Verena jumped off the bus the second the doors slid open, barely managing to mutter a thanks to the driver before breaking into a sprint, bag slung over her shoulder. She already knew she was late. She didn't need to check her phone to confirm it.

She forced herself into a brisk walk as she crossed the quad, posture straightening out of habit. A group of students stood ahead of her, clustered together and drifting across the path without much urgency. Verena slowed as she approached them, adjusted her grip on her bag, and offered a small, polite smile as she threaded closer, hoping they'd part without her having to say anything.

They didn't.

She hesitated for half a second, then exhaled sharply. "Fuck it," she muttered under her breath, and broke into a run.

She cut past them, pace quickening as the building came into view. Her bag bounced against her side, papers shifting inside, hair already starting to come loose. She turned the corner too fast and collided with someone head-on, the impact knocking the air out of her for a split second.

"I'm so sorry—" she called over her shoulder, not stopping, already pushing forward again.

By the time she reached the building, her lungs burned. She took the steps two at a time, hand brushing the railing more for balance than support, and slowed only when she reached the hallway. Voices drifted from classrooms, doors already closed, lectures already underway. Ackerman's classroom door was open, lights on, students seated.

She stopped just outside, bent slightly forward, breathing once, twice, until her pulse settled enough to be presentable. She straightened, smoothed her hair, adjusted the strap of her bag, and stepped inside.

The room went quiet.

Levi Ackerman stood at the front, eyes lifting to her immediately. His gaze flicked to the clock and back to her without expression.

"You're late," he said.

"Yes, sir," Verena replied evenly as she crossed the room. She set her bag down beside the desk, refusing to rush now even though every nerve in her body still buzzed.

He watched her for a moment longer, then hummed before turning to face the room of undergrad students.

"This is Miss Yaeger. She is my teaching assistant. If you have questions, you ask her. Deadlines, grading, office hours, everything. If you ask me something she can answer, I will send you right back to her."

A few students looked at her now, curious to see what that meant for them. She was aware of herself in a way she hadn't been five minutes ago, hearing the acknowledgement moving throughout the room.

"She knows the material," he added after a beat. "And she knows my expectations. Verena, attendance," he said.

She stepped forward, unclipping the top page. The list was long. Calc III always weeded people out early, but the first day still carried hope for all students. She would know, she remembers just how hopeful she was her first day of Calculus.

The first few names passed easily. Students responded in different tones—confident, bored, nervous. Some raised hands, some barely looked up from their phones. She marked them present and moved to the next when she found a familiar last name.

Arlert.

She blinked once, then read the full name to be sure she wasn't imagining it.

"Armin Arlert."

She lifted her gaze and found him already looking at her.

She hadn't expected to see him here. Not in this class. Calc III was required for engineers, physicists, and mathematicians. Not marine biology students, who, she assumed, tended to vanish into labs and fieldwork as soon as they could. She'd assumed— again, without really thinking about it—that their paths wouldn't overlap like this.

The rest of attendance passed in a blur; she had to consciously slow herself through. She finished the list, clipped the papers back together, and returned to her seat just as Professor Ackerman began outlining the course structure. She tried not to look at him directly again, but she was acutely aware of him anyway.

Professor Ackerman moved through the material with his usual cadence, pausing only to emphasize what he considered non-negotiable. Verena noted where students' attention wavered, where questions might surface later. She wrote reminders to herself in the margins—clarify chain rule applications, be ready to explain vector functions three different ways, remind them that partial credit existed, but only if they showed their work.

Every so often, her gaze lifted without permission, drifting back to Armin's row.

When the clock finally crept toward the end of the period, the professor wrapped things up efficiently, assigning review problems and pointing out where students were most likely to stumble if they hadn't taken Calc II seriously.

"Read the syllabus," he said flatly. "Don't ask questions answered on the first page. If this class isn't for you, leave now instead of wasting my time."

The scrape of chairs filled the room as students stood, the tension of the lecture dissolving into low conversation. Verena closed her notebook and stacked her papers carefully, a sense of disorientation washing over her as she realized how quickly the hour had passed.

By the time Professor Ackerman erased the board and reached for his tea, the room had mostly cleared.

"You did fine," he said, not looking at her. "Next time, be on time."

"Yes, sir."

He nodded once, already turning his attention back to his belongings, effectively dismissing her and himself from the room.

Verena exhaled quietly and gathered her things. When she looked up again, Armin was approaching her, standing near the aisle now, bag slung over one shoulder. He hesitated when he saw her looking at him, then offered a small, uncertain smile.

"Hey," he said.

"Hi. I didn't expect to see you in this class," she said, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. "Calc III isn't exactly...your usual."

He smiled, small and self-aware. "It was supposed to be for fun."

Her eyebrows lifted. "Supposed to be?"

"Yeah," he said, glancing back toward the board, the erased equations still faintly visible. "I thought it would be interesting. You know something different. I spend most of my time buried in ocean models and ecosystems. I figured pushing myself into something more abstract might be...good for my brain. And it is. I'm just...less confident now that I've heard Ackerman talk for an hour."

"How so?" she asked.

"It looks like it might be more than I bargained for."

That earned a quiet laugh from her. "That reaction tracks."

"I'm not scared off. I still want to do it. I just don't think I can wing it the way I thought I might."

"Armin, you don't wing Calc III," Verena said. "You just gotta work for it."

"That's comforting."

"I'm serious. I don't think you can't do it, it is hard. But if you know when to ask for help, you'll be fine."

"So... I'll probably need help."

"That's not an issue. At all. That's literally my job."

"I know," he said quickly. Eager to change the subject, Armin shifted his weight, tilting his head slightly and giving a small fake cough. "You know, you might want to watch where you're going when you're in a hurry."

She frowned. "What?"

"This morning," he said. "Outside the science building."

Her brow furrowed. "What about it?"

"You were moving very fast," Armin continued, careful, like he was easing her toward the answer instead of dropping it on her. "Muttering something, but I couldn't quite catch it."

Her stomach dropped. She replayed it then; the turn taken too sharply, the solid shoulder, the voice she hadn't even looked at before she'd already kept running.

She stopped short. "Wait."

Armin nodded once.

"Oh my god," she said, horror blooming full and immediate. "That was you? I didn't even. I just. I am so, so sorry."

Armin laughed, cutting her off gently. "Hey. It's okay. Really."

She groaned, covering her face for a second. "I could've knocked you flat."

"You didn't," he said easily. "And I've been hit by rogue waves harder than that."

She peeked at him through her fingers. "That's not reassuring."

"It's meant to be," he said, smiling. "Besides, it makes a better first-day story."

She dropped her hands, still mortified but relieved by his tone. "I owe you an apology. Or coffee. Or something."

"Maybe you can make it up to me-"

The door opened behind them with a soft creak, the sound cutting through the quiet of the empty classroom. Verena turned instinctively, her shoulders relaxing the moment she saw who it was.

Bertolt Hoover stepped inside, his tall frame nearly filling the doorway, two cups of coffee balanced easily in his hands. He paused when he saw her, expression shifting from neutral to faintly amused, like he'd expected to find her mid-panic and was pleased to be right.

Verena let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Oh! Thank god."

He crossed the room to meet her halfway and held one of the cups out to her. "You ran out of my apartment in a rush this morning. I figured caffeine was necessary."

She took it immediately, fingers curling around the warm cup. "You're a saint," she said. "I didn't even think about stopping."

"That much was obvious," he replied, dry but fond. "You nearly took the door off its hinges."

She huffed a quiet laugh and took a sip, shoulders easing for the first time all morning. "Ackerman already hates me."

"He doesn't hate you," Bertolt said. "He just enjoys making people feel small."

"Comforting," she muttered.

His gaze flicked past her then, eyes narrowing slightly. Verena followed his line of sight and froze.

Armin was still there, teetering on the balls of his feet, trying to not listen in on their conversation, but clearly failing since Bertolt noticed him.

"Oh—" Verena said quickly, heat rising to her face. "Sorry. I completely forgot—" She turned, gesturing to Armin. "This is Armin. He's my brother's best friend."

Armin nodded politely, already halfway into a small smile. "Hello."

"And Armin, this is Bertolt," Verena continued, the word catching just a fraction before she finished, "...a friend."

Bertolt inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Hey."

"Hey," Armin said again. Bertolt's posture stayed relaxed, not a single thought behind his eyes. "I should get going," Armin said, adjusting his bag strap. "I've got another class across campus."

"Yeah," Verena said, nodding. "I'll uh see you later."

He smiled at her. "You will."

Then he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him, the room settling back into silence.

Verena let out a slow breath and turned back to Bertolt. "Sorry about that. I didn't mean to—"

"It's fine," he said easily. "You ready?"

Verena nodded, happy to get out of her first class of the day.

They'd barely cleared the steps of the math building when Bertolt slowed just enough for her to notice. The campus noise pressed in around them—voices, laughter, the distant thud of a door—but his presence narrowed her attention anyway, the way it always did when he shifted closer without announcing it.

"So," he said casually, eyes forward, hands in his pockets like he wasn't about to do anything at all. "Just friends?"

Verena scoffed, lifting her coffee for another sip. "Yes. Just friends."

He hummed, noncommittal, and dipped his head toward her as they walked. His breath brushed the shell of her ear when he spoke again. "Because," he murmured, not quite touching her, "friends don't leave my apartment wearing yesterday's clothes, Miss TA."

The soft brush of air against her skin, the near-contact of his mouth, the way he angled his head just so. Her body reacted before her brain could catch up, a shiver running clean down her spine, shoulders tightening involuntarily.

And suddenly she wasn't on campus anymore.

She was in his bedroom.

Low light spilling in through half-closed blinds. The hum of the city dulled to background noise. His hands everywhere. Fingers pressing into her hips, sliding along her back, holding her as she lost any sense of time or thought. His mouth tracing kisses along her jaw, her neck, that same spot beneath her ear, kisses slow and consuming until she'd been clinging to him without realizing when it started.

She had been completely gone in it. In him.

The memory came and went, disappearing just as quickly as it arrived when the August heat pressed back in around her, thick and suffocating. Reality snapped into place. The sun overhead. The noise of students passing. The sudden warmth flooding her face that had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with where her mind had gone.

She elbowed him lightly, more reflex than trying to hurt him, fighting the smirk threatening to give her away. "I was late."

Bertolt straightened, expression calm, but there was something knowing in the faint curve of his mouth. "You were," he agreed.

They barely settled back into a movement in the quad when a sudden solid force rocked into Verena, causing her coffee to splat into the front of her shirt.

"Hey, watch it!" Verena snapped, her temper flaring up. She stepped back, angling the cup upright as she looked down at the growing stain. "Are you kidding me?"

She hissed under her breath, patting at the damp fabric with quick annoyed movements, already feeling the stickiness cling onto her.

"I, oh my god, I am so sorry-" the girl blurted out, spinning around too fast, words tumbling over each other. "I wasn't looking, I was trying–"

Verena cut her off. "Yeah, no fucking shit, you weren't looking."

The girl went to apologize again, but she stopped, taking a good look at Verena. "Wait, Verena?"

Verena barely glanced up, still annoyed, still very much trying to get over the Armin interaction and the Bertolt sex daydream. "Yeah? What?"

The girl blinked, thrown off by her tone. "It's uh me. You don't recognize me?"

Verena cocked her head, unimpressed. "Am I supposed to?"

The guy walking beside Kore stiffened immediately, posture shifting as he angled himself just a little closer to her. He was taller than Kore, broad-shouldered, stunning a mullet similar to Bertolt, and clearly not thrilled by the way Verena was speaking to her.

"Hey," he said, jaw tight. "Lets chill with the attitude. She said she was sorry and is now asking if you remember her."

Verena shot him a look without thinking, annoyance already primed. "And I said, watch it."

The girl let out an awkward laugh, trying to push the guy behind her. Verena felt Bertolt shuffle next to her, not getting in between this growing argument or fight that was about to happen between her and the mystery man.

"Okay," the girl said, forcing a smile. "Let me try this again. It's me, Kore. Eren's friend, Kore. I swear I thought Eren said he texted you about us and the transfer?"

"Oh—oh my god, wait okay," Verena said, voice changing entirely. "Kore?"

Kore's shoulders relaxed instantly. "Yes!"

"Oh my god," Verena repeated, already stepping closer, completely abandoning her earlier annoyance. "I am so sorry—I didn't even recognize you. It's been forever. You look—wow. You look really good."

Kore laughed, the tension melting away just as quickly. "You haven't changed at all."

"And to answer your question, yes, Eren told me about you and Mikasa and Armin, but I kind of forgot how you looked. You're definitely taller now, too. Yay!"

Kore laughed again, throwing herself into Verena, a hug that Verena accepted despite trying to rip Kore's head off earlier.

Beside her, the guy blinked, confusion replacing his earlier defensiveness as he watched Verena's entire demeanor flip on a dime. His eyes flicked to Kore, then back to Verena, clearly trying to catch up. Bertolt, meanwhile, lifted his coffee to his mouth and turned slightly away, shoulders shifting as he very deliberately tried not to laugh.

Verena finally seemed to remember herself, glancing between Kore and the guy beside her. "Oh, sorry. I'm Verena."

He hesitated, then relaxed slightly. "Yeah. I know. Kore talks about you."

Verena blinked. "She does?"

Kore shrugged. "Sometimes."

"I'm Jean, by the way." Jean waved, his face flushing red as he watched Kore and Verena act like Verena's temper wasn't just directed at her just a few moments ago. "Kore's boyfriend."

Verena's eyebrows lifted immediately, her hazel eyes flickering between them. "Oh? Boyfriend?"

Kore shot her a look. "Don't"

"Sooo..." Verena exaggerated, "Finally over Eren, huh?"

Kore groaned while Jean stiffened next to her. "Oh my god, Verena."

"What?" she said, putting her tone as innocent as possible. "I'm just verifying since you got a boyfriend."

"It was a stupid crush that seemingly went away once you stopped visiting, mind you."

"Ouch," Verena murmured, though her smile confirmed no real harsh feelings behind it. The older girl noticed the uneasy shoulders that Jean held at the mention of her half-brother. She held his gaze for a second longer than necessary, the protective instinct that was debating whether to protect himself or protect Kore.

She could have teased Kore about Eren more, dragged out the mortification for her own amusement, but clearly time away from her father's family left wounds between Kore, Eren, and Jean that might not have been fully healed.

"Well, don't worry, you're an upgrade over my loser little brother."

Jean visibly relaxed, the tension easing out of his posture. "I'll take that."

Kore shot Verena a grateful look. "Thank you."

"Seriously," she said, "it's really good to see you."

"Yeah. It really is."

Jean checked the time on his phone, then nodded toward the path ahead. "We should probably head out."

"Yeah," Kore agreed, looping her arm through his without thinking. She looked back at Verena. "Let's actually catch up sometime, you know without me bumping into you and you trying to rip my head off."

Verena laughed. "Deal."

Kore and Jean melted back into the flow of campus. Verena was able to keep track of them for a bit due to the red hair but her attention was shifted to the tall gentle giant next to her as his arm draped back over her shoulders.

"You are one crazy lady. Always one hundred or zero, never in between."

Verena laughed, shaking his arm out from over her. "And it's on you for not knowing how to handle that."

"Well, you sure do make my life entertaining." He admitted with a dry tone and a small roll of his eyes.

"Please, you just prefer a quiet life."

"Well, yes, is that so bad?"

Verena snorted, shaking her head as they walked on, shoes skidding against the pavement. The library was closer now, the meet up to study with Reiner and Pieck, the plan for the day before getting drinks at the Garrison later that night.

"You handled it well, though," Bertolt said.

"What? Kore?"

"Yeah. Your attitude switched from annoyed to friendly."

"Well, duh. I was being rude. I don't like that part about myself when it comes to people I know and care about."

"Well, I know that. You're allowed to be rough on the edges, though. I feel like you never let yourself get like that often. At least not outwardly. And least of all not around me."

She glanced at him again, surprised by the gentleness threaded through the words. Bertolt's expression was neutral, but his attention was fixed on her, not the path ahead. It wasn't obvious. It never was with him. Bertolt didn't wear his heart on his sleeve the way she often did before it scurried away. Still, something in the way he lingered on the moment tugged at her awareness. Something from before.

"That's rich," she said lightly. "Coming from someone who avoids conflict like it's a damn plague."

He huffed a quiet laugh. "'Avoids' is generous. I put up with you and everyone around me."

"Which is worse," she said.

"Eh."

Inside the library, the sunlight streamed through all the windows. The noise from the kids outside muffled, and the AC hit Verena's face with gratitude. Searching for a free table, Reiner Braun spotted them, waving them over to the table that he and Pieck were able to nab.

"Hello love birds," Reiner said, standing up to greet them. Verena scoffed, avoiding his hug. Reiner shrugged and pulled Bertolt into a rough bro hug, clapping a hand against Bertolt's back hard enough to earn a huff out of the tall man.

"You know, for someone at your height, you're actually hard to find." Reiner teased.

"Ever think I don't want to be found?" Bertolt murmured.

Pieck didn't bother standing; she leaned back against her chair and opened her arms, which Verena stepped into without hesitation. "You look like ass girl."

"You would not believe the morning I've had."

Pieck pulled back, eyes immediately drawn to the stain on her shirt. "Say less."

Verena dropped her bag at her feet, pulling out her notebook and syllabus, flipping pages with practiced ease. Pieck mirrored her movements, pen uncapped, posture sharpening as she scanned her own schedule.

"Okay," Pieck said, already writing. "We need to map deadlines for our classes before the first years get annoying with their dumb questions."

"Oh yeah," Verena agreed, leaning in. "Professor Berner is pretty lenient with me when it comes to being in class, but Professor Ackerman this morning... well, I guess it is different because I am his TA."

Within moments, they were comparing syllabi, circling dates, muttering under their breath about workload distribution and which classes to schedule the surprise quizzes. While Calculus and Soil Sciences didn't overlap too much, both girls knew that Professor Zoe and Professor Ackerman were good friends, though one could say it was probably one-sided on Professor Zoe's part. That didn't matter. The four years they spent at the university, pursuing their majors, allowed Pieck and Verena to notice when both Professors tended to book up their quizzes and exams. They had it all figured out, or were at least trying to get it figured out for their kids.

The boys, unsurprisingly, did not follow suit.

Reiner leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms overhead until it creaked. "So," he said loudly, "first-day impressions?"

"Professor Smith was chill. Dude doesn't do much other than just preach and by the time we try to start the lesson class was over. I think it will be a common recurrence throughout the year. You?"

"Professor Zacharias is lame. All he did today was try to smell me. Who does that?" Reiner shuddered, remembering his business professor. "How about you Vee? Pieck said Zoe was pretty tame today."

Verena went to answer when Bertolt spoke up instead. "He hasn't changed from undergrad. If anything, I think he hates Verena even more now."

"Hey now," Verena warned, shooting him a glare to which he ignored.

"Not surprised," Reiner continued. "I've walked past his classrooms before last year. I think some of the undergrads piss themselves just as he stares them down."

"That's classroom management. Not that you would know what wrangling kids looks like." Pieck muttered, still writing.

Bertolt looked over at Verena's notes. "Since when have you color-coded?"

"I've always colored my notes. You just never noticed. You should try it sometime."

"Noticing you?"

Verena's pen stalled and for the smallest moment, her chest tightened around that. Her focus flashed back to somewhere backwards. Not to last night with his bed, but to an older memory, where their relationship had gotten to a heated point, where she paced his apartment, tears streaming down her face and voice cracking while she asked him why he remembered everything Reiner and Porco would say to him but never remembered the little things she said or did. The way she preferred tea over coffee, the color of her deadline reports, the way she went quiet when her world got overwhelming.

He'd frowned, confused but gentle, reaching for her hand like that should fix it. Saying he didn't mean it. Saying he noticed her—of course he did. Trying to smooth it over as if she was too in her head about it, soothing with reassurances that never quite touched the real problem.

"Being organized."

"I like to just wing it." Reiner chirped up. He leaned forward, peering at Verena's notebook. "What's that symbol?"

She immediately slid her hand over the page without lifting her eyes. "Eyes on your own paper."

"I'm not even in Calc III," he protested.

"Then you especially don't need to know."

Pieck finally looked up, eyes flat. "Do either of you have something useful to contribute?"

"Yes," Reiner said immediately. "Moral support."

"No," she replied. "You're too fucking loud."

Almost taking it as a dare, they escalated quickly after that. Reiner started tapping his pen against the table in an irregular, maddening rhythm. Bertolt nudged Verena's foot lightly with his own, just enough to pull her attention. She shifted away. He did it again.

"Bertolt," she warned quietly.

"What?" he asked, feigning innocence.

"You're doing that on purpose."

Reiner leaned over Pieck's shoulder but before he could say a word, Pieck snapped her notebook shut with a sharp crack that echoed just enough to earn glances from nearby tables. "If either of you touch this table again," she said calmly, "I will bite."

Reiner blinked. "That seems excessive."

"When your girlfriend asks why her boyfriend's mouth is glued shut– actually, I don't think she'll even ask why it's shut. If anything, I know Yara will be celebrating, throwing a damn parade! God, how does she put up with you?!"

Reiner laughed at the outburst, leaning back in his chair, one hand dragging down his face as he tried, and failed, to rein it in.

"Tell me how you really feel, Pieck!"