of course we'll be okay

2. little sproutling

I'm kneeling in front of Connie's body. The splotch of blood on his upper lip is almost black under the dim, blue light.

That familiar smell wafts out of the hole I just came out of — it's the same wet dog smell of the dorms before they were cleaned. Some of the air must have been trapped in the wall.

The person who helped us out is a titan in all but demeanour, easily clearing six feet. Or maybe I'm imagining it. Large, socked feet morph as he shifts his balance. "What happened to him?"

By some miracle, I find my voice. Maybe it's because I find it easier to talk to his feet. "He did a backflip."

"Oh," he says simply, as if my statement answers all of his questions.

We play with the silence for a while.

"Should we— we should move him, right?"

We're near the wall that the bed stage doesn't actually touch, leaving a narrow strip of darkness up above. "On the platform?"

Strands of black hair turn silver against the light as he raises his head. "Yeah, uh." He grunts, amused. "It's fine, it's not the first time." He eases onto his knees, slides his arms under Connie's warm corpse, and heaves upward. "What? Where's the ladder?"

Oh shit. "It's— it's in the bathroom hall."

"What's it doing over there?" he sputters.

"I mean, I didn't want it to be in anyone's way." As if to emphasize my weak argument, I flap a hand in the general direction of the entrance.

A smile grows on his face — he looks as distressed as I feel. "Why did you move it?" Tiny balls of sweat decorate his forehead.

"Sorry. I'll go grab it for you." Please. Let me leave for a while.

"Um..." His focus is between Connie and I. "Do you— I can come with."

"Are you sure? You're still..." I point. "Carrying him."

Connie's neck jerks back as he's hoisted up again. "It's fine."

So we walk side-by-side into the barren outdoors, tongues tied and buried in ancient tombs.

"So, um," the tall boy begins, and he's immediately pinpointed by all of my senses, bar sight, which is more or less useless in these conditions anyway. "I'm sure you don't remember, but I'm Bertholdt."

He stops there, so I say, "Hi, Bertholdt. I'm Ostrich."

"I know." He clears his throat. "I mean. Hi. Ostrich. I remember you. That's how I know your name." He clears his throat again.

"Oh. Yeah." My breath stalls as I chew my lip. "Sorry. I forgot about the whole, uh, memory thing there for a moment."

The little dots of liquid are now rolling down his face. He chuckles as if being held at gunpoint. "Yeah, that really... sucks... sorry."

"It's— yeah. Thanks."

Please wake up, Connie.

I didn't say something in the past to make things so awkward, did I? What if I confessed to him? What if he saw me naked? What if everyone did? Oh, Christ, I need to stop thinking.

My neck is starting to hurt from looking down by the time we get there. We stop an equal distance from the entrance, twitch forward as if to go through, and stop. I take this opportunity to rush through with a muttered thanks.

Connie's feet (or head, I can't tell) bump the wall as Bertholdt steps in behind me. "Oh, sh—" he stops himself. "Sorry."

I follow the small patch of ground afforded by Eren's light until I reach a familiar doorway. "Is it okay if we stop for a minute? There's something I wanna grab."