It is with that same fond amusement that Reiner watches Natsume walk over to his arm and begin an ascent. Perhaps Reiner should immediately realize where Natsume is aiming. However, he's never owned a cat before, much less a noodle-creature craving warmth.

Thankfully, Reiner realizes what's happening in time to stifle his trained, violent reaction to someone touching the back of his neck. It is the sole weak point on a Titan; it is Reiner's weakest point.

Or at least it was for eleven years. Now, Reiner is as weak as any other human.

Thoughts race through his head for what feels like minutes but is actually only seconds. There is no danger here. No blade at his throat: just a tail. No bomb at his nape: just a warm little body. A creature that feels comfortable enough with Reiner to crawl up and sleep on him.

Maybe this is good practice. Maybe this will help desensitize him, now that he doesn't have to so fiercely protect his neck. Maybe it's already helping—because it doesn't take long for Reiner to release a breath and take another nibble of his pastry.

He senses no threat from Natsume. Maybe that makes the difference, or maybe it's something else entirely.

"Just no scratching," he answers, then reaches up to give Natsume a little pat on the head. Like petting a living, breathing scarf.