Bertholdt had known his past. Ever since he was born, pictures would flash in front of his eyes and faces would remain in his head until they all came together into one, everlasting video.

He was a murderer.

Thousands of lives were destroyed by him and his colleagues, all for one man. But that never happened. Instead, they took home one woman who was willing to give herself up for him. Another life lost.

He still remembered her smirk, her tan skin, her short hair that was usually bundled up in a hair clip. He remembered her name, but yet, had no clue what it was. It always sat on the tip of his tongue, wanting to be spat out like some kind of curse.

And when he would finally know the name, pictures of her being ripped to shreds by those things. Blood, tears, a piercing shriek he never knew she could possess. All of it would curse him. All because of his life choices in his past life.

His best friend had remembered as well. He was a murderer as well, and he regretted it as much as Bertholdt. They were cursed, wretched beings. And they never failed to not believe those words.

Bertholdt remained solemn over the years, recollecting images of his past life, spending most of his time scribbling gibberish names on his notebook when he was supposed to be writing down notes. Her name, or what he thought was her name, was scribbled on the top of his notebook, engraved deep into the colored cardboard.

Some would think he was just in love with his girlfriend. Some would laugh at how childish he was. But no, she was driving his batshit insane. In his dreams, he would see her face for a slight second, and she would whisper it into his ear, and Bertholdt would literally feel the chills running up and down his spine.

She was there. No matter if it were a chain of dreams, or just a plain reality. She was alive in this life. But he couldn't find her.

X

It was New Year's Eve, and Bertholdt had declined the invitation of the party he was supposed to be going to. Reiner was disappointed in his friend, but he sighed and let him off the hook. Maybe Reiner would get lucky anyways. He didn't need Bertholdt hanging around for that, did he?

So instead, Bertholdt walked around the campus, wishing he didn't lie of going to a coffee shop to wait for Reiner's dorm key. It was flipping cold. The small town was being layered in snow, and the night air was blistering, making Bertholdt's fingers numb.

So here he was, outside, trying to find an open coffee shop, seeking warmth. There had to be something open at the stupid college. There had to be some poor person who had to take the night shift on New Year's Eve. Bertholdt turned the corner to the main street, hoping for some signs of life, but frowned when he realized the main street was completely dark except for the flickering flourescent street lights on the side of the road.

Bertholdt figured that. He huffed and passed multiple coffee shops, and scratched his neck. Maybe he should go back to Reiner and ask for the damn key before he freezes to death in the god forsaken place.

And that's what he was going to do, until he heard the crackle of ice at the road up.

Bertholdt froze. Being alone at night with no shops open was creepy enough as it was. He didn't need mysterious noises. Bertholdt began to sweat, and he did what most people shouldn't do in horror movies.

"Hello?" Bertholdt called out.

No answer. Now at this point in time, Bertholdt recalled, most people would investigate and get murdered. And yet, that stupid crackle of ice was urging him to take a look.

Bertholdt shook his dead, "I'm an idiot, I'm going to die." He began to walk slowly to the empty street. He hoped to god the murderer couldn't smell fear.

His heart was pounding, and he began to sweat. Well, that was normal for him, but it was worse this time. Bertholdt continued to hear the cracking of ice when he remembered.

There's a bridge on that road that leads out of town. Like a Silent Hill bridge. The one that can cause death from a fall.

That bridge was known for multiple suicides in the past decade. Most people steered clear of that. Some say it was haunted. Some say that it was a source of bad luck. Some passed it to get into the town.

But he knew this wasn't a murderer. And he didn't believe in ghosts either. This was definitely an attempt.

Bertholdt didn't think before he slipped on the ice, scrambling towards the bridge where he guessed right. There was a figure on the edge of the bridge, staring down into its fathomless pits.

"Hey, wait!" Bertholdt called out, scaring the figure on the bridge. The figure nearly slipped, making Bertholdt hold his breath and letting it out when they balanced themselves.

The person turned to Bertholdt, a scared look in their eyes. Bertholdt immediately recognized this person as a woman. The figure was tall, sort of masculine, but none the less, ready to die.

"Go away." The woman yelled, almost in a threatened tone, "I don't want you here!"

Bertholdt began to panic, "Please don't do it. You have so much to live for."

The woman laughed, "How so? How can I live when my parents aren't willing to take me back. They hate me, my friends hate me, everyone hates me. I'm a talentless piece of shit who..." She trailed off, "Why the hell am I telling you anyway? You don't care."

Bertholdt gulped, "Yes I do. I know I don't know you, and I've never seen you before. But please, I care. Maybe we can go grab a coffee some time. We can talk. I'm a good listener. I can help."

"That's what my therapist said. Turns out he was just a...a worthless piece of shit who just worked for the money. He said he could help. Ran away with all my money."

"You don't need to pay me. I can help you for free. We can talk. We can become friends. You can become friends with my friends. Just...please come down. We can go sit down and talk." Bertholdt pleaded. He was on the verge of tears. He did not want to see another death. Especially one in reality.

The woman stared at him, "Why would you care? How can you help?"

"I've seen, so many deaths before. Some that were my fault. Some that were unstoppable." He looked away, "I've just wanted to stop that, okay? I want to help someone, who's just messed up in the head as I am. Maybe we can understand each other."

"So now you're calling me crazy."

"No!" Bertholdt growled at himself, "I'm saying that if we speak to each other, maybe we can understand each other. If you keep living, there are surely to be people who will like you. Even love you! Your parents will come around eventually, and we can find something you're good at. You can't just give up so easily!" He nearly screamed that part.

The woman tensed. They stood as still as statues for what seemed like a slow eternity. The woman looked at him, and sighed.

She turned around and hopped onto the road, slipping on the ice, and falling on her side.

"Hey, are you okay?" Bertholdt rushed to her side immediately, only to see her hood drooped to her side and her brown hair bundled up into a hair clip.

She turned and Bertholdt's mouth dropped. The woman was exactly the woman Bertholdt had killed in his past life. Same brown hair, same hair clip, same skin tone, same small brown eyes, and same goddamn freckles.

"Yeah, I'm fine, just bruised my ass." The woman said. Bertholdt held a hand to the woman, helping her up. "Thanks."

"I don't think there's any coffee shops open. We can stop by my place. We have a lot of coffee." Bertholdt said, almost mesmerized by the woman. There she was. Here she was. He found her. He finally found her.

"That sounds fine." The woman said quietly, rubbing her red swollen eyes. Bertholdt realized the small sweatshirt she was wearing, the skinny jeans and the sneakers. How was this girl not cold? He took off his jacket and gave it to her.

"Thanks..." She said, nestling into the already heated jacket.

"You seem pretty shaken up." Bertholdt observed the woman's shaking legs and lack of strength. It was probably the cold, but then again, this girl tried to kill herself, "Do you want me to carry you?"

The woman didn't say anything. She just watched as Bertholdt kneeled in front of her. "Get on." She nodded and wrapped her arms around his neck and he stood, grabbing her legs and guiding them to his torso.

"We'll talk when we get to my dorm. Until then, just relax." Bertholdt reassured and the woman buried her face into his shoulder blade.

X

He stopped at a door which was not his door, and knocked. Inside he could hear muffled music, and then a wave of club music blasted over him when the door opened, revealing his other friend, Annie. She was as stoic as ever, but in her eyes, he could see that she was tipsy.

"Bert, what the hell are you doing here?" She hiccupped, "I thought you weren't coming."

"I'm not." Bertholdt replied, "Where's Reiner. I need the key."

She hiccupped again and smiled, "He won't be out for a while."

"Jesus Christ." Bertholdt rolled his eyes, "Just go in there and get the god damn thing. I don't care if he's getting lucky. I need that key."

Annie snorted, "Jeez if you need it so much, just get it yourself."

She was getting him nowhere. He could feel the woman on his back shift, lifting her head up slightly.

Annie squinted at her, "Who the hell is she?"

Just then, Bertholdt spotted the only sober one in the room, "Hey, Armin!"

The blonde whipped to the sound of his voice, "Oh, Bert?"

As the blonde neared, he glanced at Annie, "Babe, I think you've done enough, go lay down." Annie smiled when he kissed her cheek and stumbled away.

"What's up?" He asked Bertholdt, leaning against the door casually.

"Okay, I need you to get Eren or someone willing to go get the key from Reiner." Bertholdt explained.

Armin stared at him, "Are you kidding? He's been in there for about an hour! He's pretty into it."

Bertholdt gagged, "Okay, whatever. Get Eren, or Jean, and go in there and get that key. I need it."

Armin glanced at the woman on his back. Armin wasn't a pervert, and he knew for a fact that the puffy eyes the woman had didn't mean Bertholdt was going to get lucky tonight. It was an act of caring. Armin looked back at Bertholdt, "Yeah, I'll get them."

After a while, two drunk boys stumbled to the door, "So you want us to get a key from the very lucky Reiner, eh?" Jean punched Eren in the arm.

"He's sooooo lucky." The two boys laughed at their dumb joke.

"Yeah, can you do it, like, right now?" Bert asked, getting impatient.

"Sure!" The both squealed as they ran back into the dorm.

Bertholdt waited and then listened to the door opening abruptly, Eren screamed, "He's asswipe, where's your dorm key?"

Reiner, "Hey, what the hell, get out of here!"

A crash, a woman squeal.

"Bert needs the dorm key! Where's the damn key!" Jean blubbered loudly.

"It's in my damn pants pocket, now get out!"

Another crash. A door slamming.

Eren and Jean came back with the key, "Here ya go, Bert." Jean sang, leaning on Eren for support.

"Thanks." Bertholdt said, snatching the key away from the two drunkards. "Now keep away from any hot girls, don't want to burst into flames, now do you?"

Eren looked at him, his eyes drooping, "Wha?"

"Idiots." Bertholdt turned away, "Thanks for your help."

"By the way, Reiner's pissed!" The two chimed, slamming the door shut behind them.

Bertholdt rolled his eyes, and a voice spoke in his ear, making him shiver.

"You have lovely friends." The woman spoke softly.

"They're a lot smarter than that." Bertholdt reassured. They got to his dorm and he opened the door, walking into the desperately cleaned room though Reiner's clothes were sprawled everywhere.

He let the woman down, "You can sit on the couch."

Immediately, he began to make a caramel machiatto, slightly eyeing the woman who stared at the glass coffee table. She seemed uneasy, and he didn't know what to do.

She stayed silent until he brought her the coffee. She stared at the cup in her hands.

"I...I hope you like caramel machiatto." Bertholdt rubbed his head, sitting next to the woman.

She took a sip, her eyes widening, "Wow."

"Thanks." Bertholdt said quickly.

The two sat silently until the woman rested the cup in her lap, "So...Bertholdt, was it?"

"Yeah. You can call me Bert." He sighed, and then remembered, "I didn't catch your name."

"Ymir." She looked at the dark haired boy, "Just Ymir."

And just like that, Bertholdt recognized her immediately. That was the name. Ymir. For so long, he had wanted to know that name, and for so long, he couldn't say it.

And now he could. "Ymir..." He liked the way it felt when he said it, "That's a pretty name."

Ymir snorted, "Really? My parents named me after a man who liked sucking on cow utters. But thanks anyway."

Bertholdt shrugged, "Actually, this man, Ymir, was born as poison that poured into cold rivers."

"Yeah, I know, and then he births a six headed beast from his armpits and legs. Yeah, don't remind me." Ymir sighed and leaned back.

"You said you'd listen." Ymir sighed, "You want to listen now?"

Bertholdt nodded, "I'm fine. You can vent to me about anything."

Ymir smiled, "Thanks. You know, my parents had always hated me. Thus my name. I usually spent my time outside, though that wasn't very safe. I lived in a really bad part of the city...But I had friends. We played like any normal children do. But then of course my drunk dad ruined everything. He kept me locked away, I couldn't do shit. I could only come out to eat. My mother was driven away, and he married a hooker." SHe snorted, "You know what her name was? Daffodil Violet. I'm pretty sure she faked it.

"Anyways, they treated me like horse shit. They beat me, yelled at me, took things away. They were...bad people. That damned prostitute even tried to sell me once. Thankfully I knew how to fight. She sold me, and I ran back home. I don't even know why I ran back. I should've just left right then."

Ymir shook her head, "But, I was a dumb ten year old, and I went back home, seeking the love and nurture I needed. But instead receive praise on how they could sell me more and get more money. I was like their little circus act. Get sold, beat the person up, go home, repeat. In highschool, I had some friends. Then they'd see my house, my lifestyle. Bye bye friends. So then I started saving up for college. I graduated with good grades, but no family to support me. They kicked me out, and I walked all the way to here. It was my first week here, and I had no idea what I was doing. Why go to college when I can't do anything?"

Bertholdt let every word sink in. This woman has had one hell of a life and barely managed to survive it.

"I still don't know what to do." Ymir sighed, "Do I live my life and see where it takes me? Or do I just get it over with."

"All things good come to those who wait." Bertholdt said, "Listen, I know that you've had one hell of a broken ride getting here, so why stop now. IT might have been a crappy start, but look at you. You're in college. A grown adult. You live to your own expectations. No one is going to degrade you. It's just...your time now."

Ymir sighed, "I guess you're right. But you know what? It seems like everyone's in a rut. Be birthed, elementary, junior high, highschool, college, work. Then by the time you retire you're too worn to do anything so you just wait til you die."

Bertholdt stopped, "That was very...poetic. And really accurate."

Ymir shrugged, "Yeah, reality's a bitch."

"You said you liked fighting, right?" Bertholdt asked.

"Did it for most of my life."

"There's a...don't laugh at me, but there's an aggressive dancing class. It's a credit. And well, if you get good grades, you can make it your major. Of course you'd have to take hip hop, ballet, jazz or something."

"Maybe." Ymir sipped at her coffee, "What are you majoring for?"

Bertholdt paused, "Well, I was thinking of being a journalist. I've been good at writing and stuff."

"You say it like it's a bad thing." Ymir said.

Bertholdt seemed stricken, but then he sighed, "Maybe it is."

"You said it yourself. You're an adult. This is your time." SHe glanced at him, "What do you really want to do, Bertholdt?"

He paused and gripped his cup, "I want to draw."

"Why'd you say you wanted to be a journalist?"

"My parents."

"They're not in charge of you. You be an artist. You're independent now." Ymir said, setting her cup down, "If you want, we can both go down to the office and change our courses."

"Really?" Bertholdt asked. "Thanks."

"Whatever." Ymir said, standing, "I better get going. We should meet up at the fountain. In the foyer."

Bertholdt stood as well, "Thank you. And I really appreciate you talking to me."

She smirked, "It's just another girl's problem. Why aren't you annoyed?"

"Because I respect a woman."

Ymir's eyes widened, her cheeks slightly turning red, "Well, bye." SHe let herself out, slamming the door behind her.

Bertholdt stared at the closed door, confused, but happy that he found the girl he lost hundreds of thousands of years ago.