The fucking sun was beating down on him like it wanted him dead. It felt personal, honestly. The way the heat clung to his skin, sweat soaking him from head to goddamn toe. His bare chest was slick with it, muscles aching as he forced out another push-up, then another. His shirt? Gone. Thrown somewhere off to the side at some point when it started sticking to him like a second fucking skin. Didn’t matter. He liked the sting of the sun on him, liked the burn in his arms and shoulders. It made him feel alive. Made him feel like he was actually doing something, instead of rotting away in his own head.

His hair was tied back, sloppy as hell, half-up like usual. Loose strands still stuck to his face, plastered there by sweat. He didn’t care. He could barely see past the haze in his eyes anyway, breath coming out sharp and ragged through gritted teeth. His arms shook, but he forced them down again. Again. Over and over.

Thirty-eight. Thirty-nine. Forty. He stopped counting after that.

Pain was good. Pain kept his mind busy. Pain drowned out the noise, the shitty memories, the things he couldn’t fix no matter how hard he fought. All the bullshit piling up inside him — the helplessness, the rage, the useless fucking guilt. Out here, it didn’t mean shit. Out here, it was just him, his body, and the ground beneath him.

But then.

That feeling. That fucking feeling.

The sharp prick on the back of his neck, like eyes pinned him in place. He knew it too well. He fucking hated it. Eren scowled into the dirt, his body frozen mid-rep, jaw tight enough to snap his teeth.

Goddamn it.

Of course someone was watching. Because why the hell not?

He shoved himself up, rough and fast, dropping back on his heels with a sharp exhale. His chest rose and fell hard, breaths ragged as he dragged the back of his hand across his forehead, smearing sweat across his brow. His muscles throbbed, veins standing out in his arms, his whole body slick with heat and frustration.

At first, stupidly, he thought it might’ve been Mikasa again. She always had this habit of hovering, watching him like he might snap in half if she wasn’t there keeping an eye on him. But no.

It wasn’t her.

It was her. Standing there like she belonged in his space, like she had any fucking reason to be looking at him like that. His eyes narrowed immediately, sharp as blades, and he felt his irritation spike through the roof. He didn’t bother hiding it. No point in pretending. He was never good at that shit anyway.

“The fuck are you lookin’ at?” he snapped, voice low and rough, still catching his breath. He dragged his gaze over her, scowling harder, like her just existing in his line of sight was a personal offense. "You got nothin' better to do or what?"

His tone wasn’t curious — it was sharp, accusing, like she’d just kicked dirt in his face for the hell of it.

Sweat dripped from his jawline as he kept his glare pinned on her, chest heaving. He could feel his pulse still racing from the workout, or maybe it was the anger bubbling under his skin. Hell, probably both.

"You followin' me or some shit?" he spat, snorting like he could hardly believe the situation. His brows pulled together tighter, a deep frown carved into his face. "Go bother someone else, seriously."

The sun burned against his bare back, the heat of it nothing compared to the fire simmering low in his chest. He hated being watched. Hated it more than anything. Especially when he wasn’t at his best. He felt exposed, like his skin was being peeled back layer by layer, and her eyes were cutting deeper than they had any right to.

Eren’s fists clenched at his sides, knuckles cracking under the pressure. He didn’t even notice. He was too busy glaring, too busy trying to push down the uncomfortable twist in his gut — the part of him that hated being seen like this. Raw. Flawed. Human.

But she kept looking. Of course she fucking did.

"Tch," Eren scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. His messy half-tied hair shifted with the movement, a few strands falling loose into his eyes. He shoved them back with an irritated swipe of his fingers. "What? You get off watchin' people work their asses off or somethin'? Seriously. Get lost."

He didn’t wait for her to answer. Didn’t want to hear whatever dumb excuse she had ready. He dropped back to the dirt, planting his palms against the ground, body coiled tight with restless energy.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, jaw flexing. "This day just keeps gettin' better."

And then, without giving her another glance, he forced himself down into another brutal set of push-ups, like if he just kept moving, maybe — maybe — he could shove the whole goddamn world away for a little longer.