Who We Are Today

by LivianLynx

The battle for Shiganshina was won and the Survey Corps secured custody of the Colossal Titan. No one believed that they'd achieve peace with Marley's war machine by talking to the one enemy who could answer them but refused. No one but a single scout who'd believed in negotiation since the very beginning. (Canon divergent rewrite of AoT, Bertholdt survives Shiganshina)

11. Waves II: Quay

6

The entire horseback ride back to Trost, he itched madly.

Part of him was anxious to grab the newspaper in the morning in anticipation of seeing it detail a disaster gone down in a village southeast of Ehrmich. A couple of dead policemen, maybe even an underground explosion that made the entire province tremble. But day after day, such news never reached him.

How could it when what he'd done was safe?

Even after he'd proven that giving Bertholdt more hand mobility was harmless, it still kept his mind occupied. No wonder the higher-ups wouldn't budge. They couldn't overcome their fear and rationalise it away as Armin did, and even he had his doubts.

Floch eyed him with suspicion when he noticed that Armin's arm shivered as he grabbed a newspaper one morning. He decided that from then on, he'd pick up his newspaper at the end of breakfast, when everyone would be too busy to pay him much attention.

The nights were the worst. He could count on one hand the number he'd slept all the way through ever since he'd come up with the idea to teach Bertholdt how to undo his bandages.

When he didn't get nightmares of receiving morbid news, he lay buried under rubble as the sound of the Colossal Titan quaked outside his dark prison. Dreams that bypassed violence instead put him on trial after his friends had found out what a risk he had taken and what a worthless man he was for not taking them into consideration. Their venom cut deep and even after he'd awakened from those nightmares clinging to the sheets, he'd spend hours worrying if any of that was real and what it meant that it was not.

One would mistrust his own friends to be next on the list of people who betrayed him, but Armin knew that none of them would reenact their nocturnal imposters' actions in the waking world.

After all, how could they? He hadn't told anyone about what he'd taught Bertholdt.

How unfair that was, to feel such mistrust for his beloved friends. In a way, Armin was the one who was the traitor, if teaching Bertholdt how to gain more freedom was seen as treason. If they found out, it probably would be deemed as such.

Bertholdt had a chokehold on Armin just as much as Armin did on Bertholdt. He hadn't even had to lie when he'd called himself Bertholdt's prisoner.

---

He remained silent, as instructed. Hange handled most of the meeting; the rest of them were only there so that the Survey Corps had numbers to show to the overarching military leadership of Paradis.

As expected, Hange didn't bring up Armin's request for better food protocols in the mine. From the sound of it, the Survey Corps would need to work hard if they want to declare Wall Maria titan free. They would be busy the next few months combing through the area in search of sticklers that their titan guillotine couldn't catch.

It was the first time since their recruitment efforts that Armin felt like a liar for luring the newest among their ranks in with tall tales and the promise they wouldn't have to face titans. Then again, the veterans would be the ones to lead those fights. Eren had spoken of how sparse the titans outside Wall Rose had become.

They'd have to be unlucky to run into more than one a day.

---

Bertholdt didn't sit awaiting Armin with all of his limbs regenerated and a wound in his hand, ready to tell him every grievance he couldn't as a prisoner. Armin's dreams may have gotten the better of him on that one.

Just when Armin didn't expect change, when he lifted the crate lid to store his usual goods, two of the leftover packs had been opened and emptied, leaving behind the cloths that packaged the food and the empty tins that had contained nuts.

"You ate," he stated matter-of-factly.

"Yeah," Bertholdt more hummed than spoke.

Armin finished depositing this week's fresh food, clothes, towel, and washcloths into the crate before removing the laundry and closing it again.

"Do you feel better now that you have?"

"I suppose."

He stood up again and gave Bertholdt a smile.

"Great! If you still don't have enough, let me know."

"Yeah."

Against all expectations, just like that, the impersonal was down. Bertholdt had moved mountains Armin had almost given up on ever budging. Maybe now, he could finally get something done with the personal.

What had changed? Was it really just the use of his hand that stopped him from eating, or was this about will?

"Does that mean you will start eating what I bring every week? It would be handy to know that it doesn't just sit here wasting away," he said as he sat down on the box's lid.

"I suppose it does."

All these supposed things. Once he'd started, falling back on more meagre meals would be difficult.

"I've brought along something extra for you today, since you have more hand mobility now. Here," he opened his backpack and took out the sturdy comb and the soft hairbrush he'd purchased in Trost that week. "Like this, you can get those mats out of your hair and keep it a little cleaner in the absence of water to wash it with. Give it a try so that I know that the ones I brought will help."

He placed them in the middle of the mineshaft before getting back to his side as Bertholdt examined from afar.

"And my wrappings?"

"You don't need my permission to take them off. Just don't get caught by the police, but you seem to know when someone approaches so that shouldn't be an issue."

Bertholdt didn't wait for Armin to finish, already biting into the bandage and unwrapping it from around his hand. He stretched out his fingers and cracked them against his chin one by one before scooting to the comb and hairbrush and taking them back to his side.

"Do you mind if…"

"You can groom while I'm here, I don't mind. You probably won't have this much uninterrupted time in the light again all week. Or, if you like, I can do it for you, help you reach difficult angles."

Armin's hair had become untamed from how little he brushed it after his burns stiffened his shoulders. There were bound to be places Bertholdt couldn't easily reach with his harness exerting pressure on his shoulders and torso.

"No," Bertholdt responded, and he placed the hairbrush down beside him and brought the comb up to his hair to begin the arduous process of combing out all the tangles that were knitted together into one greasy mess. Maybe Armin should bring him a sleeping mat and a pillow next so that he wouldn't have to put everything down on the dusty ground.

With the comb manipulated between Bertholdt's thumb and middle finger, that missing index finger stood out even more and Armin couldn't help but speculate once more why he hadn't healed it. Energy conservation?

"Do they come here often, the police?" Armin asked instead.

"Don't know," Bertholdt answered, running the end of the comb over the end of a few fused strands with little result. Without a second hand to hold onto the strands higher up, it would be a painful process, but he didn't show it. "I can't tell the time here."

"Do you have a general idea of how often they come between each meal?"

"Maybe… Three or four times. I think they come more often during the day."

That was less often than was prescribed in the protocols, but Armin didn't expect the policemen to take their job seriously enough for half-hourly checkups. Even they knew Bertholdt couldn't do anything and they were sacrificing a bit of security in exchange for their time. Everyone was allowed to do so but Armin, apparently.

"How can you tell when it's me who approaches if you can't tell the time? You always seem to anticipate my arrival."

Bertholdt pulled particularly hard on a strand with a soft hiss as a result of the comb sticking behind the tangle. "You sound lighter."

"Lighter?"

He tried again a few times, booking equally little result. "Your step. You're not as heavy as them. They drag their feet."

"So you listen?"

"Yeah," Bertholdt said, giving up with the comb and grabbing the hairbrush instead to run it through the strand he'd started with.

"That's interesting. What do the policemen sound like, then?"

"They sound… I guess bored, the way they walk. One is heavy and takes short steps, like he's angry. One is lighter on her feet but she shuffles a lot. One is sturdier on her feet but takes larger steps than you do. One almost always stumbles over his feet. There's one whose rhythm more resembles that of a beating heart than a walking person. You know? Step-step, step-step, instead of step, step, step."

Seemed that Bertholdt was always paying close attention to his senses. Was he listening to Armin right now, monitoring his breathing? He might be more attentive than anticipated, so showing the right body language was more important than he may have realised.

"I didn't know you did that, Bertholdt."

"Yeah, well… it helps."

"I imagine it does."

Maybe he should take a pocketwatch with him next time. It was expensive but it could help Bertholdt keep track of his surroundings a little more easily to boost his awareness.

Bertholdt was in a particularly talkative mood, and Armin could only wonder if today, he would be more receptive to convincing. It'd have to happen at one point, Armin had been visiting for six weeks on end now with nothing to show for it. Nothing relevant that would make this whole endeavour not seem like a colossal waste of time.

Straightforwardness could also scare Bertholdt back into silence. Then again, that was always a risk, whether he tried now or in another six weeks. The impersonal had to be made personal. Armin would have to make a leap of faith of his own if he wanted to advance.

"I was curious about something."

"What?" Bertholdt asked, booking more success with the soft bristles of the brush as dirt crumbled out of the part of his bangs he was sweeping through.

"When I come in here every week, I remind you that my offer to help us still stands. You also decline it every time."

"Still do."

"You remind me every time that you don't want to, but you've never explained why that is. If you're not going to help, I'd like to understand why. Or maybe, if there's anything in the terms that you disagree with, those are things I can change. You'll never know."

"That is because…" Bertholdt started but didn't finish.

He stopped brushing, looking up at Armin with a subtle squint in his eyes.

"… What will you tell me in return?"

This wasn't the first time Bertholdt had intercepted one of Armin's questions with his own exchange rule. It had been handy in the beginning, but now, Bertholdt was starting to exploit the system for his own benefit. Often, there wasn't anything that Bertholdt could ask in return, so Armin only rarely got his answer. It was starting to get frustrating how often it came back to bite him in the rear lately.

"Is there anything you want to know?"

"No."

"I can tell you what the Survey Corps' plans are for the coming months."

Bertholdt placed the hairbrush down on the ground next to the comb.

"That's not equal."

"I was present at a meeting where we discussed our movements. That includes Eren. Wouldn't that be a fair trade-off?" Armin bargained.

"What am I with such information?"

"Plenty," Armin replied, a little embarrassed about the quality of his arguments today. "It could always be useful to know what we're doing with him."

"No. I don't want to know."

Armin pinched the bridge of his nose, briefly closing his eyes.

"Is there really nothing you want to know? Nothing you want me to say or do for you? I can bring you something as well. Is there nothing you absolutely want right now that you'd exchange for this?"

"You can't bring me a bed."

"No, I can't. But I can bring you a sleeping mat and a pillow," Armin retorted, glad he hadn't spontaneously brought these along.

"I…" Bertholdt said, then pulled one corner of his lips taut before he shook his head again, more certainly this time. "That's not enough. I need more than that."

What else? What else was there that could bring him comfort?

Maybe something that'd bring joy?

Oh. That was just it.

"When is the last time you've eaten something with sugar in it? Tangy winter apples that are more sour than they are sweet aside," Armin tried.

"Um," Bertholdt hummed. "I don't know. Must be since before I came here."

"Seven months, then. I discovered a place where they sell excellent sweet pastries. I'll bring you a sleeping mat, a pillow, and a whole bag of those if you explain to me why you can't."

Bertholdt leaned back and rolled his eyes. Armin was dangling a carrot in front of him with a stick and it was looking appealing after such a long time without the intense trigger of a luxury item. He was so close, just a little more.

"Just let me give you that type of luxury for once. Two out of three of these items will last you until the end of your incarceration. The third… It can always turn into a habit of mine to stop by there and grab something for you."

Bertholdt let out a long sigh, squeezing his eyes shut. Then, he groaned.

"Okay. Fine. If you really want to know so badly," came, defeated.

Keeping his face straight was hard, but the success drummed through Armin's chest.

So he could be swayed with extra comfort. He'd need to be careful about how he brought this information to Hange, if he did at all.

"Please tell me, then. Why do you refuse my offer?"

"Do you know why we wanted Eren?"

Technically another question Bertholdt was posing, but Armin let it slip for the greater purpose of this conversation.

"You wanted him because he has possession of the Founder, correct?"

"Yeah," Bertholdt said, "but why the Founder?"

Armin hesitated. Was it safe to let him know they knew about the Rumbling? Was that what this was about?

"Because a titan that can theoretically control other titans would look nice in Marley's arsenal and is a danger if in ours."

With that, Bertholdt didn't seem particularly satisfied, facial muscles contracting into a mild grimace. He let the silence between them span for a while before he looked down.

"Forget about it. I don't want anything you offered."

"What? Why?"

No, Bertholdt shook.

Was he testing their knowledge of the Rumbling?

"We know what the First King of the Walls threatened to do," Armin gave in. "The fact that no such thing ever happened even after you invaded should be proof that this is no option. Eren isn't of royal blood. He can't use the Founder's powers, and even if he was, the First King's Will would prevent him from using them for such bloodshed. As it currently stands, the Founder's powers are forever lost."

"Then how did he control the titans to attack us?"

Bertholdt stared up at Armin intensely. This was far from the first time this question had possessed him. How much had they factored Eren's potential ability to control titans into their Shiganshina battle plans?

"We don't know," Armin admitted. "We have no idea why his powers activated at that moment. It never happened again afterwards. If we don't know how to activate them, then it's no reliable option. And haven't I told you already?"

He smiled, hands on his knees pushing his torso up in a confident posture.

"We don't need the Rumbling. Paradis has no plans to ever activate it, even if we knew how. There's unanimous agreement that flattening the world is out of the question. If you fear the Rumbling and that's why you won't help us, then you're fighting against your own cause, because there is no way we would ever use something so dire. We, of all people, know firsthand what horrors the titans bring about, we would never rain down such hell on the innocent. So why put yourself through unnecessary suffering for something that has no chance of ever happening?"

"No," Bertholdt whined as if treated unfairly. It toned Armin's smile down. "If there is even the slightest chance that it'll happen… I can't help you."

"How can you know that?" Armin challenged. "How can you possibly know that? None of us want it. Even if anyone did, Eren still makes the decision, and he would never make such a messed up choice. Everything he has done has been to save humanity, why would he change that now? If he wanted it, he would've kept pushing, but he agreed with our condemnation of such a drastic measure!"

"You've found the real royal family…"

Armin's breath got trapped in his throat. He shouldn't have given him that information, because apparently, Bertholdt had held onto it.

"Yes. We found them," he agreed. "I didn't say that we found them alive. Even if we had one who's still alive, even if we had any serum, even if we wanted to sacrifice our one and only defence against the outside world by feeding Eren to them, they have no interest in retaliation either and are bound by the Vow. There's nothing anyone can even do to start the Rumbling."

"It's not just…" Bertholdt mumbled, but then stopped. "I'm done talking," he then snarled back. "I've answered your question. I don't wanna argue about it."

There that brick wall was again. Armin suppressed an annoyed groan that threatened to slip out.

"Then let me ask you one more thing."

"No."

Armin blinked a few times at that. He lightly tapped his hands on his knees.

"I just want to know if what you answered to me was true when I asked you if you didn't want any peace at all and if you thought we were all children of the devil after all. Remember? The second time I came to visit?" he asked anyway.

Bertholdt let out a long and slow exhale, unfocused.

"I don't know."

"You don't know? Because to me, you sound like you don't want war either."

"I don't know, okay, Armin? I don't want to talk about this anymore."

His eyes came to a slight squint and he looked like he wanted to say more but couldn't. Armin could easily believe that he indeed wasn't so sure about his stance. There had to be something inside him that saw things from the point of view of both their sides, something that understood that they were the same.

"Too bad, then. Because I do," Armin shot back, standing up in the heat of the moment. "How could you do this, Bertholdt? You so clearly don't want a war, yet everything you're saying and doing is instigating one!"

"What do you want me to do? That war is coming, nothing I say or do can change anything about that. When will you see that this isn't personal? It's much bigger than us," Bertholdt said, this time with passion.

"No, that's wrong," Armin responded, to Bertholdt's displeasure.

Just because he didn't respond to this the first time Bertholdt had argued it didn't mean he would keep his peace this time around.

"This is bigger than me," Armin said, pointing a finger at himself. "It's not bigger than you." His finger pointed at Bertholdt. "Without you, we stand a tiny chance at achieving peace with minimal bloodshed, but it's not looking great. With you, that becomes a near guarantee. I can't allow you to just sit back and let more people be slaughtered, Bertholdt."

"What will you do about it, then?" Bertholdt challenged, resolute.

He looked up at Armin expectantly, daring him to pack his things and leave. Prove to him that he was no different from everyone else, that there were lengths Armin would go to to get what he wanted even if it hurt Bertholdt. That self-sabotage once again rewarded him.

No. He wasn't getting that. Armin had fallen for this once, but not again. Not this time.

"I will talk to you. I will keep talking to you until you understand."

"I understand well enough, I just disagree."

"Do you?" Armin asked, throwing his arms out wide. "Do you really? Because to me, it sounds like you're just sticking your head in the sand and pretending that there's nothing you can do when I've made it so abundantly clear that you have options. You don't want war, but you just sit here–"

"Yes."

"–and you think there's nothing you can do, yet you–"

"Yes."

"–refuse to listen to even a single option I give you. Why won't you just listen to me?"

"I am listening!"

"Then what am I offering you? What have I been telling you all this time?" Armin asked.

Bertholdt looked up at him with an intense glare but didn't speak. Just when Armin concluded he hadn't been listening at all, he spoke.

"You want me to come to the surface and mediate a conflict I don't know nearly enough about to fix. You want to hide behind me because you think the Marleyans will listen to me, but they won't. They won't listen to you either, no matter how much I teach you about their culture. We're Eldian devils and you are the cowards who fled. Why would they?"

"Because–"

"And you want me to tell you everything so you can go have your peace talk, only to find out that Marley is too stubborn to listen to a group of devils, and then what? You'll just use everything I've told you to fight back until more people have been killed than if I'd just stayed here. I don't want to take part in that, Armin!"

"You can't know that," Armin responded confidently yet calmly.

"Yes, I can!" Bertholdt now yelled. "I've seen it happen far too often. Do you think I don't know how the world I grew up in works? You think you know it better than someone who has lived through it? It's always the same and you can't escape it. You will die, with or without my help. Why can't you accept that I don't want to kill anymore!?"

Bertholdt balled his fist as he yelled that, face contorted into a snarl before the silence overcame the cavern and it dawned on him what he'd said as his eyes widened and his shoulders slowly slumped.

Even Bertholdt was shocked at what he'd blurted out, regret instantly visible in his eyes before he collapsed in on himself, face hidden in that blanket again with his arm wrapped tightly around his torso.

This was personal. Something he didn't want Armin to know.

Why? Why was that a bad thing? Why was he being so paradoxical in his reasoning? What was so shameful about letting Armin know he didn't want to kill anymore, unless there was something hidden behind it? Was that truly what he believed, or was he not telling the full story?

It doused Armin's agitation in cold water. He wanted to be mad so badly, but then he had to remember where he was and why he was there. Who it was he was talking to right now. That man– that teenager in front of him was so incredibly vulnerable, that tough and uncaring exterior all but melted away. And it made Armin feel so intrusive, so unprepared to deal with this, even though it made for the perfect strategic advantage. He was losing his edge.

The past came peeking through. Armin had never been good at comforting Bertholdt after an emotional moment. Usually, others would do that for him or it would flicker out by itself.

Well, Reiner wasn't here to do the job of soothing Bertholdt. Normally, Armin would leave it at that if he couldn't do anything about it, but that would get him nowhere today. This was no matter that simply flickered out. If this wasn't fixed, he'd make no progress. He had to.

(He wanted to. Didn't he? This was a part of his responsibility too now.)

"Then help me."

No, Bertholdt shook against his blanket.

"I'm not asking you to submit. I'm asking you to help me understand…" Armin admitted. "I know you're scared. I can sympathise, because so am I. I don't want there to be a war, I don't want the land I grew up in to be destroyed and for my friends to die. Not a second time. It hurts too much to even think about."

Bertholdt sat unmoving save for a tremble running over his body. Armin balled his fist a few times before relaxing it, voice soft and reasonable.

"Bertholdt… I'm offering you a way to save these people. Lives that will cease to exist if you don't step up. You don't need to give us everything you know, they understand that. I'm not asking for numbers and locations and military secrets. But there are things you can tell us that can save so many innocents without putting anyone else at risk. I know you are a good person who had no choice in anything he did. Don't you want to take the chance to finally set right what you did so many years ago? Don't you want to have a choice this time?"

Armin spoke that last part so softly, so effortlessly.

"Saving lives now doesn't bring back those I took," Bertholdt whispered after a long silence.

"It doesn't," Armin agreed, "but neither does what you're doing right now."

That left Bertholdt quiet for a long time, the tremble of his sobs eventually vanishing again. He'd been caught in a fallacy, and there evidently wasn't much he could say to get himself out of it again. If this were a purely logical debate, Armin had just won.

Too bad humans were more than just their cold logic.

"And what if that doesn't work? Then what will you do with me?" Bertholdt asked at last, for the first time showing interest in the logistics of the offer rather than arguing or sidestepping it.

"Then we'll uphold our part of the deal regardless. The condition isn't that you give us information that turns out to be useful and then reward you based on success; it's that you speak to us and help us mitigate conflict to the best of your ability. I don't ask you to do something you can't. All I ask is for you to dampen the blow your initial actions have caused. That is the noblest thing you can do right now."

It stayed quiet for a long time. Armin didn't break the moment, sitting down on the crate again once the energy of the outburst subsided. Bertholdt hid himself so effectively even when he was confronted head-on. He had no titan to shield himself from the world's crude assault this time, only a blanket—to pretend that if he did not see, then he was not seen either—and yet he felt just as beyond Armin's reach as he had in Shiganshina.

Armin was at the end of his rope. If Bertholdt was this stubborn about it because of fear, there was little he could do short of appealing to his sense of virtue. That, or proving that they wouldn't hurt him, which was impossible so long as he didn't give them the opportunity to show him. Vicious cycle and all.

He'd been the same when Hange started their tests: fearful long after being given sufficient proof that they weren't there to harm him. But dragging him onto a table and forcing him to endure his own physiology was way more practically feasible than dragging him to a courtroom and expecting him to speak.

Was it?

Surely, strapping him down in place and watching how his body reacted to various agents didn't require nearly as much input from him as making him speak did, but if he were placed in the spotlight and saw the effects of a whole room ready to condemn him if he refused to speak up, including his former comrades, wouldn't that give him the pressure to conform?

And what if he didn't? What if he stayed quiet despite the pressure, as he had before? What if he gave up the self-preservation of his ego in exchange for getting to drag down Armin with him using the chains that mutually bound them? What if he chose to prove in front of all of Armin's peers and superiors that his decision had been a terrible waste of everybody's time and resources? What would happen to either of them, then?

Doing this gave Bertholdt immense power: to strike at Armin where it mattered.

Discomfort and pain will NOT work. He couldn't forget it. Even if it looked attractive, this intense negative reward structure simply didn't work on Bertholdt. Armin would just be treading in Hange's footsteps, his past work wasted.

But hadn't it worked when he'd abandoned Bertholdt for over a month to get him to accept Armin's sleeping bag and blanket and to make him finally break his vow of silence? Wasn't that how Marley had made him this loyal?

No. He couldn't risk it again. Bertholdt would catch on and it would lose its power.

He was cornered. He could do nothing with this situation.

"I can't risk it," Bertholdt whispered, his decision final. "If there's even the smallest chance that anything I do leads to the end of the world, then I cannot risk it. I'm so sorry."

He sounded defeated. Small and weak. Broken. Ashamed. Cornered as Armin was, stuck, as imprisoned as he looked.

There was nothing Armin could do about it.

So he dropped his shoulders. He'd already learned more about Bertholdt than he'd ever believed he would reveal. There was no point in pushing it beyond the answer to his question. For now, all he felt was barren pity.

"Okay," Armin responded. "If that's how you feel, then okay. Remain the irredeemable murderer people think you are. But I'm not leaving. I'll keep visiting until you see my side, or you die. You're not getting rid of me so easily. I'll do whatever I can to get you out of here."

Armin did not like that term, irredeemable. To him, there were useful people and useless ones; but the latter could turn into the former. But if he knew Bertholdt at all, then he knew that the term would hit close to his values. Like it had with Annie.

He was so close to a resolution, yet it kept evading his grasp. Like this, he was just pissing off Bertholdt and threatening to shatter what he'd rebuilt so far. But on the other hand, time was short. They were a few months away from leaving the Walls and going out to meet the rest of the world, and Bertholdt's support could be the factor deciding whether they would end up with allies or with more enemies.

Moreover, the reasoning Bertholdt had given was… really good. Internally consistent, validated by his worldview, with no way for Armin to prove otherwise. He was clueless as to how he could ever rationally convince Bertholdt to help them out. Not by serving him good counterarguments. Not by playing fair.

Was it time to jump from his first strategy into his second and pull out the rug from under him?

No. Not yet. The hook hadn't pierced deep enough into Bertholdt yet. There was still more that could be done. Armin wasn't forced into a corner just yet, there was one more option he could try out. After that, he could truthfully claim that he was at the end of his rope.

He didn't push the issue anymore after that, falling back into their regular games to a slightly more silent Bertholdt with relative ease. At least for today, Armin didn't have to burn any bridges. But which bridges had been ones he was merely seeing, and which ones had truly been there?

The monster in the mine was not ready to yield.

The future looked bleak.

---

7

He didn't tell anyone why Bertholdt didn't want to help them.

He should.

He really should.

It wouldn't just help everyone else, but also himself.

It would also get his visits to the mine revoked and his position within the Survey Corps prioritised.

So he didn't.

---

The Survey Corps would embark on their first large expedition of the year on Monday evening, travelling to Shiganshina for the first time since the battle as a sort of trial for the recruits. They were leaving Armin behind on his own. He'd be fine, he'd assured them. Something in him didn't want to return home and was glad that he'd been absolved of the responsibility. It sat uneasy with him to still get paid despite his lack of contributions, but he needed the money so he pushed it down.

After visiting Bertholdt, Armin returned to Trost to wave off his peers at Wall Rose shortly after sunset. They were over the wall way too soon and he wished he could climb up there to see them disappear on the horizon, but nothing could be changed about it. Nothing except to push himself to do better.

The next day, with his hair gathered in a little stub, all his weekly non-edible provisions stuffed into his backpack, and fierce determination in his heart, he showed up at the Trost stables. It didn't matter whether or not he was ready for this; if he didn't do it now, he would lag too hard and get left behind again.

Early in the morning, he left the district on horseback, headed northeast. Since he'd decided that he wasn't going to rescind his visits to Bertholdt, he owed him a bag of éclairs. He shouldn't skimp on his promises just yet.

When he arrived on Wednesday, late in the afternoon, his body lamented the choice. But he'd made it: all on his own, without the help of anyone else, proud and determined. His physique had already restored itself enough to ride a horse so far without collapsing, so he should be ready to start vertical maneuver training again soon. Who cared that everything hurt? He'd made it. He was ready.

Thursday morning, a little while before noon, he went to that bakery Hitch had gone to to purchase a full bag. They'd go stale if he brought these to Bertholdt on Sunday, but these weren't for him.

Unsteady feet, shaky for more than one reason this time, carried him through dark passageways until he found himself in the chamber where he knew Hitch had her shift this morning.

Except she wasn't there.

Yeah, of course she would neglect her responsibilities even when no one else was there to take over from her. He should've seen it coming. Armin's thoughtful choice to stay the first time had been for nothing.

But he didn't turn around. Instead, he passed through the open gate and lingered for a while on the plateau before he placed down his lantern and tentatively descended those stairs, stopping a distance away from Annie's crystal.

When he last stood here two months ago, it was with frustrations that Bertholdt wouldn't talk. Today, it was with worries that what he said couldn't make a difference.

"You're all alone again, too?" he asked.

If Hitch skipped her shift now, she probably did it often. Annie had to be even lonelier than Bertholdt, assuming that she was aware. Then again, being so close by in the city meant that she was easy to visit as well. Hitch had a five minute walk between her headquarters and Annie's resting place. She had better opportunities compared to the several hours of horseback riding between Armin and Bertholdt, which severely limited him to having to pick a day in the week when he had time to visit.

"Are you acting out of fear too, Annie?" he continued, looking through the glassy crystal surface to see her face framed by undisturbed rest. "Do you think that you're preventing something terrible from happening by locking yourself up for the rest of your years? Do you think imprisonment is better atonement than redemption? For Bertholdt, I can see it, but for you… I thought you had a heart."

Nothing. So he tried again from a different angle.

"Annie… What would you do?" he asked his unresponsive opponent. "You know him better than I. You must have the answer. I bet if you talked to him, you'd be able to help him escape his misery in just one morning. He doesn't care about me, but he'll listen to you. He looks up to you. You mean his entire world. No… Even more than that."

Nothing.

"He asked about you, you know," Armin pried deeper. He kept his wording as ambiguous as he could while skirting the boundaries of reality. "On one of the days when we offered him respite from the horrors he has to endure every day and I got a chance to speak to him. He asked if you were safe. He offered answers he'd previously held onto with all his might just to know. If you walked in and took that weight off his shoulders, wouldn't that be the best way to show him that you care, too?

Nothing.

"The lengths he's gone to for you, I thought the feeling would be more mutual. He almost killed me several times when I told him that we had fought you and got you into our custody. He was so furious that he lost his composure and we managed to get Eren back after he and Reiner had taken him. He gave up so much for you. Isn't it time to give back?"

Nothing.

"He can't help you from where he is, but you can help him if you come out. I just wish you'd help him instead of staying here like this. I know you're a good person thrust into a horrific situation. You all are. I just know it."

Nothing.

Futile, like all his talks had been lately. Humanity was intrinsically stubborn.

There was no more point in further talking, but he had to vent his frustrations somewhere. This was going nowhere, so he simply breathed out a long sigh.

He was running out of time. He needed more of it—more convincing power, more luxury to wave over his head, and yet nothing he did seemed to matter all that much in the grand scheme of things.

Bertholdt needed to come to the surface, somehow. Become easily accessible so that Armin could dedicate his time spent with him as efficiently as possible. No more wasting time on travelling. Armin needed to force him up there if he ever wanted to stand a chance. Light a fire under him if he had to. Smoke him out of his comfort zone. It was his responsibility to turn Bertholdt into an asset.

He'd promised himself that. It was his responsibility.

Hadn't he made it very clear, though? Discomfort and pain will NOT work. Bolded, underlined, one of the first notes he'd ever made in the journal Hange gave him. Wasn't isolation a form of pain? Would that threat even work, or would he just mix up his methods and perpetrate a grey area too harmful to be trusted but too mild to be an effective threat?

Hadn't Armin promised him that he would be the one to find him down in that mine?

But what else remained? He was running out of options. Bertholdt wasn't giving him a choice.

"What do you want me to do…" he whispered to himself, to Annie (to Bertholdt), tightening fist crinkling the bag he still held onto.

"Well, well, Armin Arlert. Sneaking into places you shouldn't be to talk to unconscious girls. Are you that devious of a man or are you just a creep?"

Armin almost jolted far enough to bump against the crystal. Looking up at Hitch standing atop the platform, her presence instantly flustered him, as she tended to do with her relentless assumptions about Armin's intentions.

"Hitch, that's not why I'm here! It's you that I came down here for, but you weren't there so I took a detour." He held up the bag to prove his point, starting his way towards her.

"He's here for me, he says," Hitch quipped, smirking as her hooded eyes quirked to the side. Then, they widened, mouth sinking. "Wait, you're here for me?" she reiterated.

"Yes, I am. Look," Armin started climbing the stairs, "I've brought something for you to make up for leaving you last time."

"Yeah, what was up with that, you jerk? You stood me up and the best you could do was a letter?" Hitch shot back, smacking Armin on the arm when he reached her.

"Ow! Hitch… I'm sorry, okay?" Armin said as he rubbed the site of impact. "Some very important scout business came up and I had to leave. I tried looking for you but couldn't find you. It won't happen again! Please take these as my apology?"

He held the bag out her way. Hitch took it from him, looking inside.

"Alright, Arlert. I might forgive you with this payment," she said, taking out an éclair and turning it over for inspection before having a bite.

"Might?"

"Depending on whether you're here to make up for lost time."

"Oh, yes. Definitely. I meant to ask about that. Do you have time today or tomorrow? I'm here to get éclairs for Bertholdt this Sunday so I can't stay for long, but I have some time before I have to leave."

"Ohoho, éclairs for Bertholdt?" Hitch echoed with a derisive smile. "Did I miss that much?"

"It's a long story," Armin answered, glancing away.

---

Hitch had chosen a place that wasn't too upper class for the two of them to go dine at, so it wasn't that much of a hassle that Armin didn't have anything particularly fashionable to wear with him. Two courses, delivered without much delay under the calm of the afternoon when most people were at work. It left them enough privacy for Armin to do his story in their secluded little nook.

"So now you're cornered and you don't know what to choose. You came to see me for advice?"

"Yes," Armin affirmed.

"Do your pals know about this?"

"If they did, they would just try to push me towards giving up. It's better if they don't, so please don't pass all of this along to anyone else?"

Despite her tendency to gossip, Hitch's distance from the situation made her a safe person to talk to about this. Safer than them. But word could spread fast. Hitch to her colleagues, her colleagues to Nile Dok, Nile Dok to Hange, and then he'd have to face the consequences.

Hitch took another bite from her pasta, chewing and swallowing it down.

"He sounds like a nice guy, but serious about everything. He either has to abandon his ideals for comfort or change how he sees the world. If you let him stew, he's not gonna budge and you'll just hurt him. Does he really need that after everything?"

She patted the corners of her mouth clean with her napkin.

"Besides, he only stopped objecting to your company a few weeks ago. Is that really enough time to judge? You had this book you wanted to talk about, shouldn't you give that a try first?"

"I suppose so," Armin responded. He stirred his spoon through his bowl's contents, not intending to eat the fatty chunks in his stew. "But what if it doesn't work?"

"Then you still have your responsibility you were so adamant you had. Isn't that the most important thing?"

"My responsibility is to make him useful to us, but if that doesn't work, then that responsibility changes to making myself of use. If I vanish once a week to talk to a wall, I'm not being of much use to anyone."

"Well…" Hitch said, grabbing another bite and chewing on it, speaking before she swallowed. "That's not your only responsibility. As it stands, no one but you is taking care of him. If you leave, he'll be hungry and go crazy from loneliness again. You're of use to him." She swallowed, then took a swig from her wine.

"That's regrettable, but not something that will cause detriment to Paradis," Armin answered in a tone that screamed Survey Corps representative giving a press conference to dispel rumours.

"Oh, it's not," Hitch said as she put down her glass again. "But responsibility goes both ways. It means that you're prepared to take care of someone even when you don't directly benefit from it. You've put yourself in charge of him and took it upon yourself to take care of his health. You can't just stop doing that, especially not when he's helpless and vulnerable and you're all he has. I mean, Armin, come on… Do you even hear yourself talk when you say stuff like that?"

The way she put it knocked the air out of Armin. He wanted to deny it, but that's essentially what he was doing. Taking care of Bertholdt when no one else bothered. He'd made himself responsible for that too.

He took a drink to keep a level face but his deep swallow gave him away.

"So… You think it's immoral of me if I pull back my support."

"Pretty much."

"What if it's only temporary?"

"You'll still breach his trust," Hitch honestly warned. "I doubt he'll budge if you rescind your help. He'll just see it as more proof that the world's not trustworthy and that he made a mistake by letting you approach him. You're not getting another word out of him even if you come back later to tell him that you've changed your mind. You don't need to personally care about him to understand that it's shooting yourself in the foot."

Ouch. Now Hitch thought he was nothing but cold towards Bertholdt. He'd overshot his target by letting go of his personal connections to function better and seem more responsible.

A prickle annoyed his throat at the thought, and he washed it down with another drink. It was for his own good, Armin thought; tough love now when Bertholdt didn't know what was best for himself. Heavy measures were all taken in function of getting him out of that mine and making him better. How could she not see that Armin was helping Bertholdt with this?

He took his time to dip his mouth clean before speaking.

"What if I tell him that Hange forbade me from visiting anymore and the policemen held me back? That way, it wasn't my choice."

"That doesn't change much," Hitch retorted. "It doesn't matter if you chose to or not, in his eyes it's just the world being a terrible place again and proving that he shouldn't hope for things to get better. You'll shut him down."

"Hrm…" Armin took a swig from his wine, then another, and a third. Hitch continued eating as he did, looking at him curiously for an answer.

"Hey, I don't judge," Hitch placated, rolling up another ball of pasta on her fork. "You do you, but I'm pretty sure it won't do you more good than it will bad in this situation. Do me instead. You said it worked last time. If I could, I'd follow my own advice with Annie. But, y'know… Can't do that."

That was easier said than done. Bertholdt knew what he was doing, he'd made that much clear. He suspected that everything Armin tried would be underhanded. He knew that Armin wasn't afraid of playing it dirty, and he'd made it clear multiple times just to protect himself from the effects.

That sealed the deal. Hitch's help had indeed been far too effective before to dismiss her advice now. He'd been on the fence for too long, and if this was what she thought, then Armin was finally convinced this was the right course of action.

"I think…" he mumbled, then restarted with more steadfastness. "I think that I should bring him to the surface."

---

"Can I ask you a favour?" Armin asked over tea despite having arrived after Bertholdt's morning routine had come to an end.

"Sure, Armin. What can I do you for?" Romi responded in her usual chipper tone. She was alone today.

"I was curious about your guidelines as a guard posted in the mines. Do they say anything about how much exposure to Bertholdt you are allowed?"

"Is this gonna be a lecture?" Romi warily asked.

"No, no," Armin assured her in a soft voice. "I need you to do something for me, but I don't know if I will be breaking any rules by requesting it. Are you required to spend only minutes a day with him, or is that simply a choice that the police here make?"

Romi tapped her fingers onto the table.

"Well… There's nothing that says that we can't visit longer than we do. But what would the point be? The Colossal doesn't talk to us at all."

Exactly as Armin remembered it from the guards' guidelines. He took a composed sip from his cup of tea, giving Romi the time to let his implied shaming sink in despite his earlier assurance.

"Could I ask you to pay him regular visits and try to talk to him a few times a day?"

"What for?"

"I'm trying something," Armin explained. "All information I've gathered has led me to conclude that his lack of social interaction is what sets us back. Just being here every Sunday isn't enough, I need him to get more attention than I can feasibly give him. I need you to take over for me when I'm not here."

"Oookay…" was all Romi said. It likely was the first time the thought crossed her mind.

"Approach him like a human being and put yourself in his proverbial shoes. No more 'it'. Not in your head, not when you talk about him to the others, and," Armin continued when Romi's face contorted uneasily at the thought of doing something so socially unacceptable, "no more degrading and no more violence. Take care of your prisoner as if he were the one signing off on your wages at the end of the month."

Romi puffed. "Armin, that's a lot to ask. What does your Commander think?"

"The Commander backs my decision."

"Alright…" Romi gave in as if she were asked to give up a part of her identity for Armin's request. "What do you reckon I should say?"

"Greet him. Ask him if he needs anything. If he wants to say anything, if you can do anything for him. Does that currently happen?"

"Not, uh… Not exactly, no. If… um, if he needs anything, we'll see."

"Start doing it. Encourage your colleagues to do the same. You get deliveries twice a week, correct?"

Romi nodded. "Sundays and Wednesdays."

"Newspapers in every delivery?"

"Couldn't go a day without 'em."

"Read them to him when you can. Don't tell him anything about political developments that may be too sensitive, but talking to him about what's going on up there will give him incentive to want to go there himself. Personal anecdotes may help, too. Don't be cruel about it, but the better you make it sound, the greater our chances. I really need him to desire the surface and to understand what it is that he's missing up there. Can you do that?"

Armin looked deep into Romi's eyes, her expression faltering under his steady calm.

"Sure. Can do."

"Great," Armin said with a grateful smile. "Thank you, that means a lot to me and will greatly aid my efforts."

The smile Romi offered him in return was a little uncertain, but not fake. He trusted she would. He knew it wouldn't be so difficult to appease the part of her that was proud to be here for the service it did humanity when she'd been relieved of group pressure.

"You might wonder why it's you I'm asking," Armin added. "That's because… Well, I think you are a kind person, Romi. Much kinder than anyone else posted at this location."

"You do?" Romi responded, bowing her head forward, like it was the first time anyone had ever complimented her so directly.

Armin simply deepened his smile, finishing his cup.

"Absolutely. The others wouldn't agree to do this, but I knew you would. They're fine with causing harm and letting their anger doom humanity. You don't seem like the person who's fine with everything you see here. Or did I see that wrong?"

A subtle quiver ran through Romi's lip. He had her on board.

"Well…" she softly squeaked, looking off to the side as the grip on her arms tightened. "There are some… things that happen that are rather disturbing."

"I can be a listening ear if you need one," Armin offered, folding his hands together and looking at her with compassion.

From the look in Romi's eyes, she couldn't pass up an opportunity like this.

---

"Good morning," Armin greeted Bertholdt in his usual fashion, an hour late after listening to Romi's talk about the violence, abuse, and prison culture that made working down in the mine stressful and how inadequate she felt, a situation he'd quickly turned into an appeal to do his bidding.

Bertholdt hummed in response, for the first time since Armin started visiting him. Not words, but they were getting there. It was a nice start to his day.

He looked a great deal different after what must've been an arduous brushing process, but he'd gotten most of the mats out of his neck-length hair, leaving it surprisingly clean. It would never fail to register as odd to see his hair so long and filthy.

"I've got what I promised with me: a sturdy sleeping mat that will last you quite a while down here, a pillow with some covers, and a bag of pastries. I bought them all fresh in Stohess." The first had been on the costly side.

"Thank you, Armin," Bertholdt said with a bit of relief.

He'd anticipated that Armin wouldn't honour their agreement. Exactly why Armin couldn't wait another week to go get the éclairs, despite his body having taken such a blow from the horse ride to and fro that he could barely even sit down without having to suppress wincing from the resulting pain.

"We play a lot of games," he said after he'd settled down and given the bag to Bertholdt using their usual exchange method, "but I rarely bring much enrichment with me that'll serve you when I'm not here. I'm curious. What do you think about when I'm not here? How do you keep your mind busy?"

"I don't know. I sleep most of the time, I guess. Sometimes I count for as long as I can. Or I make up stories."

"Stories? What kind of stories?"

"Just stories. They don't mean a lot."

"Stories based on something you've read?"

"Sometimes. I don't try to commit them to memory."

He took another tiny bite from the nibbled-on éclair he held and then placed it down on the footer of his sleeping bag. He tried to hide it, but his eyes still shone at the enjoyment of so much sugar after a long period where he was denied anything that could positively trigger his senses. It hadn't escaped Armin how often Bertholdt had to wipe his mouth with his sleeve with the pastry in hand.

All thoughts were based on some reality. Which reality did Bertholdt base his stories on? Was it linked to the stories they'd read together when they were younger? How did Bertholdt warp the truth?

"Are you a part of these, or do you simply observe?"

"I just observe."

"Tell me one?"

"No." Bertholdt sounded certain about his refusal.

Armin swallowed. "Right. In that case… Can I tell you a story instead?"

Bertholdt sighed in exasperation. "One that'll cost me one of my own?"

"One that'll cost you nothing," Armin corrected. This was the right moment; he could offer Bertholdt something for free so it wouldn't come across as an attempt to pry something loose from him. "I was thinking that we could maybe stop our exchange. No more payment for stories."

"Because I have more information than you can give me?" Bertholdt raised sceptically.

"Oh, no. I could live with that. It's because it makes our conversations feel transactional. I don't want them to feel chopped up or like you have to be on your toes all the time."

"Okay, fine. I suppose," Bertholdt caved, much more easily than expected.

Something was off about him and Armin couldn't quite pinpoint why he was so lax and pliant to his bluffs today.

Armin scratched the side of his hand over his lap before he caught himself and stopped. His fingers tightened over the fabric of his pants and his feet tapped the ground alternating. He had to put a conscious effort into subduing his body language, especially now that he knew Bertholdt might be on the lookout for it.

So, uphill, he began.

"Once, in a time long before there were titans, there was a woman who lived far away from all of society. She craved a simpler life than she had initially thought, so she retreated somewhere no one would find her again to live alone for years. Many called her after the title she'd proudly held a decade ago but had now lost her love for, or simply: Druid."

It took a little while before the recognition dawned on Bertholdt, who remained quiet for the time being. Armin's heart skipped a beat at even the slightest movement his cautious listener made and what it meant.

"But as all stories go, the world wouldn't let her have the rest and apathy she so desired. War was waged at her doorstep, and in one night, she lost both the magic that she prided herself in and her foot. For earthen devils had come to slay mankind, and in their final hour, the Great Calamity, they found a way to steal all magic from mankind and hide it."

The irony of the tale didn't escape Armin, but that wasn't why he wanted to tell it. They hadn't discussed the physical measures taken against Bertholdt, so Armin didn't know if the topic brought anything about within him. Bertholdt sat still, eyes unfocused.

Armin swallowed before he continued.

"Right when it looked like she would be overpowered by earthen devils, a young Squire who had no memory of any events before the Great Calamity scattered them and saved her life. All the boy remembered was that he saw the Devil himself seal all magic in a box, that his Knight had saved him in a similar fashion right before the flash, and that he now wished to save others like his Knight had him to honour his legacy and pay respect to his sacrifice."

Something about this felt wrong. He'd trusted himself to retell this story the way they had discussed it plenty in the past, but this wasn't coming out right.

To revisit it all was a double-edged sword. It should've felt exciting to retell this—and it did. Exhilarating, even, to think back on the story that had opened Armin's heart to fiction; the series that had them talking for hours, weeks, even years on end just to get through all of its intricacies and discover the world the author had constructed together. The story that was responsible for their friendship's entire existence. Mine visits on Sunday morning were his adult life's version of their training days' library visits on Sunday afternoon.

But that also made it something terrifying.

Something that had caused him to bare his heart to a friend, only for it to get seared out of his chest at the first given chance. Something that now sealed his once-charred spine in ice and that tugged on the chains that safely locked his heart away in the frozen depths of the ocean. Something that had prompted him to bury it under rusted iron so that it could never happen again.

That iron would have to fold eventually. He hadn't read a single work of fiction since Annie, Reiner, and Bertholdt had revealed their hand. There hadn't been time amidst the chaos of the betrayals, overthrowing a government, taking back a city, and a harrowing recovery process; but more importantly, it felt like a waste of time. Childish, asinine, unimportant, denying the severity of the war that loomed over their heads for the sake of flight of fancy escapism.

Poison for the soul.

The prospect of spending any more time reading that poison sickened him. Those nine tales the two of them had indulged in so passionately as young teens were the most potent of them all. But if they extended a hand towards Bertholdt, then he was willing to stomach the nausea. He could always regurgitate it later, out of sight.

So he would make the iron ocean subside and let the poison trickle back into his locked-up heart. He'd just have to try a different angle.

"Two very important things were taken from her that night. How was she supposed to live on after that?"

He glanced over at Bertholdt briefly to survey his reaction, but he was still frozen. Not the way he sometimes did when Armin brushed with an uneasy subject before foregoing it, but the way he would at the very beginning.

Like he'd swallowed poison, too.

"She wanted them back. Who wouldn't?"

And yet again, nothing. No reaction, not even any breathing.

"So… she embarked on a journey to reclaim what was rightfully hers, no matter the cost. She could not get rid of the Squire and begrudgingly took him home, but with his village destroyed, she couldn't just leave him behind. And then, when they…"

And then, Bertholdt still was not engaged with what he was saying.

No question why. Armin was choking up. He wouldn't want to listen to this dry summary either. It wasn't even like him to be this bad at narrating a story. Had he truly lost all passion for this one that he could no longer say anything interesting about it?

The silence finally knocked Bertholdt out of his frozen daze. His shoulders lowered slightly and his widened eyes narrowed by just a bit, but Armin noticed.

Druid learned she needed Squire. Squire and Druid bonded. Alliances formed, the world was expanded upon, they had some close calls, and all these other beats and plot points that were beside the point. Things that weren't why he'd brought this up.

His fingers clung white into the fabric of his pants, but this time, he did not relax them when his entire attention was spanned thin over keeping his voice calm.

"She lost him," he said. "And it was her fault."

For the first time, there was a small quirk of Bertholdt's lips. Armin's almost followed, but his neck was so stiff that he subdued it as his eyes went back to the ground.

"She didn't want her magic or her leg anymore. She wanted him to be safe. She was ready to make such a trade if she could just get him out of this madness."

He looked up.

"You liked that part of the story. Why?"

Bertholdt's reaction was a subtle shake of his head.

Armin considered stopping, but it was better to bite through the pain now to reap the rewards later.

"There must be a reason," Armin pleaded.

Silence wouldn't get him to react again. Bertholdt had frozen again and it was evident that Armin needed to add just a little more poison to the mix.

"She met someone. A stranger with a dark past who sought to redeem himself and who claimed that he needed the Squire for that. The Druid ignored her suspicions out of desperation and eventually let this stranger, a man who called himself the Ardor, lead her right to her Squire."

Armin couldn't suppress his smile at what came next. The twist had been so delightful that he wished he could live it again, reading it as his younger self contained within the training grounds library and gasping out in surprise as the words engraved his heart. To look at Bertholdt and see not bitter apathy nor unease in his eyes, but wonder and surprise.

It had been a good story. A great story, and he hadn't realised it had been for long until he thought of the exciting twists and turns in the story and they made him want to swing his legs.

How he hoped that this would work, despite Bertholdt's mixed reaction.

"Things weren't the way everyone thought they were. Those earthen devils were not his enemy, but they were, in fact, the very creatures who once raised him, and the Devil had been at the head of said operation."

Armin made a rejected attempt at eye contact. He had to see.

"And we finally knew. The Squire's Knight, the Druid's Ardor, the world's Devil—we saw him for who he was, and we were outraged, but we understood. The earthen devils were only attracted to human violence because they were to protect the earth, not because they wanted to destroy it."

Still nothing.

Armin sighed, glancing aside. He needed more. Just a little more.

"I wonder if the author knew something. If he understood what he was writing was something that came so close to reality, or if it was simply luck. I want to meet him someday and ask. I find his outlook admirable."

"Armin…" Bertholdt finally said, and it was then that Armin realised he looked not conflicted but flat-out miserable.

"But most striking of all," Armin went on louder, ignoring the obvious discomfort to get back on-topic, "was what it said about a character that we'd come to know and see as trustworthy. The Knight. The Devil. The Ardor. Good, evil, and in-between. All one and the same, inseparable."

"Armin, please–"

And louder.

"I never understood why, but then it all made sense to me. I thought it was all just a matter of opinion and that I had misjudged tastes, but out of all characters, of course it in hindsight makes sense that it was the Ardor that you so strongly avoided talking about."

"Why are you doing this?" Bertholdt hissed. Accused. Like Armin had come in there to call him less than dirt.

Armin's resolve wavered and he stiffened. Such a harsh reaction. He'd expected that Bertholdt would be unpredictable, but this was overkill, and his voice's volume went down again.

"I want to give you something to keep your mind busy. Isn't that what you want?"

"No," Bertholdt spat, looking away sharply into the darkness at the dead end of the mineshaft. "Not like this. I don't want to think about this."

"Is that… because it was ours once?"

"It's because I don't want to."

Armin bit his lip, fighting back against the crease that was growing between his eyebrows.

"Can't you at least give it a try? I can take Tale of Dawn with me. I went to pick it up before the first time I ever visited you here, way back in January. I didn't understand why you were so adamant to refuse it as a gift when I bought it, but that's all in the past now, isn't it? We can try again."

"Don't."

There it was yet again.

Bertholdt had yet again taken something from Armin that meant something to him. It had hurt during the initial betrayal, so why did it hurt so much more now that it was happening again? He'd taken so much, why did he also have to take closure with his favourite series?

Armin was smart enough not to tell Bertholdt that.

"We never finished the last one," he softly spoke, masking his intentions.

"We never will."

"What if I take it with me and we'll see how it goes? Like the food, maybe you'll eventually find it valuable even if you don't want it right now."

"I won't read it," Bertholdt mumbled, surprisingly straightforward about it.

"Why not?"

"I won't read it."

Where had his earlier pliability gone? The only other time that Bertholdt was so resolute about his boundaries was when Armin had tried to approach him, melting away any desire Bertholdt had to preserve his image at the moment. He meant business.

Flames raged inside Armin's mind. For his own good, he hoped they wouldn't consume the book he had lying in a drawer back at home. It wouldn't be the first time the two had coincided within his thoughts.

Armin sighed and ran a hand over his face, unable to hide the distress boiling under his heart. He took a breather for a moment, eyes closed in the palm of his hand. He'd hoped that this would go better. Bertholdt had been so open lately, why couldn't he do this too? Why wouldn't he let Armin reach him? Even if he knew it was a ruse, what did he have to lose by giving in to just one comfort that was personal?

"I just want to finish it. Don't you owe me at least that much?"

"You don't need me for that."

Why swallow poison voluntarily if its most important beneficiary did not partake in the act? Doing it together would hurt more than it was worth, but it had its function. Finishing it alone… Armin wasn't so sure he wanted to go as far.

Maybe he should. Out of spite. Move on when Bertholdt refused. Turn the bitter concoction back into the sweetness it once embodied. Let him know that what had once been theirs was now Armin's, alone, and that he could move on from the void Bertholdt had left by inserting himself into Armin's life the way he had.

Now wasn't the time for such underhanded spite, though. He had work to do.

"Okay," Armin finally yielded. He let his arm droop to his side and opened his eyes to look at Bertholdt, face now fully hidden in the textile of his blanket. "I won't take it with me if you really don't want it. But I meant what I said. I want to give you something to think about. Something new. Can I bring you something else to read?"

"I don't care what you do," Bertholdt answered, contradicting his earlier outburst. "Just not… not that one."

---

8

He ran his hands over a black cover adorned by white ink, once more unearthed from its forgotten storage by an absent mind that needed something tangible to hold onto as he mulled things over.

They say it's always the darkest right before dawn. He simply had to get through his midnight.

Should he read Tale of Dawn alone? Now that there was no more point in sharing what was once theirs, it was all that was left—unless he buried it in a dark corner of his mind where it'd be forgotten about. He hadn't just enjoyed the books because of his lengthy discussions with Bertholdt. Though those greatly contributed to the quality of his experience reading the tales, it was simply a well-crafted story. Should that be taken from him as well just because half of the enjoyment was now gone?

Flames still licked at his ribs, pleading to be allowed passage into his larynx. It had been a conscious decision not to light the hearth in the veterans' common room until the others were back. He returned to his room and placed the book with its textile cover back inside its drawer, where he knew it wouldn't stay for more than a few days at a time.

He shouldn't. No matter how strong its allure, escapist fiction still felt so incredibly childish.

---

Despite how much his body ached, he pressed on. He went on daily horseback rides but the pain that jammed every nerve around his pelvic body centre didn't subside. Once he was used to this, he'd be able to start training on vertical maneuvering, which used similar core muscles. If he didn't push ahead now and swallow the pain the way he had for years during his military training, he'd remain useless for far too long.

So under the complaints of his muscle and sinew and the rash across his thighs and seat, he lifted himself into that saddle for another ride.

---

Maybe it was impolite; legs up in the air with his heels crossed on the tea table, slouched-back position in his fauteuil ideal to support writing his amateur attempts at poetry down in his journal as comfortably as possible, wrapped up in one of the communal blankets strewn about the veterans' common room. It was definitely confirmed impolite when noise echoed through the hall and Armin immediately corrected his position to something stiffer.

He'd already put away his journal and made it halfway to the door when it was opened and intense green eyes stared back at his own, in a way Armin hadn't seen Eren in quite a while. Not when aimed at him, anyway. It was a look that was reserved for faraway points just behind him that he never could quite grasp.

Concern gripped Armin as he approached, until he noticed what Eren was holding in both hands against his chest. A small book, weather-beaten and torn, but unmistakable when Eren held it out and Armin's fingers brushed the cover until both palms lay flat on it, as if to test if it truly was real and not some trick of the light.

"There's no way… How did you find this? How is this real?" Armin whispered, and when he finally left his daze and looked up again, where he expected Eren's eyes to shine brilliantly, they instead looked serious. Tired.

"We are so close," Eren muttered instead. "That dream… Those sights… It's nearly time."

Armin's smile was bright enough to light up the entire room. It infected Eren, who shed that solemnity and made way for one of his own. Though it was odd that his presence was more akin to that of an external observer than of someone who was the other half of that dream, Armin understood that the journey to and from Shiganshina had been exhausting, not to mention mentally taxing now that it was finally in their hands again.

"Come on, Eren!" Armin yelled, letting go of the book and pulling a compliant Eren towards the seating area by the wrist. "We have to! I need to know, I need to compare with what we know now."

Though he had memorised every single page of this book, knew each word by heart and had committed every illustration to memory, it made him soar to at last revisit something he'd for years believed to have been destroyed. Not every page was as legible anymore, but it didn't matter. This was a relic. An object that had altered the course of history. Something that had started everything he dreamt of, everything he hoped to achieve in life.

For one afternoon, he felt like he was young and innocent again.

---

The land before him lay in ruin—burnt to a crisp, flattened until all that remained were craters stained red and black and rife with the stench of detritus. There was only one perpetrator, but its actions were precise and lethal. Tonight, it didn't incinerate him, but Armin did feel the whisper of its heat brush against his neck, reinflaming the fire that was forever branded into his flesh.

He didn't write it down. Every night before, he had, but this one just refused to translate onto paper. It wasn't the type of sight he could forget.

In the middle of the night, he snuck out of the headquarters and walked north, beyond the gate of Trost, until the sky was unpolluted by the city's light and he stood on a pale blue road lit by a full moon. It was one of the first warm nights of the year and a light coat was more than sufficient to keep him warm without the sun.

He lay down in the grass and watched for many hours until the black was eventually repressed by purples, reds, and blues, yet he failed to move on from that dream.

---

It wasn't the first time he'd gone back to the site of their old training regiment, and he knew it wouldn't be his last.

He wouldn't stay long. Just enough to recover the print of a book the Survey Corps didn't have, at least not one he knew was outdated enough to contain no sensitive information he had no control over. For Survey Corps business, he explained to Shadis, with the promise to return with a more modern print of the book when he was in the area again.

He didn't linger—in and out, not even staying long enough to check if the order he'd created within the camp's tiny library during his time there was still being maintained by the trainees he'd asked to keep it for him. This place brought back memories, and if he dwelled on them, he risked thinking about them.

So long as Hange wasn't back from reporting to the capital, he'd have to resort to these methods.

---

"On the go today, please," he stated as he got a weird look from Travis for hovering around the teapot instead of taking his usual seat.

"Got somewhere to be, brat?" Travis quipped, making use of that nickname Armin had grown to despise.

"Please don't call me that, and I do."

Armin only got a vicious snort in return as he went his way.

---

"Are you sure about this?" Bertholdt asked, doubt written all over his body language and facial expression.

"Why not?" Armin retorted.

"I…"

Armin opened the crate's lid, leaving Bertholdt the room to speak while refilling its stock of clean clothes and food.

"It's the same as they drink up there. I tasted it for you. Perfectly fine, if you ask me."

"But it's warm."

"Yes?" Armin looked over his shoulder to find Bertholdt looking puzzled. "Any issues with that?"

Bertholdt just shrugged, eyes still on the cup standing on the minefloor at the centre of his cell. Armin resumed his task, leaving a little bit of a pause before trying again.

"When was the last time you've had something warm?"

"Before the battle."

"And you refuse it because…?"

Armin closed the crate again, turning around to shoot Bertholdt a questioning look.

"Well, it's warm…"

"It's also a little bit bland, if you ask me," Armin said, "but perfectly drinkable. No different than accepting the pastries from me. You even saw me take a sip when I entered, didn't you? So why not give it a go?"

The gears visibly turned in Bertholdt's head as he weighed getting to drink a nice cup of tea against sabotaging himself again, the latter of which would, of course, be entirely pointless. He landed on the former, scooting forward to pick it up and return to his initial position, placing it down next to him.

Armin simply smiled at the acceptance of his gift.

"Enjoy."

Bertholdt nodded with an affirmative hum, hand wrapped around the cup without drinking yet.

"That reminds me of something," Armin continued, sitting down. "Speaking of drinks, I never asked you what was in those metal cups you and the others drank from in Shiganshina. It had a distinct smell that's unknown to me."

Bertholdt thought for a moment with the cup close to his face.

"I don't know what to ask you in return."

"We put a stop to that exchange last week, didn't we?"

"Oh… Um, then I guess… That's coffee," Bertholdt sheepishly answered. "It's originally from the south, but Marley imports a lot of it."

"I see. What kind of beverage is coffee?"

"It's comparable to tea. It's a hot brew made from roasted beans. Many people drink it in the morning or during a late night to feel more awake."

That sounded amazing, exactly what Armin needed. They should import it as soon as they'd managed to establish good connections with the outside world.

"And the taste? Similar to the smell?"

"Not entirely. Coffee is more bitter than it smells. I don't know how to explain it."

"Is it good?"

"Good?" Bertholdt asked. He sighed, placing down his cup of tea next to him and closing his eyes. "I'd turn against Marley for a cup of coffee right now."

"You would?" Armin asked, eyes wide.

Bertholdt opened his eyes, looking back at him with equal surprise before he glanced aside.

"Armin… no, that's just an ex–"

He stopped, then looked ahead of himself pensively.

"Actually… Yeah. I would. Add in a bottle of fine Marleyan wine and a Lyrshire cigarette and I might. And an actual éclair. One with chocolate, not… the stuff you gave me."

"Really? Why?"

Bertholdt shrugged. He finally tried his luck, picking up the teacup and taking a careful sip before pulling away from the heat and grimacing.

That Bertholdt had taken up smoking, Armin knew. They'd retrieved a half-smoked pack of cigarettes from his pocket when they searched him. That he drank was within the realm of possibility as well. But why give it all up for two beverages, a pastry, and a smoke?

"You don't know? That's a pretty big thing to say when I've been trying all this time."

"I just don't know. I'm tired. I want coffee."

Cigarettes were available within the Walls; who'd notice if they weren't exactly Lyrshire cigarettes? It was coffee, Marleyan wine, and chocolate pastries that would be an issue. If Armin could get his hands on some…

Maybe that was why. Either meant they'd established trade with the outside world. Apparently, that was what made Bertholdt's resolve waver. After that, he believed that his cause was no longer worth suffering and dying for.

After that, he was useless to them for anything else than the Colossal Titan's powers. He'd have nothing to offer anymore that could bargain for his stay on the surface. Surely, he had to be aware of that. Armin didn't want it to be that way, but everything depended on his ability to convince the higher-ups of Bertholdt's merit. They'd never let him go free if they had safer sources.

He should try to go looking for some of the things he could provide when he returned. For now, he had other plans.

It could be a risky gambit, but something about it felt right. Terrifying and unpleasant too, but he knew very well that staying inside his comfort zone wasn't going to earn him a victory. He'd need to think outside the box to win, so he rummaged through his backpack in search of his next item.

"I was going to look for something else, but then the perfect opportunity came falling into my lap. Do you remember when I told you about a book I had that details what the outside world looks like?" Armin lifted the book up from his lap as per demonstration.

"You've found it?" Bertholdt asked, narrowed eyes trained on it.

"Eren brought it with him this week."

"So… You've cleared out Wall Maria already?"

"We've been busy," Armin responded with a white lie. "Resettling may not be so far out of reach anymore. Who knows what else we'll get around to soon?"

He shot Bertholdt an accomplished smile. Paradis wasn't a helpless nation anymore, and now, Bertholdt knew.

Bertholdt responded with a silent and guttural groan.

"Here," Armin continued, standing up to crouch in the middle of the cell and extend the book Bertholdt's way. His body was still on the verge of collapse from that horse riding stunt he'd pulled, so he wouldn't be able to stay crouched very long.

"It must've been special, to hear me talk about the outside world knowing what was really up, but I want to amend that now. Like this, we can compare what's real with what isn't. I thought you might find it interesting to see the illustrations for yourself and compare that to what you know is true."

Shaking his head, Bertholdt slumped over a little more.

"I'll just stain it."

"Not if you clean the dust off of your hands first," Armin responded. "Or, um, your hand."

"But I have nothing but the floor to put it down on."

"Hah." It was clear that Bertholdt didn't want to delve into it, but that he was reluctant to flat-out deny the offer. Armin stood up again, looking behind him. "I'll move over the crate and lay it on there. You'll only have to turn the pages."

"What if I spill tea on it?"

"You won't. Keep the cup on the ground and drink away from the paper and nothing can happen."

No response came. Armin had reached his stalemate, so he moved back and grabbed a clean towel from the crate, placed his book down, and started pulling and pushing the crate towards the other side so that it stood close enough for Bertholdt to use it without straining himself. His knees and back cried out at him and the realisation that he'd just lost his seat didn't help, but it was worth the try.

Bertholdt was diligent in wiping his hand as clean as he could get it, going as far as using his teeth to push the cloth beneath his splintered nails. As much as he may have had complex feelings for Armin, he wasn't out to do something petty like risk smudging property that had emotional value to him.

There was something gentle about it. Genuine effort when he could've half-assed it and done the bare minimum to comply with Armin's request. Respect for something he knew Armin valued.

Why did that make him feel so bad?

This was no poison, but he knew that he offered Bertholdt the opportunity to spit his venom and pollute something close to his heart. But Bertholdt's efforts to keep it as physically clean as he could spoke volumes.

Bertholdt held up his hand in the air, showing off a pale palm cleared of the small specks of dirt that stained it before. Armin nodded with a smile, then crouched by his backpack.

"One last thing," he said and he pulled out a small satchel. "Catch?"

Bertholdt did and opened the satchel's button, then took out the object inside, contained within a cloth. He unwrapped it, revealing a chunk of luminescent crystal, small enough to fit within the palm of his hand.

He looked down on it inquisitively, and for the first time in months, Armin could see all details of Bertholdt's face as the white light cast a heavy shadow over every crease of skin. Worn was the only word Armin could describe him with.

"What is this…? Where did you get this?"

"It's a fragment of the walls that made up the Reiss inheritance site."

"Why did you bring it here?"

"That way, you can read when I'm not here," Armin said. "You could even have it out when you're awake so that this place isn't dark all the time. The textile and the pouch are so that you can hide its glow when they come to check up on you."

Bertholdt mouthed an 'ah' with the appropriate accompanying gesture, placing the crystal down onto the crate in front of him.

Armin took position leaning against the wall behind where the crate had stood, not wanting to take any risks by sitting down on a cold, hard floor for so long. His body was angry enough at his choices already. He looked down on Bertholdt and his book full of expectations.

Bertholdt got the hint and opened it by the first page.

"The author didn't write anything about himself," Armin said before Bertholdt even got the chance to read what was written there. "He didn't even sign his name. Just wrote his book and left it at that. Censorship laws have loosened up with our new leadership, so I wonder if I can find out more about who wrote this."

"Doctor Yeager?" Bertholdt suggested.

Armin shook his head. "No, his writing style is too different from this. I've compared the two and if this was written by the same person who wrote those journals, I'd be impressed at the sheer skill involved."

At that, Bertholdt hummed. He cast his eyes on the first page: one covered in detailed illustrations of the sky, the land, and the sea, only broken up by a poem in the middle of the page about the author perceiving the beauty of the world as he travelled around it, one that Armin could recite by heart. Of lands of ice, plains of sand, liquid fire, and immense saltwater lakes.

Armin folded his hands behind his back. So began something he'd for years looked forward to but that made him shiver now that the time had finally come.

The chance to let Bertholdt see his world.

Despite the bitterness brewing in his chest, Armin couldn't help but comment as soon as Bertholdt turned the page, making it quite pointless for Bertholdt to be reading. The illustrations made it worth the while to have the physical copy. Some were faded, but most had survived being out in the open for so many years. Eren did say that he'd found the book lying on a table outside the back of Armin's childhood home, protected from the weather by an overhang. Why Armin had felt so comfortable leaving an illegal book out in the open like that all the time back when he was a child, he'd never understand, but he doubted that he'd ever do it any other way.

Bertholdt played along nicely instead of rejecting the book. In the dim light of a lantern, he occasionally grabbed the crystal to illuminate the illustrations, leaning over to look over them with a squint in his eyes, letting his gaze drift as Armin narrated and he fidgeted with the rock.

He rarely spoke, resuming drinking his gifted tea to have something to do as he read when it was only lukewarm anymore and having an equally teary reaction to the taste as he'd had to the éclairs. He let Armin say his part, turning the page when he realised Armin was done and responding only when Armin asked him a direct question that couldn't be attributed to a rhetorical question.

Armin had explained the contents of this book once before, when they'd known each other for only a couple of months. What Armin said now wasn't so different from then. With his memory refreshed, he could delve into slightly more detail and get more to the point guided by the knowledge of Grisha's journals.

It felt appropriate to do his story again now that the actual book was there. This was the first time Bertholdt had gotten any written information down in the mines; logically, it would be an exciting event regardless of what Armin had given him.

"Does that make sense? What do you think?" Armin asked after they read the final words, a good hour and a half after they'd started

"I'm sorry. I have nothing to add," Bertholdt replied. It was one final disappointingly underwhelming reaction in a long chain of disengagement and Armin wasn't sure what he'd expected.

Armin stood up to stretch his legs and pull his arms above his head, having opted earlier to sit down in the dust with his back leaning against the wall when his thighs came dangerously close to giving up on him.

"But it is true? All of that is really out there like in the drawings?"

"Somewhere. The Walls are just a tiny fraction of the world. You couldn't imagine just how large it is, and I… You know." He inhaled sharply. "I didn't see much of it unless it was during a foreign mission."

"What did you see, then?" Armin asked.

Bertholdt looked down at the crystal his four fingers were fidgeting with, a habit he'd developed over the course of his read.

"I've been deployed to desert regions. We've flown over snowy mountain formations larger than all of Wall Sina. I haven't seen actual lava before, but I did see the volcanoes it flows from."

He hesitated for a moment, but then decided to press on.

"… And I've seen the ocean. We travelled across it by boat to come to Paradis."

Armin's eyes widened by just a fraction.

The last time they'd spoken about the ocean, Armin may have overreacted by assuming adversity. Bertholdt's intentions seemed so much purer now than they did back when Armin hadn't made any progress yet, and he felt a tinge of shame over having blown up at Bertholdt when he likely just wanted to make an attempt at connecting with Armin that one time.

There was nothing to be done about the past except to amend his reaction, so he didn't hold back on the excitement he could feel sparkle in his eyes.

"Do the descriptions match reality?"

"It depends," Bertholdt answered. "The waters around Paradis are pristine, so you'll see its best side. Liberio is polluted and filthy. You wouldn't like the ocean there."

"Like the waters around the factory cities?"

"Yeah. But it's not just sludge. Lots of trash as well. The water is black and the beaches are littered with plastic."

"Plastic? Plastic what?"

Bertholdt grimaced the way he did whenever he said something he didn't intend to give away so easily. He let out a subtle sigh.

"It's a type of material," he clarified, placing the crystal back down on the crate only to pick it up again a few seconds later. "Are you still going?" he changed the topic.

"That's the plan. In a few months, if all goes well."

No reaction came. Bertholdt placed down the crystal again, leaning back against his wall, languid as he'd been for the last half hour of reading. Listening attentively and reading had been enough to drain him for the day, from the looks of it. His brain was like a muscle; the more Armin helped exercise it in as broad a set of categories as possible, the easier Bertholdt would readjust to such intense cognitive activity.

It brought Armin back to their training days, when he'd been mildly jealous of Bertholdt's stellar physique that allowed him to endure anything without breaking so much as a sweat. Only now, the roles were reversed and Armin was the one in much better condition while Bertholdt had deteriorated into someone exhausted, both physically and mentally.

Armin made work of pulling the crate back to his side and stashing his book away in his backpack, then sat down to rest his lower back from its horrible cramping.

"So… Did it live up to expectations?" Armin asked, fully expecting Bertholdt would dodge the question. "My book."

"Yeah," Bertholdt answered honestly instead. "It was… nice. I can see why you want to find out more about the author."

"Once there's more time, I'll go looking," Armin in turn responded. "Who knows, maybe our new allies from the outside world will be able to tell us where it came from."

Though Bertholdt wasn't smiling, his expression still sank under those words. He slouched back against his wall farther after a moment, evidently deciding that Armin had choked the conversation there.

"I'll just have to ask them about it when they're here," Armin concluded, keeping the underlying motive implied this time. "But that's neither here nor there. Up for a match of chess?"

Bertholdt hummed, unenthusiastically shaking his head.

"I, um… My head hurts."

"Oh. That's unpleasant. Any idea what caused it?"

"No."

"Maybe it's from reading in dim light after you haven't read for so long. The more you read, the better you'll get."

Bertholdt laid his hand over his eye, exhaling as deeply as he could.

"Right."

"So… Would you rather I leave and let you rest?"

To that, Bertholdt had no response. He looked conflicted, and it told Armin enough: he wanted Armin to stay even if it hurt.

Those hooks had finally pierced deep enough into Bertholdt to create a dependency and a desire for Armin to be with him, and yet it was after he'd decided he couldn't abandon Bertholdt anymore. The universe just loved to prove him completely wrong on all fronts again and again.

No, he couldn't be bitter about this. His grip was tightening. Even without threats of abandonment, that was a good thing if he one day soon wanted to drag Bertholdt to the surface with him.

"If you don't want to play games, we can talk."

Again, no answer, but Bertholdt looked up at him, eyes hooded but eyebrows raised in defeat.

"Or, uh… If it's fine with you, you can get cosy and I can read to you?"

Bertholdt's eyes widened slightly, interest now piqued.

"You'd do that?" he asked.

A warm pulse under Armin's ribs.

"Of course. I even brought something to read with me, if you want it."

Bertholdt hesitantly nodded, so Armin reached into his backpack and pulled out a thick red tome, which he held up.

"Do you know what this is?"

Bertholdt squinted, leaning in a little closer.

"That's… That one book. About the walls," he said with certainty, possibly catching onto Armin's pattern of which books he was taking along.

"That's right! Maria. Rose. Sina."

Armin laid it on his lap, looking down on its cover. This history book was one of the first books Armin had seen Bertholdt borrow from their training camp library. Bertholdt had finished it within a week despite its size.

After a great discussion about the first book of the Tales series, Armin had been desperate to befriend him and have something that Bertholdt liked for Armin to reciprocate interest in. He'd spent a whole month combing through Maria. Rose. Sina., only for Bertholdt to reveal he'd only read the Sina part. A matter of scouting potential positions as a policeman in the interior, he'd shamefully confessed.

In hindsight, it made a lot more sense that he'd breezed straight through the Maria and Rose parts of the book despite his apparent interest in cities and history. Where else would the royal Founder reside if not in the safest, richest centre?

"You never got around to reading the first two parts of the book, right?"

"That's right," Bertholdt said, low-lidded eyes averting in favour of the gate.

"I brought it to leave behind for you to read, but if you'll have me, I'd love to read it to you."

"Yeah," Bertholdt mumbled. "Okay… Alright. I'd like that."

Like.

The warmth in Armin's chest extended to the rest of his body.

"Then let's start at the beginning. The things I didn't tell you because I didn't live them."

Armin scooted back to make himself comfortable and opened the book to the first page, then cleared his throat and started reading out loud about the cultures of Wall Maria that they had lost five years ago, that they hoped to begin restoring very soon.

It took a little while for Armin to get into it. He'd narrated books to his friends before, mostly to Eren and Mikasa and on some rare occasions to Bertholdt and to the other trainees, but it felt different this time. It had a far less recreational purpose this time: to soothe, to reconnect, to build something more sustainable than a mere threat and prey relation. To give Bertholdt something with substance instead of having to waste his mind away ruminating only bitterness every week.

Soon, Bertholdt made himself comfortable by lying down on his sleeping mat, arm hooked under his pillow as his head rested on it, even closing his eyes at times. He looked a great deal more drained than usual. Asking Armin to stay meant that company was more important to him than getting to recuperate energy, and the fact that he showed such relaxed body language meant he was growing comfortable letting his guard down around Armin.

It was almost like they were two friends reading together once again, and the thought made Armin's stomach twist.

There had to be something Armin could do with that. This was the golden opportunity he'd been waiting for. But he drew a blank, and it frustrated him to no end. For far too long, Armin's methods had been messy and unprofessional. He had to do better.

Neither lasted longer than an hour. Armin's body was begging him to follow in Bertholdt's footsteps and get himself some rest. Bertholdt's breathing had slowed down to the point where it was barely perceptible and he didn't react when Armin called out his name.

Armin packed his things and stored the book inside a textile cover in the crate, contemplating leaving silently to let Bertholdt rest, but he couldn't leave him without a word.

"Bertholdt?" he said, and repeated until Bertholdt blearily blinked back at him. "You fell asleep."

Bertholdt didn't respond, instead surfacing his hand from his blanket to wipe the moisture of sleep out of his eyes and off his cheek, snorting slime back into his throat as he did.

"I'll be leaving now, unless there's anything else I can do for you."

To which Bertholdt simply shook his head and mouthed something Armin couldn't hear, something that had him part his lips.

"Right. In that case, I've put your book and your crystal with the other supplies."

Armin turned towards the gate, then looked down on Bertholdt again.

"You should get in the habit of reading again. It will keep your mind engaged and give you something to do for many hours. I'll bring along a couple of things that look interesting. And maybe… Maybe we can start up our old habit again?"

No reaction to that. Maybe he'd think about it now that Armin had brought it up.

"Just consider it. I'll see you next week."

Again, no reaction. Armin made the first step to leave, then halted again by the gate.

"Bertholdt?" he called out again, and Bertholdt hummed and opened a single eye, now annoyed at the repeated interruptions.

Armin stuck up a hand in the air, met with a confused few blinks before Bertholdt looked at his own and mouthed an 'oh'. He tapped around his sleeping mat until he found his bandages and began to wrap them around his fist again, and Armin took it as his cue to grab his lantern and take his leave.