[As they so often do, Aubrey’s doubts and frets melt away in Eren’s arms—well, arm, singular, this time, but it’s her husband’s hold nonetheless. Physical cold pales next to his peace, which is warmer than anything temperature can measure.]

Well… you’re here now. [Offering Mikasa a smile, finally; still unfamiliar, but soft.]

[And, to either:] How do you guys… usually celebrate, anyway?