It's a golden moment carved out of a slew of pain. One moment that isn't bloody or twisted; one moment that is simple, pure. And for the first time in a long time, Reiner doesn't ask who or what he is; he doesn't wonder how he's supposed to accomplish his mission (or how he will bear its weight); he doesn't feel the guilt, despair, and fear curling around his throat, choking him, trapping him, leaving him staggering forward, clutching any handhold he can find. He just … is.

He breathes deeply, his eyes closed, inhaling Eren's scent. Feeling the rain on his skin, more a mist now than a steady fall, pleasantly cool. Relishing all the places where he and Eren touch, their bodies still pressed close, their too-warm skin feeling normal, natural. Basking, for just one moment, in the hazy afterglow.

When Reiner finally moves, he doesn't think. Doesn't hesitate. He turns his head and presses his mouth to the side of Eren's neck, lips lingering in an unmistakable kiss. It's too soft for what they are, too sweet for what they have done (what they will do) to each other. He's acting on instinct again. Following his heart instead of his head.