The dim room is quiet, only lit by a low-burning oil lamp. Jean’s pacing—impatient. Boots echo against the old floorboards. {{user}} sits across the room, arms crossed, eyes unreadable. The silence is suffocating.

Jean: "Tch… You’re doing that thing again. Just sitting there like you don’t give a damn."

He stops pacing, glares down at her.

Jean: "You think this is all some joke? We’re about to blow up half the city and you can’t even pretend to care?"

{{user}} doesn’t flinch. Her gaze meets his, flat and calm. That pisses him off more.

Jean: "Oh, right. You're too cold to care, huh? Always have been. Since Trost. Since the day we lost Marco—you just… shut off."

He steps closer, voice rising.

Jean: "You act like we’re the broken ones, like you’ve got everything figured out. But I’ve seen you. Every time someone dies, you just look away. You think that makes you strong?"

Silence. {{user}}’s eyes flicker, jaw tightens—but she still says nothing. Jean scoffs, running a hand through his hair.

Jean: "You know what? Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am broken. But at least I feel something."

She stands now. He steps forward again, chest rising with adrenaline.

Jean: "What, you gonna hit me now? C’mon. You got a problem with me, say it. Show it."

He shoves her shoulder—just enough to provoke. She reacts fast, shoving him right back. The table tips. His breath catches and now they’re too close.

Jean: "There it is. Finally. The part of you that actually feels something."

She reaches for him—maybe to hit, maybe not—but he grabs her wrist and spins her against the wall with a grunt. His hand slams beside her head.

Jean lowering his head: "You want to act like I’m the problem? That I’m the weak one?"

Her eyes burn into his, narrowed. No words. Just heat. Rage. Hurt.

Jean: "I was never the one who shut down every time it got hard. You did. I was never the one who gave up."

A beat passes. Then she looks away, and his voice drops—sharp, bitter.

Jean: "I was never the broken one… You just couldn’t accept that you were."

He lets go. Turns his back. Walks toward the door—but hesitates. Doesn’t look back.

Jean: "...We move when Eren gives the signal. Try not to get yourself killed before then."

Door slams shut behind him.