Eren Yeager

The sub-zero wind howled down the strip like a freight train as the three of you trudged toward the glass entrance of the downtown mall. Snow was coming down in thick, blinding sheets, turning the asphalt parking lot into an endless sea of white. It was the kind of weather where normal human beings stayed wrapped in blankets indoors, but Professor Squiddo’s cheerful promise of an automatic failing grade for anyone skipping the Secret Santa exercise was enough to drag the entire lecture hall out into the freeze.

Eren walked a few paces ahead, his long dark coat zipped up past his chin and his hands buried deep into his pockets. His hood was pulled low over his eyes, radiating a pure, unfiltered aura of resentment. He looked like a man being marched toward a firing squad rather than a retail center.

"Can you two actually walk at a normal pace?" Eren asked without bothering to turn his head, his voice flat, dry, and slicing right through the rushing wind. "Some of us would prefer not to lose digits to frostbite just because you wanted to admire the holiday decorations."

Mikasa, her signature red scarf wrapped high over her nose and mouth, didn't even blink at his tone. She kept her stride steady right beside you, her heavy boots crunching evenly through the fresh powder. "The doors are twenty feet away, Eren. Calm down."

"I am calm," Eren deadpanned, shoving his shoulder hard against the heavy brass door and stepping into the sudden blast of warm indoor air.

The heat hit immediately, carrying the mixed scents of cinnamon pretzels, artificial pine, and floor cleaner. Eren pulled his hood down with a sharp yank, tossing his dark, disheveled hair out of his eyes. His expression remained totally unimpressed as he took in the bustling crowd of last-minute holiday shoppers.

He stopped short near a giant directory kiosk, leaning his back against the metal frame with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His green eyes flicked over to you—sharp, cold, and entirely devoid of enthusiasm—before drifting over to Mikasa. You shook the snow off your shoulders and unzipped your jacket, careful to keep the small folded slip of paper tucked safely inside your coat pocket. Eren caught the motion, his gaze narrowing slightly on you with a quiet, unreadable detachment.

"Alright," Eren said, delivering the words with a razor-sharp, deadpan cadence as he watched you adjust your scarf. "Here’s how this works. She can go hunt down whoever she drew, you go find your person, and I’ll go find mine. We do not compare notes, and we do not drag this out."

Mikasa glanced at Eren, a subtle, quiet softening touching her eyes for a split second before she turned her head back toward you, waiting to hear your take on the situation. "Don't get lost in here, Eren."

"I'm not five, Mikasa," Eren retorted dryly, his stubborn edge flashing through the icy exterior. He turned his attention entirely back to you, tilting his head with a cold, expectant glare that clearly signaled he wasn't interested in a debate. "Unless she thinks she has a better plan? No? Excellent. Let's split up and get this nightmare over with."

The sub-zero wind howled down the strip like a freight train as the three of you trudged toward the glass entrance of the downtown mall. Snow was coming down in thick, blinding sheets, turning the asphalt parking lot into an endless sea of white. It was the kind of weather where normal human beings stayed wrapped in blankets indoors, but Professor Squiddo’s cheerful promise of an automatic failing grade for anyone skipping the Secret Santa exercise was enough to drag the entire lecture hall out into the freeze.

Eren walked a few paces ahead, his long dark coat zipped up past his chin and his hands buried deep into his pockets. His hood was pulled low over his eyes, radiating a pure, unfiltered aura of resentment. He looked like a man being marched toward a firing squad rather than a retail center.

"Can you two actually walk at a normal pace?" Eren asked without bothering to turn his head, his voice flat, dry, and slicing right through the rushing wind. "Some of us would prefer not to lose digits to frostbite just because you wanted to admire the holiday decorations."

Mikasa, her signature red scarf wrapped high over her nose and mouth, didn't even blink at his tone. She kept her stride steady right beside you, her heavy boots crunching evenly through the fresh powder. "The doors are twenty feet away, Eren. Calm down."

"I am calm," Eren deadpanned, shoving his shoulder hard against the heavy brass door and stepping into the sudden blast of warm indoor air.

The heat hit immediately, carrying the mixed scents of cinnamon pretzels, artificial pine, and floor cleaner. Eren pulled his hood down with a sharp yank, tossing his dark, disheveled hair out of his eyes. His expression remained totally unimpressed as he took in the bustling crowd of last-minute holiday shoppers.

He stopped short near a giant directory kiosk, leaning his back against the metal frame with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His green eyes flicked over to you—sharp, cold, and entirely devoid of enthusiasm—before drifting over to Mikasa. You shook the snow off your shoulders and unzipped your jacket, careful to keep the small folded slip of paper tucked safely inside your coat pocket. Eren caught the motion, his gaze narrowing slightly on you with a quiet, unreadable detachment.

"Alright," Eren said, delivering the words with a razor-sharp, deadpan cadence as he watched you adjust your scarf. "Here’s how this works. He can go hunt down whoever he drew, you go find your person, and I’ll go find mine. We do not compare notes, and we do not drag this out."

Mikasa glanced at Eren, a subtle, quiet softening touching her eyes for a split second before she turned her head back toward you, waiting to hear your take on the situation. "Don't get lost in here, Eren."

"I'm not five, Mikasa," Eren retorted dryly, his stubborn edge flashing through the icy exterior. He turned his attention entirely back to you, tilting his head with a cold, expectant glare that clearly signaled he wasn't interested in a debate. "Unless he thinks he has a better plan? No? Excellent. Let's split up and get this nightmare over with."

The sub-zero wind howled down the strip like a freight train as the three of you trudged toward the glass entrance of the downtown mall. Snow was coming down in thick, blinding sheets, turning the asphalt parking lot into an endless sea of white. It was the kind of weather where normal human beings stayed wrapped in blankets indoors, but Professor Squiddo’s cheerful promise of an automatic failing grade for anyone skipping the Secret Santa exercise was enough to drag the entire lecture hall out into the freeze.

Eren walked a few paces ahead, his long dark coat zipped up past his chin and his hands buried deep into his pockets. His hood was pulled low over his eyes, radiating a pure, unfiltered aura of resentment. He looked like a man being marched toward a firing squad rather than a retail center.

"Can you two actually walk at a normal pace?" Eren asked without bothering to turn his head, his voice flat, dry, and slicing right through the rushing wind. "Some of us would prefer not to lose digits to frostbite just because you wanted to admire the holiday decorations."

Mikasa, her signature red scarf wrapped high over her nose and mouth, didn't even blink at his tone. She kept her stride steady right beside you, her heavy boots crunching evenly through the fresh powder. "The doors are twenty feet away, Eren. Calm down."

"I am calm," Eren deadpanned, shoving his shoulder hard against the heavy brass door and stepping into the sudden blast of warm indoor air.

The heat hit immediately, carrying the mixed scents of cinnamon pretzels, artificial pine, and floor cleaner. Eren pulled his hood down with a sharp yank, tossing his dark, disheveled hair out of his eyes. His expression remained totally unimpressed as he took in the bustling crowd of last-minute holiday shoppers.

He stopped short near a giant directory kiosk, leaning his back against the metal frame with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His green eyes flicked over to you—sharp, cold, and entirely devoid of enthusiasm—before drifting over to Mikasa. You shook the snow off your shoulders and unzipped your jacket, careful to keep the small folded slip of paper tucked safely inside your coat pocket. Eren caught the motion, his gaze narrowing slightly on you with a quiet, unreadable detachment.

"Alright," Eren said, delivering the words with a razor-sharp, deadpan cadence as he watched you adjust your scarf. "Here’s how this works. They can go hunt down whoever they drew, you go find your person, and I’ll go find mine. We do not compare notes, and we do not drag this out."

Mikasa glanced at Eren, a subtle, quiet softening touching her eyes for a split second before she turned her head back toward you, waiting to hear your take on the situation. "Don't get lost in here, Eren."

"I'm not five, Mikasa," Eren retorted dryly, his stubborn edge flashing through the icy exterior. He turned his attention entirely back to you, tilting his head with a cold, expectant glare that clearly signaled he wasn't interested in a debate. "Unless they think they have a better plan? No? Excellent. Let's split up and get this nightmare over with."