it to me," he interrupted. "I don't care. And I'll do my best not to read what he said. Just show me one of the least incriminating sentences... I'll keep it professional," he added.

I sighed and hopped up the stairs to retrieve the paper, praying that things would go okay.

"Here," I said, folding up the paper so Jean could only see the last, and least incriminating, sentence of the letter:

"I realize now that I've been in denial. I won't admit it to myself or any of my friends, but I suppose I'll admit it to you: I want to be your friend."

He studied the words carefully. Jean motioned for me to give him the blanket. I grabbed it for him and placed it in his hands. His eyes darted back and forth from the paper to the fabric.

After a short while, he spoke: "(Y/N)," Jean said, squinting his eyes. "Why is this part of the letter crossed out?"

He was referring to the three words that were crossed out right after 'I suppose I'll admit it to you.'

"I have no idea. I always wondered the same thing."

"The letter was written in the same color pen."

"Yeah," I said, not seeing anything extraordinary in it.

"Three words were crossed out," Jean observed.

"Yes," I confirmed, nodding my head. I knew all of this already.

"There are three words on the blanket."

"Mmhm." A coincidence, Jean. Don't read too far into things like you always do.

Jean pushed the blanket and the paper together so that the scribbles on the paper were aligned with the words on the blanket.

"The spacing between the words is the same," he said, staring at me.

"Alright," I agreed.

"The length of the crossed out words matches the length of the 'I love you' on the blanket."

"Eh?" I stuttered, the color draining from my face as I finally understood where Jean was heading.

"Eren originally wrote 'I love you' in this letter to you," he said pointedly.

"What?" I couldn't fully believe that. Jean was grasping at straws at this point. "There's no way."

"(Y/N)," Jean spun to face me, eyes slightly widened as he pointed at the sentence aggressively. "I told you. Same colored pen. Same font. Same number of words. Same length of words. Same spacing— what else could it be?"

"It can't say that," I said, staring into space.

"Why not?" Jean asked, a confused and excited expression on his face.

"Because," I answered, "it just can't."

"At least you know it wasn't some other girl," Jean commented.

But I wasn't paying attention. I was trapped inside a bubble, my thoughts moving in chaotic cycles as I tried to make sense of things.

That can't be possible, I thought. There's no way. After everything that's happened between us, it just doesn't make sense.

I knew that at some point Eren had liked me. Those feelings had sprung from using me as a pawn to get back at Jean. Also, Armin had confirmed it when we were together on the roof. But, using the word 'like' in a sentence was one thing.

Using 'love' however, was something entirely different.

"What a moron." Jean shook his head. "So, (Y/N), what are you going to do?"

"Eh?!" I snapped out of my daze. "I'm not going to do anything."

"Why not?"

"Because I know he doesn't mean it. He's not capable of knowing what love is."

"I know what love is," Jean said quietly.

"You're not Eren. You make it obvious. You don't go around taunting me and getting on my last nerve... Jean," I paused, forcing myself to look at him, "you cared."

"Eren cares too. He bothered to write you an apology. I mean, I hate to give him the benefit of the doubt, but... maybe he's just bad at expressing himself."

"An apology is just something that decent people do for one another. There's no other tangible proof—"

"— Other than that extremely tangible letter you're holding," Jean interrupted.

"Besides that," I replied, shaking my head. "Anyone can write something like that on a piece of paper."

Jean mumbled something under his breath. I couldn't quite make it out, but it sounded like he was calling me a dumb bitch. "You're just as thick-headed as Eren. My God."

"I'm not being thick-headed!" I defended. "There's no real-life proof!"

"What is it with you and proof?" Jean threw his arms in the air. "Who cares? Isn't this enough?"

"No," I answered shortly.

"(Y/N), I think you're a good person— don't get me wrong— but sometimes, you can be so irrational!"

Irrational... A memory flickered in my mind. It was when I walked with Eren from the bakery.

"You know, I think you're right about the irrational part— I am always irrational. But I think, predictability-wise, you're ignoring a very prevalent fact."

"And what's that?"

"The predictable part about me, (Y/N), is that everything I do in front of you is motivated by one simple thing. At this point, you should be expecting it. It's obvious. I only have one seemingly impossible goal— and it's the same every time."

"Oh..." I whispered softly, every muscle in my body growing heavy. "Oh."