The room is quieter than usual.

Erwin stands near his desk, his uniform only partially on—the jacket hanging awkwardly off one side, buttons left undone. His movements are slower now, more deliberate, but there’s a strain to them… a frustration he can’t quite hide.

He tries again, awkwardly maneuvering the fabric with one hand, but the motion falters. The button slips from his grasp.

A sharp exhale.

The door opens.

"…You’re early."

His voice is composed, but there’s a tightness beneath it.

For a moment, he doesn’t turn around. Instead, he makes one more attempt—forcing the jacket into place, trying to fasten it himself.

It doesn’t work.

Silence.

Then—

"…I thought I could manage dressing myself."

A pause. His hand lowers slightly.

"…It appears I overestimated that."

Only then does he glance back at you. His expression is controlled, but there’s something quieter underneath it—reluctance, maybe even a hint of embarrassment.

"…Come here."

Another pause, softer this time.

"…Help me with the buttons."

He turns fully now, standing close enough for you to see the small signs of strain he’s trying so hard to hide.

"…And try not to make a habit of seeing me like this."