rollcharisma | IC Inbox for seasonsrpg

[ Armin sounds so earnest. So genuine. Reiner listens, letting the words sink into him. Still staring down at his hands, barely noticing when his next drink arrives.

The corners of his lips twitch. Then he turns his head to look at Armin, meeting blue eyes. Reiner's expression is open. Honest. ]

Are you sure it's you feeling that?

[Armin stares at Reiner. He might be drunk, but he has no trouble deciphering what the other man is trying to say. It's the same thing that Eren implied when he found out that Armin had been visiting Annie - and it's just as disquieting.

[He remembers how it felt to see Reiner begin to break down - that overwhelming, aching need to comfort him in just exactly the way he needed. He remembers knowing that that comfort couldn't come from Armin, that it was someone else's memories of Reiner feeding him that information.

[He'd felt so cheap in that moment. In this moment, however, he feels angry-- no, hurt, scorned, dismissed. If Reiner only sees Armin as an extension of his passed friend, then Armin supposes he'll have to just accept that. But it burns.]

I am sure. [His voice is quiet, but steady.]

I can't change the way you feel. If I were in your shoes, maybe I'd hate me too. Hell. I already do. [Who knew that all it took was a few drinks to tell the real truth?]

But I loved you before Bertholdt was killed, and I love you now.

You can't change that either, Reiner. I'm sorry that it's such a burden on you. I really mean that. [For all his hurt, he really, really means that.]

[ Reiner is quiet as Armin speaks, studying the other man's face. They were friends, once. Reiner trusted Armin, once. Can he believe this? Can he believe any of it?

What does it matter, in the end? Maybe Armin really cares. Or maybe the struggle not to care is one Armin can't win. Not with Bertholdt's memories inside of him.

"Love," Armin says. Reiner can't process it. Love isn't something so easily given; it has to be earned. Reiner hasn't earned it. Not from Armin.

So he shakes his head, his drunken thoughts focusing on something else. ]

I didn't say I hated you. I said I was pissed. [ Then, frowning: ] You think I could do that? I can't even hate Eren. How the hell could I hate you?

If I hated you… [ He trails off, then picks up his drink. Words slide away from him; it takes a moment to catch them. ] If I could've made myself hate any of you, you'd all be dead.

But that didn't work. None of us could do it. We all cared. So…

[ … Where was he going with this? He pauses, frown deepening. Then he takes a sip of his drink. ]

… So that's how it is.

[ Nailed it. ]

[Nailed it enough...Armin finally looks away, taking a sip of his own drink. His head hangs a little for a moment afterward, feeling heavy and full.]

Well, that's just how it is, then. And here we are...

[Head still slightly hung, he picks up his glass and reaches it toward Reiner's. Either he'll allow Armin to clink them together, or...Armin will look like an idiot - which he's already doing! So, no harm, no foul, really.

[Lord, he is drunk.]

[ Thankfully, Reiner isn't so drunk that he misses the attempted glass-clink (though he's well on the way). He meets Armin's gesture, the glasses tink-ing. ]

Yeah.

[ Then it's bottoms up, again. ]

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