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The aeroplane rattles and shakes as it bounces around through the clouds, propellers sputtering, causing the flying metal structure to surge and dip, sending the pit in Reiner’s stomach right up into his throat, where’s it’s logged, immovable, like the core of a fruit stuck in his windpipe. Occasionally things clamour into the sides of their hulking structure, debris from the quaking wreckage of the Rumbling, and birds probably, unaccustomed to this stranger in their skies that travelled at the speed of a steam train. The future was a frightening thing.
They’re scrambling for a plan, Armin is smart, but he’s not equipped for something of this scale as his first venture as Commander, as if anyone could be anyway. The loss of a friend is gut wrenching, heart breaking, and misery is contagious; but he was trying to hold it together, as much as everyone else, to get them all through this, guilt and self pity aside, and Reiner envied him.
But they were the same, that’s what Eren had said, and that must mean he wanted to be stopped just as Reiner had, hiding behind a false reality to deal with what he had done. Even as they were plunged into darkness, a world of night and endless desert, a tree of light that erupted in the infinite astral black, and a little boy that told them he didn’t want to talk. Even as they screamed and pleaded with him, begging the child they once knew that enough was enough, they were safe and he could stop, this blank-eyed mirage of Eren told them they’d have to kill him if they wanted this misery to stop. Same brush, different strokes, Reiner thought, as he released them back into the material world.
So where did that leave them, everyone wracked by the losses they’d already faced, the hollow victories they endured, and the sacrifices they were forced to make. They couldn’t forfeit the world to save the one that had changed the course of their lives forever, for both good and bad. There had been enough sacrifices already, ones he hadn’t even had time to process, it was like Eren said, they had to keep moving forward.
The memory of Shiganshina seemed so far away now, despite being only days ago. The shrill and familiar screech of ODM wires soaring through the air, two figures rise above him, Connie and Jean, although he could barely recognise them; taller, broader, hair on both their heads and their faces longer. Reiner thinks that they would probably say the same about him, but there’s definitely recognition in their eyes as they tensed and gripped their thunderspears tighter. It’s only what he deserved, and all was fair in love and war.
When he reached for the lifeless body of the Jaw behind him, static shot through his finger, up his arm, and an impression of Marcel flashed through his mind. Why are you showing me this now? He tried to reason with himself, the words he played over and over in his mind tempting his weakness, “You see, you were never supposed to be chosen as a warrior—” He shakes himself from one nightmare and back into another. He can’t lose him again.
Colt and Falco are before him, a screaming match with Zeke that he can’t quite hear through Eren’s roars of desperation. The silence, and then the reverberating scream that sent a shiver up his spine and burned his neck like a brandish, as the world lit up with blinding light. The hulking, long necked, caricature of a boy he once knew clawing at his arms as he struggled to hold down both the titans under him, and the steam rising from the Jaw behind him obscuring his vision.
“But I— I changed the army’s minds by praising you while casting doubt on my little brother—” Eren kicked against him scrambling to free himself as Reiner caught him by the ankle, leaving something to gnaw at his nape; the scraping of teeth squeak uncomfortably, the sound of teething on dry cotton, as his hardened skin creaks, resisting the oncoming attack.
He looked up, searching for the answer, and through the fog he saw her; the tiny frame of the girl he swore to save from the same fate that he once thought would fix his life too. “I wanted to protect him—” Marcel’s voice beckons behind a crackling fire and he knew what he had to do.
Only, it didn’t quite go according to plan. He didn’t understand why she did it, decisions of the heart winning out over the voice in her head, and a surrogate sister she swore to protect… A dull thud and a slight tremor as the Cart titan hit the cobblestones, gun still smoking as it’s passengers aim the barrel towards him and Eren. Then there was another figure running through the evaporating fog, and Falco’s mindless titan was barrelling towards them before Reiner could stop it.
He was screaming her name, an echoing screech from his titan and Pieck gone before she even had time to react. Eren’s gone too, into the outstretched arm of his brother, and time seems to stand still as the ground shakes and the walls crumble around them.
He slept for a short time that felt like a long time, or maybe it’s the other way around, he can’t really remember. Flashes of light, smoke, the smell of iron, and the crunching sound of giant bones filled his dreams as aching breaths clawed their way up his throat, coming out in screams for another friend he couldn’t save.
Something hit the side of the building and he jolted awake in the darkness, a presence by his side ran their fingers through his hair, and he thought about Gabi, even if the hand was far too large to be hers. “Sleep,” a voice whispered, familiar but hoarse, and he did as he was told, letting the nightmares overtake him once more.
He heard them before he actually woke up, as he regularly does, the voices of the people he’s lost haunting him, the last time he saw them looping like an zoetrope spinning endlessly in his mind. Memories merged into something new, as their voices trickled into his ears.
“Annie, don’t—”
“Since when do you give a fuck, Galliard? Reiner, get up—”
The memory of a sharp kick in the face jerks him back to the present.
A gun can’t fire without its trigger, and so Zeke was their target. In retrospect, his betrayal should have been inevitable to Reiner, but he spares a glance at his old comrades on the bench beside him, and thinks better than to lament on the past this time around. But cutting the head off the proverbial snake was easier said than done then locating him would be nigh-on-impossible. Failing that, they’d use the power of the Colossal to blow the skeletal puppet to pieces. He tried to remain optimistic, clinging to everything he still had left.
Porco was intensely focused, head in his hands and brow furrowed as they discussed tactics. His leg was bouncing up and down too, nervous energy, a habit he’d manifested from years of pre-battle meetings. He looked small without the ODM gear strapped to him like everyone else, but the Captain insisted that it would be worse for him to accidentally decapitate himself with gear he didn’t know how to use. The joke turned Reiner’s stomach, and they agreed he’d use the Jaws’ agility to his advantage, take the cargo load of explosives they carried with them, and aim for Eren’s neck.
Their battle in Shiganshina could have gone so differently, he didn’t even want to fathom the outcome. The reality was hard enough; Pieck was always respite of gentle sympathy, while her logic kept him grounded. She was understanding, even when Reiner couldn’t bring himself to fully open up, and company whenever he needed it without forcing a conversation. He knew she would take care of Falco now, the same way she was there for him.
Trance-like, he stares from the window, the smoking skulls of a thousand Colossal titans coming into view, and everyone around him bustles to action. He clenches his jaw, clearing his throat, and Porco stands, coming around the other side of him to peer outside too. In the last few days, the energy had changed between them, but the tension stayed, shifted into something new and undefinable that made Reiner nervous, and his heart pound in his chest whenever he looked at him, even more than it did before.
“Ready?” Porco asks, looking for something to do with his hands as grips onto the support rail above them.
“As I’ll ever be,” Reiner attempts a weak smile, wrinkling his eyes at the corner to make it more convincing. They stare at each other, a thousand words on the tip of his tongue, but none of them seem to be the right ones, so he doesn’t say anything.
Everyone flurries around them, Onyankopon yelling at them to get ready now as the aeroplane sputters and starts like any vehicle running out of fuel. He lurches left, avoiding a barrage of rocks that come hurtling in their direction. The aircraft rolls and Reiner’s stomach lurches as he tries to steady himself.
“Braun,” Porco reaches out for him as they struggle to stay upright, fingers gripping his wrist, keeping him tethered. “Don’t you dare sacrifice yourself for me again, okay?”
Reiner swallowed around that lump in his throat, turning his wrist so he could grip Porco’s in turn, fingers sliding under the sleeve of the cut off Garrison jacket he still wore. Too long for battle, he complained, he always hated the official Marley uniforms too. The inside of his wrist was warm compared to Reiner’s fingers, and he pretended he couldn’t feel Porco’s pulse quickening as he touched him. Electric.
“I’ll try my best.” And he believed it, as Porco’s other hand lands firm and steady in the centre of his shoulder blades, and he pushes them both out into the frozen, rushing wind.
A knee brushed against his own as Porco sat down, and when he looked at him, the familiar jolt of warm static ran through him despite trying to will it away. Illuminated by the firelight, he’s a spitting image of that memory he had been holding onto for so long; a mirror of his once older, but now eternally younger, brother, hair tousled and tragically handsome, and Reiner’s heart ached for the boy he stole away from him. His heart pulled in his chest as he was catapulted back to that memory again, and before he can even stop himself he’s spilling his dirty secrets out to his old friends.
He could accept the things they’ve done, they’ve been forced to do, sacrifices made for the good of a war that was on a scale none of them could have ever imagined. He’d never expect an apology from them, from anyone, and when he told them about Marco, the fist that collided with his face over and over was something he was certain he deserved a long time ago.
Jean was being pulled away from him, he could sense the air around him getting thinner despite not being able to see, one eye already swollen shut, and the other clouded with his own blood. Gabi forced herself between Reiner and his belated punishment, the innocent pleas of a child grounding them through their grief, and pain, and rage.
Porco was close by, cautious as he couches by him, running his hands through his hair again, checking for fractures, pulling blood soaked strands from his forehead to properly assess the damage. It was gentle, almost tender, the delicate touches of his fingers making Reiner’s breathing even more ragged than before, as he pushed all down his already repressed feelings, chalking up Porco’s care to basic military first aid procedures.
What kind of horrors had he seen on the frontlines, while he was here, playing soldier, willing away the reality of his duty as a Warrior. He’d wanted to ask him, to know more about him, to say I’m sorry for leaving, I’m sorry for taking your place , but he knew that it wasn’t even his place to apologise so simply, let alone be so morbidly curious.
Everyone backed off, an awkward truce settled over them as they said their good nights. Annie took care of Falco and Gabi— she’s not good with children, but she’s even worse with Reiner, so by process of elimination, Reiner thought, Porco was stuck with him.
“I always thought I was stubborn but you’re something else, Braun,” Porco mutters, almost awkwardly to himself, as he helps Reiner out of his stained jacket, blood already evaporating into the cool night air.
When he sat up, his world was spinning, head throbbing; his nose was probably broken but he would fix that later, lamenting on the pain, a physical reminder that matched his emotions. It felt good, there was no argument, just punishment, something he’d been chasing for a long time.
“Can you, uh,” Porco squated awkwardly close by, moving unsure to Reiner’s left, his right, as he tried to find a good angle to take a proper look at his face. “ Just— ” he nudged Reiner’s thigh with his boot and he got the message, spreading his legs as Porco knelt between them.
Porco gripped Reiner’s chin, tilting his head back, and he couldn't help how his lips part instinctively, expectantly. Porco’s doing everything he could to avoid Reiner’s gaze, his eyebrows were knitted together, chewing on the inside of his cheek, as he pressed his finger tips experimentally across Reiner’s face trying to get a rise out of him, asking him to let him know how bad it was. His cheeks were tinted pink, probably warm from the fire, and he knelt back with a sigh, frustrated.
He grabbed a cloth from the cold bucket of water beside them, wringing it out before turning his attention back to Reiner. Up on his knees again, he places a tentative hand on Reiner’s cheek, fingers cold and damp from the water as he stroked the cloth across his face, scrubbing gently at the blood already beginning to crust in his facial hair. He swipes up his cheek then, dabbing at the punishing cut across his cheek bone and Reiner hissed, eyes screwed shut, tilting his head to the side involuntarily. The hand is cool on his cheek and he presses further into it. He could feel his own warm breath as it bounced back off the surface of Porco’s palm, and he wanted to retreat further into the soothing cold.
Porco was silent, breath caught in his throat as he let Reiner cower against him. He didn't realise what he was doing at first, momentarily forgetting where they were and who he’s with. He cracked an eye open to stare at Porco, and like a fox caught by the sight of the hunters gun, the other man was frozen, fixated, before Reiner let him go, and he quickly withdrew his hand.
“I’m okay,” Reiner coughed, “I’ll heal up on my own, you don’t have to waste your time on me,” and it hurt to say, even if he meant it. Porco had made his feelings about Reiner clear many times, and his attention now just made things more confusing.
“You’ve been looking out for me this whole time,” Porco whispered, something pulled at his lips, almost a smile but one tinged with both melancholy and regret. “Can’t you let me return the favour?”
“I deserved it,” Reiner muttered, swallowing the blood pooling in his mouth, still refusing to let himself heal just yet.
“It’s not that simple,” He tuts, wringing out the red-stained cloth in the bucket next to him. “Stop punishing yourself, stupid.”
“Galliard,” Reiner breathed quietly, unsure of what to do with his hands, he reached out tentatively to grip Porco’s knee, his thumb brushed against the seams of his trousers, indulging in the warmth beneath his hand, despondent at how he can feel Porco tense and breathing halt at his touch, “thank you.”
When Porco took Reiner to the tent the others had set up and sat him down, he asked if Reiner wanted him to stay. It felt odd, and Porco looked at the ground when he said it, but he was already shucking his boots off and unfolding a blanket before Reiner could protest. And maybe it’s actually not weird at all; whenever Reiner awoke from one of his nightmares back in Liberio, Porco would always be there, and even if something between them felt different, that didn’t have to change now.
He bites down hard, cartilage in his hand crunching and his mouth fills with blood. Gigantic tendons wrap around him, enveloping him in Armour. He goes straight for Zeke, attempting to rip at his neck, but his fur falls straight through his fingers like sand, an already disintegrating husk. They’re frustrated, lost, forced to use plan B before they expected. Reiner looks to Porco, draped in belts and belts of ammunition, he was no Pieck, but he could carry everyone to safety well enough.
There’s a prickling sensation of being watched by some omniscient force, preempting every move they could make, and they spend a second too long thinking, an unknown beast lurching from the shadows to capture their greatest weapon before they have a chance to react.
When they turn back, there’s already too many of them, growing like a mutating fungus separating them from their goal, giving them no choice but to stay, or give up and retreat. There’s a scraping from behind, like nails on a chalkboard, and the Jaw takes off with a new sense of urgency; he’d always been an ‘act first, talk later’ kind of person, now a critical asset as he dodges enemies left and right, never faltering as he clings to bone like old trees in a giant forest.
He gets distracted, thunder spears fly past his head, explosions ringing in his ears as the others defend him from titans in every direction. He’s throwing punches almost aimlessly, grabbing one by the throat, kicking at another. They’re easy to take down, these puppets are fragile in comparison to the real thing, but he’s outnumbered, his situation worsening by the second as he knows his friends are running out of weapons too.
A rapid thudding shakes the spine under his feet, as one sprints towards him; its skin a matte, perfect, white leather, maniacal grin showing through the sliced flesh over its mouth. It wields an immense trident, swinging it back and forth and Reiner makes a silent prayer for help from his comrades above. But it barrels past him, up towards Eren’s neck, weapon raised like a javelin as it takes aim, soaring through the air as its blades plunge through the body of Porco’s titan.
“You’re quiet,” He said, leaning against the doorframe of Reiner’s room, exhausted after their clash with the Jaegerists at the port, but he couldn't sleep, too caught up in the Why’s, the How’s, the What If’s.
“I’m just tired.”
Porco looked like he wanted to say something, gnawing at his bottom lip and hands stuffed in his pockets. He settled on a generic question. “Are you scared?”
“I would be lying if I said no,” Reiner smiled sadly, catching Porco’s eye, and the corner of his mouth twitched in response before the ground became much more interesting to him once again.
“You’re always throwing yourself around to protect others,” Porco confessed, sitting down on the bed next to Reiner, shoulders touching but eyes trained on the floor. He seemed to be mulling over his next words carefully, not sure how to say exactly what he wanted. “You can stop trying to be like him now…”
“Huh?” Reiner’s question more like a sound from his throat than a word. He tries to look at the man next to him, so close he could have counted the tiny freckles high up on his cheekbone if he really wanted to, but Porco won’t look at him, jaw clenched and nervous. Reiner always considered Porco as someone that was easy to understand, motives clear and uncomplicated, but at that time, he just couldn’t understand what he was trying to say.
Reiner's hands were on his own knees, and he watched as Porco reached out for him slowly, as though the world were moving in slow motion, fingertips just brushing the fine hairs on his fingers, as though even the slightest contact might burn him. Reiner thought that it really could. He traces Reiner’s knuckles with the slightest touch, down the veins on his hand, tapping the bone of his wrist. He’s entranced, and his breathing picked up, willing his chest to stop heaving so obviously as Porco explores him.
He turned his hand to face the ceiling, fingers caressed his wrist before travelling up the curved crease of his palm. The life line that stretched long and deep, bending across the breadth of his palm, ironic and inaccurate. Porco’s thumb trailed across his wrist again while his fingers compared their two sizes: his own digits shorter and marred with scars from the battlefield he accumulated before inheriting his titan, while Reiner’s hands healed again and again without a single reminder of what he’d put them through.
Porco reached further now, charting the creases made in Reiner’s trousers by his bent knees, and then his fingers dug in, Porco gripping the inside of his knee, thumb caressing the fabric, and Reiner could feel the nervous breath he let out beside him. Reiner bites his lip, willing away the throbbing between his legs as Porco’s hand crept further up his thigh, deliberately slow, afraid.
Reiner felt his thigh tense under Porco’s touch, fingers massaged gentle circles into muscle, tickling and causing him to twitch involuntarily. He licked his lips, the air in the room stale but too hot all at once. Porco pressed his own leg against Reiner’s and he pulled him closer, the teasing pressure on his inner thigh causing a sharp intake of breath. He wanted to touch back, just feel him the same way he was being felt, but he knew that was a privilege he wasn’t allowed.
The starched bed sheets crinkled audibly in his grip as Porco traversed higher and higher. They don’t look at each other, and Reiner can barely watch, not even as the ball of Porco’s hand pushes experimentally against the bulge in his pants, earning a reluctant hiss from Reiner as he exhales through clenched teeth.
“Galliard—” He cleared his throat, trying not to choke on his own words as Porco squeezed him again, “what are you doing?”
He’s silent, not wanting to respond, not wanting to acknowledge the fact that Reiner had spoken at all, wanting to let his hand do the speaking for him, all he could admit was a quiet and timid, “I don’t know…”
Reiner’s breathing picked up as he let Porco toy with him; he wanted this, he’s always wanted this, sick and twisted fantasies he didn’t deserve to imagine; the forbidden craving of touch, and the need to be used. But this wasn’t the punishment he imagined, so unlike the brash and self-assured Galliard he knew, the man next to him was so gentle, careful, and inexperienced.
Porco’s hand stroked him to half hardness through the cotton of his pants, feeling himself twitch under the tension as fingertips caressed the length of him at an agonising pace. In his peripheral, he saw Porco’s hand go to his own belt, hovering there cautiously. He hesitated just enough for Reiner to let the words he’d been holding back spill out of his mouth.
“You don’t really want me,” he choked out in an almost whisper, the forgotten feeling of what it was like to be touched by someone else making him want to buck up into the warmth of Porco’s hand despite it all. He felt desperate, for it to continue, for it to stop, he couldn’t decide which was more selfish. “End of the world and I’m your best option?”
Porco’s hand shook almost imperceptibly, before he balled his fist up, and Reiner could tell he was looking at him, so he turned his head to meet him. They sat in the silence, air heavy, Porco glancing at Reiner’s lips when he bites them nervously, tongue darting out subconsciously, Reiner’s heart hammering in his chest, a cardiac morse code, kiss him— kiss him— kiss him—
Porco looked away, swallowing audibly. “Something like that,” he said, answering Reiner’s question, and he wished the boat would sink right there, letting the ocean swallow them whole.
“Forget it.” Porco stood without looking back, pausing briefly by the door. “Night, Braun.”
No more regrets. An explosive roar from the Armoured calls several titans in the vicinity to come running. Steam shoots his neck as Reiner pulls himself free, clambering from his decoy as wires shoot from his waist, and he swings through the webs of half formed titans.
The Jaw titan hangs limply from the Warhammer’s blade and Reiner can already see a figure emerging from the fog, ready to fight again. But if the Jaw is known for anything, it’s not stamina, and Reiner knows he only has one more transformation left in him. He screams his name, the Warhammer turning in his direction as Porco makes a run for it. Or at least, he tries to.
He stumbles over his own feet in his haste, hands scrambling to grip the impossibly smooth surface of the trident, swinging his legs as he attempts to launch himself upright. Reiner’s heart hammered, throat restricted, the anchor of his ODM cracking as it roots itself in ivory bone and he needs to reach him in time. Porco swears as he slips, falling, calling out his name, his first name, and he hopes it won’t be the last.
All the air gets knocked out of him when their bodies collide, Reiner grabbing Porco by the waist and hauling him over his shoulder to get them out of harm's way. He uses the momentum of their swing to pull them up high, his stomach dipping as Porco yells from behind, “don’t you dare drop me, Braun !”
The gas tanks sputter as Reiner lands, sounding hollow as they strike against the silver buckles of his harness. He can feel the rise and fall of Porco’s chest as he lowers him down, firm hands gripping his waist unable to let go. He pants, breathless, exhausted, adrenaline coursing through his veins, the feeling of being alive. They stand there together in each others embrace, cold wind cutting through their clothes, chilled to the bone
“Now what?” Porco says, his voice almost drowned out by the punishing speed of the wind in their ears.
“Think I’m out of gas,” Reiner knocks the side of his canisters with the butt of his trigger, unable to stop the cynical chuckle that escapes him. “So, I guess we’re stuck here until we catch our breath.”
The grave reality of their own fleeting mortality sets in as they clutch into one another and watch the carnage below. He’d be more use down there than he is up here, guilt, his old friend, beckoning him back down into the battlefield as he comes to grips with his own selfish decision to rescue the man beside him. That tension between them grows thicker with every passing moment, too many unsaid things that neither are brave enough to say, or could attempt to understand.
“I thought I told you to stop with that self-sacrificial bullshit,” Porco shouts angrily, punching him in the chest, almost falling back before Reiner catches him and pulls them back together on their tiny, makeshift platform. “You could have died.”
“So could you,” Reiner admits, probably too quiet for anyone but himself to hear. Porco must know the look on his face, the overthinking, he breaks the silence between them, like his words had been fighting to escape their internal prison.
“I saw Marcel’s memories—” Porco yells, the wind cuts through them and rips past their ears. “He tricked the army into making a loser like you into a warrior, all to protect me.”
Reiner’s eyes widen; worry, concern, regret. The reality he’s kept to himself for so long, honouring Marcel’s wish to protect his little brother, even at his own expense. “I’m sorry…”
“I don’t want to hear that anymore,” Porco shakes his head, frustrated but calm. “I just want you to admit that—” He smirks slightly, disgusting and charming, “I’ve always been better than you.”
“You have,” Reiner admits, and he can’t help the way a soft smile tugs at his lips in return, and his heart fills with something that feels like gratitude, and unspoken forgiveness. But it’s heavy, and it aches, and Porco looks so beautiful with his cheeks ruddy from cold, hair loose and windswept, eyes that can finally hold contact with his own, and selfishly, he doesn’t want to ever let it go.
“Don’t say that like you’re saying goodbye,” It sounds like a whisper to Reiner’s ears, but it doesn’t go unheard. It’s not the time or the place, but Porco leans in anyway, hand balled in Reiners shirt to bring him down to his level; too inexperienced but filled with a confidence that makes Reiner want to be devoured.
Lips pressed against his, hard and fast, he can feel their teeth clash together through their skin and he inhales sharply through his nose. He can’t even respond at first, the sound of his heart beating in his ears, barely moving his lips as Porco tries to get a response out of him. But he wants this, oh he wants this, wants to be accepted, desired, loved.
Porco’s all teeth, desperation, a passion he doesn’t quite know how to express, but Reiner can tell that he means it. Porco nips at his bottom lip, pulling it into his mouth, smooth tongue running over chapped lips and Reiner sighs, giving into the feeling of longing he’s been trying to repress for as long as he’s known him.
He surges forward with an exhale of breath, hand cupping the back of Porco’s neck to keep him in place, the short hairs on the back of his neck impossibly soft that Reiner can’t help himself touching, massaging, pulling him impossibly closer. Porco lets out a soft grunt in surprise, licking at Reiner’s lips as they chase after each other. He opens his mouth to let Porco in, tongues press and glide against each other as they pant, hopeless, and unforgivably lost.
He doesn’t want to let go, he wants to hold onto him forever, the weight of the world falling from his shoulders with each press of their lips— but a warzone isn’t the place for him to get carried away. Their foreheads press together as they try to force themselves apart, eyes closed and brows furrowed, clinging onto each other for as many seconds as they could spare.
Reiner gasps, breathless, dizzy from the altitude. “What was that?”
“Shit, you never get it do you, Reiner?” Porco laughs, incredulous, but it’s kind and warm. “Do you need me to kiss you again?”
Reiner wants to smile, he wants to cry, the desperation of their current situation unable to overwhelm the confused elation he feels within his chest. It’s all he can do to pull Porco into a tight hug, the other's stiffens before relaxing, pressing his face into the crook of Reiner’s neck. He dares to pucker his lips slightly, the semblance of a kiss and it takes all of Reiner’s willpower to focus back on the task at hand.
“Later,” he utters, willing his voice not to shake, determined to see him again.
“Promise?” Porco’s question filled with determination, a plea, asking Reiner not to throw himself away with the carelessness he has up until this point. He doesn’t need forgiveness, but there’s a whole world of second chances worth fighting for.
“Promise.”