If Eren stopped to think for a second, he'd realise he's probably gone too far, said too much. But does it really matter? He knows he's different. Reiner hasn't (yet) seen him completely shut down, quiet and haunted and matter-of-fact instead of threatening, pseudo-helpful and then an explosion of lightning. Younger Eren was all screams, all tells, easy to read and easy to push. Eren now…well.

He can feel Reiner staring at him. He wonders idly what the other boy must see, not just his long hair and sharper lines, baby roundness gone from his face, still-wide green eyes looking at the horizon like there's something there to look at. He doesn't know what people see when they look at him. A monster, he thinks, but Reiner doesn't know him as one yet. As always, though, Eren doesn't give other people enough credit.

When he looks at Reiner, Reiner reaches out and pushes his hair back, still wet. That would have been futile when he was younger, but now that wet lock stays. It's a bit messy, but maybe that's just a metaphor for how things are with them.

He might be leaning just slightly into Reiner's touch before it drops away again. He forces his fingers to uncurl, to let go, though they're still touching.

His eyebrows pull together in a frown.

"What makes you think I need help?"