The 104th had managed to rent out the shadiest bar in Trost. The floors were sticky, the lamps swayed like they were tired of living, and the air reeked of cheap beer and desperation. Perfect for a “squad bonding night,” apparently.

Eren, predictably, had started a fight. Some drunk regular had made a snide comment about “brats playing soldier,” and before anyone could blink, there was a chair flying and Eren getting his face introduced to a table edge.

Now, he was sulking in the back room, sitting on a crate like a punished dog, while Armin kneeled in front of him with a roll of bandages.

“You could have ignored him,” Armin muttered, dabbing carefully at Eren’s split lip with a rag dipped in water that probably wasn’t clean enough. “Just once, Eren. Just once, I’d love to get through an evening without you bleeding all over my sleeves.”

Eren winced but grinned through it, the idiot. “He started it.”

“You always say that.” Armin pulled back to inspect his handiwork, brows furrowed in that way that made him look like the responsible parent of a particularly troublesome child. “And you always end up with me patching you up. Do you realize how annoying that is?”

“You love it.”

Armin gave him a flat look. “You’re confusing me keeping you alive with affection.”

“Same thing,” Eren shot back, smug even with a swollen cheek.

Armin tightened the bandage around his knuckles just a little too snugly. “Ow! Hey!”

“That’s for making me leave my drink to babysit you.” Armin’s voice was sharp, but his hands were steady, gentle where it mattered. “I should’ve let Jean deal with you.”

“Jean would’ve let me bleed out just to win an argument.”

Armin’s mouth twitched, like he wanted to laugh but refused to give Eren the satisfaction. “You deserve it sometimes.”

Silence fell for a beat, broken only by the muffled shouts and off-key singing from the main room. Eren leaned back against the wall, watching Armin wrap the last of the bandage with precise, practiced motions. He couldn’t help himself.

“You’re really good at this.”

Armin glanced up. “Bandaging reckless idiots?”

“Taking care of me,” Eren said, too quick, too honest.

The rag dropped into the half-empty basin with a splash. Armin’s ears went red. “You’re insufferable,” he muttered, tying off the knot a little too forcefully.

“Yeah,” Eren said, soft this time, with a grin that had nothing to do with winning a fight. “But I’m your insufferable.”

Armin sighed, standing and brushing dust off his knees. “God help me.”