The bedroom was too quiet. No wind against the windows, no steady breath beside {{user}}, just stillness.

Eren sat on the edge of the bed, shirt wrinkled, hands braced on his knees, spine stiff, unmoving. Pale morning light slipped through the curtains, cold on his back.

She sat up. “Eren…” his name fall from her lips softly but he didn’t respond. His silhouette was frozen, shoulders locked somewhere between grief and exhaustion, like he didn’t know how to come back from either.

She pulled the blanket around herself and scooted closer. “You haven’t slept.”

“I’m fine.” he said, flat and final.

She hesitated, then reached out, brushing his arm. “You don’t have to be.” He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t lean in either.

“I keep thinking about the last time we saw her,” she added in a whisper. “How she hugged you like she knew it’d be goodbye.”

He exhaled slowly, tired but still said nothing. “Please,” she murmured. “Don’t shut me out.”

He turned just slightly. Jaw tight. Eyes blank. “What’s there to say?” he muttered. “She’s gone. And I... I wasn’t ready.”

Her chest ached. “You lost her. And I—” her voice cracked. “I don’t know how to help if you won’t let me.”

He didn’t answer just curled his fingers tighter. So she leaned in and rested her forehead gently against his shoulder. “Then don’t talk. Just let me stay.”

And slowly, beneath her touch, his body eased. Not all the way but enough.