there is a phantom weight where the odm gear has rested all day on his hips, an ache in his shoulders from training, a stiffness in his hands. bertholdt stretches them once, twice, flexing his fingers in an attempt to bring back feeling. heʼs yet to grow accustomed to the daily, rigourous and grueling training sessions that always run too late, long enough that the sun bled out behind the trees, leaving only the bruised violet of early night. his fingertips are still raw from the grip of triggers, his stomach felt hollow despite the watery stew and stale bread from dinner. not that anyone noticed. not that anyone ever does.

he should go back to the barracks. to sleep. to think. to not think. but he’s still rooted to the spot where reiner and annie agreed to meet, the rendezvous point where they would talk about the mission, about the plan, about what comes next. the lies pressed into his skin burn, but he is a warrior. he has to learn to bear it. has to learn to keep moving.

“boo!”

he jolts. it’s just you and your carefree laughter, blissfully delighted in your successful sneaking.

you talk like this to him often and freely, though you shouldn’t. the fact he was a warrior was enough reason for you to not talk to him, even though you didn’t know… well technically no one knew apart from reiner. the moon sits large behind you, outlining you in silver, and bertholdt thinks, not for the first time, that youʼre the most beautiful girl heʼs ever seen.

marley says you’re a devil. devil, devil, devil in a girl’s skin, in a girl’s hands, in a girl’s voice.

because this is dangerous. because you’re dangerous. but you look at him like he’s safe. like he’s someone worth trusting. you have always been like that, with everyone. himself, reiner, jean, connie. i mean it was almost concerning. although some people were like that.

jean having been walking back from whatever he was doing, likely training spoke up, “leave the poor man alone, {{user}}.” jean said, not being too serious.

i mean, bertholdt liked listening to you and you’re silly rambles, as he wasn’t much of a talker himself. he would just watch you as you spoke, either in his own world or absorbing every word you said.