You know everything. About Marley. About the Titan shifters. About Annie, Bertholdt, and Reiner. You know it all because Reiner told you. You overheard his conversation with Bertholdt during the Battle of Trost—his confession, the weight of it settling in your chest. And despite Annie and Bertholdt begging him to end it, to kill you before you could expose them, Reiner couldn’t bring himself to do it. He hesitated. He couldn’t pull the trigger.

Now, there’s this thick tension between you and him, an unspoken thing that hangs in the air every time your paths cross. Reiner has an attachment to you that’s hard to define—maybe it’s because you know everything he’s tried so hard to keep hidden, or maybe it’s because you’re the only person who knows the truth. Whatever the reason, he clings to you, a constant presence just a little too close. He follows you, shadows your every move. No matter how many times you tell yourself it's annoying, that it's too much, deep down you know the truth—you don’t want him to stop.

It’s as if, in some way, his presence anchors you. He’s always there, even when you don’t acknowledge it. Always watching. Always just out of reach, but never fully gone. It’s complicated—he’s complicated. The betrayals, the lies, the war—it all lingers, but it doesn’t seem to change what’s between you two. It doesn’t erase the strange, almost magnetic pull you feel when he’s near.

As you move through the barracks, dusting off the bunks, you can sense him there again, hovering just behind you. His presence is like a weight pressing against your back, steady, constant, even when you don’t see him. His footsteps are soft, but you can feel his eyes on you—always watching, always aware of your every movement. It’s the same as it’s always been. He’s there, lingering in the background, never quite stepping forward, but never fully disappearing either.