Rejecting this reality is all Reiner wants to do. Reject it, shove it away, force it down somewhere that he doesn't have to see it, feel it, know it. He's done that before. Cracked himself in two so he could avoid the truth of what he'd done. Twisted Marco's murder into a tragedy, then took vengeance on the Titan who killed him instead of himself for causing it.
He's perilously close to breaking again. Close to coming apart at the seams. Close to hurling his mind into the fire and burning away all the pain, the grief, the unbearable knowledge of what faces him now.
Eren dies.
He can't do this. He can't. He—
Eren takes his hand, lacing their fingers together. Catching Reiner right before he steps off that ledge and hurls his mind into the abyss. Because rejecting Eren is one thing Reiner can never, ever do. Not on a sunlit field; not in the rain; not on the beach; not in a darkened bedroom. Eren will always hold Reiner's heart in his palm.
Always.
That's how it's supposed to be. Always. He can't imagine the feeling of the hands he holds going cold. Can't imagine what it would be like to gaze into those whirlwind eyes and find them still, dull, lifeless.
He can't. He can't…
Does Eren see the panic in Reiner's eyes as his mind starts to crack, then pulls together? A crack, a hasty mend, another crack, another mend. Eren's grip holds Reiner in a reality he can't bear. And he listens, the unbearable words slicing deeper, carving still more wounds.
If there are no more titans…
… Then Reiner will live. Armin will live. Annie, Pieck, Falco—they will all live. Eldians will no longer be at risk of transformation. The world will be different. They'll build toward a brighter future, as Annie said.
But Eren won't be there. Because Eren will be dead.
But we're not dead yet.
Hot tears spill down Reiner's cheeks. He pulls one hand from Eren's, but only to wrap his love in a crushing hug. As if by holding on tightly enough, he might keep Eren here. Breathing. Alive.
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He's perilously close to breaking again. Close to coming apart at the seams. Close to hurling his mind into the fire and burning away all the pain, the grief, the unbearable knowledge of what faces him now.
Eren dies.
He can't do this. He can't. He—
Eren takes his hand, lacing their fingers together. Catching Reiner right before he steps off that ledge and hurls his mind into the abyss. Because rejecting Eren is one thing Reiner can never, ever do. Not on a sunlit field; not in the rain; not on the beach; not in a darkened bedroom. Eren will always hold Reiner's heart in his palm.
Always.
That's how it's supposed to be. Always. He can't imagine the feeling of the hands he holds going cold. Can't imagine what it would be like to gaze into those whirlwind eyes and find them still, dull, lifeless.
He can't. He can't…
Does Eren see the panic in Reiner's eyes as his mind starts to crack, then pulls together? A crack, a hasty mend, another crack, another mend. Eren's grip holds Reiner in a reality he can't bear. And he listens, the unbearable words slicing deeper, carving still more wounds.
If there are no more titans…
… Then Reiner will live. Armin will live. Annie, Pieck, Falco—they will all live. Eldians will no longer be at risk of transformation. The world will be different. They'll build toward a brighter future, as Annie said.
But Eren won't be there. Because Eren will be dead.
But we're not dead yet.
Hot tears spill down Reiner's cheeks. He pulls one hand from Eren's, but only to wrap his love in a crushing hug. As if by holding on tightly enough, he might keep Eren here. Breathing. Alive.