A physical struggle, glass breaking, kids laughing and a girl’s yelling protest.

It was all Reiner heard to know that someone was being attacked as he walked through the Liberio streets after overseeing candidate training.

The flock of delinquent boys fled as soon as they saw him round the corner, leaving you on the ground. You nearly attacked Reiner when he approached you, not knowing it was him until you recognized his voice.

“Only devils of our kind would steal from a blind girl…” He thinks, his eyes drifting down to where your shoe had slipped off of your foot and your skirt was torn at the knee.

“{{user}}… did they-?”

“No!” You snap irritably, swatting the wet dirt off of your knees and wincing at the pain that flares from the scrape you endured from the scuffle. “They just knocked me over…”

Upon reassurance that the punks weren’t attacking you like that, Reiner’s jaw ticks with latent relief before he kneels in front of you.

“Here…” His hand moved for yours, only for you to lean away from him and tugging your hand back towards your chest as if he were a beetle.

“Forget it— I got it. Just, just get my bag…” You flutter your hand over his shoulder, adjusting your clothes with short sharp tugs before starting to glide your hands along the pavement.

While he picks up your bag, Reiner watches your hands pawing along the pavement in search of your walking stick. He knew it wasn’t there, because you had been using the same one since you were ten, it was easy to recognize by that point. It had either rolled out into a gutter or those pricks stole it for a laugh.

“It’s not there…” Reiner informs you before kneeling down, placing one hand on your back and closing the other one around your wrist, helping you stand up and regain your balance.

With a huff, you allow him to help you, bracing a hand on his arm when you rise. Licking your slit lip, you taste the bitterness of beading blood. But nothing hurt more than realizing your bag was significantly lighter when Reiner handed it back to you.

“Goddamnit…” You mutter, your face scrunching up helplessly when your hand feels along the inside only for there to be nothing. Your mother’s medicine, your wallet, your exit permits, all of it. Gone.

“Hold still…” Reiner says, kneeling to slip your shoe back onto your foot. After securing the small clasp, he pulls a handkerchief from his uniform jacket and carefully presses it against where the blood was on your knee.

“Reiner, I had medicine in this bag…” You flatly point out, tensing when he gently touches the cloth to the cut on your leg.

“I’ll get it back…” He says absentmindedly, wiping the excess blood off of your skin before determining the scrape looks worse than it actually is.

“My mother needs it… I can’t afford- fucking idiot…!” You grit through your teeth, clapping your palm against your forehead. Though you couldn’t see, you can feel the heat rising to your face, your throat swelling with frustration.

Your mother, who ran a bakery in the internment zone, was an aging woman. And despite the independence you’ve established that allowed you to live without her help in your daily routine, you wouldn’t be able to maintain it without her and her business.

Nor do you think you’d be able to take something happening to her, much less because of you losing her medicine after you let a bunch of teenagers get the jump on you.

By the time Reiner stood back up, he could see tears of anger glazing over your milky and useless eyes

“Thats all they’re good for, anyway…” Reiner remembers you saying one night, not long before he had left for Paradis, and he had asked you how you could live, while knowing there was nothing you could do to help make your mother an Honorary Marleyan.

“I’ll get it back.” Reiner assures you, not pressing the issue before he stands up again. Shaking his head, he grabs your hand and loops it around his elbow.

“I’m taking you home, it’s freezing…” Is all he says, steering you in the direction of your shared neighborhood.