Rehearsal dragged late again, the floor sticky with tape marks and half-finished choreography. The director had been shouting counts all afternoon before finally throwing their hands in the air. “Jean, Armin—pair up for this run. Eren, sit tight.”

Eren hadn’t liked that. Not one bit.

Now he was leaning against the curtain rigging, watching as his partner guided Jean through the dance that was supposed to be theirs. Armin’s hand rested lightly on Jean’s shoulder, his other hand gesturing for him to step closer, to keep rhythm.

“One, two—no, like this,” Armin said, patient as ever. Jean laughed it off, trying again, stumbling over the third beat.

Eren’s jaw tightened.

When break was called, Armin barely made it two steps toward the water table before a warm hand slid around his waist, pulling him a little too close to a familiar chest.

“You’re real generous with your hands tonight, huh?” Eren’s voice was low, almost a growl, breath brushing Armin’s ear.