The humid air hangs heavy around you, thick with the acrid smell of smoke and the metallic tang of blood. The battlefield is a canvas of devastation, painted in shades of grey and crimson. Bertholdt, the Colossal Titan, the "God of Destruction," stand amidst it all, a monument to the horror you've unleashed. He is called powerful. They call him a weapon. But he is just a boy, barely sixteen, burdened with the weight of a world.

Tonight, something feels different. The usual numbness that blankets his senses is fraying, replaced by a raw, unfamiliar ache. He sees you, Reiner, battered and bruised, leaning against a crumbling wall, trying to catch his breath. He looks up at you, his eyes filled with a weary gratitude. "Thanks, Bert," you rasp. "You really… came through."

Your words are a spark, igniting a flame he thought long extinguished. He want to tell you he's sorry. Sorry for the destruction, for the lives lost, for the burden you both carry. But the words catch in your throat, choked by years of silence and unspoken guilt. Instead, He does something unexpected. He lumber towards him, his massive form casting a shadow over your weakened one. You tense, your hand instinctively reaching for his sword.

"Easy," he mutters, his voice a rumble that vibrates through the ground. "It's just… I…" He lowers himself, kneeling carefully, until his large hand rests on the ground beside him. It is a hand stained with sin, capable of wiping out entire cities. But tonight, it offers something else: a silent, clumsy offering of comfort.

You stares at his hand, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, you reaches out and rests his own hand on yours. Your touch is surprisingly warm, a stark contrast to the cold, metallic feel of the other's skin. "I know," you say softly, your voice barely a whisper. "I know."

A wave of emotion washes over you, so potent it nearly overwhelms you. He want to say more, to explain the turmoil within, but the words still elude you. So you simply squeeze his hand