The air is getting colder; maybe it will start snowing soon. Eren winds his scarf tighter around his neck and sticks his gloved hands into the pockets of his coat. He wonders what possessed him to visit the coastline on a noon like this. The skies are grey, the grasses brown, and not a ship is in view. Below, the dark waves crash against darker rock, sending up flecks of white foam—a spectacle he wouldn't have dared to come near enough to see a few months ago. He stands there, toes on the edge, and feels the freezing wind pierce through him.

In the morning he'd gone to see Rivaille again. Jean had been there too.

"I'd have thought young soldiers like you would have better things to do than visit candy stores," the shopkeeper had commented, emerging from the back room. "Especially on your time off."

Eren remembers his face coloring with heat.

"To be honest, I'm not sure what else there is to do." Hence the reason he'd been to the confectionery so many times already, and why its staff had given up the pretense of professional courtesy towards him sometime along the way.

"Maybe Jean can show you around."

The aforementioned person, who had just stepped out with a tray of chocolates, had peeked at them confusedly.

"Huh?"

Their gazes had locked; Eren had been the first to look away.

"Doesn't he need to work?" he'd mumbled petulantly, trying not to turn red at the memory of their first encounter. Jean, who had begun to transfer the chocolates into the counter, shot him a dirty look.

"He needs to enjoy himself sometimes too," Rivaille had said airily, and that was how Eren had found out about his sadistic sense of humor. "Anyway, the problem now is that we're on lunch break. You'll have to find another place to stay out of the weather."

"Ah…" Eren had felt embarrassed, especially when Jean had smirked at him from behind the glass. "All right. In that case, have… a nice break." He'd left, catching snatches of Jean and Rivaille's subsequent conversation about display arrangements.

On the upside, his comprehension of French had improved.

So now, he is stranded on the border of land and sea, mired in boredom. He thinks back to what Rivaille said about having Jean show him around. While it's too soon to be in such close proximity with the other boy, the idea of exploring the rest of the town is not bad. In all of the time he has been here, he has only traveled a little way off the cobblestone path. Perhaps he can go farther, to Bertholdt's route or even around Reiner's area.

His intentions turn out to be too optimistic. All of the streets look the same: stone and wood structures, trees, rough pavement underfoot. He almost mistakes a shop for Rivaille's. As he walks, he surmises that he has the better deal on patrol routes. Bertholdt must be bored to tears when he makes his rounds; he doesn't even have a nosy confectioner's apprentice to avoid. After sticking it out for a few roads more, Eren decides that it's time to go back. He's a bit lost, however. As he tries to retrace his steps, he thinks that this at least affords him some kind of entertainment.

This attempt takes thirty minutes, then an hour, and then Eren is finally forced to admit that he has no idea where he is. The mild thrill of wandering astray, along with his patience, has already died fifteen minutes ago. There hadn't been people on the streets either, so even if he knew how, he couldn't have asked for directions. Nevertheless, despite his fatigue and dwindling sanity, he forges on, blindly hoping that a miracle will happen. How mortifying would it be to have the rest of the squad sent out to search for him? He grits his teeth and wipes cold sweat off his forehead. Farther up is a little enclave where he can stand for a moment to catch his breath…

Someone is there.

His gait speeds up with his heart. The person's features become clearer with each step—it's an old man, gray-haired with white whiskers, sitting on a stool with his hands folded over the head of his cane. Eren nearly runs up to him; he regains enough composure to force the desperation from his face. Approaching the man carefully now, he clears his throat.

"Ah… Pardon…"

The man's eyes open slowly; Eren wonders if he has just intruded on a private moment. Nevertheless, he continues, even more timidly than before,

"Où sont…" What is the word for barracks? He wracks his brains for how to say "soldier" instead. "Soldats—les soldats…allemands?"

When the old man merely blinks, Eren licks his lips and opens his mouth to try again.

"Allemagne… Les soldats…de Allemagne—"

Suddenly, the old man seems to understand. He says something unintelligible and gesticulates behind him with one hand. There is a small, dark path there that is reminiscent of an alley; it seems so decrepit that Eren glances again at the man in surprise. He receives only a nod and more jabbing in the fateful direction, followed by, more slowly this time,

"Les soldats allemands. Oui?"

Since his silent plea for another way goes unnoticed, Eren can only follow the sinister, knobby line of the old man's finger. He marvels, however, that he'd managed to get his point across. Perhaps his erratic studies are paying off… Although his current route doesn't seem like one that would lead to the barracks. The old man had understood him, right? Looking around at the dank stone walls and weathered wooden windows, he tries to combat the unease rising in his throat with the optimism that he will see familiar surroundings soon. His attempts at self-persuasion grow increasingly weaker as he enters a new plane of wretchedly-preserved houses. The realization that there are no inhabitants along most of the—if not the entire—stretch of street sends a chilling ripple up his back. The gusty drafts of wind that envelop him are of little help. He can feel his courage diminish with the light of the sun.

A noise.

He whirls around, his eyes darting madly. There is no living creature in sight. After a few moments of unbroken quietude, he manages to face forward, although his breathing is quicker.

Then he hears it again. It is more drawn out this time, like a wail or maybe a moan. Whatever it is, it sounds rather…human. He takes a few small steps forward.

Eren stops when he reaches the dingiest house. It has no door, and the windows are covered in opaque dust and grime where they aren't cracked. The stone is so discolored that it looks almost like mud. And, if he trusts his sense of hearing, the sounds are emerging from its bowels.

He backs up into the street, craning his head this way and that. There is an old rake leaning against the side of another house. It feels rather flimsy in his hands, and he hopes that it will withstand at least a few cracks to the head of a potential assailant. He nears the house again and edges through the doorway.

Must and dampness saturate the air. Only faint rays of the waning sun make their way in, so his eyes take some time to adjust. The floor is covered with dirt and dust—but some of the filth has been displaced. Almost as if someone has visited this abandoned shack recently. He pauses to listen, gripping the rake tightly.

The sounds are faint, but definitely there. Not where he is, though. Moving very slowly, he traverses the dark boundaries of the room, sticking close to the sides. His groping hands eventually make contact with a doorknob. A door on the back wall? Self-preservation screams at him to get away, but at the same instant, noises louder than the ones from before materialize from behind the wall. They are emitted rhythmically, one after another, and the volume rises and dips. In fact, they are breathy sounds, somewhat like gasps. The ice in his gut melts a little as a flare of heat shoots to his cheeks. Could it be …?

He spends the next few seconds debating whether he should enter stealthily or aggressively. Frazzled nerves combined with a newly audible grunt from beyond the door push logic aside; he twists and wrenches the knob, which gives way to a disconcertingly loud creak, and runs down the revealed set of stairs. In those short seconds he muses that the cellar is strangely bright.

The first thing he sees is a pair of legs with pants half on, which are in the process of being hastily pulled up. They partially obscure a crouching Bertholdt, who is struggling to shove his feet into the legs of his trousers. Eren blinks once hard; his eyes open on Reiner's tense, frenzied face. The other boy's stance is alert, hostile, and defensive. His body is planted stolidly in front of the one on the ground. Their haphazard four-limbed shadow stills on the wall. No one speaks.

Gradually, Bertholdt rights himself, bringing his pants up and buttoning them.

"Eren," he breathes, and his voice is at once wary and plaintive. "Please don't tell anyone."

Reiner appears to be shocked back to life; he fixes his pants as well and takes a step forward. Involuntarily, Eren flinches back. Reiner's arm stops in mid-reach. It slowly falls back to his side. He looks away abruptly. However, Bertholdt sidesteps him and approaches Eren, halting once they are fully facing each other.

"Eren. Please."

Eren can't meet his eyes.

"Eren?"

"It's okay," Reiner interjects, startling them all. Squaring his shoulders, he makes his way up to where Bertholdt is, and then some. He levels his gaze with Eren's. It is tranquil; resigned, even. "We're lovers, Bertholdt and I."

Somehow, this hadn't fully registered in Eren's mind even though the proof is before him, half naked and lit up by two strategically placed flashlights. Now that it has been manifested in a concrete statement, the truth rams into his gut. He can't even bring himself to interrupt Bertholdt's mimicry of a dying fish, so nauseous does he feel. Reiner sighs heavily, shoving his fingers through his hair.

"This must be shocking, but try to understand." He eyes the silent boy before him. "Are you all right?"

How can he be so calm? Eren is still trying to process the fact that his closest companions are in an illicit, sacrilegious relationship, even though most of his functions have shut down.

"Is this why you've been late recently?" he sputters into the space separating them, his mind suddenly racing. It occurs to him that maybe the two meet up like this after every patrol, during every day off. And since that old man seemed to have a habit of sitting outside, it is no wonder that Eren was directed to where the "German soldiers" usually were.

Bertholdt nods guiltily, his choking noises having ceased. There isn't much more to say. Finally, Reiner rearranges his clothing, picks up the flashlights, and herds them all up the stairs and out of the house. When they reach the town proper, Eren thanks every deity that he knows that the old man is gone. They stay quiet for the whole way back. At the barracks, they silently part ways.

He broods well into the night. Part of him wants to forget everything that he saw; the other part rails against the egregious flouting of the principles that his teachers, the media, and the government have welded into his life. Homosexuality is a crime, punishable by imprisonment, if not deportation to a concentration camp. Isn't it his duty to serve the Fatherland and abide by its laws?

But he is not just a servant to the state. He is a son, a comrade, and (so he likes to think) a friend. Neither are Reiner and Bertholdt defined by their homosexuality; they too are people—better people than most, for their reliability and compassion and devotion and skill. In fact, he finds it difficult to believe that they are capable of such a transgression; both give off the impression of being loyal soldiers. They must know about the dire repercussions of committing such an act. So why do they do it? Is their attachment enough to override self-preservation? He can't even comprehend how two men can lust for each other, much less fall in love (if that is indeed the case).

All of this thinking serves to make him reticent at mealtime and quick to retire to bed. Whenever his eyes wander to the other two, their wary expressions, though not directed at him, spark new rounds of reflective crises that divide his morality. If he turns them in, he ruins them. If he doesn't, he knows neither how to face them nor himself.

Eren makes his decision at midnight. He wakes from dreamless sleep and peers at the two beds diagonally to his right. As expected, the occupants are still up. They are looking at him too; he almost shudders when he thinks about how long they might have been doing that. Even so, he points in the direction of the bathroom and waits until they register his signal, then climbs out of bed as quietly as he can and pads there on bare feet. All three meet in front of the sinks. Eren runs some water and lets it collect in his hands.

"I won't tell anyone," he mutters so softly that the splashing nearly covers up his voice. But Reiner and Bertholdt seem to understand, if their widened eyes are any indication. He nods once, then a second time with more conviction, looking straight at them. After a few seconds, Reiner's mouth sets into a grim line.

"Then we're united in this," he murmurs harshly. "Bound by sin."

Eren nods. He's already contemplated it. The secret should be easy enough to keep, provided that his two comrades are more discreet about their trysts.

He notices Bertholdt's morose gaze.

"I'm so sorry," the boy whispers. An automatic smile forms on Eren's mouth. He shakes his head dismissively and splashes the water on his face.

"All right, I'm going to sleep now. Good night." He doesn't dare look behind him as he dries off and quickly leaves the lavatories. Even when he closes his eyes in the dark of his bed, he keeps grimacing. It starts to hurt after a while; he focuses on the pain in order to ignore the involuntary disgust welling up in the back of his mind.