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The waning sun sets below the horizon and fills the sky with pinks and oranges. Times like these the internment zone is almost beautiful. Colt traverses the stretch of untended streets with his parents and little brother, Falco. His foot hits a newspaper with a headline warning of the Mid-East. With the Paradis mission dragged on for four long years, they have accused Marley of losing their titans to the islanders. His throat grows dry. This could spell war.
They’re in route to the Galliard family’s home which will be welcoming them with a meal. Because the following day is the youngest son’s inheritance of his late brother’s Jaw titan from its thief. Putting on such a celebration for something like this strikes Colt as in poor taste. He imagines Porco—the next holder—would be at least a little down about having to take his dead brother’s titan. It can’t all be a happy occasion.
Of course, he’ll never dare say such a thing out loud. Inheriting a titan is a great privilege. One he is grateful to be considered for.
His parents know the Galliard parents, but he has never met their son. Colt also feels grateful they were able to look past his uncle’s treachery and treat them with kindness anyway.
Colt reaches for Falco’s hand when they turn a particularly dank corner. His brother grabs on. Little hands cold against Colt’s equally chilly digits.
Colt admires the Galliard’s home when they arrive. A two-story abode with only a few of the shingles sliding off. Opposed to the Grice family home which is in a state of decay. The things being honorary Marleyans brings you. The prospect excites Colt. He pictures his family in a house like this.
His mother knocks on the door. Mister Galliard—he assumes—answers. They share a greeting and welcome the four into their house. It’s warm inside. Warmer than Colt’s own home for sure. The air is forgiving on his cold fingers as he lets go of Falco’s hand.
“There’s the man of the hour!” Mister Grice declares. Colt peeks past him to see him, Porco Galliard. He looks like his father with a similar slicked-back hairstyle. But a brow drawn downward as if in constant judgment. And an upturned nose Colt can’t help but think is cute.
Porco comes forward and holds out his hand. Colt shakes it. It's warm. No doubt from the good heating. Porco proceeds to Falco who doesn’t offer his hand.
“I won’t bite, kid,” Porco says.
“He’s probably intimidated by you,” Colt says. “He thinks you’re a titan already.”
“I do not,” Falco says, and reluctantly holds out his hand for Porco.
Their parents ask how Porco is doing. If he’s well-rested enough for tomorrow. If the excitement will even allow him to get to sleep tonight. Colt imagines the ordeal. Being changed into a titan then having to eat another person alive. He always shudders when he thinks of it. His future, god willing.
Dinner is soon ready. Roast chicken with a side of broccoli and mashed potatoes. Missus Grice suggests he and Porco sit next to each other, so they do. Missus Galliard piles on their plates. A large meal in what Colt assumes is an honorary Marleyean privilege. And when he digs in, he has to stop himself from doing a little dance at the table. The meat is rich and tender, the potatoes slathered with butter, and the broccoli crisp and green. The gravy ontop brings it together in a flurry of savory goodness.
“So Colt’s fifteen,” Mister Grice says to Porco. “How old are you again?”
Porco doesn’t look up from his plate. “Almost seventeen.”
“Close in age. You’ll be fast friends.”
Something crosses Porco’s face as he sips his water. Colt feels small. He doesn’t think Porco likes him.
They go over military training exercises they’ve both done. Colt pipes up to explain the ones he knows best. Tactics he think will be useful in a war. They praise him, knowing he’ll do great. He stops tasting his meal whenever they say things like that. It’s when they discuss Falco’s role in the warrior program he has trouble swallowing. Colt doesn’t understand why Falco needs to join too. Colt’s given his all and more than proven his family’s loyalty. He looks at him. The boy having demolished his meat and potatoes while having barely touched the broccoli. A baby face he wants to keep innocent forever.
Afterwards, the adults retire to the living room, discussing a play they once saw. At this point, the parents agree Colt and Porco should start talking. They suggest they go to Porco’s room. Porco shrugs and leads Colt to his bedroom up the stairs and to the last room down the hall. He opens the door for him and leaves it cracked behind him.
“They really want us to be friends,” Porco says, flopping down in a desk chair and comfortably stretching out his legs.
Colt stands there, suddenly unsure what to do with his hands. “Yeah...”
“I just don’t see why they’re trying to force it.”
“We’re the same age almost. Same goals.”
“I already have friends.” Colt feels small again. He thinks Porco picks up on this because he says, “No offense. You’re fine.”
Colt perks up. “So... honorary Marleyans get the best food.”
“Second best to actual Marleyans.” There’s a bite to this statement. “Please, sit down.” He gestures to his bed. “You’re making me uncomfortable just standing there.” Colt obliges, sitting on the edge of his bed. The springs creak. Porco smiles a devilish smile. A real smile. Not the forced kind he’d put on all evening. “Wanna see something cool?”
“Sure.”
Porco turns and reaches under his bed. He pulls out a half-full bottle of what Colt assumes is a kind of liquor.
“Is that—”
“Brandy. My parents have an alarming amount of it. They won’t notice this one’s gone.”
“I see.”
“You ever drank before?”
“No.”
“You want to?”
“Sure.” He doesn’t know why he agrees. He’s not much of a rule-breaker. But something about Porco makes him want to walk on the wild side.
Porco stands up, grabs a white mug off his bookshelf, and blows it out. He sits beside Colt. “It’s strong stuff,” he says, taking the cap off the bottle. The thick smell of fermentation finds Colt’s nose. “Be warned.”
“I have a strong stomach.”
“Good, you’re gonna need it.” He holds the mug on his thigh and pours a small amount.
At this proximity to his face, mapping out his profile and the upward quirk of his nose, Colt has a realization: Porco is handsome. Colt already knows he only likes boys. Luckily he can use his time training as an excuse as to why he’s not interested in girls. And if selected, he plans to use his thirteen-year life expectancy as a reason why he won’t take a wife. As for the actual boys part of it, for now he’s content with admiring attractive ones when he sees them. Like now.
Porco hands him the cup.
Colt’s eyes narrow. “You don’t wanna...?”
“I wouldn’t think you’d need an example of how to consume a liquid.”
He shakes his head. “Right.” He takes the cup and brings his lips to its rim. The amber liquid drifts forward toward his mouth. Its scent assaults him before its taste. Which is strong, of grape and bitterness. It burns as he swallows. Unsure if he’s meant to drink the whole thing, he brings it back down to be safe.
“Nice,” Porco says. Laughter echoes from down the hall and stairs. Colt recognizes it as his mother’s. “See, if they’re having fun, why not us?”
“Yeah.”
“We’re the ones fighting the wars after all.” There’s that bite again. “You wanna finish it?”
“Right.” He finishes what’s left.
Porco takes the mug and pours himself a shot, then throws back the whole thing at once. Grimacing but licking his lips.
“How long have you been doing this?” Colt asks. “Drinking.”
“Day after I learned my brother was dead.”
Colt frowns, searching his brain for words of comfort, but instead he just opens his mouth.
“Don’t worry,” Porco reassures. “No need to say ‘sorry.’”
“I am though. Sorry. I can’t imagine losing my brother.”
Porco says nothing, only pours another shot. He hands it to Colt.
“Another?”
“Yeah.”
“I mean I’d like to, it’s just it’d be kinda incriminating if we started stumbling around down there.”
He snickers. He’s even more handsome when he laughs. “Two shots won’t have you stumbling around.”
Colt watches the brandy shimmer in the mug and takes it. He wants to impress Porco so he washes it down in one gulp. Barely stifling a gag.
Porco nods. “Hey, you’re a natural.”
Colt beams internally. “Not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.” He feels the burn in his stomach. His lie about having a strong one better hold true.
“It’s a neutral thing.” He pours himself another shot and gulps it down like water.
Colt can’t help but be concerned. Not even seventeen and already experienced in downing liquor. Not to mention liquor he stole from his parents. Who apparently also enjoy indulging in it if they have so many bottles they won’t notice one is gone. Colt blames it on the loss of a son and brother.
Porco sets the bottle and cup on the floor and they chat further. Mostly about the warrior training program and what it was like for Porco. There’s a bitterness to his tone in everything Porco says, no matter how mundane the detail. Colt wonders why.
A glimmer builds in Colt’s chest. Creeping up his neck and to his cheeks. He feels like smiling.
“You feel it already?” Porco asks. “You’re all smiley.”
“I think so.”
“Maybe you should stick to two then if you’re gonna be a lightweight.”
“I’m not a lightweight.”
“Uh, how can you know?”
“How can you know I am?” He picks up the bottle and mug and pours another serving.
“Your funeral.”
He tosses it back and the burn is more apparent than ever. But he doesn’t nearly gag this time.
Porco says, “If you throw up on my rug it’s you who has to tell my mother the cooking she slaved over made you sick.”
“Okay.”
Porco takes the bottle and pours himself another serving. “Can’t have you drinking more than me.” He swallows it. “Still, no one holds their booze better than Pieck. She’s a true natural.”
She? He knows Pieck is the holder of the cart titan’s name, but the fact she’s a girl threatens him. Before he can think to stop himself, he asks, “Your girlfriend?”
He sets the bottle and mug back down. “No.”
“So you don’t have a girlfriend?”
“No. Do you?”
“No.”
They sit in silence for a little while. Colt feeling the brandy’s effects creep in more and more. He feels his tongue loosen further and wants to ask a question long on his mind.
“Porco,” he begins, “do you think you’ll be able to kill anyone? I mean, other than tomorrow which you probably won’t remember. Like in battle.”
“Sure,” he answers without hesitation. “I mean, look at it this way: people have been killing each other since the dawn of time. It’s nothing new or special. Besides, it’s not for nothing.”
Colt thinks that’s an interesting way to see it. “Yeah. I still don’t wanna do it. But I guess no one does.”
“No, there are definitely people who do.” Colt waits for him to elaborate but he doesn’t. There’s another stretch of silence, then Porco says, “I’m so sure he has something to do with it.”
“Who with what?”
“Marcel’s death. I’m sure Reiner is heavily involved. He has to be.”
“The armored titan?”
Porco nods. “Warchief Zeke said the titan ambushed all four of them and ate my brother, but we don’t know the details. I’m sure it was his fault. I can feel it.”
Colt senses a history there. “You think you’ll find out? Through his memories?”
His throat bobs. “I’d rather not see that.”
Of course not. Seeing your brother’s death through his eyes would be devastating. He thinks of Falco and his heart wrenches.
“Well, he went out serving his country.”
He laughs wryly. “That’s what everyone keeps saying. He absolutely did not. He never got to the attack. There was nothing noble about it. Wrong place, wrong time, shitty teammates.” Colt can’t argue this. Porco adds, “We waited four years for him to come home only to find out he’s been dead the whole time.”
Colt starts to put his hand on Porco’s thigh in comfort but decides that’s too much. “At least, in a way, you’ll be reunited with him.”
“Seems like it.” His voice is small.
Colt still feels warm. Pushing his worries aside quickly. He sees why people drink. He wants to ease the somber mood, so he puts his arm around Porco’s shoulders.
“Our parents are right, we’re gonna be great friends.”
Porco’s face softens. “Oooh-kay, you’re definitely a lightweight. Shit, I may have made a mistake.”
He pulls him closer. Porco moves like a limp rag. “There’s no mistake here. And you’re gonna make a great titan. I’m jealous.”
“They should be giving me the armored, but they don’t let you have two titans at once. Even when that asshole comes back and I know what he did comes to light.”
He removes his arm. “Jeez, tell me how you really feel about the guy.”
That gets a tiny smile out of him. “The armored was originally supposed to be mine.”
So that’s the source of the tension, Colt deduces.
“Really?”
Porco nods.
Colt thinks his assumption from before meeting him is correct. “This... isn’t how you wanted to inherit a titan, is it?”
Porco keeps his gaze down. “So they stuck Falco into the program too.”
Now it’s Colt’s turn to put his head down. “I hoped I’d be eno—” He censors himself. He’s talking to the next holder of a titan.
“Enough?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s never gonna be enough.”
His heart tries to wrench again, but the liquor buzz holds it at bay. He decides he loves alcohol.
“You’re up for beast titan, right?” Porco asks. Colt nods. “Warchief Zeke is amazing. Real boy wonder. You’ll be lucky to train under him once he gets back.”
“I look forward.” But he doesn’t, really. He wishes his family to have a big warm house without the grueling service. But that’s not how it works.
Porco scratches his eyes. “Try standing up.” Colt climbs to his feet and wobbles. “Oh fuck, this is not good.” His words are severe but he giggles. “We’re so screwed. Well, you’re so screwed. And this is you after drinking on a full stomach.”
“I want more,” Colt says, clumsily reaching for the bottle by Porco’s feet.
Porco grabs it away. “Oh no. No way in hell.”
“C’mon, give it.”
Porco stands and holds it above his head. Colt is taller than him, but in his state he struggles to reach it. Porco places a firm hand on Colt's chest and urges him back.
Footsteps start down the hallway and they freeze. Porco slides the bottle and mug under the bed and they straighten. Perching beside each other like a pair of owls.
A knock, and the door opens. It’s Mister Galliard. “How you boys doing?”
“Good,” Porco says.
“Great,” Colt adds. Luckily, he isn’t slurring his speech.
“Alright, well glad you’re having a good time. We’re gonna be serving dessert soon, we’ll call you down when we’re ready.”
They both offer ‘okays’ and Mister Galliard departs, leaving the door open. Once gone, Porco stands up and shuts the door. Colt uses this time to grab the bottle from under the bed.
“Oh no,” Porco scolds, and launches at him. Colt holds the bottle over his head this time. Porco tries to reach it, but gives up, pushing Colt to the bed instead.
Colt’s laughing and keeps moving the bottle around so Porco can’t grab it.
Porco’s laughing lightly too. “Give it, damnit.”
Colt shoves the bottle under his pillow and when Porco goes to take it, he grabs his wrist, attempting to push it back but meeting firm resistance. They promptly abandon the bottle. Fits of laughter erupt from both as they wrestle. Like a pair of kittens, their movements are pointless and sloppy. They simply paw and bat at each other for the sheer joy of it. Fighting not like warriors but like boys.
And it feels good to act like a boy.
Eventually Colt has Porco on his back, trying to pin his wrist above his head. Porco has a dopey smile on his face, his cheeks flushed and his gaze soft as petals. He’s gorgeous. They still, their eyes meeting. The way Porco looks at him hints he wants something. Colt realizes what he’s thinking. So he doesn’t hesitate, swooping down and pressing his lips to his. Porco’s still against him for a second, then his mouth presses back. It’s tender and sweet and everything Colt had hoped his first kiss would be.
Then reality sets in. His stomach drops to his feet. He’s kissing a boy he just met while sloshed on brandy. He jerks back, Porco’s lips still puckered from the kiss and his eyes closed.
Colt scrambles off him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” He dusts himself off as if there’s something on his clothes.
Porco sits up. Blinking as if awakening from a daze. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”
“Please don’t tell anyone.”
Porco wipes his mouth with his sleeve. “I won’t.”
“I just met you. And you’re—” Male.
“Hey, it’s okay. I said don’t worry about it. I won’t tell.”
“We should go get that dessert.”
“Think you’ll be able to act sober?”
He feels very sobered up. Shock diluting the alcohol in his veins. “I think so.”
Porco nods and gets up. Colt opens his door and starts down the hall carefully, trying to keep his gait straight. He’s maybe not as sobered up as he thought. Porco strolls evenly with his hands in his pockets. Colt grasps the banister as they go down the stairs. They join their parents and Falco in the kitchen where they hover around a boysenberry pie.
“Oh,” Missus Galliard starts, “I was just about to come get you.”
“Why are you two all red?” Missus Grice asks. Colt tenses.
Porco merely says, “I showed him some of my sparring moves. Got kinda intense.”
“How fun.”
Colt starts to say something but notices the taste of brandy still strong in his mouth. He decides to be quiet until a mouthful of pie can absorb it. Since Porco stands a ways away from the rest, he assumes he’s too far away for them to smell the liquor on his breath.
They each take a slice of pie and sit back at the table. Yet another delectable creation by Missus Galliard. Once he takes a few bites and washes it down with hot chamomile tea, he says, “This is excellent, Missus Galliard.”
She smiles. “I’m glad you enjoy it. But Porco made it.”
Colt blinks. A man of many talents.
“I like baking,” Porco says, sliding his fork through the pie. “It’s something to do. I don’t like having idle hands.”
“This is delicious then, Porco,” Colt corrects.
Colt acts like such a good and proper young man, he thinks. Not at all secretly tipsy. He keeps looking at Porco. Smiling to himself each time. Remembering the feel of his warm lips on his and the way he kissed back. But he wonders if maybe because he’s inebriated he just went along with what was happening. Though despite having known him all of two and a half hours, he doesn’t seem like the type to just go along with things.
He has to admit tonight has been a ride. Colt always follows the rules and never disobeys, but one evening with Porco had him drinking and kissing the boy he just met. Hiding their intoxication from their oblivious families. It’s fun. He still feels warm. The shock from earlier wearing off and his buzz breaking back through.
After dessert, they retreat back into the living room and the parents begin their own foray into the brandy. Colt and Porco share a knowing and fleeting smile. The only sober one now being the bored Falco. Colt sits by him, helping him play with a spinning top on the coffee table.
When they begin to bid their farewells, Colt feels his buzz waning and a headache coming on. He hopes he won’t have any sort of hangover. Porco retreats by the stairwell and motions with his head Colt come over.
Colt slinks away from their parents and meets Porco. “Hey.”
“Good job,” he whispers.
“You think they didn’t notice?”
He shakes his head and smirks. “Not a chance.”
“This was fun.”
“It was.”
Colt considers mentioning the kiss, but doesn’t know what to say about it.
“I’ll be training you. So we’ll be seeing more of each other in the future.”
“I’m glad.” He twiddles his foot. “Good luck tomorrow.”
“Thanks. And hey, if we do go to war, you can count on me to have your back.”
“And my brother’s.”
That softness from when he was beneath him on the bed finds his eyes again. “And your brother’s.”
“See you again soon, Porco.”