You felt as though you had been staring at the back of the door and counting your breaths for at least three hours in silence, knowing that Sasha stood behind you waiting for someone to say something, but in reality it had only been something like 30 seconds before Sasha broke the silence.

"You have to do it," she said with a voice that was equal parts chipper and restrained, as though she was trying to remain cheery despite feelings that leant towards the opposite emotion.

You turned around slowly, your face lost all colour and your eyes in a wide state of shock, "I can't," you managed to say.

Sasha shook whatever she was feeling off her shoulders and took a few steps forward with a smile tacked to her lips, "You have to," she repeated, her tone soft and encouraging, "This could be amazing for you."

Your shoulders shrugged absently, "This was your thing, not mine."

"I don't need to be reminded of that," Sasha laughed, her soft candour making your shoulders instinctively relax.

You were never particularly good with this sort of thing, once in high school when someone asked you to the prom instead of your best friend at the time, it had been nothing short of painful, and had served as an avid reminder to you that even friends can turn into cruel and vapid people if given the right motivation.

"I don't...," you struggled to form the words that were floating around your head until you took a deep breath and settled your thumping heart, "I won't take this opportunity away from you, this is your thing, this is what you do."

Sasha stepped closer until her hand could rest on your shoulder. "I was here, I saw what happened and I know this wasn't anything you did, apart from catch his eye for whatever reason."

"I'm not a journalist," you added, though it didn't need to be said given you both were very aware of that fact.

Sasha pondered for a moment before something occurred to her that hadn't before, "Maybe that's why he chose you," she wondered aloud.

"What do you mean?" you asked as your brow pinched inwards.

"Maybe it's not about questions and answers," Sasha surmised as she coiled a section of hair around her finger while she considered her own words, "maybe it's about a story."

Before you could offer the next rebuttal you had stored up in your head about just what a terrible idea this was, Reiner burst through the door, slumping against it to close it as he struggled to breathe.

"I..ran..journos," he panted as the man in a nicely pressed grey suit bent himself in half in an effort to catch his breath. When he was certain he could make full sentences again, Reiner stood up and unbuttoned his blazer as he rolled his neck.

"I didn't want them to follow me here, apologies for bursting through the door like that," he continued, still slightly winded. "Ms L/N, Ms Braus," he smiled, tipping an imaginary hat, "I just need to know where you're staying and I'll arrange a car to pick you up tomorrow Ms L/N, Eren has also agreed to pay any of your hotel expenses for the duration of the interview."

You weren't really paying much attention to what Reiner was saying as a sudden thought popped into your mind and before he could open his mouth to continue, you interrupted, "Can you call Mr Yeager on your phone?" you asked, pointing towards the black phone he was juggling idly from one hand to the other.
Reiner looked down at his phone and nodded slowly.

"Okay, I need you to call him," you quipped before adding a dulcet, "please."

Reiner found himself wanting to do what you were telling him despite the fact he didn't know you at all. But before he could dissect his sudden chivalry, he'd already dialled Eren's number and walked towards an empty corner of the room with the phone pressed against his ear.

You watched Reiner's mouth move as he spoke in a whispered tone with his eyes darting from the floor to you before returning to the floor. He shrugged his shoulders before he walked back towards you holding his phone out.

"He's on the line," Reiner remarked, almost a little surprised at his friend's willingness to talk to you even though in the years he'd known Eren, he'd become progressively more introverted. But who was he to argue?

"Hello, Mr Yeager?" you said as you pulled back your shoulders and let air fill your diaphragm. You weren't going to back down from your next request and you intended to make that very clear in your tone.

"Please, Eren is fine," he said, an amused but nearly-breathless chuckle falling down the phone line. He sounded exhausted and she couldn't very well blame him – you almost felt bad for bothering him.

"I won't pretend to understand why you've asked me to interview you but I do want to thank you for the opportunity," you started, losing your nerve for a minute as Sasha looked at you perplexed.

"But?" Eren added, reading your mind.

"But I'm not a writer, the most writing I do is binary code and that's all zeros and ones and doesn't make for a very interesting read," you jabbered before you stilled your words with a deep breath, "This is your first and very well could be your only interview Eren," his name rolled off your tongue quite fluidly, "betting that with me just isn't a good idea."

You listened for an objection but all that came was a soft, "Mmmhmm."

"In saying that," you continued, "for some reason you did choose me and, so I think I found a bridge where this can work for both of us. Where you get your interview and neither of us come out looking ridiculous."

"I'm listening."

"I will interview you, take notes, recordings, photographs as you allow but Sasha will write your story. If you want it to be told right, you'll trust me that she is a damn fine journalist and the best person to put what you say to writing."
Your eyes met with Sasha who was on the verge of crying behind her broad smile.

"Deal?" you finished laying out your suggestion and you waited only a few seconds for his response.

"Okay, deal."

You were actually a little surprised so you asked him a second time if he was sure, which he replied just as he had done the first time. He agreed. You would interview him, Sasha would write the article.

"Thank you Eren," you smiled against the phone at your cheek.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he spoke softly before you and him said your goodbyes and hung up.

Eren sunk back into the leather seat of the car as his eyes squeezed closed amidst the stampede in his skull, to the point where even the dull hum of the road passing under the town car was beginning to bother him.

At least he'd be home soon.

_________________________

Once Reiner had left with all the details he needed, Sasha walked over to you and slapped the back of her hand against your arm. "What if he had said no?" Sasha snipped with her pouted lips.

You shrugged nonchalantly, "Then we would have been no worse off than we were before we came here," you remarked. A slow breath inward as you met Sasha's eyes with your own, "You're right, he has a story," you continued, your weight switching from one foot to the other, "But I'm not the one to write it, you are. So," your voice chirped as a smile blanched your lips, "I'll listen, you'll write."

Sasha' pout moved to a smile. "You're amazing," she gushed.

"You were going to be happy for me even if it meant you not getting the story," you lifted one shoulder as you spoke kindly, "so I say that makes you pretty amazing too."

Your two fell into an effortless hug until half a minute passed and Sasha pulled back with a giddy smile colouring her expression, "So what do we do to celebrate?"

"First, cocktails," you beamed before you blew out a spirited sigh, "And then I need you to tell me anything and everything you know about soccer because I'm in way over my head."

Both of you laughed, probably because that statement was incredibly accurate.

You were.

Or at least you would be.

__________________________

The next morning had you pushing up your sunglasses and still squinting into the morning sun as you followed Jean through the hotel lobby doors and out into the bustling street, still coated in the City-wide party from the night before.

You had woken up barely an hour ago with a hazy head and furry teeth, along with absolutely no idea how to dress for whatever the day would bring. In a storm of strewn clothes you had finally landed on a pair of black shorts, a black crop top and a white oversized blouse. Hardly 'work' attire, but you hadn't made a single packing decision based on this eventuality, so this was as good as it would get.

Jean had managed to park only a short walk away from the hotel, but with at least three too many cocktails under your belt from the night before – and the now-realised fact that bartenders in Rio de Janeiro weren't as frugal with alcohol as the ones in Tokyo were – you may as well have been walking the New York marathon the way you felt at that moment.

You clutched your slouch bag close to your chest as you and Jean finally arrived at the black town car with tinted windows and a simple three letter, three number licence plate – you had half expected the plate to be personalised with his name, or even the name he was known as locally, muralha branco which roughly translated into the "white wall". At least you had learned something last night, you commended yourself silently.

You pressed your shoulders flat into the leather seat and sighed restlessly, this car was softer than your bed at home. When your eyes plucked open again, Jean was handing you a cup of coffee with a broad smile. You were salivating as you took the travel mug from his hands before she smiled graciously, "You are an angel Mr Kirsten."

"Jean is fine," he corrected, "and I can't take all the credit, Eren thought you might need it." He finished with a wink before he turned to face the road and started the car.

"Is this normal work for a trainer?" you mused as the car pulled out into the busy traffic, "getting Mr Yeager's girls coffee in the morning."

You took a sip before you heard the audacity of your words, "Not that I'm his girl. I'm not, clearly," you huffed out a laugh, "that's absurd, I only just met him yesterday and even then it was like a minute. I'm sure he has lots of girls of course, I'm just not one of them." You were filling the air with unnecessary words and you knew it, so you bit the inside of your lip and grunted your annoyance at you slip into old habits.

You hated those moments when you babbled, occasionally people found it odd and some people, you had been told, found it cute. But what they never realised was that you were never trying to do either of those things when words bubbled from your mouth like a shook up soda can, it was something just the opposite – your chest felt tight, your cheeks felt hot, your tongue felt like a foreign object in your mouth, your heart was thumping, your palms were clammy and at times you forgot the most basic of needs – how to breathe. Yet, none of that was the worst part, that came at the end, when you were finally able to take a moment to breathe and settle your heart rate, then you got 'the look'. It sat somewhere between amusement and pity most of the time. Occasionally there was annoyance, and sometimes bewilderment, but mostly the other person would look at you like you were just the little bit less intelligent because of it.

You had expected the same response from Jean Kirsten but, as he looked at you in the rear view mirror, you didn't see any of the usual responses.

"No, probably not," he answered your question, graciously paying no mind to the blabber of words that had followed it, "but Eren keeps only a small group of people around him so I double as his security and his chauffeur."

You offered him a thankful smile. "Lucky you."
"It's not too bad. In fact," he said cheerily, "I think this might be the first time it isn't Eren or Mikasa in the backseat."

"Mikasa?" you asked.

"She's someone really important to Eren." Jean answered to your question.

You found that somewhat hard to believe, but you weren't exactly going to argue with the man. The conversation lapsed into a pleasant lull as your eyes wandered out the window. The revelries were continuing, despite the fact it was nearly 10 am and you could still feel the electricity in the air, for which you couldn't blame them.

"I bet he's worse for wear this morning," you idly said as you watched two grown men stumble down the road wearing only Brazilian flags like togas, "must have been a wild night."
You touched your fingertips to your temple as you spoke; you weren't sure feeling it, you could only imagine the bender Eren would have gone on.

Jean simply smiled, a kind of all-knowing smile. Going to bed before the moon was fully hung in the sky certainly wasn't what anyone would consider a 'wild night' but that wasn't for him to say.

On the surface he understood why Eren might have sought you out in a crowd, you seemed cheery and docile and sweet, but underneath that soft cascade of hair, there was something else about you that Jean was fairly certain Eren hadn't counted on and that was going to be worth seeing first hand.

The car pulled off the road and onto something that looked like a path made by the trampling hooves of cattle more than a driveway. It was bumpy and you found yourself sliding across the smooth leather seat a little before you gripped onto the door.

He was a literal billionaire and he couldn't pave his driveway?

It felt like it went on for miles, weaving unnecessarily through lush trees and dense foliage with the occasional camera set on a pole. It seemed almost incredible that the bustling City streets were only a few minutes behind them.

The car rounded onto a paved drive as it pulled alongside a magnificent house that was classically stunning. With a sandstone façade and towering columns it looked like the quintessential mansion – if you were over the age of 50. While the house itself was architecturally beautiful, it was not what you had expected – something like a Beverly Hills glass mansion with manicured lawns and three high end sports cars parked out the front.

You stepped out just as Jean opened the door and the fragrant smell of jasmine hit you with its enchanting scent as the breeze blew tendrils of hair across your face. You turned on the spot to take the area in, it was like an oasis of tranquillity set only a short jog from Brazil's most iconic City.

When she looked up she caught a glimpse of 'Christ the Redeemer' sitting atop Corcovado Mountain just behind the house. Jean offered to help you with the small bag you slung over your shoulder but you refused him with a polite smile.

You walked a step or two behind him as you and Jean wandered into the house. It was large and oddly quiet, every noise echoed off the tiled floor. It wasn't at all how you had imagined it. The walls were a warm cream hue and fresh flowers sat on a table near the foot of the curving staircase. Artwork that was truly beautiful was arranged tastefully around the foyer, as though an art curator had carefully set each one in its place. From there, the house went in two opposite directions and following the lavish marbled tiles through to the end of the foyer, you could see the backyard and pool, together with a second, smaller building.

"If you would like to wait in the sitting room, I'll let Eren know you're here," Jean remarked, plucking you from your absentminded thoughts as he walked you to the right and into a bright, sunny room that was more modern with its pastel blue and seafoam green accents while the rest of the pallet remained neutral stone and wood tones.

You sat down on an oversized couch that made you feel like a child with your feet barely touching the twill rug beneath them. Light poured in through the floor to ceiling lattice windows, which were trimmed in a beautiful polished oat. The room itself stretched out into what looked like a more formal sitting space through bi-fold doors that were only half open. You craned your neck and saw just the edge of a piano and glimpsed the same view of the backyard you had had in the foyer.

"Ms L/N," a smooth voice, like warmed honey, said from behind you.

Startled, your back straightened and your eyes flew towards the voice. It was Eren, dressed in a simple asphalt-grey Henley that clung to the sloping curves of his broad shoulders and muscular arms, and a pair of belted indigo jeans. He didn't seem bothered by your precursory look around and while he looked tired, he was smiling.

"It's nice to see you again, Ms..." he started before you stood up.

"Please, call me Y/N," you interrupted.

You noticed his eyes looked bloodshot around the edges and the green looked a little duller than you had remembered them at the first press conference, but neither of those things came as any surprise to you. In fact, you smiled as you imagined him probably barely scraping together an hour's sleep before he kicked a harem of women out of bed with non-disclosure orders and a couple thousand dollars to ensure their silence.

"Would you like to look around?" He looked more nervous than you.

You pulled in your smile as you looked back towards the foyer, half expecting the harem to be scuttling out the front door any moment.

"Do you mind if I ask you a question first?" You enquired.

Eren ran his clammy hands down the sides of his pants, to say he was nervous was an understatement. The idea of answering a question, any question, made his stomach tighten, but for all you knew that's what you were here for, so he fought back his instinct to leave the room before he nodded, "that's fine, please." He gestured to the seat and you sat back down. Eren took up a seat on the armchair, with his body turned towards you and his hands on his knees.

"Why me?" You got straight to the point. "You knew I wasn't a journalist, so why me? Did you think I would go easy on you?"

Eren chuckled as he watched your eyes narrow suspiciously, "I hope you don't Ms...Y/N," he corrected, before he took a breath to take stock of his words. "At the first press conference, you had a camera."

You nodded, patting your handbag. You had it with you there.

"And you went to take a photo."

You grimaced, "was that not allowed?"

"No, that was fine," he allayed your concerns with a pleasant smile, "but I watched you for a moment line up the shot and then, do you know what you did?"

You bit her lip, it seemed like a simple enough answer, "Took the photo?"

"You looked over the top of the camera."

You absently ran your hand through the lengths of your hair as it swung over your shoulders, "I'm a hobby photographer so I'm sure my technique is flawed," you laughed softly.

"No," he blew out a sigh as he gathered his thoughts, "you see, people take a lot of photos of me," an understatement, "but they only ever see me through the lens of their camera, no one, that I've seen ever looks up from there, you did, you saw me with your own eyes."

You watched as he seemed to count his breaths with a furrowed brow. Like you had seen him during the press conference; never speaking on a whim.

"People see me as a flat image on a screen," he blinked up, capturing your eyes with his, "If I was going to do this then I wanted it to be for something more."

"That was beautiful sentiment," you spoke softly, unable and unwilling to move your eyes from his.

He wasn't ready to blink away either, "It's the truth."

When the depth of his gaze became too much, afraid you might lose yourself in it, you blinked away, severing the connection as you set your bag on the seat beside you. "Maybe you could give me the tour now?" You asked, desperate for something to occupy the quiet.

_____________________

Twenty-three minutes later you had learned that the house didn't look like something that belonged to a bachelor and pro-athlete because it wasn't Eren's house. It had been his parents, and they had spent many vacations there when he was a child. He had left it, for the most part, as his mother had decorated it and while he didn't have any idea who had painted the masterpieces in the foyer, he had grown accustomed to seeing them.

The house was understated in its extravagance, with beautiful timber floors and carved soffits together with perfectly collected furniture that seemed to effortlessly coexist with each room's feel, or at least that was what you had scribbled on your notepad as he'd shown you around the day longue, the formal lounge, a snooker room, the foyer and an office that doubled as a small library, before you two moved outside into the lush, manicured yard where a beautiful blue pool sat at the centre, surrounded by flagstone pavers. The entire yard was encircled with dense, tropical plants that allowed only a slight ambience of the bustling City to break through.

You followed Eren, a half a step behind, as you took in the fresh air and let your hair flap freely in the gentle breeze.

"Mikasa stays here," Eren said as he stopped alongside a large outdoor table and nodded just behind it to a casita that; even though it was smaller than the main house, would entirely swallow up your Tokyo apartment. "Forgive me if I bypass this on the tour, she's probably sleeping."

You watched him smile fondly before he knocked his large palm against the solid table and continued to amble the path alongside the pool.

"Does she live with you?" You asked casually as you squinted towards the drawn curtains.
What little you knew about Eren, you might have known even less about Mikasa.

"She studies at a college in the Tokyo," he remarked, "But she came down to support me."

He offered no more explanation and you decided not to pry, if there were any questions to be had you would – if offered the opportunity – direct them at the Mikasa directly.

"You're very secluded out here," you observed as you watched a White-bearded Manakin dance through the tree tops.

"You might have noticed I'm not one for crowds," he jested as they strode back up towards the house, walking the edge of the grassy lawn.

"And yet your chosen career puts you in the eyes of millions of people," you bantered back.

Eren turned and walked a few steps
backwards as he spoke, "Perplexing isn't it," he chortled.

"Utterly befuddling," you added with a wink.

You and Eren reached the house at the kitchen and he opened the French doors to usher you inside. The kitchen was decorated in the same manner as the rest of the house but with chalky blue-grey cabinetry and a vibrant black and white splashback running a foot up the far wall. It felt cosy and instantly you decided that this, as opposed to the rest of the rooms you had seen thus far, was definitely the most 'lived in' with its rustic table and hung utensils, to its lingered smells of coffee and the large bowl of fruit at the corner of the kitchen island.

"Would you like a drink?" he asked as he made his way towards the large double-doored fridge.

"Mmm, thank you," you hummed while you soaked in the perfect views of the backyard through the lattice windows.

"Orange juice okay?" he asked, aware at how refreshingly simple this exchange was.
You turned and smiled. "Perfect."

Eren poured the two drinks on the granite island and took a sip of his own before a sudden pain shot up through his head and made him hunch over the counter momentarily, although he was able to straighten himself by the time you turned around.

His expression though he was unable to loosen with his brow was tightly pinched and his lips tersely frowned; it was something you noticed right away.

"Eren, are you okay?" You asked, a genuine tone of worry lacing your words.

"Still a little exhausted I suppose," he offered with a weak smile, "would you excuse me for a minute?"

He set his glass on the table and with the blinding headache threatening to make him vomit, he walked briskly from the room.

You, suddenly alone, slipped quietly onto a barstool and wrapped your hands around the glass, letting the condensation from the chilled juice wet your palms as you folded your lips over each other in contemplative silence.

At least until the French door swung open and very pretty woman with black hair stepped inside. She was dressed for the night in a black sequin cowl neck ruched mini dress. Her eyes were a kaleidoscope of blue, framed with lusciously fanned lashes.

You glanced around the kitchen with a hand at the nape of your neck. It was only then that the girl noticed you.

"Who are you and how did you get in here?" the young woman fretted as your eyes bounced between you and the kitchen archway, "please just leave him alone."

Her voice was panicked and if you weren't mistaken, she was practically begging.
"I- I'm Y/N," you replied.

"Please," the woman pleaded, "I can give you money or a jersey or something, just please don't let him find you here, please if you're a fan, you'd just leave." The woman's eyes were turbulent as her brows furrowed above them.

"No, I'm not a fan," you stammered, before you caught yourself with a sharp intake of air, "I mean, I don't mean that in a bad way." You corrected yourself and straightened your shoulders before yiu continue, "My name is Y/N and Eren Yeager asked me to come here."
The woman stepped back, her panic replaced with bewilderment, "Eren asked you here?"

You tried to explain. "For the interview he's doing."

"You're a journalist?"

You felt the woman's eyes move around you, not in a judging manner, though you felt the heat all the same. "Not exactly."

"I don't understand."

"That makes two of us," you remarked off-handedly just as Jean sauntered into the room.

"Mikasa,"Jean greeted her with a smile, "I see you've met Y/N, she'll be doing the interview with Eren."

Mikasa Ackerman, you realised; of course you hadn't recognised the stunning woman from the picture of her clinging to Eren's leg all those years ago in this House.

"Have you seen Eren?" Jean asked.

Mikasa reached under her hair and fumbled there for a few moments before her hand returned with a palm full of hairpins, "No, I just got home," she answered.

"Oh, he had a headache," you piped up, "he just went to get something for it."

Jean nodded appreciatively, "Thanks," before he ducked out of the kitchen the same way he'd come.

"I'm sorry about thinking you were some obsessed fan breaking into our house and drinking juice at our breakfast table," Mikasa spoke, her tone instantly softened and her eyes now warm and friendly, albeit still unrealistically gray.

"Does that happen...ever?" You asked with a slightly bemused chuckle.

Mikasa returned the laugh with one of her own, "You'd be surprised. Most of the time I can get the girls out before Eren knows," she shrugged like it was no sort of strange event, "Even with Jean on security they find their way in."

"Eren must love it," you remarked, expecting a laugh but instead you got a slightly confused glance.

"You don't know much about Eren do you?" Mikasa said as she leaned over and slipped her shoes from her feet, one after the other.

"Uh...," you considered lying, but you couldn't. "No. Is that terrible?"

Mikasa's smile returned as she sunk to her flat feet and lost a few inches of height, "Actually," she started warmly, "It's kind of refreshing."

"I should go get changed before he finds out I didn't sleep here tonight," she laughed sweetly as she reached around you to grab an apple from the fruit bowl, "Can you keep my secret?"

You nodded, "Absolutely and you don't even need to bribe me with a jersey."

Mikasa laughed brightly before she took a bite of the apple. "Nice to meet you Y/N, I'm sure I'll see you around."

With that, Mikasa, apple in one hand and high heels dangling from the wrist of the other, snuck back out the kitchen door and ran across the backyard to the casita, where he had been sure she was sleeping.

__________________________

For the second time that morning, Eren's soft-footed entry into a room startled you. "Jesus Christ," you gaped when he appeared alongside you, looking out the same window you had been.

You clutched your hand to your chest until you started to breathe normally again. "You're huge, how the hell are you so stealthy?" You quipped.

"I'm sorry," Eren laughed, amused, "I should announce myself before entering the room."

"Mmm," you bobbed your head in sync, before a smile eclipsed your startled expression, "That would be great. Or I'll have to tie bells to your shoes."

He laughed. Buoyant and happy. "Noted."

He kicked his grey shoes against the tiled floor as he remembered the reason he'd asked you there and his breath stilled in his throat while his fingers twisted into nervous fists behind his back. He began to count himself down, one... you turned and smiled softly at him as the sun from the window illuminated the side of your face, touching it in just the right places to make it luminescent.

He didn't need the rest of the count.

"So should we do this?" You asked softly as you pinned your hair against your temple.
He watched your lips, stained a soft rose tint, as they stayed in a smile that gently curled the tips and parted the centre. "Where should we start?" he asked once he'd finally pulled his eyes from the soft slopes of your mouth and sat down at the sun-soaked table by the window.

You took a seat facing him and slung your bag over the back of the chair. "All good stories have a start, why don't you begin there," you encouraged, before you rummaged through your bag and retrieved a pen, a writing pad and a handheld recorder, "Do you mind?" You enquired as you held the recorder out towards him.

He shook his head and you switched the device on before you gently placed it on the table between them.

"So who is Eren Yeager?" You wrote the words as you spoke them and underlined them twice with the blue ballpoint before you looked up, eyes wide and ethereal and lips poised around a smile, "What's your first memory?"

Eren sat a little deeper into the chair and sighed as he gently clasped his hands together in front.

He could do this.

This would be fine.

Start at the beginning.