Maybe you should, Levi thinks, but it doesn't feel right to tell the boy how to handle his feelings, especially now that he's been making strides in acknowledging them again. It might help, though. Levi himself doesn't come off as someone who cries at all, but he has, in a private moment, and it had been cathartic, like a pressure valve releasing all the pain he had carried until that point.

Maybe that would help Eren, too.

He frowns lightly, holding that hand where it is, maybe tightening his grip just a little, just to make sure he keeps the boy anchored in the only way he can think of.

"...don't worry about the couch," he grumbles. Sure, he's not ecstatic about potentially having snot on it, but he can clean it up later. Right now, Eren is a priority -- he always lets his cleanliness obsession take the back seat when somebody is in need or in an emotional crisis, and this is one such time.

But it's not enough, and he's not quite sure how he's supposed to help. After a few moments, he decides to rely on something tried and true.

"Would you like some tea?"