The moment of silence stretches on and on, infinite possibility caught on a held breath. How long does it last? There's no way to tell. No way to measure beyond the beat of Reiner's heart, and even that feels unsteady. Thunderous and fragile all at once, as if it could leap from his chest or shatter to the earth with a word, a look, a too-long silence.

Bertholdt looks up at him, their eyes meeting. Words pass Bertholdt's lips, voice the soft, soothing rhythm Reiner knows so well. The one that pulls him back, pushes him forward, keeps him steady. A guiding light in a maelstrom.

I feel real enough.

Real enough. That's all they can ask for, right? That's more than Reiner can say on his worst days. More than Bertholdt has—will have?—back home.

Reiner tries to shove that thought side, focusing on Bertholdt's eyes, bright in the firelight. On his chest, rising and falling with each breath. On the imprint his body has made in the sand. Substantial. Unmistakable. Real.

Real. Real.

Reiner chokes on his next breath. He manages a few unsteady steps forward before his knees give out, dropping him to the sand with a heavy thud. Then his hands reach out, grasping for Bertholdt. Trying to touch him. To seize him. To pull him close. To embrace his partner as tightly as he can, fingers wound into fabric, arms squeezing as though he might keep Bertholdt here (keep him real) if he just doesn't let go.