You and Reiner claimed a quiet spot on the hill across the bridge as yours, settling there every evening to watch the sunset as you caught up.
The past nine years had been long, and in his case very eventful, to leave you unaltered, and the first few days were spent getting familiarized with one another and the changes your personalities had undergone while apart.
It didn't take Reiner more than a couple of conversations to note that everything that had once made him so attached to you was still there.
You were the observant, assertive, sarcastic, and fierce girl that had always challenged his naive takes on the world, and to know that time had only sharpened your judgment increased his regard for you.
More appealing was the realization that you hadn't lost your soft side either—the side that had never hesitated to console him after his failures and chase away his self-doubts—the one he had to thank for granting him his wish.
The same couldn't be said about you, though, as every discussion only proved that Reiner was nothing like you remembered.
The helpless and frail young boy you'd grown to love was gone, and so was the smug Warrior he'd morphed into after inheriting the Armored. He became humble, reliable, and gracious, his presence now emanating nothing but comfort and poise.
He showed great interest in your life, your craft, and every information you had to divulge, no matter how trivial. Your negativity had always convinced you that your existence and goals were banal in comparison to his, but his undivided attention and genuine engagement, whenever you spoke, breathed a sliver of confidence into you.
It took you a while to confess that you wished to open an embroidery shop, an idea your mother and Anabella had always dismissed as ridiculous, and his earnest encouragement for you to ignore them and go after your dream was most motivating and uplifting.
Outwardly, Reiner seemed to have undergone a positive development; everything, from his comportment to his language hinted towards it. It was a growth any woman your age would have longed to witness in the man she loved since childhood. But the fact that it hadn't been natural, that it had been imposed on him by cruel circumstances, and that it was possibly just an internalized attitude in answer to all his distress and trauma made accepting and celebrating it impossible.
In return, Reiner did not relate much for the longest time. He circumvented any chance to bare his soul, only answering vaguely whenever one of his inquiries would be redirected at him.
The latest war had been fought alongside the Marley army and his comrades, so, not much interested you about it. What you were dying to learn more about, however, was his time on the island.
Your knowledge was the same as the rest of the residents of the continent: the mission had been a failure, with Marley losing three of the Titans originally sent and only the Armored returning.
You couldn't tell whether his reservations were due to lack of trust in you, apprehension of your reaction, or disgrace. But now sensible of the effects that specific period had engendered on his psychology, you abstained from pressing any further.
It wasn't till a couple of weeks had passed that you found a way to get Reiner to finally open up.
It was a normal evening; he stopped by your house after making it back from the HQ, and you set off towards the gates. On your way out, you came across the Warrior candidates.
Watching how they huddled around Reiner brought a beam to your face. It warmed your heart to see how much they loved and looked up to him, especially Gabi, and how much he cared about them in return.
You already knew of them—everyone in Liberio did—but Reiner still formally introduced you to his cousin, and she didn't refrain from teasing him about you. The others soon joined in her mischief, and Reiner had to tell them off so that you could resume your walk.
The shift in his demeanor was immediate, his smile gone the moment the kids were no longer in sight. It wasn't till you'd taken your places on the grass that you tried to coax it out of him, and as opposed to what you assumed, this time, he didn't deflect and admitted that he was worried about Gabi inheriting the Armored.
"I see so much of myself in her. I was motivated by the same hatred and fallacies," he said. "She's already so much better than I was at her age, but our sins... they weigh on even the strongest of fighters."
"Is there any way you can prevent it?"
"Talking her down won't work. They know how good she is. So, the only solution is Falco by some miracle surpassing her, but how's that any better? I wouldn't wish this on any of them."
"I'm sorry."
"She even wants to inherit it to understand me," he chuckled. "If only she knew that seeing the truth through my eyes will only break her more."
Seizing the opportunity, you drew closer to him and took his hand in yours, noticing how he tensed up at the gesture. His eyes briefly found yours before they flitted away again. His breaths were steady but all ridden with pent-up emotion, over the past and present and future, that you thought he would implode at any second, and all you wanted was to provide him with an opening for catharsis.
You gently called out his name, and he hummed in response. "What were those five years like?"
Deep down, Reiner had always left that part hidden because it was not possible to unearth it without begging for judgment, without needing retribution, and that wasn't a role he wanted you to fill. But somehow, your tone was enticing in a way that reassured him, a way that told him that you would neither condemn nor commend him for his past and that you wouldn't downplay the gravity of his actions nor the severity of their consequences.
A long pause where he only stared at your hands in silence followed before he whispered, "Three of them were some of my happiest days."
From there on, Reiner grudgingly shared that chapter of his life. Some pages of it were happy, their lines making him reminisce, others not so much.
His stories were told from two perspectives: the soldier and the warrior. And while the disparities were stark, the constant was his comrades; from either side of the sea, those were a sore spot.
His voice was laden with self-reproach when he recalled how Marcel had saved him, only now understanding the meaning behind his apologies, and how he'd coerced Bertolt and Annie to go on with the operation despite their protests.
He admitted that if he had known how it would all turn out, he would've come back, even if that would've meant being fed to the next candidate in line.
Mentions of those two, especially Bertolt who had been his other close friend, were the hardest to witness as they always stirred his survivor's guilt, the thought that they could have been now killed to pass down their powers causing him to break down.
Though undeserved and bringing about irreversible damage, his early days in the Training Corps and the Survey Corps as a soldier had offered him an interval of respite and normalcy. They had been his salvation from the sins committed as a Warrior.
He remembered everyone from the 104th and described the impact the deaths of some of them had left on him. Marco's was the most painful, his hopeless pleas for them to talk it over haunting him still, and Ymir's was the saddest, her choice to stay behind with them despite knowing her fate still weighing on him.
The Ackermans brought terror to his expression, Sasha and Connie brought amusement, Jean and Armin brought melancholy, and the recollection of a certain Eren Yeager, holder of the founder, always left him uneasy and anxious. He did not need to state it aloud, but his face screamed it. He feared him more than anyone else.
There was only so much you could do and say in face of all this knowledge.
You laughed when he laughed, cried when he cried, and blushed whenever he confessed that, while himself, you had consumed his thoughts. But you couldn't pretend to fully comprehend his hardships. The chaos inside his head, to be torn between two selves, to have to walk a fine line just by waking up every morning, and the struggle to silence the demons within. It was all beyond your understanding. And all you could do was offer him your company, lend him an ear and a shoulder to cry on.
Your fingers played with his hair whenever he'd laid his head on your lap to speak of pleasant times and comfortingly stroked his arm whenever words had caught in his throat. And he was grateful for it all.
As the festival loomed closer, meetings about the upcoming mission became more frequent and the shift in Reiner's bearing more striking.
Your outings diminished substantially, and on the few evenings you managed to see him, he was quieter, brooding, and absentminded. The positive change you'd noticed after he'd confided in you seemed to have worn off, but you never questioned it.
You didn't know whether it was your defense mechanism or your promise to him that had prevented you from doing so, but either way, you should have picked up on it. And it wasn't till a few days had passed that you realized that despite everything he'd unveiled, you were still in the dark about the severity of his inner struggles.
You stood by the gates waiting for the Warriors' return from the headquarters that evening. When they finally showed up, Reiner was surprised at your sight. After greetings were exchanged, they all got dispersed, and you were left alone with him.
He straightaway professed himself too tired for your usual route, but despite your disappointment, you still persuaded him to take a stroll around Liberio. Tension hung in the air between you, though only you seemed to perceive it. He was insensitive to it and everything surrounding him, any attempt at conversation getting quashed by his terse replies. A detachment was tangible in his stagnant tone and faraway look as he drowned in the abyss of his thoughts.
Though initially endeavoring to be understanding, it was hard to hide your confusion and hurt. When you pointed it out, he promptly apologized, blaming exhaustion, and suggested you go back.
You were hoping for some clarification rather than elusiveness, but one glance at his face told you not to press, and you indignantly agreed.
At the center of your hometown, the construction site was expanding, the stage now taking visible shape. It was a poignant reminder to you both, but even more so Reiner whose vision blurred the moment you struck a path that led directly towards it.
He instantly lagged, his lungs and legs failing him. He lurched forward, almost tumbling hadn't it been for your startling cry of his name. You rushed to his side when he braced himself against the wall behind him, sliding to the ground as his chest heaved violently.
Your voice rang in his ears, every ticking second making it grow more distant and incoherent as the dread he'd been trying to curb inside came back to smother him.
It was happening.
It was really happening.
He would be going back to Paradis, and he had no way to avoid it.
It all thrilled through him, every tremor flashing a harrowing image; the towering walls, the blinding titan transformations, the screaming masses, the trampled houses, his comrades, the deafening thunder spears, the ODM gears, the blades...
He had no idea how long had passed before he regained some semblance of consciousness. The heaviness on his chest was lifted the moment oxygen scorched his pipes, and it took a few seconds more for sentience to erode the numbness shackling his limbs. The blackness obscuring his vision faded slowly to reveal your tear-stained face.
Having caught a glimpse into Reiner's broken psyche, a mental breakdown shouldn't have been surprising. Hell, it was more astonishing that it hadn't occurred more often and that he'd managed to hold himself together around you and everyone else for so long. And yet, it still took you off guard. To see this mountain of a man decaying before you was saddening, and more distressing was your helplessness.
"Sasha?"
"No, Reiner, it's me."
He intently studied your traits, realizing you weren't his old friend but still not seeming to recognize you. When he did, at last, dismay overtook his expression, and he buried it in his palm.
"I'm going back to that island," he mumbled.
Your first reflex was to survey your surroundings; the coast was clear, but even walls had ears in Liberio. You knew better than to try and haul him out of it, but you couldn't risk him saying anything dangerous.
"I already know, Reiner," you murmured in hopes of him dodging the subject till you were in the safety of your houses.
"No," he shook his head, shoulders trembling, "you don't understand. You don't know what it's like to go against your comrades."
Panic rose in your blood, and you slurred a, "it's gonna be alright," to snap him out of his unresponsiveness.
His gaze was menacing when it shot to pierce through yours from behind his hand, his voice seeping with venom as he snarled, "No, it's not! What the fuck do you know?"
The hostility in his aura made you falter and momentarily forget your goal as his tirade went on, "And you? What are you doing? Why are you here? Does seeing me like this make you feel better? Do you enjoy knowing you were right all along? That I fucked up my life over nothing because my father was never going to want anything to do with me?"
"You know it doesn't."
"So, it's pity then," he chuckled wryly. "That's even worse. I hate it! Didn't you say you won't ever talk to me again? Then fucking leave me alone!"
Before you could overcome your incredulity and give a reply, he was on his feet and dragging his huge build away.
Only disjointed fragments remained of his journey back home, and he soon found himself slamming the door to his room and crumbling on his bed. He wrapped himself under the covers, shivering from his misery-induced cold as he shadowed the flickering lantern on the night table.
He couldn't tell how long he'd spent curled into himself as his brain slipped in and out of slumber, his lids each time fluttering open to a familiar face. At one point, you were the one across from him, expression overflowing with concern and compassion, but he dozed off again to chase away the hallucination. He woke up to the same image again and this time, felt the warmth of your touch against his cheek. The sensation was too palpable for it to be from the design of his delusions, and he whimpered as he allowed it to unravel him.
He didn't deserve to have his hand cradled, his name cooed, and his hair caressed as he lay awash with none other than the guilt of his own actions.
Years later and he still couldn't understand. He was drained and shattered. All he wanted was for it all to be over. So why wasn't he allowed to die in peace?