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A very specific memory won’t leave your brain alone, and that involves an almost certain death facing a burst of the closest automatic gun. But right before they could reach you, just a fraction of a second earlier, a red and golden hand covered you. It glistened in the cruel desert sun and made you take a deep breath that you thought you wouldn’t live to take.
Blood. Gunpowder. The smell of dead bodies on the battlefield.
You try to wash away all of it in the poorly designated bathing area for Eldian recruits. You are lucky to survive another day in the front line, digging trenches, but most of your division wasn’t that lucky. You sigh, trying to push your thoughts about it away, thinking of your family back home. You’re doing this for them.
You once dreamed of being a warrior, but you were never able to reach that precious yellow band. Instead, you sport now a white one, alongside all of your comrades that fight to prevent their homes from being taken over by foreign nations that would never be half as kind as Marley was. You’ve lived to tell the tale, at least, and victory seems closer than ever.
On your way out of the bathing area, you’re approached by one of your Marleyan superiors, identified by the lack of nine-pointed stars in his uniform. He gives you a simple order: get these folders to Vice-Commander Braun and tell him to turn them back with the rest of his paperwork.
“Hey, are you listening to me, recruit? Geez, these Eldians soldiers are becoming more useless every day.”
“Yes, sir,” You stand firm, saluting as you address your superior. “I’ll make sure the Vice-Commander receives these,” you say as you sprint away from the Marleyan official before he’d find another excuse to scold you.
Yet you doubt he’d remember you since you are convinced that they see you all white bands as expendable fodder.
He, on the other hand, is one of the special ones.
After asking around, it’s easy to locate the medical bay, but by the time you make it there, the Vice-Commander is long gone. Next, it’s time to look among the barracks. Their space is isolated, due to their huge importance to the mission, but a quick show of your folders opens the way through the Marleyan soldiers who guard the makeshift entrance to the warriors’ area.
And there he is, in a barely lit room at the end of the corridor, as if he tries to keep his distance from everyone else while also being the sole occupant of the wing. His door is closed, but a bit of the light escapes under the door.
“Vice-Commander Braun?” You call his name and knock on the door before attempting anything else, but receive no answer in return.
The memory from the battlefield is still fresh in your memory, and it gives you goosebumps. Without waiting for an answer, you push through the door to find him. He doesn’t notice you at first sight, and you fake a cough to finally make him turn. His hair, short and the color of lighly toasted wheat, glimmered under the weak light. As his head turns away from his desk and towards you, he lets out a weak grunt, his fingers massaging the point between his eyebrows.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Vice-Commander Braun,” you mutter, noticing how tired he looks. “The superiors send this.” You hand him the folders, and his big hands graze yours when he receives him. The contact was short, but you can swear his fingers felt oddly hot to the touch. “Also… congratulations on your promotion, Vice-Commander.”
His face flinches again at the mention of his newest rank, a reaction you weren’t expecting.
You can barely believe how different he looks up close from what you remember from your childhood. A chubby little kid who struggled to complete every military task, but showed more devotion than anyone else in the camp. Now his broad shoulders and hardened features clash against the memories in your head.
He looks more like his titan than you expected, and is more intriguing than you thought it could be. He is frowning, but he doesn’t seem angry. He yawns and flexes his arms, his eyes scanning you as his body shifts back into his seated position, the folder still unopened in his hands.
“Reiner is fine,” he corrects you, his voice deep and rusty. His eyes are still wandering around your body, and for one moment you think he might remind you of the battlefield, even though you’re sure that 15 meters above the ground is too big a distance to distinguish what a small, scrawny soldier might look like. “Excuse me, but… have we met before?”
The question catches you off-guard, as you had also taken advantage of the moment to check him out. He wears a plain shirt over his green trousers, but it’s only close from the third button down, allowing you a peek of his sculpted chest, sprinkled with a few light hairs. His neck is also exposed, leaving the defined formation of the joint between his collarbone and his neck muscles open for you to detail.
“My eyes are up here, soldier.” His tone is playful now. It makes you realize how lost you were and how inappropriate your actions are, but it also manages to flush your face red. You try to play it cool and pretend it never happened, but it’s hard to keep your eyes on his when he still makes you weak in the knees.
“Well, kinda,” you mumble as you scratch the back of your neck. “I was once part of the Warrior Program too when I was a kid, but I didn’t make it past the first stage. Just another failed kid of the bunch.” You don’t mention your name in an attempt for him to remember you. You are sure there’s no reason for him to remember any of those many disqualified kids from the beginning, not your face or your name.
His gaze turns sour, like someone who just revisits a bad memory and can’t shake it away. “I’m sure you did your best. Sometimes I wonder why I even made it out.” He punctuated his words with a chuckle, but a realization dawns on him just seconds later. “Sorry, that was improper of me to say. No one should make less of the honor of being one of the Marley warriors.”
“I don’t think you did, Vice-Com—” you stop right in your tracks when he cocks his head to the side. “I mean, Reiner,” you correct yourself, earning a smirk from the warrior in front of you. You have a hard time keeping your admiration to yourself. Calling him by his name feels odd and too personal, but who are you to disobey an order from a superior? “I’m glad you became a warrior. We wouldn’t have made it this far if it wasn’t for you,” you say, your voice becoming thinner. Your hands fumble with each other, trying to focus on something else that aren’t Reiner’s inquiring eyes. They shine like gold and you can bet he can look through every single one of your words. “You saved countless other soldiers’ lives today.”
Reiner lets out a sigh again, his smile staying on his face but taking a sadder presence. “I was just doing my job.”
“And I’m thankful for it. We all are.” You try to carry as much truthfulness as you can in your words. You know it’s not your place to question the burden placed on warriors, all they give away for thirteen years of power, and how they use it to protect the fragile lives all Eldians lead.
“Are you also thankful that I have to fill all of these debriefing sheets?” he jokes, his head turning back to the papers on his desk. “And when I thought I was done, now turns out I have even more to go through.” He fans himself with the closed folder before opening it.
“The officer said you had to bring it all back, but… I could wait until you're done and bring him everything back for you, if that gives you more time to rest, Vice-C — Reiner.” You correct yourself without his cue this time, swallowing hard. “I know it’s not enough retribution for today but—”
“Trust me, it’s a huge help. Are sure you don’t mind waiting?” Reiner asks as he checks the papers you brought him, and you nod in response. “I’m just warning you I’m terrible company.”
But you’re too distracted by the movements of his fingers to detail what’s written on the forms. Even his phalanges look stronger than average, thick and muscular, just like the rest of his body.
“It’s not like I have plans for the next hour, I was getting ready to sleep for a bit since I didn’t get a guard duty tonight.” You pull another chair closer to Reiner’s desk, sitting near enough to detail the little changes in his face as he focuses on his paperwork and reaches for his pen.
And his other hand reaches out to your side, touching yours on the desk, your fingers almost interlocking with his.
“Thank you. It really means a lot to me.”
His faint smile feels genuine, his hardened face transmits all the kindness that a person in his state possibly could. His fingers feel warm. More than warm, you confirm he feels hot to the touch, and it makes you wonder.
“Are you feeling all right, Reiner?” You ask, your voice quieter than before. You could have dropped his name, but you can’t seem to miss any opportunity to use it now that you have permission to do so. You hold his hand firmly, examining it, feeling his fingers between yours as if you’re trying to steal some of his warmth and keep it to yourself. “Your hand feels hot, maybe you have a fever?”
His first answer is a chuckle. Not a mocking one but a small laugh that reveres in your naivety. The feeble curve in his mouth fits him better than the worried and tired expression you encountered in him when you entered the room.
“No, it’s not a fever,” Reiner explains, not taking his hand away from yours. “It’s actually a side-effect from titan healing, my body is still recovering in some places.”
The word rings a bell in your head, and it takes you a moment to go back a few hours when you almost died on the battlefield. The warm hand you hold between yours was the same that the Armored Titan used to shield you from being shelled to death. The sheer thought makes you clench tighter without realizing it. Your hands ease their grip once you notice how inappropriate it probably is, but once more, the warrior in front of you doesn’t show any sign of complaint. His right hand keeps scribbling things over the forms you just gave him, while his left stay idle, cupped by your protective grasp.
“Is this because your titan’s hand got shot earlier?” The words barely escape your mouth, your voice soft as a whisper. You don’t want to make yourself the center of the conversation when the warrior is tired and busy, but you can’t help it when the scene keeps looping in your head.
“Oh, you managed to see that? I almost didn’t make it but it hurt like a motherfucker,” he laughs it off. His laugh, like everything about him, feels both rusty and sad, but it makes you glad that at least it’s not mad about it. “I saw someone on the ground that was in the line of fire and I had to do something. I hope they made it out. And yeah, now that you say it, maybe that’s why my hand is still healing.”
The words linger on the tip of your tongue. After pondering about it, you decide to spit them out, your face turning to the side, the emotions too strong to say it while looking him in the eyes.
“It was me.” Your grasp on his hand tightens again, but this time it’s reciprocated. “I’m the soldier you saved.”
“Then I’m glad I was right on time.” Reiner’s face is facing you when you muster the strength to look at him again.
You can feel your own heart beating in your hands, and for a fleeting moment, you hope he can feel it too. After all, it only beats thanks to him.
Zoning out for a moment, you get lost in a hazy cloud where the only thing that you can focus on is Reiner’s golden glimmering eyes, shining like a lighthouse in the middle of a storm, guiding you into the only place that feels like safety: himself. Its draw feels stronger once you feel he interlocks his fingers with yours, like someone who yearns for touch and doesn’t want you to let go.
Without thinking it twice, you close your eyes and leap into the abyss.
His lips don’t feel as hot as his hand, but their warmth is inviting. Yet your kiss isn’t seeking heat or lascivious release, it’s just basking in the safety provided by your protector, the man you can’t help but admire from afar, and now from up close.
It’s a quiet “thank you” to the warrior who made it possible that you can breathe right now, and so you breathe into him, as your lips graze in your gentle kiss.
You wish your separation wasn’t awkward. You know you shouldn’t have done that, but when war defines your every day, you never know when your next chance will come. You may never have another moment alone with Reiner Braun, and he may just forget about it as soon as you step out of his quarters.
His hand finally retreats from yours, but you don’t dare to look at him again, wishing that he could just finish his job and you painfully part ways with him to lend him the help you promised.
You don’t expect to feel the warmth of his hands again on both sides of your face, his fingers interlacing with the hair on your nape, as he guides you towards him and makes your lips meet again. He breathes life back into you and you allow him, incapable of denying his gift. The kiss stays superficial. Despite the lack of words, you can feel how his yearning vibrates on the same wavelength as yours, two people who struggle with the meaning of survival alive in their difficult situations.
The second separation is definitely less awkward. Reiner’s left hand returns to yours, his warmth slowly decreasing. His right hand goes back to his scribbling. You both share a complicit silence as Reiner checks every last box and fills every line until his paperwork is done. He tries to sort it in each respective folder but the man feels lost amidst the different sheets and folders.
“Let me do that,” you interrupt him, leaning onto his desk and checking the different titles and order of the documents, organizing them until the folders are neatly stacked upon each other. As your body is closer to his, you feel the weight of Reiner’s head on your shoulder, gently nuzzling against the creak of your neck, exhausted.
“You really are godsent.”
“I could say the same about you, my savior,” you think, but you keep the words to yourself , considering them too corny for the moment.
“I’ve just done my fair share of work under the officers. I’m glad to be of use somewhere that isn’t a trench.”
You take the pile of folders and hold them against your chest without changing your position, one of your hands daring to pat the warrior’s short hair, confirming how soft it is. You wonder if his titan’s hair is just as soft, maybe one day you’ll be able to touch it too. And before you think about the painful task of pushing him away, he lifts his head on his own, with your hand still on his hair.
“Thank you for keeping me company.” His smile feels genuine this time, and then he calls you by your name, a fact that gives you another round of goosebumps since you truly didn’t expect him to ever remember. You never understood what people meant when they talked about butterflies in the stomach until that moment. It rolls so well in his deep, rough voice. The weariness in his eyes didn’t fade away completely, but you are glad that your brief moment together allowed it to ease its grasp on him. “Please stay safe. We should share a bottle of wine next time.”
Next time.
“I would love to, Reiner,” you concede before leaving his room, feeling his looming eyes guarding your every step until you're out of his premises.
You only hope one day you’ll get to hear your name from his lips once more, since it only sounds truly yours when it’s him saying it.