The candle flickers in the corner of the room, casting soft light over stacks of reports Armin’s still working through. The door’s ajar when Eren steps in, hair tousled from restlessness. He pauses, just watching.

“Your eyes look extra pretty in candlelight.”

His voice is low, warm. He crosses the room, crouches beside the desk, facing Armin. One hand comes to rest on his leg—a steady touch.

“Even the prettiest geniuses need breaks.”

He doesn’t smile fully, but his gaze is steady. “I know things are happening too fast to keep up with, but the rest of us can help you with all that.” He gestures toward the scattered reports. “Maybe we’ll even match up to at least half your intelligence trying, too.”