There was a chance that Eren wouldn't accept that challenge. A chance he might've thrown it back in Reiner's face, sharpened it into a weapon to gut Reiner a little more. It wouldn't have been difficult. Rejection alone would've cut, twisting the knife in Reiner's guilt, his regret, his profound need to be loved. Reiner might've walked away from this encounter shakier than ever, thin ice cracking and crumbling beneath his feet.

Instead, Eren asks that question. And truthfully, it's not what Reiner expects. At best, he'd thought they might find somewhere semi-private—a dressing room, maybe, if Eren didn't demand Reiner kiss him right here. (Reiner would've done it, too, heedless of who might see.) But to have such privacy? To turn this whatever-it-is from something impulsive to something planned? To lay Eren down on a bed and strip him bare…?

This time, it's Reiner who smirks. "You're gonna let me take you home?"

It's not his home, not really. Home is across the sea and a world away. The apartment is just a place Reiner currently resides. But no other words would carry such weight. And he can't help but make that jab. Driving home how fucked up this is, even if it's only to himself.

Yet Reiner still wants it. Senseless, stupidly, he wants it. He wants Eren.

Reiner pushes himself to his feet, then scoops up his tray to discard what remains of his meal. It was good food, even if he focused more on Eren than the taste. It hits him, then, that they shared a meal together. Not as they did when they were trainees, everyone packed in together like cattle, Eren devouring his food with the same intensity he did everything else. No, they sat across from each other, shared a meal, then decided to go have sex.

Was this some kind of fucked up first date?

Reiner brushes the thought aside as soon as it hits, meeting Eren's eyes. Choosing to take action. That's more comfortable for both of them, isn't it?

"All right," he says. "Come on."