Eren, maybe naively, didn't dress like anything. He looks exactly the same as always, tshirt and dark jeans. Fashion sense? He doesn't know her. Maybe someday.
He also doesn't have a knife on him this time, but they both know that doesn't matter. He keeps his nails long these days to avoid having to bite, but...they're a threat just be existing. Eren isn't scared of that threat. But he's also not especially worried about it, not today. Is this a truce? It has to be, right? No one just goes on a date with an outright enemy. Probably.
Eren shrugs and looks off across the street, pretending not to be embarrassed. This was stupid. Why is he so stupid, he wonders. What the hell.
"I learned how to make them recently. I had extra."
These are both true things, but the explanation is misleading. He learned to make them so he could make them for people. He had extra after he made these ones, specifically today, for Reiner's birthday. He just can't be straightforward about it because he's Eren.
For a moment, Reiner says nothing, just gazing into the bag with still-parted lips. Cookies. Homemade cookies, baked by Eren, given to him on his birthday.
When was the last time Reiner had homemade cookies? It had to be in Liberio, most likely on one of those occasions when Reiner did particularly well on some Warrior exam. A reward, not a gift. Not something without strings attached.
"Thank you, Eren," he finally says, completely sincere. Only then does Reiner reach into the bag, carefully removing a cookie, holding the imperfectly shaped treat almost delicately. He doesn't mind if they're the extras (as he believes Eren's misdirection); they're still his. Still a gift.
Then he raises his eyes, focusing on Eren's question. He reviewed enough of his drunken text messages to recall the date he proposed, and he spent a portion of the day looking up places to get ice cream cake. (The ice cream cake is essential!)
"How about somewhere that isn't cold?" Reiner suggests, still relieved that Hange's potion was effective. "I haven't explored Blossomcrown much. Does that sound good?"
It's only the second or third time Eren has made them, but if he doesn't dissociate out of his mind, he can follow a recipe easily enough. It's just steps, just orders, do one thing then another. That might not be true for all baking, but just for cookies? It's not really that hard. So they're not pretty. They're just getting eaten! Doesn't matter if they're pretty, right?
"You're welcome," Eren says, surprised at himself for saying it. But he means it. It's not like this was an afterthought. He doesn't know much about gift giving, and he gives himself more than he gives actual items. That kind of gift is always a double-edged sword, tinged with his lies and manipulation and violence. Even Mikasa and Armin were not immune to it in the end, but he needed them to do what he needed them to do.
When it shifted so that Reiner is included in people he wants to protect, he's not sure. That night in the dark? Before that? The day Reiner didn't kill him when he could have, the Armored's mouth against him? Did he always feel this, underneath his rage? He doesn't know.
"Somewhere that isn't cold, definitely," he agrees. "Blossomcrown it is. There's probably good food there. There's good food everywhere."
He has no idea what you do on dates, but they were supposed to get food, this time (hopefully?) without Eren being a menace about it. That's the real birthday present, isn't it, Eren being as much of a person as he can manage to be.
The reason behind the dramatic change in Eren remains a mystery to Reiner. He puts together hints sometimes, toying with this possibility and that one, unconsciously avoiding the most horrific scenario. However, any guesses are just that: guesses. He can assemble the puzzle's edges, but the middle remains elusive, the picture shifting beneath his hands.
("We can be something else." "Alive." "Just who do you think I am? Where are we, Reiner?" "You and me, we're exactly the same." "But I'm worse." "Don't die. Don't die like this.")
Somewhere amid that puzzle stands Eren, shoving a paper bag filled with homemade cookies into Reiner's hands. Somehow, they're here instead of trying to kill each other: Reiner proposing a date, Eren agreeing; two young men with the power of the Titans setting off to celebrate Eren's birthday on Reiner's.
As they start toward the nearest teleportation node—by far the fastest way to travel to Blossomcrown, even if it will take a sliver of magic—Reiner continues to hold his cookie like it's something precious, apparently just wanting to look and touch before he tastes.
"Yeah, this world has wonderful food. The selection is incredible. They sell so many fancy things for practically nothing, too."
Reiner shakes his head, still amazed by that. Then he brings the cookie to his lips, inhaling its scent before taking a bite. He savors it, enjoying the flavor, enjoying the fact that Eren made it even more.
Eren toes a line with his words. Sometimes he knows he goes too far. What does he want to give away? He's not always sure. There are things he's never told anyone, won't even tell Armin at the end of the world. He will die with so many secrets.
Though he meant to die with the fact that he'd cut off his own leg, and Levi knows now. They haven't talked about it. (We don’t do that here.) He's not even sure if Levi consciously remembers. He'd rather not know.
Reiner, in the future, could put that together. Reiner here doesn't need to know about Liberio, let alone the looming end of the world. He might give it away, on purpose, on accident, in anger or in desperation.
Not today. Today they're supposed to be celebrating. Eren hasn't put much stock in birthdays for a long time. Before he knew about the titan timer, they were just the passage of time. Congrats, you didn't die for another year.
Now, on the other side of knowing, on the other side of when he should have died, he's not sure what to do. He should be 19 forever. He shouldn't still exist.
He does not want to die. Not at 19 or 20 or 23. It hasn't entirely sunk in that the whole thing is different.
But he made cookies for Reiner, also counting down a timer in his mind. They're going to get a cake that is also ice cream? Incredible.
"I never cared about money," Eren says. He never even thought about money. The military paid for what it paid for. He didn't need anything else; if they were hurting for food everyone else was too. Shelter was paid for. If you died and there was anything left to bury, that was paid for. If you were too injured to function again, paid for.
"But I cared about food. How could we not, you know?"
It's not an accusation. It's just a question, mostly rhetorical. Reiner lived in the same conditions he did as a cadet. The famine was inadvertently his fault (and Bertolt's, and Annie's, they weren't off the hook in Eren's mind). But he didn't magically have food either as far as Eren knows.
But Eren has been to Liberio too. They had food available but it was...less than stellar. That last day, the ice cream and whatever, that was a special occasion. A special occasion where Willy Tybur declared Eren the number one threat to Marley and Eren proved him right.
Here, they could get whatever they wanted for cheap. A few quests and it's all you can eat all the time.
"I'm glad you like them," he says, and means it, pretending he's not as pleased as he is by not meeting Reiner's eyes.
They reach the teleporter. It's something Eren still isn't used to even months later. Folkmore was different, and actually weirder. But either way it's strange to be one place then immediately somewhere else. For someone who gets sideways in time regularly, it's disorienting.
Without thought, he reaches for Reiner's hand before they step through, using that touch like he has done repeatedly since Reiner got to Ellipsa: as an anchor. It might not be fair, but it's not as unfair as he could be, not by a long shot.
That comment about food scarcity isn't an accusation. Reiner knows what Eren's accusations sound like: how Eren's voice swells with fury, even if it never reaches a shout anymore. (Reiner wishes it would.) Still, Reiner knows his responsibility in the matter. Of course he knows. He's the one who barreled through Wall Maria and inadvertently kicked off a famine.
Reiner thinks about that sometimes, though not as much as he once did. The famine was an unexpected consequence, right? It wasn't as though the higher-ups in Marley predicted that's what would happen after Wall Maria fell. Did they? Or did they not care? Did they not consider that their Warriors would also be "refugees" standing in the same food lines, surviving off of the same scraps? Either way, no one could have predicted that Paradis' government would sacrifice twenty percent of its remaining population so the rest could live.
A quarter of a million people, all dead. All because Reiner's actions robbed them of so much of their land.
Maybe the right thing for Reiner to do would be to never indulge in the foods he loves, sticking only to what his body needs to survive. But Reiner has all but given up on untangling right from wrong. Besides, that sort of self-flagellation wouldn't bring anyone back.
("So what if I was an ignorant kid? So what, Eren?")
He turns his mind away from such things, focusing on the flavor of the cookie, the way the chocolate chips melt on his tongue. Focusing on Eren beside him, green eyes not meeting Reiner's as he compliments Eren's baking. Wondering about Eren's childhood: a life without concern about money. Was it like that for everyone in Shiganshina? Or was Eren fortunate, his missing father's work as a doctor bringing in plenty?
Words hang on Reiner's lips, stemming from a sudden desire to tell Eren about his life back home. His real life, not the falsehood he peddled in Paradis. He wants to tell Eren about money being tightly tied to food in Liberio; he wants to explain that it was just him and his mom making ends meet, their blood marking them as unworthy of living with Reiner's father; he wants to tell Eren how thrilled his mother was when Reiner finally came home with a yellow armband.
He swallows those words as Eren's hand grasps his. It's warm. Too warm, just as it should be. Reiner threads their fingers together—easily, naturally—and holds on tight as they step through.
Reiner doesn't know how teleportation works. Is it magic? Technology? A combination of both? It's hard to say. All Reiner knows is that his body is transported from one place to another with nothing in the interim, a little magic drained away.
Where does that magic go? With his hand still tightly holding Eren's, Reiner wonders if their magic is off mingling somewhere, as twined together as their fingers. For some reason, the thought is satisfying.
As they come out the other side, Reiner brings Eren's hand to his lips, kissing the back just as he did in Eren's kitchen. Only this time, the temperature of Eren's skin is just right. He smiles, lashes lowering, lips still pressed to Eren's skin.
"Teleporting never stops being weird," he says, kissing Eren once more before letting their joined hands fall. Only then does Reiner step forward off of the teleport node, the sights and sounds of Blossomcrown's busy streets belatedly registering.
Pink. Pink everywhere. No, not just pink: cherry blossoms cover the streets, whirling in a gentle breeze, spreading color throughout the otherwise grayish district.
If Eren could hear Reiner's thoughts, his unanswered questions, he would say that higher ups just don’t give a shit about things like that. He doesn't think Marley planned to starve them, but if they all starved then wouldn't that save them the effort of coming to kill everyone? That's always been their plan as far as Eren knows, coming and murdering every single person on the island.
Joke's on them, isn't it. Maybe if they hadn't been so intent on that, Eren's genocide would never have to happen. Sure, whatever, the sins of their ancestors and all, but he's so tired of being beholden to what a bunch of dead people did. He doesn't care about the dead, unless it's people he personally lost. He barely cares about the living. Humanity as a whole only mattered to him when he thought the people in the walls were the only ones left. Even now, when he actively does not want to go home and kill everyone, he does not care about them.
Reiner doesn't know that, though couldn't he guess? Eren's apathy is something he still wears easily.
Whether or not he would answer about his own life is impossible to say; even he can't predict his own actions anymore. He knows a little about Reiner's life, gleaned from observation or whatever wild ass memory thing he has going on. The ins and outs, though? Those are a mystery, and one he doesn't ask about. If he asks, he opens a door he's not sure he can close again.
The teleporter is always strange. He wonders if Hange has learned how it works yet. Of course Eren doesn't really care, doesn't have a head for that kind of thing, but magic is so weird. This is more structured than the nebulous travel of Folkmore, but also more jarring at times.
Eren watches Reiner bring his hand to his lips, like he'd done in the kitchen, but less fraught. Less cold. Reiner's mouth against his skin for a brief second is hot, like it should be, like he wants (needs) it to be. He's staring, he realises, eyes wide, not blank and distant. This kind of touch might keep him from turning to stone, but it also serves another purpose: grounding. It's harder to get lost this way.
"It never does," he agrees, almost absently, still focused on the wrong things.
Reiner starts to walk and Eren follows, catching up to walk side by side. Isn't this what people on dates do, walk through cherry blossoms with their fingers laced together as if they've never tried to murder each other, never caused blood and pain? Levi and Hange want him to be normal. Would this count, or would they question him because of who he's with? Would Hange have some inane thing to say about safety like on that app that he likes to pretend he forgot about (that he hopes Hange forgot about, or would they just be happy for him?
Happy for them, the small bit of a normal life they can hold on to while they play pretend in the eternal spring air.
Eren doesn't remember happiness. He's not sure he wants to. Remembering happiness only makes the other things feel worse. He'll settle for neutrality.
"Food and then this ice cream thing?" he suggests.
Reiner catches a glimpse of Eren's eyes before he starts forward, wide and vivid green, blankness wiped away, the full force of Eren's focus on him, just him. It keeps the smile on Reiner's lips as they begin to walk side-by-side down Blossomcrown's streets, cherry blossoms swirling around their feet. Keeps his thoughts from drifting again, temporarily abating the guilt forever nipping at Reiner's heels (clawing at his back, dragging him down, crushing, suffocating). Keeps his focus on them, on this, on their stolen time.
He's eighteen now. Eren is twenty. There isn't much time left for either of them.
Reiner squeezes Eren's hand, his thumb stroking Eren's too-warm (perfect, so perfect) skin. Not much time, but they still have time for this. They still have time to be alive.
(That's enough, right? Three (five) more years? That has to be enough.)
Truth be told, Reiner hasn't been on many dates. (Has he? What counts as a date? Would he remember?) It's not as though he had much free time on Paradis. Besides, meaningless hookups were easier, less complicated. Holding hands is an important part of dates, as far as Reiner knows. But for once, Reiner isn't thinking about playing a role. He isn't thinking about how he should present himself or mold his personality into an appropriate shape. He holds Eren's hand not because that's proper date behavior: he holds it because Eren reached for him, and Reiner won't let go.
Is this the first time Eren has reached for him first? Not ever, not in their world—but here? Reiner can't always trust his memory anymore: it shifts beneath his feet, twisting and molding into different shapes, details lost and found. But he thinks this is the first time. He holds on as though it is.
"Yeah, that sounds good," Reiner says, his smile mostly faded but still lingering in his voice. "We can walk until we find something that smells good, right?"
Words that Reiner wouldn't have remembered on his own, drunk as he was. That's one advantage of text-based conversation.
"You get final say." He looks at Eren before adding, "We're celebrating your birthday."
Celebrating it on Reiner's birthday, sure. But his drunken self had been quite insistent, and personally, Reiner thinks he was onto something.
The time they met underground, ate ramen, that might be a date. A fucked up version, but...they'd eaten and then gone home, fell into each other's arms, slept in the same bed. It hadn't been planned, though, and had started hostile.
This is nothing like that. This is...freer. Bad blood will always exist between them but even Eren isn't focused on it at all. He hadn't even hesitated when Reiner suggested this, though he knew Reiner was drunk and might not have meant it.
He's never been on a real date either. When would he have done it? Not during training when he was obsessively focused with killing titans. Not after training when he was obsessively focused on killing titans. Not after Shiganshina when the Scouts were all dead and he knew the horrible truth and he became obsessively focused on killing...everyone. (He'd tried to find another way at first. Maybe subconsciously he was still looking for one when Hange confronted him in that cell. Ultimately, the future consumed him. He's only here now because of Thirteen's invitation. Would he still have been brought to Ellipsa? No way to know.)
Reiner's so much easier with his touch than Eren. It's the little things, the reassuring squeeze, the way his thumb moves. Eren isn't stiff, but he's still got so much of himself locked behind whatever walls he built in his mind. Was he ever good at casual touch? He can't remember. Maybe he was, with Armin and Mikasa if no one else, but those days seem so long ago now.
What would Reiner have been like in another world, one like this where he didn't have to grow up brainwashed and hated? He is kind where Eren never has been. Despite all the blood and terror, part of Reiner is still kind. Eren...is Eren.
He glances over, surprised, pulled from his thoughts by Reiner's words.
"What? No way. It's not actually my birthday. You shouldn't give up celebrating yours just for me." He doesn't mean to say the next part out loud, but he does, eyes in front of him again. "There's nothing in me worth celebrating."
For all that Reiner tried to maintain an emotional distance from the people of Paradis, determined to regard his fellow trainees as no more than devils (just as Marley/his mother taught), he was never very good at it. There is too much in Reiner that craves connections. Too much empathy in his heart; too much self-sacrificing in his nature. When he played the "big brother" as a Cadet, he readily squeezed the others' shoulders, picked them up when they fell, prised them apart when they fought. Reiner has always been free with physical contact. Maybe that's part of why he stopped being able to see the "devils" on the island. It's hard to call someone inhuman after holding their shoulder while they cry.
(It's hard to see them as inhuman after pinning them facedown on a roof, muffling their screams with a hand, holding them captive while an ally removes their only means of defense, then leaving them to die while they plead to just talk it over. No, it's more than hard: it's impossible.)
It would've been different if Marcel were around. Everything would've been so much different. But Marcel died, and Reiner took his comrade's place, molding his personality into something resembling Marcel's. Maybe Reiner would've been crueler if he'd had a leader to hide behind; maybe his kindness would've extended only as far as his fellow Warriors. Or maybe it would've been the opposite; maybe he would've grown to care so deeply that he would choose to abandon his mission.
If those divisions never existed at all… Who is to say? Reiner avoids thinking of such things. The world is as it is. All he can do is try to make it better for those he loves.
Reiner keeps Eren's hand held in his, the strength of Eren's fingers familiar, the heat of their palms a perfect reflection. Privately, he thinks he could spend hours just holding Eren's hand. (He thinks he could spend days doing more.) He watches the surprise on Eren's face, something that shows more in Eren's glance than a significant change of expression. He's just about to argue the point, ready to say that he can celebrate his birthday however he wants and that he's choosing to celebrate Eren's.
Then Eren continues speaking. And Reiner doesn't think it through before responding.
"What, and there's so much to celebrate in me?"
The words aren't tinged by anger, but they're revealing. Way too revealing. Reiner tries not to wince as he hears them, turning to face forward as well. Squeezing Eren's hand again, though he can't say whether it's for Eren's reassurance or his own.
"There's plenty in you worth celebrating," he says obstinately, trying to barrel straight past his indiscretion. "Anyway, what if I want to celebrate my birthday by celebrating yours?"
On the other side, Eren had purposefully kept himself distant from Marleyan Eldians. Well...there was Falco. He'd been actually sorry to have to betray him. He was a kid, and too kind of one for his own good. Lucky for Eren, unlucky for Liberio and the world. And in the distance there had been Reiner, somewhere. Eren felt closer to Reiner after being in Marley, after finally understanding.
But it never would have mattered, would it? Even if Eren had been actual friends with anyone in Liberio, he would have destroyed the town anyway to take the War Hammer's power, to hamstring their forces, to win at all costs. Eren isn't without guilt or regret, but he would do it all again with few changes. At the end of this, years from now for Reiner, he's not sure if Reiner would say the same.
He hears Reiner's words and thinks of his anguish, his wish to die, the war he fights with himself.
We're the same.
I vaguely remember saying something like that.
Half-assed piece of shit.
I'm worse.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
His hand tightens a little, an involuntary reflex to keep from drowning.
Luckily Reiner speaks before Eren can open his stupid mouth and say something that poisons it. He doesn't want to. He really doesn't. He hadn't been lying when he said he didn't want Reiner mad at him.
(He does and he will sometimes, probably. Just not usually, which had been a revelation to him when he'd admitted it aloud.)
"I told you," he says.
We're the same.
No. Not that. Here, now, time stolen from the world they came from.
"It's your birthday. If that's what you really want, then...okay."
Crisis averted(?).
His grip returns to normal and the present coalesces again.
Eren returns Reiner's squeeze, the two of them holding each other tightly. Clinging, just for a moment. Reiner suppresses the urge to steal a covert glance at Eren's face. He doesn't want to see what Eren thinks of his words, that tiny admittance of how much he loathes himself. He tells himself that he doesn't want to see anger—they're trying not to get pissed off, right? But deep down, Reiner is afraid of what he might see.
Deep down, he's afraid that Eren will look satisfied. Smug. Happy.
So Reiner doesn't look, keeping his eyes forward, mirroring Eren's grip. He doesn't relax until Eren does, finally looking Eren's way. There's no trace of a smile on those lips. For the first time, that comes as a relief.
Putting aside that slip of the tongue, Eren's claim that there's nothing in him worth celebrating is perplexing and concerning. It's another bizarre puzzle piece added to the pile, filed somewhere alongside the words, "I'm worse." Reiner puts it aside for now, bringing Eren's hand to his lips again.
"It is what I want, Eren," he says, kissing Eren's thumb. He could get used to pulling Eren's hand up for a kiss whenever he pleases. (He is getting used to it.)
Then he blinks. "Cheeseburgers?" His tone gives the answer away before he adds, "No, I haven't had those. Are they good?"
Eren hadn't been satisfied or happy about Reiner's admission today. At some point he'd been self-righteous about the perceived differences between them, about how he wasn't a traitor and he wasn't a murderer and and and.
Joke's always been on him.
Later in that dim basement knowing he was about to (win) raise hell, he only felt...necessary. He had been meaner and more dramatic than he had to be, transforming after taking Reiner's hand and helping him stand. That was cruel and he knows it. But he hadn't been pleased to know their similarities, to know Reiner's anguish.
At the beach the momentary victory he had was replaced with the knowledge that he shouldn't have done it that way. It was dirty and he doesn't need to play dirty anymore. Maybe it's old habits and maybe there's just something irrevocably twisted inside him. At least he tried to recover a little.
At least now he's making a concentrated effort to stay grounded in time so he doesn't fuck up Reiner's birthday of all things.
Reiner kisses his hand and he watches, eyes no longer distant. Reiner still treats him with softness so often. Eren himself doesn't know how to do that. Did he ever? Was he ever soft? Weak, sure. But soft? He can't remember now.
They could kiss right here on the street again and nothing about it would feel loaded, he thinks. They could just be two boys on a date like they aren't stained with blood. Like they haven't been at each other's literal throats. Like they're normal, human. He doesn't do that, but the realisation surprises him.
"Cheeseburgers," he manages to say. "They're amazing. It's like...a sandwich but it has grilled meat and melted cheese and stuff." He's not actually sure what all goes on it. Tomato? Some kind of sauce? Doesn't matter. The meat is actually the important part to him, since that was so scarce for so long.
"That doesn't sound anywhere near as good as it is. I bet somewhere here has them."
He turns and tugs Reiner's hand to follow down the street. He doesn't really know where they're going but that's fine. They were always planning to just wander until they found something that sounded good.
If pressed, Reiner wouldn't be able to say where his softness comes from. Maybe it stems from the same ache in his heart that longs for affection, approval, and love. Maybe it's a remnant of that little boy who worked so hard to become a Warrior just to see his mother smile. Maybe it's a hint of who he might've become if he'd been born in different circumstances. Or maybe it's the opposite, the harsh edges of his life making him crave tenderness.
Whatever the case, it feels good to touch Eren softly. It feels right holding Eren's hand, kissing his too-warm skin and those stubbornly unsmiling lips. It feels frightening, too, as if Reiner is just waiting for the other shoe to drop. They're stealing time; they're allowing themselves to be something else. But how long can that possibly last? How long can this fragile thing between them continue to exist?
Long enough, Reiner hopes. Long enough.
Eren sets off in what seems to be an entirely random direction. Reiner lets himself be tugged along, quickly catching up to walk side-by-side again. Based on Eren's description, Reiner tries to conjure an image of a cheeseburger in his head. A grilled-meat sandwich with cheese? But not quite a sandwich. His mental image is probably off. Still, it sounds great.
"I hope so. They sound delicious. Grilled meat and cheese…" He trails off, fantasizing about the flavor. "What kind of meat is it?"
Naturally, he, too, is focused mainly on the meat.
Eren likes to say he's the same as he's always been since the day he was born, but of course that's not true. It never could be. He had been softer when he was a kid, before his mother died, but even then he was a murderer at nine. That was all his own doing, seeing the men who murdered Mikasa's parents as animals who deserved to die. He's sure continued that pattern, even if he's not exactly the same as he was then.
He's never really expected to be handled softly, certainly not after the things he's done (will do). He doesn't deserve it. It isn't that he doesn't want it, though he had convinced himself he didn't. Reiner touches him like he matters, like he's nothing besides human, like they aren't both monsters. It's nice to pretend that. Well, maybe the first part is true; maybe he does still matter. Jury's out in his head on that one.
He wants more than that, of course. There's more than softness threading through Eren's desires, through both of their desires. But this date thing so far isn't bad.
Freedom, he thinks, to be who he wants to be (whoever that is) with whoever he wants. No war. No Rumbling. Those are ever-present in his memories, but this stolen time is hard won and there is so much he would do to hold onto it.
"Pretty sure it's beef," Eren says. He had asked once, but now he's not sure if there are other kinds. The regular kind is fine by him, though.
Wandering through the streets towards vendors and restaurants, eventually they find a place that does, in fact, have burgers. It has other things, sandwiches and some fried things. Milkshakes, which Eren hasn't heard of before and is having a hard time picturing what that word must mean, not realising it's basically ice cream.
Soda he knows, at least. Soda is one of the strangest things he's ever had, actually, but he likes it because he likes sensation.
"I have no idea what half this stuff is," he says, leaning closer to Reiner so he can speak low enough to not be embarrassing.
Freedom is a concept that Reiner hasn't worked his way up to yet, still tightly tied to labels and roles. (Warrior. Soldier. Eldian. Honorary Marleyan. Traitor. Murderer.) Maybe it would be different if he didn't feel so vulnerable here, surrounded by enemies with no formal truce in place, much less a long-term agreement not to harm each other. As it stands, Reiner takes each day as it comes, trying to make the best of each. Trying to enjoy this stolen time, however long it lasts.
Things are better with Eren at his side. Better in a way that Reiner can't always quantify, simply feeling it in his heart. It's just better. The days feel more like gifts than trials; Reiner's jagged, fractured edges feel more like puzzle pieces than shards of glass. It's ridiculous to imagine he could ever put himself back together after breaking so badly—but with Eren, it feels less like he's falling apart. (Or when he does fall apart, it's in the best way.)
Eren's hand remains in his while they search for cheeseburgers. It stays there even when they find a place selling them, and Eren leans close to speak. Reiner finds that he's smiling slightly with no memory of when it happened, the expression having snuck onto his lips sometime during their walk.
"Me neither," Reiner confesses, his voice just as low, following Eren's example. He can guess the ingredients of some things—"onion rings" are pretty self-explanatory—but he has no idea what they taste like. They can't just be plain onions, can they? That would be terrible.
"Let's get different stuff and split it," he suggests. "If one of us doesn't like it, maybe the other will."
And if neither of them does? Well, they'll doubtless eat it, anyway. The idea of wasting food wouldn't sit right with either of them.
Eren knows Reiner is fucked up, his mental state questionable. Eren himself isn't much better; they just have different afflictions. The causes are similar, atrocities committed for people they care about, things they are and are not sorry for. Eren thought to use that against Reiner (again), but Reiner kept surprising him. That night in the dark, something changed.
He hopes it never changes back. This is so much better than only trying to kill each other until one or both of them succeeds. Until time runs out.
But it won't now. That's the secret he holds today, but one he wants to share.
First things first.
He glances sideways and catches that smile. Reiner is handsome when he smiles (he's handsome anyway). Eren somehow doesn't expect to see it there, but maybe that's because he remembers Reiner older. Maybe it's because he can't seem to find a way to smile himself.
Someday. Not yet.
He stares a moment too long, like usual, before he snaps out of it.
"Deal. But you definitely want a cheeseburger."
Eren orders that (no mayo, sorry Hijikata), fries, cheese curds (this surely is more complicated than it sounds, right?) and a strawberry milkshake.
"Get whatever. I can pay for it."
Reiner wants to celebrate. Eren figures it's Reiner's birthday. And he's never hard up for money because he doesn't buy things, not really. Food, mostly. But he's not Sasha; he can't possibly spend all his money on food.
He really needs a hobby other than falling into Reiner's or Ozymandias's bed but whatever!
Reiner feels that too-long stare, glancing over to meet Eren's eyes. Ensuring that Eren is only looking, not lost. He likes feeling Eren's eyes on him, a stare that once rang warning bells now sparking something entirely different, warmth crackling in his chest. But he knows that Eren gets lost in his head sometimes, although the details of those moments remain a mystery.
Maybe someday, Eren will tell him. Maybe someday, Reiner will do the same.
He huffs a laugh at Eren's insistence about the cheeseburger. Eren is right: Reiner does want to try that. He doesn't argue about Eren paying, either, but he has a stipulation.
"All right," he agrees. "But I'll pay for the ice cream cake."
That seems only fair.
Reiner orders a cheeseburger with "everything," figuring he can remove things from the not-a-sandwich if he doesn't like them. (He doubts he'll feel the need to do so.) He also gets the mysterious onion rings, deep-fried chiles, and a blueberry milkshake.
Hopefully, the two of them end up liking milkshakes. Whatever they are.
Once Eren pays, Reiner accepts some weird disc that the cashier explains will "buzz" when their order is ready. (Reiner has no idea what that means, but it should be obvious enough, right?) Then he tugs Eren's hand toward an outdoor table, examining the disc as they make their way to their seats.
"Every time I think I'm caught up on the technology here, someone says something that makes no sense." Reiner shakes his head, gesturing with the disc. "All I can imagine is a buzzing bee."
For once, the only thing Eren is lost in is Reiner, not his own head. Embarrassing, really, but he doesn't bother letting himself be embarrassed. They've been holding hands this whole fucking time, after all. Who cares if they're staring at each other like idiots? Who would see? If anyone they know sees, Eren doesn't care anyway.
Eren does almost argue about the paying thing, opening his mouth to remind Reiner whose birthday it is. But he shuts it again. It's not like money matters to either of them, he's pretty sure, and Reiner made it clear he wanted to celebrate Eren's birthday all these months later.
"...Okay."
Eren has a vague idea that "milkshake" is like "ice cream" from seeing one before but he's never had one. He can't imagine blueberry ice cream though, so that's enticing.
He lets Reiner pull him to the table and slides into a seat, finally (reluctantly) relinquishing his hold on the other boy's hand.
He stares at the disc thing. Buzz? Like a bee? How or why? That's a complete mystery to him too. Why don’t they just call names like normal? Whatever.
"I have no idea what that thing is," he says. "The technology here really is nuts."
As soon as they release each other's hands (Reiner just as reluctantly as Eren), Reiner mourns the loss of contact. His palm is cold without Eren's pressed against it, fingers feeling strange when they're no longer entwined. He manages to restrain himself from reaching for Eren's hand again. (At least, for the moment.) But as soon as they sit, Reiner finds Eren's foot beneath the table and casually hooks their ankles together, greedy for any sort of contact.
Was he always so greedy for touch? He doesn't know. He's always been physically affectionate, having no reservations about squeezing a friend's shoulder or patting a kid on the head. But this greed—this need—feels like more than that. Something centered on Eren, specifically.
Whatever the case, Reiner feels satisfied once they're touching again, even if it's under the table.
"Yeah, it is," he agrees. "Sometimes, I wonder why they invented certain things."
He gestures at the disc as if to say, Case in point.
Then he folds his hands loosely on the table, his gaze rising to meet Eren's again. Tilting his head to the side, he asks, "You said there was something you wanted to tell me in person, right?"
Not that Reiner remembered that, drunk as he was. He had to reread it once sober.
Eren's visibly surprised at the contact, but of course it's welcome. Reiner isn't the only one greedy for contact. Eren might try to tell himself it's loneliness, but he knows better. It's Reiner. He wants to touch other people, but not like this.
He raises an eyebrow. He hadn't actually expected Reiner to remember, but he planned to talk anyway. There's no point in hiding the info that he got from Ellipsa's leaders. It affects them both, after all.
He looks down at his hands resting on the tabletop.
"Yeah. It's...I don’t know if I quite believe it yet but I learned something important. You should know too."
Reiner watches the emotions play across Eren's face, glimpses of anything that isn't blankness wonderful and welcome. He's getting better at reading Eren's expression, strange as he sometimes still finds it. Or maybe it has nothing to do with Reiner's perception at all; maybe Eren is becoming more expressive in general. Reiner has no way to know if it only happens around him or if it's a broader change—if that is indeed what's happening.
Of course, as soon as Reiner thinks that, he immediately loses track of Eren's mood. He watches Eren's eyes, trying to gauge if the news is good or bad but coming up empty.
The price he pays for his hubris.
"All right," he says, his voice quieter, serious. "Is it a bad thing?"
Maybe that question will help Eren dig into whatever it is.
Maybe it's both: Reiner's ability to understand Eren in a way most people can't these days, and Eren slowly remembering that he's a human being as much as he's a monster. Baby steps.
He raises an eyebrow a little.
"You think I'd ruin your birthday with bad news?" he asks. It's an absurd question; they both know he would.
He shakes his head though.
"No, it's…it's good. I just don't know how to deal with it."
His hands flex against the table and he picks at the edge of his thumb, nervous energy seeking an outlet. It's not quite violence, but it's still got that hinted edge. He's never been good at directing his inner turmoil into anything that isn't at least a little destructive.
He takes a deep breath and looks up at Reiner again.
"The leaders of this place…they told me they can't sense any curse. That for whatever reason, the magic that brought us here and all, it somehow…cancels out our death sentences."
It is indeed an absurd question. Reiner manages to keep his dubious look restrained, merely cocking an eyebrow as if to say, "Well, yeah." Eren is the most vengeful person Reiner has ever met. If Eren decided to ruin Reiner's birthday and their date at the same time, it would hurt, but it wouldn't necessarily come as a surprise.
But they like this better when they're not angry at each other, right? This nameless, fragile thing that allows them to walk beneath cherry blossoms hand-in-hand? So Reiner keeps his expression restrained, and Eren doesn't throw bad news in his face.
Instead, Eren picks at his thumb, visibly nervous. Reiner's brows pinch together, fingers twitching as he fights the impulse to reach out and grasp Eren's hand in his. Wanting to steady him. Wanting to give him something else to scratch at if that's what he needs to do. (Better Reiner's hand than Eren's, right?)
Then Eren says … what he says.
Reiner stares, not processing it. Slowly, he runs the words through his head again. The leaders can't sense a curse. The magic that pulled them here canceled it out. Canceled their death sentences. Canceled the Curse of Ymir. The leaders can't…
His hand reaches for Eren's, an instinctive move that Reiner doesn't register until he finds Eren's hand clasped in his. Who is steadying who? He can't honestly say.
"Are they sure?" he asks, the words coming out more cautious than celebratory.
Reiner has known his expiration date since he was ten years old; like Eren, he has no idea how to deal with this revelation.
Reiner more or less lets him off the hook with that stupid ass question, luckily for both of them. Eren has no idea how other people work together as a thing, but maybe it's always like this: having the power to hurt someone and choosing not to use it, over and over again, because it's better if you don't do that.
He can't always make that choice. He really is the most vengeful person alive, after all, willing to take on the entire world and burn it to ash not for the death of humanity or some noble but for and old hate the threat against a dozen people that matter to him. Sure, freedom for Eldians, safety for Paradis, but those will always be secondary to what is personal to Eren.
He watches Reiner's face as the other boy absorbs the information, spins it around, decides what to do with it. He knows it's a hard thing to accept; he's not sure sure if he's totally accepted it either. And he's only known about the timer on his life since they reached the basement, what, five years ago or something like that? Reiner's always known.
His hand is right there when Reiner reaches for him, without question or thought, just a reaction that feels as easy as breathing. Funny, when he's half-holding his breath.
"Yeah. They're sure," he says. "The captain and Hange found out, and when I went there, Dawn said she could sense a 'curse' but it isn't something shortening my lifespan."
He's also careful. He wouldn't be very celebratory anyway; he hasn't really reached a point where he's good at emoting things like that. It's hard to imagine in general.
"You know, I never planned for an after," he says. Of course he didn't, and how could he? He has no idea (even now) if the titan curse will end forever. He has no idea what happens after he dies. All that mattered to him was reaching the end, whether that meant killing every single person that wasn't on the island or dying himself or both.
But even if he had somehow been swayed, he was always going to die. Everyone is, sure, but titan shifters only get thirteen years, and Eren has stormed through most of those already. So has Reiner, he knows.
"I didn't really plan on now," he says, an admission he will not elaborate on. He's already told Reiner he didn't expect to live until 20. It's enough.
"I have no idea what to do, but with the amount of weird shit magic can do…I guess I kind of believe it."
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dreamsofwings) wrote2021-07-13 03:17 am
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He also doesn't have a knife on him this time, but they both know that doesn't matter. He keeps his nails long these days to avoid having to bite, but...they're a threat just be existing. Eren isn't scared of that threat. But he's also not especially worried about it, not today. Is this a truce? It has to be, right? No one just goes on a date with an outright enemy. Probably.
Eren shrugs and looks off across the street, pretending not to be embarrassed. This was stupid. Why is he so stupid, he wonders. What the hell.
"I learned how to make them recently. I had extra."
These are both true things, but the explanation is misleading. He learned to make them so he could make them for people. He had extra after he made these ones, specifically today, for Reiner's birthday. He just can't be straightforward about it because he's Eren.
"Where do you wanna go?"
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When was the last time Reiner had homemade cookies? It had to be in Liberio, most likely on one of those occasions when Reiner did particularly well on some Warrior exam. A reward, not a gift. Not something without strings attached.
"Thank you, Eren," he finally says, completely sincere. Only then does Reiner reach into the bag, carefully removing a cookie, holding the imperfectly shaped treat almost delicately. He doesn't mind if they're the extras (as he believes Eren's misdirection); they're still his. Still a gift.
Then he raises his eyes, focusing on Eren's question. He reviewed enough of his drunken text messages to recall the date he proposed, and he spent a portion of the day looking up places to get ice cream cake. (The ice cream cake is essential!)
"How about somewhere that isn't cold?" Reiner suggests, still relieved that Hange's potion was effective. "I haven't explored Blossomcrown much. Does that sound good?"
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"You're welcome," Eren says, surprised at himself for saying it. But he means it. It's not like this was an afterthought. He doesn't know much about gift giving, and he gives himself more than he gives actual items. That kind of gift is always a double-edged sword, tinged with his lies and manipulation and violence. Even Mikasa and Armin were not immune to it in the end, but he needed them to do what he needed them to do.
When it shifted so that Reiner is included in people he wants to protect, he's not sure. That night in the dark? Before that? The day Reiner didn't kill him when he could have, the Armored's mouth against him? Did he always feel this, underneath his rage? He doesn't know.
"Somewhere that isn't cold, definitely," he agrees. "Blossomcrown it is. There's probably good food there. There's good food everywhere."
He has no idea what you do on dates, but they were supposed to get food, this time (hopefully?) without Eren being a menace about it. That's the real birthday present, isn't it, Eren being as much of a person as he can manage to be.
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("We can be something else."
"Alive."
"Just who do you think I am? Where are we, Reiner?"
"You and me, we're exactly the same."
"But I'm worse."
"Don't die. Don't die like this.")
Somewhere amid that puzzle stands Eren, shoving a paper bag filled with homemade cookies into Reiner's hands. Somehow, they're here instead of trying to kill each other: Reiner proposing a date, Eren agreeing; two young men with the power of the Titans setting off to celebrate Eren's birthday on Reiner's.
As they start toward the nearest teleportation node—by far the fastest way to travel to Blossomcrown, even if it will take a sliver of magic—Reiner continues to hold his cookie like it's something precious, apparently just wanting to look and touch before he tastes.
"Yeah, this world has wonderful food. The selection is incredible. They sell so many fancy things for practically nothing, too."
Reiner shakes his head, still amazed by that. Then he brings the cookie to his lips, inhaling its scent before taking a bite. He savors it, enjoying the flavor, enjoying the fact that Eren made it even more.
"These are good," he says sincerely.
this got away from me and I rambled on orz
Though he meant to die with the fact that he'd cut off his own leg, and Levi knows now. They haven't talked about it. (We don’t do that here.) He's not even sure if Levi consciously remembers. He'd rather not know.
Reiner, in the future, could put that together. Reiner here doesn't need to know about Liberio, let alone the looming end of the world. He might give it away, on purpose, on accident, in anger or in desperation.
Not today. Today they're supposed to be celebrating. Eren hasn't put much stock in birthdays for a long time. Before he knew about the titan timer, they were just the passage of time. Congrats, you didn't die for another year.
Now, on the other side of knowing, on the other side of when he should have died, he's not sure what to do. He should be 19 forever. He shouldn't still exist.
He does not want to die. Not at 19 or 20 or 23. It hasn't entirely sunk in that the whole thing is different.
But he made cookies for Reiner, also counting down a timer in his mind. They're going to get a cake that is also ice cream? Incredible.
"I never cared about money," Eren says. He never even thought about money. The military paid for what it paid for. He didn't need anything else; if they were hurting for food everyone else was too. Shelter was paid for. If you died and there was anything left to bury, that was paid for. If you were too injured to function again, paid for.
"But I cared about food. How could we not, you know?"
It's not an accusation. It's just a question, mostly rhetorical. Reiner lived in the same conditions he did as a cadet. The famine was inadvertently his fault (and Bertolt's, and Annie's, they weren't off the hook in Eren's mind). But he didn't magically have food either as far as Eren knows.
But Eren has been to Liberio too. They had food available but it was...less than stellar. That last day, the ice cream and whatever, that was a special occasion. A special occasion where Willy Tybur declared Eren the number one threat to Marley and Eren proved him right.
Here, they could get whatever they wanted for cheap. A few quests and it's all you can eat all the time.
"I'm glad you like them," he says, and means it, pretending he's not as pleased as he is by not meeting Reiner's eyes.
They reach the teleporter. It's something Eren still isn't used to even months later. Folkmore was different, and actually weirder. But either way it's strange to be one place then immediately somewhere else. For someone who gets sideways in time regularly, it's disorienting.
Without thought, he reaches for Reiner's hand before they step through, using that touch like he has done repeatedly since Reiner got to Ellipsa: as an anchor. It might not be fair, but it's not as unfair as he could be, not by a long shot.
HAHA SAME…
Reiner thinks about that sometimes, though not as much as he once did. The famine was an unexpected consequence, right? It wasn't as though the higher-ups in Marley predicted that's what would happen after Wall Maria fell. Did they? Or did they not care? Did they not consider that their Warriors would also be "refugees" standing in the same food lines, surviving off of the same scraps? Either way, no one could have predicted that Paradis' government would sacrifice twenty percent of its remaining population so the rest could live.
A quarter of a million people, all dead. All because Reiner's actions robbed them of so much of their land.
Maybe the right thing for Reiner to do would be to never indulge in the foods he loves, sticking only to what his body needs to survive. But Reiner has all but given up on untangling right from wrong. Besides, that sort of self-flagellation wouldn't bring anyone back.
("So what if I was an ignorant kid? So what, Eren?")
He turns his mind away from such things, focusing on the flavor of the cookie, the way the chocolate chips melt on his tongue. Focusing on Eren beside him, green eyes not meeting Reiner's as he compliments Eren's baking. Wondering about Eren's childhood: a life without concern about money. Was it like that for everyone in Shiganshina? Or was Eren fortunate, his missing father's work as a doctor bringing in plenty?
Words hang on Reiner's lips, stemming from a sudden desire to tell Eren about his life back home. His real life, not the falsehood he peddled in Paradis. He wants to tell Eren about money being tightly tied to food in Liberio; he wants to explain that it was just him and his mom making ends meet, their blood marking them as unworthy of living with Reiner's father; he wants to tell Eren how thrilled his mother was when Reiner finally came home with a yellow armband.
He swallows those words as Eren's hand grasps his. It's warm. Too warm, just as it should be. Reiner threads their fingers together—easily, naturally—and holds on tight as they step through.
Reiner doesn't know how teleportation works. Is it magic? Technology? A combination of both? It's hard to say. All Reiner knows is that his body is transported from one place to another with nothing in the interim, a little magic drained away.
Where does that magic go? With his hand still tightly holding Eren's, Reiner wonders if their magic is off mingling somewhere, as twined together as their fingers. For some reason, the thought is satisfying.
As they come out the other side, Reiner brings Eren's hand to his lips, kissing the back just as he did in Eren's kitchen. Only this time, the temperature of Eren's skin is just right. He smiles, lashes lowering, lips still pressed to Eren's skin.
"Teleporting never stops being weird," he says, kissing Eren once more before letting their joined hands fall. Only then does Reiner step forward off of the teleport node, the sights and sounds of Blossomcrown's busy streets belatedly registering.
Pink. Pink everywhere. No, not just pink: cherry blossoms cover the streets, whirling in a gentle breeze, spreading color throughout the otherwise grayish district.
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Joke's on them, isn't it. Maybe if they hadn't been so intent on that, Eren's genocide would never have to happen. Sure, whatever, the sins of their ancestors and all, but he's so tired of being beholden to what a bunch of dead people did. He doesn't care about the dead, unless it's people he personally lost. He barely cares about the living. Humanity as a whole only mattered to him when he thought the people in the walls were the only ones left. Even now, when he actively does not want to go home and kill everyone, he does not care about them.
Reiner doesn't know that, though couldn't he guess? Eren's apathy is something he still wears easily.
Whether or not he would answer about his own life is impossible to say; even he can't predict his own actions anymore. He knows a little about Reiner's life, gleaned from observation or whatever wild ass memory thing he has going on. The ins and outs, though? Those are a mystery, and one he doesn't ask about. If he asks, he opens a door he's not sure he can close again.
The teleporter is always strange. He wonders if Hange has learned how it works yet. Of course Eren doesn't really care, doesn't have a head for that kind of thing, but magic is so weird. This is more structured than the nebulous travel of Folkmore, but also more jarring at times.
Eren watches Reiner bring his hand to his lips, like he'd done in the kitchen, but less fraught. Less cold. Reiner's mouth against his skin for a brief second is hot, like it should be, like he wants (needs) it to be. He's staring, he realises, eyes wide, not blank and distant. This kind of touch might keep him from turning to stone, but it also serves another purpose: grounding. It's harder to get lost this way.
"It never does," he agrees, almost absently, still focused on the wrong things.
Reiner starts to walk and Eren follows, catching up to walk side by side. Isn't this what people on dates do, walk through cherry blossoms with their fingers laced together as if they've never tried to murder each other, never caused blood and pain? Levi and Hange want him to be normal. Would this count, or would they question him because of who he's with? Would Hange have some inane thing to say about safety like on that app that he likes to pretend he forgot about (that he hopes Hange forgot about, or would they just be happy for him?
Happy for them, the small bit of a normal life they can hold on to while they play pretend in the eternal spring air.
Eren doesn't remember happiness. He's not sure he wants to. Remembering happiness only makes the other things feel worse. He'll settle for neutrality.
"Food and then this ice cream thing?" he suggests.
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He's eighteen now. Eren is twenty. There isn't much time left for either of them.
Reiner squeezes Eren's hand, his thumb stroking Eren's too-warm (perfect, so perfect) skin. Not much time, but they still have time for this. They still have time to be alive.
(That's enough, right? Three (five) more years? That has to be enough.)
Truth be told, Reiner hasn't been on many dates. (Has he? What counts as a date? Would he remember?) It's not as though he had much free time on Paradis. Besides, meaningless hookups were easier, less complicated. Holding hands is an important part of dates, as far as Reiner knows. But for once, Reiner isn't thinking about playing a role. He isn't thinking about how he should present himself or mold his personality into an appropriate shape. He holds Eren's hand not because that's proper date behavior: he holds it because Eren reached for him, and Reiner won't let go.
Is this the first time Eren has reached for him first? Not ever, not in their world—but here? Reiner can't always trust his memory anymore: it shifts beneath his feet, twisting and molding into different shapes, details lost and found. But he thinks this is the first time. He holds on as though it is.
"Yeah, that sounds good," Reiner says, his smile mostly faded but still lingering in his voice. "We can walk until we find something that smells good, right?"
Words that Reiner wouldn't have remembered on his own, drunk as he was. That's one advantage of text-based conversation.
"You get final say." He looks at Eren before adding, "We're celebrating your birthday."
Celebrating it on Reiner's birthday, sure. But his drunken self had been quite insistent, and personally, Reiner thinks he was onto something.
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This is nothing like that. This is...freer. Bad blood will always exist between them but even Eren isn't focused on it at all. He hadn't even hesitated when Reiner suggested this, though he knew Reiner was drunk and might not have meant it.
He's never been on a real date either. When would he have done it? Not during training when he was obsessively focused with killing titans. Not after training when he was obsessively focused on killing titans. Not after Shiganshina when the Scouts were all dead and he knew the horrible truth and he became obsessively focused on killing...everyone. (He'd tried to find another way at first. Maybe subconsciously he was still looking for one when Hange confronted him in that cell. Ultimately, the future consumed him. He's only here now because of Thirteen's invitation. Would he still have been brought to Ellipsa? No way to know.)
Reiner's so much easier with his touch than Eren. It's the little things, the reassuring squeeze, the way his thumb moves. Eren isn't stiff, but he's still got so much of himself locked behind whatever walls he built in his mind. Was he ever good at casual touch? He can't remember. Maybe he was, with Armin and Mikasa if no one else, but those days seem so long ago now.
What would Reiner have been like in another world, one like this where he didn't have to grow up brainwashed and hated? He is kind where Eren never has been. Despite all the blood and terror, part of Reiner is still kind. Eren...is Eren.
He glances over, surprised, pulled from his thoughts by Reiner's words.
"What? No way. It's not actually my birthday. You shouldn't give up celebrating yours just for me." He doesn't mean to say the next part out loud, but he does, eyes in front of him again. "There's nothing in me worth celebrating."
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(It's hard to see them as inhuman after pinning them facedown on a roof, muffling their screams with a hand, holding them captive while an ally removes their only means of defense, then leaving them to die while they plead to just talk it over. No, it's more than hard: it's impossible.)
It would've been different if Marcel were around. Everything would've been so much different. But Marcel died, and Reiner took his comrade's place, molding his personality into something resembling Marcel's. Maybe Reiner would've been crueler if he'd had a leader to hide behind; maybe his kindness would've extended only as far as his fellow Warriors. Or maybe it would've been the opposite; maybe he would've grown to care so deeply that he would choose to abandon his mission.
If those divisions never existed at all… Who is to say? Reiner avoids thinking of such things. The world is as it is. All he can do is try to make it better for those he loves.
Reiner keeps Eren's hand held in his, the strength of Eren's fingers familiar, the heat of their palms a perfect reflection. Privately, he thinks he could spend hours just holding Eren's hand. (He thinks he could spend days doing more.) He watches the surprise on Eren's face, something that shows more in Eren's glance than a significant change of expression. He's just about to argue the point, ready to say that he can celebrate his birthday however he wants and that he's choosing to celebrate Eren's.
Then Eren continues speaking. And Reiner doesn't think it through before responding.
"What, and there's so much to celebrate in me?"
The words aren't tinged by anger, but they're revealing. Way too revealing. Reiner tries not to wince as he hears them, turning to face forward as well. Squeezing Eren's hand again, though he can't say whether it's for Eren's reassurance or his own.
"There's plenty in you worth celebrating," he says obstinately, trying to barrel straight past his indiscretion. "Anyway, what if I want to celebrate my birthday by celebrating yours?"
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But it never would have mattered, would it? Even if Eren had been actual friends with anyone in Liberio, he would have destroyed the town anyway to take the War Hammer's power, to hamstring their forces, to win at all costs. Eren isn't without guilt or regret, but he would do it all again with few changes. At the end of this, years from now for Reiner, he's not sure if Reiner would say the same.
He hears Reiner's words and thinks of his anguish, his wish to die, the war he fights with himself.
We're the same.
I vaguely remember saying something like that.
Half-assed piece of shit.
I'm worse.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
His hand tightens a little, an involuntary reflex to keep from drowning.
Luckily Reiner speaks before Eren can open his stupid mouth and say something that poisons it. He doesn't want to. He really doesn't. He hadn't been lying when he said he didn't want Reiner mad at him.
(He does and he will sometimes, probably. Just not usually, which had been a revelation to him when he'd admitted it aloud.)
"I told you," he says.
We're the same.
No. Not that. Here, now, time stolen from the world they came from.
"It's your birthday. If that's what you really want, then...okay."
Crisis averted(?).
His grip returns to normal and the present coalesces again.
"Have you had cheeseburgers?"
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Deep down, he's afraid that Eren will look satisfied. Smug. Happy.
So Reiner doesn't look, keeping his eyes forward, mirroring Eren's grip. He doesn't relax until Eren does, finally looking Eren's way. There's no trace of a smile on those lips. For the first time, that comes as a relief.
Putting aside that slip of the tongue, Eren's claim that there's nothing in him worth celebrating is perplexing and concerning. It's another bizarre puzzle piece added to the pile, filed somewhere alongside the words, "I'm worse." Reiner puts it aside for now, bringing Eren's hand to his lips again.
"It is what I want, Eren," he says, kissing Eren's thumb. He could get used to pulling Eren's hand up for a kiss whenever he pleases. (He is getting used to it.)
Then he blinks. "Cheeseburgers?" His tone gives the answer away before he adds, "No, I haven't had those. Are they good?"
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Joke's always been on him.
Later in that dim basement knowing he was about to (win) raise hell, he only felt...necessary. He had been meaner and more dramatic than he had to be, transforming after taking Reiner's hand and helping him stand. That was cruel and he knows it. But he hadn't been pleased to know their similarities, to know Reiner's anguish.
At the beach the momentary victory he had was replaced with the knowledge that he shouldn't have done it that way. It was dirty and he doesn't need to play dirty anymore. Maybe it's old habits and maybe there's just something irrevocably twisted inside him. At least he tried to recover a little.
At least now he's making a concentrated effort to stay grounded in time so he doesn't fuck up Reiner's birthday of all things.
Reiner kisses his hand and he watches, eyes no longer distant. Reiner still treats him with softness so often. Eren himself doesn't know how to do that. Did he ever? Was he ever soft? Weak, sure. But soft? He can't remember now.
They could kiss right here on the street again and nothing about it would feel loaded, he thinks. They could just be two boys on a date like they aren't stained with blood. Like they haven't been at each other's literal throats. Like they're normal, human. He doesn't do that, but the realisation surprises him.
"Cheeseburgers," he manages to say. "They're amazing. It's like...a sandwich but it has grilled meat and melted cheese and stuff." He's not actually sure what all goes on it. Tomato? Some kind of sauce? Doesn't matter. The meat is actually the important part to him, since that was so scarce for so long.
"That doesn't sound anywhere near as good as it is. I bet somewhere here has them."
He turns and tugs Reiner's hand to follow down the street. He doesn't really know where they're going but that's fine. They were always planning to just wander until they found something that sounded good.
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Whatever the case, it feels good to touch Eren softly. It feels right holding Eren's hand, kissing his too-warm skin and those stubbornly unsmiling lips. It feels frightening, too, as if Reiner is just waiting for the other shoe to drop. They're stealing time; they're allowing themselves to be something else. But how long can that possibly last? How long can this fragile thing between them continue to exist?
Long enough, Reiner hopes. Long enough.
Eren sets off in what seems to be an entirely random direction. Reiner lets himself be tugged along, quickly catching up to walk side-by-side again. Based on Eren's description, Reiner tries to conjure an image of a cheeseburger in his head. A grilled-meat sandwich with cheese? But not quite a sandwich. His mental image is probably off. Still, it sounds great.
"I hope so. They sound delicious. Grilled meat and cheese…" He trails off, fantasizing about the flavor. "What kind of meat is it?"
Naturally, he, too, is focused mainly on the meat.
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He's never really expected to be handled softly, certainly not after the things he's done (will do). He doesn't deserve it. It isn't that he doesn't want it, though he had convinced himself he didn't. Reiner touches him like he matters, like he's nothing besides human, like they aren't both monsters. It's nice to pretend that. Well, maybe the first part is true; maybe he does still matter. Jury's out in his head on that one.
He wants more than that, of course. There's more than softness threading through Eren's desires, through both of their desires. But this date thing so far isn't bad.
Freedom, he thinks, to be who he wants to be (whoever that is) with whoever he wants. No war. No Rumbling. Those are ever-present in his memories, but this stolen time is hard won and there is so much he would do to hold onto it.
"Pretty sure it's beef," Eren says. He had asked once, but now he's not sure if there are other kinds. The regular kind is fine by him, though.
Wandering through the streets towards vendors and restaurants, eventually they find a place that does, in fact, have burgers. It has other things, sandwiches and some fried things. Milkshakes, which Eren hasn't heard of before and is having a hard time picturing what that word must mean, not realising it's basically ice cream.
Soda he knows, at least. Soda is one of the strangest things he's ever had, actually, but he likes it because he likes sensation.
"I have no idea what half this stuff is," he says, leaning closer to Reiner so he can speak low enough to not be embarrassing.
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Things are better with Eren at his side. Better in a way that Reiner can't always quantify, simply feeling it in his heart. It's just better. The days feel more like gifts than trials; Reiner's jagged, fractured edges feel more like puzzle pieces than shards of glass. It's ridiculous to imagine he could ever put himself back together after breaking so badly—but with Eren, it feels less like he's falling apart. (Or when he does fall apart, it's in the best way.)
Eren's hand remains in his while they search for cheeseburgers. It stays there even when they find a place selling them, and Eren leans close to speak. Reiner finds that he's smiling slightly with no memory of when it happened, the expression having snuck onto his lips sometime during their walk.
"Me neither," Reiner confesses, his voice just as low, following Eren's example. He can guess the ingredients of some things—"onion rings" are pretty self-explanatory—but he has no idea what they taste like. They can't just be plain onions, can they? That would be terrible.
"Let's get different stuff and split it," he suggests. "If one of us doesn't like it, maybe the other will."
And if neither of them does? Well, they'll doubtless eat it, anyway. The idea of wasting food wouldn't sit right with either of them.
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He hopes it never changes back. This is so much better than only trying to kill each other until one or both of them succeeds. Until time runs out.
But it won't now. That's the secret he holds today, but one he wants to share.
First things first.
He glances sideways and catches that smile. Reiner is handsome when he smiles (he's handsome anyway). Eren somehow doesn't expect to see it there, but maybe that's because he remembers Reiner older. Maybe it's because he can't seem to find a way to smile himself.
Someday. Not yet.
He stares a moment too long, like usual, before he snaps out of it.
"Deal. But you definitely want a cheeseburger."
Eren orders that (no mayo, sorry Hijikata), fries, cheese curds (this surely is more complicated than it sounds, right?) and a strawberry milkshake.
"Get whatever. I can pay for it."
Reiner wants to celebrate. Eren figures it's Reiner's birthday. And he's never hard up for money because he doesn't buy things, not really. Food, mostly. But he's not Sasha; he can't possibly spend all his money on food.
He really needs a hobby other than falling into Reiner's or Ozymandias's bed but whatever!
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Maybe someday, Eren will tell him. Maybe someday, Reiner will do the same.
He huffs a laugh at Eren's insistence about the cheeseburger. Eren is right: Reiner does want to try that. He doesn't argue about Eren paying, either, but he has a stipulation.
"All right," he agrees. "But I'll pay for the ice cream cake."
That seems only fair.
Reiner orders a cheeseburger with "everything," figuring he can remove things from the not-a-sandwich if he doesn't like them. (He doubts he'll feel the need to do so.) He also gets the mysterious onion rings, deep-fried chiles, and a blueberry milkshake.
Hopefully, the two of them end up liking milkshakes. Whatever they are.
Once Eren pays, Reiner accepts some weird disc that the cashier explains will "buzz" when their order is ready. (Reiner has no idea what that means, but it should be obvious enough, right?) Then he tugs Eren's hand toward an outdoor table, examining the disc as they make their way to their seats.
"Every time I think I'm caught up on the technology here, someone says something that makes no sense." Reiner shakes his head, gesturing with the disc. "All I can imagine is a buzzing bee."
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Eren does almost argue about the paying thing, opening his mouth to remind Reiner whose birthday it is. But he shuts it again. It's not like money matters to either of them, he's pretty sure, and Reiner made it clear he wanted to celebrate Eren's birthday all these months later.
"...Okay."
Eren has a vague idea that "milkshake" is like "ice cream" from seeing one before but he's never had one. He can't imagine blueberry ice cream though, so that's enticing.
He lets Reiner pull him to the table and slides into a seat, finally (reluctantly) relinquishing his hold on the other boy's hand.
He stares at the disc thing. Buzz? Like a bee? How or why? That's a complete mystery to him too. Why don’t they just call names like normal? Whatever.
"I have no idea what that thing is," he says. "The technology here really is nuts."
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Was he always so greedy for touch? He doesn't know. He's always been physically affectionate, having no reservations about squeezing a friend's shoulder or patting a kid on the head. But this greed—this need—feels like more than that. Something centered on Eren, specifically.
Whatever the case, Reiner feels satisfied once they're touching again, even if it's under the table.
"Yeah, it is," he agrees. "Sometimes, I wonder why they invented certain things."
He gestures at the disc as if to say, Case in point.
Then he folds his hands loosely on the table, his gaze rising to meet Eren's again. Tilting his head to the side, he asks, "You said there was something you wanted to tell me in person, right?"
Not that Reiner remembered that, drunk as he was. He had to reread it once sober.
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He raises an eyebrow. He hadn't actually expected Reiner to remember, but he planned to talk anyway. There's no point in hiding the info that he got from Ellipsa's leaders. It affects them both, after all.
He looks down at his hands resting on the tabletop.
"Yeah. It's...I don’t know if I quite believe it yet but I learned something important. You should know too."
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Of course, as soon as Reiner thinks that, he immediately loses track of Eren's mood. He watches Eren's eyes, trying to gauge if the news is good or bad but coming up empty.
The price he pays for his hubris.
"All right," he says, his voice quieter, serious. "Is it a bad thing?"
Maybe that question will help Eren dig into whatever it is.
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He raises an eyebrow a little.
"You think I'd ruin your birthday with bad news?" he asks. It's an absurd question; they both know he would.
He shakes his head though.
"No, it's…it's good. I just don't know how to deal with it."
His hands flex against the table and he picks at the edge of his thumb, nervous energy seeking an outlet. It's not quite violence, but it's still got that hinted edge. He's never been good at directing his inner turmoil into anything that isn't at least a little destructive.
He takes a deep breath and looks up at Reiner again.
"The leaders of this place…they told me they can't sense any curse. That for whatever reason, the magic that brought us here and all, it somehow…cancels out our death sentences."
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But they like this better when they're not angry at each other, right? This nameless, fragile thing that allows them to walk beneath cherry blossoms hand-in-hand? So Reiner keeps his expression restrained, and Eren doesn't throw bad news in his face.
Instead, Eren picks at his thumb, visibly nervous. Reiner's brows pinch together, fingers twitching as he fights the impulse to reach out and grasp Eren's hand in his. Wanting to steady him. Wanting to give him something else to scratch at if that's what he needs to do. (Better Reiner's hand than Eren's, right?)
Then Eren says … what he says.
Reiner stares, not processing it. Slowly, he runs the words through his head again. The leaders can't sense a curse. The magic that pulled them here canceled it out. Canceled their death sentences. Canceled the Curse of Ymir. The leaders can't…
His hand reaches for Eren's, an instinctive move that Reiner doesn't register until he finds Eren's hand clasped in his. Who is steadying who? He can't honestly say.
"Are they sure?" he asks, the words coming out more cautious than celebratory.
Reiner has known his expiration date since he was ten years old; like Eren, he has no idea how to deal with this revelation.
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He can't always make that choice. He really is the most vengeful person alive, after all, willing to take on the entire world and burn it to ash not for the death of humanity or some noble but for and old hate the threat against a dozen people that matter to him. Sure, freedom for Eldians, safety for Paradis, but those will always be secondary to what is personal to Eren.
He watches Reiner's face as the other boy absorbs the information, spins it around, decides what to do with it. He knows it's a hard thing to accept; he's not sure sure if he's totally accepted it either. And he's only known about the timer on his life since they reached the basement, what, five years ago or something like that? Reiner's always known.
His hand is right there when Reiner reaches for him, without question or thought, just a reaction that feels as easy as breathing. Funny, when he's half-holding his breath.
"Yeah. They're sure," he says. "The captain and Hange found out, and when I went there, Dawn said she could sense a 'curse' but it isn't something shortening my lifespan."
He's also careful. He wouldn't be very celebratory anyway; he hasn't really reached a point where he's good at emoting things like that. It's hard to imagine in general.
"You know, I never planned for an after," he says. Of course he didn't, and how could he? He has no idea (even now) if the titan curse will end forever. He has no idea what happens after he dies. All that mattered to him was reaching the end, whether that meant killing every single person that wasn't on the island or dying himself or both.
But even if he had somehow been swayed, he was always going to die. Everyone is, sure, but titan shifters only get thirteen years, and Eren has stormed through most of those already. So has Reiner, he knows.
"I didn't really plan on now," he says, an admission he will not elaborate on. He's already told Reiner he didn't expect to live until 20. It's enough.
"I have no idea what to do, but with the amount of weird shit magic can do…I guess I kind of believe it."
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we can wrap up here if you like?
sure!