Reiner blinks, the full meaning of Eren's comment about rifles dawning. He opens his mouth, words forming on his tongue, an explanation before a flood of questions. But Reiner cuts off that explanation before it leaves his lips, silencing it and whatever would follow.
He was going to say, "I forgot." Because for a moment, Reiner did. Not who and what he is—not this time—but the simple fact that there are years stretching between their disparate times. Eren didn't wake up one day and find himself physically older with nothing in the interim. Reiner has missed years of Eren's life. Five years, a fact that resonates in Reiner, seeming too significant for a coincidence. What are the chances that Eren's mysterious years would equal the same amount of time Reiner spent in Paradis?
Reiner knows so little of what happened during those five years. He can guess, putting together a rough outline from context clues, piecing together the puzzle one oddity at a time. He could do more than just guess: he could actively seek answers, starting with questioning Gabi. But would that answer what happened to Eren?
"Now I keep living," Eren said back at the food court, eating ramen on what might've been their first date. A vague answer before a more revealing one: "We learned the truth after that."
The truth. A dangerous thing at the best of times. Something Reiner spent five years carefully avoiding divulging.
Is that truth why Eren and the others had to learn how to shoot people? Dread coils in Reiner's gut, the suspicion that he could've failed so categorically sending a cold chill through his body. Is there a full-scale war looming in the future?
Then Eren keeps speaking, saying that they're the same. Reiner sits motionless, his head turned to watch Eren, studying the other boy's profile. Trying to piece together what Eren means. Trying to understand why Eren would say such a thing when he knows precisely what a horrible person Reiner is.
No, not even a person. That's what Eren said mere months ago for Reiner, the words still ringing clearly in Reiner's head: "You two aren't even human anymore!!" Why would Eren call them the same after that? What happened during those five years?
"Eren…," Reiner starts, then trails off, watching Eren looking down at their joined hands. He wants to ask what Eren means by saying such a thing. But for some reason, he thinks of asking Bertolt, "What do you mean, 'Warrior'?" Is the answer hovering just out of Reiner's grasp, as it was back then? Would Eren only stare at him in silence as Bertolt did?
In the end, Reiner voices none of his questions. He only squeezes Eren's hand, still watching Eren's face, gold eyes searching for something just beyond his grasp.
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He was going to say, "I forgot." Because for a moment, Reiner did. Not who and what he is—not this time—but the simple fact that there are years stretching between their disparate times. Eren didn't wake up one day and find himself physically older with nothing in the interim. Reiner has missed years of Eren's life. Five years, a fact that resonates in Reiner, seeming too significant for a coincidence. What are the chances that Eren's mysterious years would equal the same amount of time Reiner spent in Paradis?
Reiner knows so little of what happened during those five years. He can guess, putting together a rough outline from context clues, piecing together the puzzle one oddity at a time. He could do more than just guess: he could actively seek answers, starting with questioning Gabi. But would that answer what happened to Eren?
"Now I keep living," Eren said back at the food court, eating ramen on what might've been their first date. A vague answer before a more revealing one: "We learned the truth after that."
The truth. A dangerous thing at the best of times. Something Reiner spent five years carefully avoiding divulging.
Is that truth why Eren and the others had to learn how to shoot people? Dread coils in Reiner's gut, the suspicion that he could've failed so categorically sending a cold chill through his body. Is there a full-scale war looming in the future?
Then Eren keeps speaking, saying that they're the same. Reiner sits motionless, his head turned to watch Eren, studying the other boy's profile. Trying to piece together what Eren means. Trying to understand why Eren would say such a thing when he knows precisely what a horrible person Reiner is.
No, not even a person. That's what Eren said mere months ago for Reiner, the words still ringing clearly in Reiner's head: "You two aren't even human anymore!!" Why would Eren call them the same after that? What happened during those five years?
"Eren…," Reiner starts, then trails off, watching Eren looking down at their joined hands. He wants to ask what Eren means by saying such a thing. But for some reason, he thinks of asking Bertolt, "What do you mean, 'Warrior'?" Is the answer hovering just out of Reiner's grasp, as it was back then? Would Eren only stare at him in silence as Bertolt did?
In the end, Reiner voices none of his questions. He only squeezes Eren's hand, still watching Eren's face, gold eyes searching for something just beyond his grasp.