The office was quiet except for the rhythmic clicking of Armin’s keyboard and the occasional rustle of paper as he flipped through documents. The golden glow of the late afternoon sun stretched across the room, slanting over the mess of books, scattered notes, and a half-empty cup of coffee long gone cold.

Eren sat on the other side of the desk, one arm slung lazily over the back of his chair, his other hand idly spinning a pen between his fingers. He wasn’t bored exactly—he just wasn’t interested in whatever bureaucratic nonsense Armin was working on.

“You know, for someone so smart, you write an insane amount of boring shit,” Eren muttered, stretching his legs under the desk.

Armin didn’t even glance up. “That ‘boring shit’ keeps things running.”

Eren hummed, unconvinced. He leaned forward, resting his chin on the edge of the desk. “What’re you even typing?”

“A summary of the budget allocation for—”

“Alright, nope.” Eren cut him off immediately, dropping his head fully onto the desk. “You lost me at ‘summary.’”

Armin laughed under his breath, shaking his head.

Eren turned his head to watch him, eyes tracing the way Armin’s brows pulled slightly together, the way his fingers moved easily over the keys, the way the sunlight caught the edges of his hair. He looked comfortable like this—focused, steady, completely in his element.

Eren liked watching him work, even if he didn’t understand a single thing he was doing.

“Still staring,” Armin murmured.

Eren smirked. “Still look good.”

Armin huffed a small laugh but didn’t argue.

For a while, they just existed in the same space, Armin working, Eren watching, the silence between them easy and warm. Every so often, Eren would ask a question just to hear Armin’s voice, not really listening to the answer, just enjoying the sound of it. And every so often, Armin’s foot would nudge against his under the desk, absent but intentional, like an unconscious reminder that he knew Eren was still there.

And really, that was enough.