Galliard stumbles toward him—alive, alive, alive—and Reiner reaches for him without thinking. Seeking to steady him, to catch him like some knight out of a fairy tale. Galliard grabs him—
—Then slugs him in the face.
Reiner takes the hit. He doesn't try to defend himself; he just lets himself get punched, too stunned to do anything else. Knowing he doesn't deserve to do anything else. It's expected and confusing at the same time, just as Porco rushing toward him is expected and confusing.
There's so much to say. So much they never got a chance to say, Galliard's last actions speaking louder than any words. Yet his newest words ring in Reiner's head all the same. Confirmation, as if he needed it.
"I'm not," Reiner says, still reaching out, finding a grip on the same arm that holds his.
His cheek fucking hurts, and it's probably swelling already. It doesn't matter. Galliard is warm beneath Reiner's hand, his fist solid when it slugged Reiner's face.
"I'm still alive. I—"
I was ready to go. I was ready to die. It should've been me.
Reiner's face twists, grip tightening. His free hand seeks the arm with which Galliard slugged him; if Galliard wants to do it again, he'll have to avoid what is perilously close to becoming an embrace.
(Well, if 'gripping someone by the upper arms and dragging them closer' counts as an embrace.)
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—Then slugs him in the face.
Reiner takes the hit. He doesn't try to defend himself; he just lets himself get punched, too stunned to do anything else. Knowing he doesn't deserve to do anything else. It's expected and confusing at the same time, just as Porco rushing toward him is expected and confusing.
There's so much to say. So much they never got a chance to say, Galliard's last actions speaking louder than any words. Yet his newest words ring in Reiner's head all the same. Confirmation, as if he needed it.
"I'm not," Reiner says, still reaching out, finding a grip on the same arm that holds his.
His cheek fucking hurts, and it's probably swelling already. It doesn't matter. Galliard is warm beneath Reiner's hand, his fist solid when it slugged Reiner's face.
"I'm still alive. I—"
I was ready to go. I was ready to die. It should've been me.
Reiner's face twists, grip tightening. His free hand seeks the arm with which Galliard slugged him; if Galliard wants to do it again, he'll have to avoid what is perilously close to becoming an embrace.
(Well, if 'gripping someone by the upper arms and dragging them closer' counts as an embrace.)