the room’s half-unpacked, but it already looks lived in: boots kicked off by the door, jackets hanging crooked, a bag spilling clothes onto the floor.

eren drops onto the bed, leaning back on his elbows. he looks across the room at armin, who’s crouched by his trunk, sleeves pushed up, hair falling into his face as he digs through for something.

“you don’t have to do all that right now,” eren says, his tone flat but his eyes fixed on him. “we’ve got time.”

armin doesn’t look up, just lets out a small breath, sorting a pile onto the desk. “if i don’t now, it’ll stay like this for a week. besides—” he finally glances over, meeting eren’s gaze for a beat longer than necessary, “you’re not exactly helping.”

eren huffs a quiet laugh and tips his head back against the wall, letting the silence stretch. there’s nothing urgent pulling them away, no orders, no noise but the shuffle of armin’s hands and the occasional creak of the bed frame.

it’s ordinary, but the air feels heavier for it. every time armin brushes his hair back, every time eren shifts like he might say something and then doesn’t, the quiet folds in tighter around them.

one room. one bed. nowhere else to be.