His physical affections have always been brief, benign, but undeniably there. Maybe it had been all that he could afford, reaching out to people just enough to make a connection without imposing himself. An embrace left you vulnerable, a show of trust that didn't come easily for him at all, and not even with most people. Even with Erwin, they had never been so intimately, physically close until arriving here.

Perhaps, in a way, he's become accustomed to it enough now that the initial, flinching reaction to confinement is easier to redirect now.

Love and guilt and gratitude help, too.

Of course, Jean just doles out forgiveness, even though Levi had no intentions to even ask. His fingers curl a little, in fabric and sand-colored hair, and he huffs a little, a gentle rebuke.

"Doesn't matter," he grumbles lowly. "I hurt you - could've killed you - for nothing. It wasn't real."

If they'd been home Jean would be spending weeks recovering. It's a lucky thing for both of them that he didn't have to suffer long. Maybe there just wasn't time to let the event fester into resentment; although that doesn't mean it never could.

After a few more seconds, Levi loosens his hold, and starts to let his hands fall away. "Don't go hurting your back for me, either. It'll get harder to comfortably take a shit when you're older if you fuck it up now."