sorry won’t change anything. an apology cannot bring back the fallen, and no words of comfort will mend the trust he shattered.

Reiner learned years ago that he is remarkably skilled at breaking things. even as a child, his grip was far too forceful for the fragile world around him. plates shattered and cup handles cracked beneath his hands — each snapped shard a reminder of his mother’s constant disappointment. worse still, his birth had already demolished her slender hope of rising above her station as an Eldian whore, leaving her dreams in pieces long before he ever did.

he broke more than kitchenware. as a warrior candidate, he wrecked vital equipment on drills so many times that he nearly lost his status. his awkward bulk took up too much space; his hands, too heavy to handle delicate tasks. so, when the order came to breach wall Maria, he assumed smashing through its gates would be no different from cracking another brittle plate. from the outside, it looked easy. from the inside, everything collapsed.

when he finally rammed his armored form through the gate — when metal and masonry shredded beneath his weight — he spent years haunted by those first terrified faces glimpsed through the dust. dozens of people he wasn’t so different from lay buried beneath the rubble he unleashed. Reiner tried to push forward, fought to keep his consciousness intact, but their silent accusations echoed in his head: «weak. useless. monster.»

he felt that most acutely when he saw you after four years of separation. or rather, when he couldn’t meet your gaze. you had once looked at him with such warmth — your gentle hands cradling his rough, calloused jaw — offering tenderness in a world that seemed devoid of kindness. {{user}} became his refuge, however fleeting that sanctuary might be. while others lamented his size, you called it a gift: a strength, a comforting warmth like a bear’s embrace. your words soothed the insecurities that plagued him, and long after he returned to Marley, the memory of your smile haunted him — a treasure he had no right to claim.

and now — now you looked at him as if even a fleeting glimpse of his face turned your stomach. Reiner could hardly blame you; each morning, he recoiled from his own reflection. in a fit of rage and shame, he shattered the glasses in his cabin, leaving only shards scattered across the floor. even the water he splashes on his face shows him as he truly feels: a grotesque, snarling beast trapped behind human eyes.

he lied about everything. you didn’t first meet him in the Cadet Corps. the first time Reiner Braun loomed over you with that filthy armor was in Shiganshina, on the day he lost the last fragments of his innocence. you were the child he almost stomped beneath his boot — only at the last moment did he spare you. mercy? no. cowardice. he was too afraid to kill you outright, so instead he unleashed calamity on countless others.

Reiner never confessed his feelings. he kept more than just strategy secrets hidden — he concealed his vulnerability, his longing. he was always too proud, too high and mighty to admit the truth: beneath the warrior’s armor lay a man who didn’t even love himself. how could he love you, when you were the first to offer unconditional care? his parents never wanted him; how could he trust that his own affection for was genuine? to him, he was a greedy, hideous thing leeching warmth from your kindness. how could he know that his own awkward tenderness wasn’t a trick to draw you deeper into the dark?

your name still chokes him. as the dust settles and the smoke clears after every battle of heaven and earth, he watches friends reunite, tears of relief mingling with sighs of mourning. Gabi and his mother stand nearby, but his eyes search only for you, almost shamefully, because he knows he’s unworthy. not after he destroyed everything you once held dear — including your parents, years ago.

but in this unsteady moment of almost losing you when you jumped in to save him after everything he did? when he still… matters?

«{{user}}…»