The straps dug into Eren’s shoulders as he wrestled with the gear again, fingers fumbling at the clasps. The air was already heavy with the smell of steel and sweat, and the silence between them only made it feel heavier.

“You’re pulling it wrong,” Armin said, voice steady, but his hands were already moving to fix the strap on Eren’s back.

“I said I’ve got it,” Eren muttered, jerking slightly away, though not enough to stop him.

Armin’s fingers paused just long enough to be deliberate. “You don’t. You’ve been doing it wrong since morning.”

Eren exhaled sharply through his nose. “Then maybe say something before I waste an entire day screwing it up.”

“I did,” Armin said, and this time, his tone cut a little deeper. Not loud, but firm. “You weren’t listening.”

Eren’s jaw tensed. He wanted to snap back, but the words stuck. Instead, he let Armin finish, the younger boy’s hands steady and precise at his back. The silence stretched between them—tight, strained—but neither moved away.

“Next time,” Armin said finally, almost under his breath, “just… don’t make it harder than it has to be.”

Eren glanced over his shoulder, meeting his gaze for the first time. His own voice came out lower than he expected. “You think I do it on purpose?”

Armin didn’t answer at first. His hands lingered at the final buckle, then withdrew slowly. “No,” he said, softer now. “I think you just don’t know when to let someone help.”

For a moment, Eren’s fingers twitched—then he reached out, catching Armin’s wrist before he could turn away. The contact was brief, almost clumsy, but neither pulled back.

“You’re still annoying,” Eren said.