It's his voice. No matter what age Eren may be, there's something about his voice - even like this, flat, that has seared itself into Bertholdt's mind. Eren was their only chance at being able to go home for so long. If they could have just brought him over the wall, things would be so much simpler.
Less people would be dead, but what is nearly three hundred more in the face of thousands?
(It matters because, for a while, he knew those people. It was easy, comparatively, to knock down a wall; it was harder to live amongst the consequences.)
Still, he startles when he hears the voice, pulling his hand away from the brick. The wall is only half repaired; when he pulls his hand back, some of it falls down again, scattering at their feet.
He opens his eyes and when he looks at Eren, it's disconcerting. He knows it's Eren - he won't forget those eyes - but he's all wrong. Taller, longer hair, the way he holds himself is entirely different from the young man who called them murdering hypocrites.
His first thought is to run; his second is to fight. His third is the actual action he takes - there's no reason to fight here, he knows that. Not only is this place not real, but this isn't Paradis, and there's no Marley to return to; even if he defeated Eren here, and now, it changes nothing.
His hand closes into a fist, then deliberately unclenches.
"... It's not the weirdest thing I've done today," is what he settles on telling Eren. He looks ill at ease, but he keeps his gaze on Eren. He can hardly fault Eren for choosing to remind him of his (many) crimes.
shrimply never apologize
Less people would be dead, but what is nearly three hundred more in the face of thousands?
(It matters because, for a while, he knew those people. It was easy, comparatively, to knock down a wall; it was harder to live amongst the consequences.)
Still, he startles when he hears the voice, pulling his hand away from the brick. The wall is only half repaired; when he pulls his hand back, some of it falls down again, scattering at their feet.
He opens his eyes and when he looks at Eren, it's disconcerting. He knows it's Eren - he won't forget those eyes - but he's all wrong. Taller, longer hair, the way he holds himself is entirely different from the young man who called them murdering hypocrites.
His first thought is to run; his second is to fight. His third is the actual action he takes - there's no reason to fight here, he knows that. Not only is this place not real, but this isn't Paradis, and there's no Marley to return to; even if he defeated Eren here, and now, it changes nothing.
His hand closes into a fist, then deliberately unclenches.
"... It's not the weirdest thing I've done today," is what he settles on telling Eren. He looks ill at ease, but he keeps his gaze on Eren. He can hardly fault Eren for choosing to remind him of his (many) crimes.