Eren returns Reiner's squeeze, the two of them holding each other tightly. Clinging, just for a moment. Reiner suppresses the urge to steal a covert glance at Eren's face. He doesn't want to see what Eren thinks of his words, that tiny admittance of how much he loathes himself. He tells himself that he doesn't want to see anger—they're trying not to get pissed off, right? But deep down, Reiner is afraid of what he might see.

Deep down, he's afraid that Eren will look satisfied. Smug. Happy.

So Reiner doesn't look, keeping his eyes forward, mirroring Eren's grip. He doesn't relax until Eren does, finally looking Eren's way. There's no trace of a smile on those lips. For the first time, that comes as a relief.

Putting aside that slip of the tongue, Eren's claim that there's nothing in him worth celebrating is perplexing and concerning. It's another bizarre puzzle piece added to the pile, filed somewhere alongside the words, "I'm worse." Reiner puts it aside for now, bringing Eren's hand to his lips again.

"It is what I want, Eren," he says, kissing Eren's thumb. He could get used to pulling Eren's hand up for a kiss whenever he pleases. (He is getting used to it.)

Then he blinks. "Cheeseburgers?" His tone gives the answer away before he adds, "No, I haven't had those. Are they good?"