Reiner's fingers twitch in Eren's grasp, the reflexive (taught, ingrained) need to defend his country rising within him. He should say it wasn't fucked up; he should say they were chosen Warriors, not mere children; he should say it was an honor bestowed upon few, and there's no way Eren could ever understand. He can feel the words forming hot on this tongue, knowing they'll come with an accusation that Eren sounds like a filthy Restorationist.
But how ridiculous would that be, accusing Eren of being a Restorationist? Eren, who spent his whole life on Paradis? Eren, who Reiner is supposed to consider an inhuman devil?
Reiner bites his tongue, trying to smother his offense. Selfishly, he doesn't want to fight again. Not right now. Not when Eren's hand is so warm in his. Not when he still feels so despicably weak for losing track of himself, even if he ultimately won the game.
Still, his fingers twitch.
"I remember those lessons," Reiner says. They weren't the first lessons Reiner had in shooting a rifle. All his hours spent practicing back home made him look better in Paradis. "They stuck out. Came in handy when we had to shoot Titans in the face once. Otherwise, they didn't seem very practical."
Not in a place where people weren't supposed to go to war with other people. Just one of the many things that didn't quite make sense about Paradis' society.
Reiner takes a breath, letting it out in a near-silent sigh. Then, finally, he releases a few of the words still sitting on his tongue:
"I chose this. You know that, right, Eren? It was my decision."
As if he could've made a fully informed decision when he was ten years old, much less when he began training at five. But even if it was a decision born from lie after lie, a desperate child chasing a dream, begging to be wanted, Reiner still has to live with the consequences. He still has to move forward.
Again and again, Reiner has made the decision to push forward. What else can he do now but more of the same?
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But how ridiculous would that be, accusing Eren of being a Restorationist? Eren, who spent his whole life on Paradis? Eren, who Reiner is supposed to consider an inhuman devil?
Reiner bites his tongue, trying to smother his offense. Selfishly, he doesn't want to fight again. Not right now. Not when Eren's hand is so warm in his. Not when he still feels so despicably weak for losing track of himself, even if he ultimately won the game.
Still, his fingers twitch.
"I remember those lessons," Reiner says. They weren't the first lessons Reiner had in shooting a rifle. All his hours spent practicing back home made him look better in Paradis. "They stuck out. Came in handy when we had to shoot Titans in the face once. Otherwise, they didn't seem very practical."
Not in a place where people weren't supposed to go to war with other people. Just one of the many things that didn't quite make sense about Paradis' society.
Reiner takes a breath, letting it out in a near-silent sigh. Then, finally, he releases a few of the words still sitting on his tongue:
"I chose this. You know that, right, Eren? It was my decision."
As if he could've made a fully informed decision when he was ten years old, much less when he began training at five. But even if it was a decision born from lie after lie, a desperate child chasing a dream, begging to be wanted, Reiner still has to live with the consequences. He still has to move forward.
Again and again, Reiner has made the decision to push forward. What else can he do now but more of the same?