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Chapter Text

839

Today was the big day; the day that little Colt had been waiting so impatiently for. Inspecting his new pressed shirt and shorts in the hallway mirror for imperfections, he rubbed his uneasy tummy from the mix of nerves and energy that simmered in there like something alive. He’d tried to stay awake till past midnight last night, just to see the countdown through – and he had soldiered on till almost eleven o’clock before his eyelids finally gave up on him – but as his mother kneeled down to tie his running shoes for him this special morning, and he struggled to suppress a yawn, he reckoned it was a good thing he’d gotten the amount of rest that he had. After all, this wasn’t just another ordinary birthday, no; this was his fifth one. He was big now. So big was he, in fact, that the Marleyans had finally called him in to join the warrior program – that fabled military program that he had been told so much about, ever since he could remember. The program he was going to join, to regain his family’s honor. He was big now. It was time to do what he was born to do. From this day forward, he was a warrior cadet. From this day forward, he would be his mother and father’s perfect pride and joy.

Stepping outside felt like stepping into a mystery: the otherwise so crowded streets of the Liberio internment zone, were now as desolate as the night, with just the crack of dawn reflecting off the taller-most chimneys. Colt had never been awake this early before, he was pretty sure; only a few early birds chirped from the rooftops, and somehow he could still see stars up there, despite the mild blue in the sky. Below, the careful footsteps of the three of them gave off echoes along the cobblestone as they made their way through the morning mist without a word. Gingerly, Colt tried to pull his hand back to adjust his open coat, but he felt his mother’s grip tighten around his hand as they approached the guard by the outer gate. This was it. He squeezed her hand a little and struggled to swallow.
“Mommy…”
“Shh.”
His mother’s other hand held three slips of paper to her chest like they were sacred. She looked at them as she shushed her son.
The guard stirred.
“Your exit permits, ma’am.” The force in his voice surprised Colt; the man sounded a lot more awake than what his drawn face had let on; his hat lay his features in shadows, and the dark circles under his eyes reminded Colt of the beggars his mother would spit after, every time she took him grocery shopping. The way those scrawny figures would grope after their shoes as they shuffled past their tin cans, always made Colt’s stomach twist – but mother would just tell him to pretend they weren’t there.
Indeed, the guard’s sunken eyes reminded Colt of those tired beggars – but his voice was sharp and alert, calling on authority, and for some reason that made Colt’s stomach twist up a lot tighter than those weak grabby hands ever had.

The man inspected their slips, and for a moment it sounded as though he was growling under his breath as he was reading – but then Colt remembered what it was, and he closed his eyes hard. Focusing on what his mother had taught him, Colt pretended the guard dog wasn’t there. The one they kept chained up next to the patrol booth. It always snarled at him when he got too close. And it was snarling now. But this time, the guard shushed it.
“…I see. The program. Be on your merry way, then.” He handed Colt’s mother her slips back with none of the care that she first had handed them to him with, then the gate slowly opened at his signal. Colt’s heart gave a small jump and he opened his eyes.
“Stay close now,” his mother whispered. “And don’t let go of my hand, you hear?”

This was the first time Colt would see what lay beyond the barbwire gate; past the zone he called his home. His parents had drilled him thoroughly for weeks: “yes, ma’am – no, ma’am – I beg your pardon, sir – the warrior program, sir. Yes, sir, I have a permit, sir.” These people wouldn’t be just your ordinary fellow men; these were special creatures. A different people. A better people – and they should be treated as such. Rule number one: don’t speak unless spoken to. Rule number two: keep your head down and don’t make eye contact. Rule number three: keep your permit and your Eldian armband with you at all times. Rule number four: do your best at training and never complain. Do you understand?
Colt understood. After all, he was big now; a stupid kid no more – not since this morning. He was five now, and not scared of snarling dogs or grumpy guards anymore.

The dog kept growling as they stepped through the gate, Colt’s father first – map in hands – with wife and son close behind. Colt kept his eyes stiffly on his father’s heels for guidance, and his hand in his mother’s hand for safety. Yet, as the familiar walls disappeared from his peripherals, he braved a glance up, and took in his first proper view of the Marleyan streets before them… and felt his heart settle. Truth be told? They didn’t look that much different from the Eldian streets; the houses were the same shapes, the advertisement stands were the same colors – even the stone under their feet looked and sounded the same. Oh, but the smell was different, though. That, and the horse carriages. Colt could count on one hand the times he’d seen coaches like these before, yet here, the main strip was lined with them like they were parading. There were at least one, two, three, four, five, six! Six coaches, painted and carved like they carried royals! Colt wondered how it didn’t smell foully; horses pooped all the time – yet the Marleyan streets looked void of dung. He could even smell the flowers in front of the shop windows. Imagine that; not a single outdoor booth. Was it too early, or were all the Marleyan shopkeepers rich enough to have their own indoor shops – as well as coaches – and not to mention sweepers?
“Colt!” His mother yanked his arm. “Mind your step! Remember the rules, alright?”
He looked down and felt his heart sink as he saw a small heap of spilled soil he had been about to step into, had his mother not steered him away.
“You weren’t honestly planning on presenting yourself for duty with your shoes all dirtied, were you?” his mother scolded low, her teeth not parting. She bowed her head as a lone man carrying a stack of newspapers passed them by.
“I’m sorry, mommy.”
“I thought you wanted the other children to like you. They won’t get a chance to, if the Marleyans send you right back, you know.”
Colt hung his head and kept his eyes on his father’s heels. “I know, mommy.”
They fell silent as they passed by a bakery; Colt didn’t look up again, but he could tell from the smell of fresh bread that the baker must have just finished his first morning batch. The scent made his mouth water. Were Eldians allowed to buy goods from these shops? He thought to himself that he should definitely remember to ask mommy or daddy later. Or maybe, if he was lucky, the other warrior cadets would talk to him and tell him all about this place.
“Remember: if you do well today, we can celebrate with cake afterwards. You want cake, don’t you?”
Colt nodded and smiled carefully down at his own feet; he hoped they’d put candles on it for him to blow out, too.

After some time, and just as Colt had gotten dangerously close to asking if they were there yet, Colt’s father eventually broke the silence: “not much farther now,” he said, lowering his map to look up. He had lead them down a path off the main street, and was finally slowing to a halt.
“There. There it is, Colt, ” he said – and pointed. The military base rested at the bottom of a steep hill, close to the docks. Lifting his head, and with some elation, Colt recognized the outdoor area as a running track. He knew those! His father would take him to their local track back at the internment zone every day to practice his abilities – although, that little square of dirt-track land could in no way hold a candle to what lay before them now: the track had five lanes and ran around the entirety of the base, the road as even as the horizon – as opposed to the wobbly, rocky path at home. Colt followed the track with his eyes and imagined it would take him ten minutes just to run a single lap. He was giddy to try it out.
The base itself looked like it might be broader than ten indoor shops combined, probably more. He’d never seen a bigger place in his life. The area was fenced in, but he could see another two buildings in there, and some walls with rocks and ropes. And what were those…? Scarecrows? Colt looked long at the place below them. Hopefully someone would tell him what all those things were, so he didn’t have to be a stupid kid and ask.
“I’d say! You’ll definitely be able to blossom into a strong, brave warrior here, Colt. Hm? What do you think?” His mother nudged his shoulder and combed his hair with her fingers. “Where did it say to meet, honey?”
His father looked at his papers again. “North side entrance. Let’s go.” He took Colt’s other hand and lead them down the hill, head raised.

As they approached the outer fence, voices started rising from behind the main building. Young voices, laughter. Competitive shouting. Colt could feel his stomach begin to twist and sting strangely, and it made him hold his parents’ hands tighter as they came upon the tall gate. Would the other cadets be nice to him? What if they didn’t like him? What if they thought he was just a stupid kid?
After the guards checked their papers and let them through, the Grice’s were ordered to stay put by the entrance. Soon enough, a serious man in uniform approached them.
“Good morning,” he said. His tone was sharp, short and certain. “You’re the Grice family, I expect.”
He was tall – even taller than father, Colt thought.
“My name is Theo Magath. I’m chief overseer for the Eldian warrior program.”
He nodded stiffly when the two adults bowed their heads before him. Then his expression softened, his jaw unclenched, and he knelt down in front of Colt, hand outstretched. “Nice meeting you, Colt. I’m the one who’s going to make sure you get the training you need. If you have any questions, you have my permission to ask.”
Colt shifted on his feet and gazed up at his mother and father, his little heart beating loudly against his ribs. When his mother let go of his hand, swatted it and gave him an insistent look, he lowered his eyes to face the military man, and took his hand timidly, making sure to look at his buttons so not to make eye contact.
“Come now, you don’t need your mother’s permission for everything, do you? I’m the one in charge now,” Magath said and Colt flushed. “I’m Magath, but you should call me Sir.”
“I’m Colt… I’m five so I’m in the warrior program now.” His voice barely carried the distance; the knot in his stomach was making it hard to speak. “Um, I have a… a permit, sir.”
The man laughed and shook his hand, then ruffled his hair and stood up. “Very good. I would hope so. Otherwise, you’ll have a hard time getting to and from base every day.” He motioned for them to follow him and turned on his heels. As soon as his back was to them, Colt grabbed his mother’s hand again. His tummy ached. What if he didn’t understand the orders he was given? Or what if he asked a stupid question?
“You’re big now,” his mother whispered, and shook her hand free from his grip. “Act like it.”

Colt’s jacket started feeling all too warm for him as Sir Magath was leading them towards a closed door; the laughter rising from the other side of the building was growing louder the closer they got. There had been no sign of the other kids yet, but by the sound of it, Colt’s comrades-to-be were rounding the corner any moment now, and Colt – trying as he may to avoid it – couldn’t peel is eyes off the edge of the building. He wiped his palms nervously on his shorts and took deep breaths, bracing himself. What would they look like? Were they his age? Would they be nice? Would any of them want to be his friend? He hoped at least one of them would want to fly kites with him in the afternoons – he’d asked for a new kite for his birthday, and if the present waiting at home for him was indeed a shiny red dragon, he’d sorely miss a friend to pilot it.
“You’ll meet with a colleague of mine down to the left there,” Magath said above his head. Hinges creaked. “He’ll have some papers for you to sign before you leave. Colt comes with me.”
A foot shot out from behind the corner first, and Colt’s heart jumped. Then someone jolted into view, cackling, looking over their shoulder – two others right on his tail. Colt held his breath and felt his heart hammer along to their impressive sprint. The boy in the lead was a strawberry brunette – almost blonde – with scraped knees and a smug grin on his face. He took no notice of Colt; he was too busy sticking his tongue out at the competition. The boy and girl coming up behind him were both dark haired and red faced.
“You cheated, Porco, it doesn’t count,” the girl squealed, catching up with him and giving him a playful push. The boy – Porco – did a skid-turn and used his momentum to push her several steps backwards in response. “As if! You’re just jealous I’m better than you! Hahaha!”
They stuck their tongues out at each other, forgoing the race in favor of a grimace stand-off.
“Let him win, Pieck,” the third kid called, catching up with them. He put a hand on Porco’s shoulder and laughed breathlessly. “You know he never wins when we do it fair.”
Porco raised a fist in reply and the taller boy put his hands up in surrender, chuckling.
“You’re a big fat liar, Marcel!”
“Am not!”
“Are too!”
“Warriors, that’s enough!”
Magath barked from above Colt’s head, startling him so much he visibly jumped.
“Galliard!”
Both the boys straightened their backs and raised their hands to their foreheads, smiles completely wiped off their faces. They both seemed to stare very seriously at something in the air in front of them, and Colt thought they looked very strange indeed. He grabbed onto his father’s leg, and observed them with a mix of excitement and confusion. What were they looking at?
“Can either of you tell me what time it is,” Magath barked again. Colt didn’t dare to look up at him, but he was guessing that the man probably looked very angry.
The taller of the two boys piped up first “Sir, it’s four minutes past seven, sir!”
“Indeed it is.” The officer folded his arms behind his back and started walking slowly towards them. The door he’d been holding, clinked shut. “What is supposed to happen at seven?”
“We move on to sparring, sir!” It was Porco who replied this time. His brows furrowed as he delivered his words loudly, mimicking an officer’s bark.
“Indeed you do,” Magath said. He was pacing back and forth in front of the three children now. “So tell me. Why are you not at the arena?”
“Sir, we–“
“Why–“ Magath cut Marcel off by raising his voice. He stopped in front of him, blocking him from Colt’s view, and continued, voice now unnervingly calm. “–… is it that my three top cadets, have simultaneously lost their ability to tell the time?”
Pieck squeaked: “sir, Porco wanted a rematch, and–“
Porco gasped, head snapping in her direction, a furious expression in his eyes.
“Why is it–…“ Magath barked over their heads, unmoving. Porco regained his composure, facing forward quickly – though he kept shooting daggers at Pieck from the corner of his eyes.
“–… that despite the military’s investment in a clock tower, precisely for the purpose of its cadets being on time,… you three are still running around like oversized rats, causing a ruckus outside of your superior officers’ offices, four minutes after mandatory muster roll?”
All three of them were silent now. The man continued: “could it be that you want to be kicked out of the program? Perhaps you don’t want to serve Marely after all? Are you traitors?”
Colt could feel the tension from where he stood. Protected behind his father’s pant leg, he felt deeply thankful that he himself was only watching this reprimand from afar – even so, he could feel his palms become sweaty on the cadets’ behalf.
Magath started pacing again, and as Porco disappeared and came back into view, he met Colt’s eyes. The suddenness and intensity of the boy’s stare made Colt’s heart skip a beat; he couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but he had an urgent feeling of being called upon somehow. To what? To help him? He didn’t know how to do that.
Porco didn’t break eye contact; only periodically disappeared from view behind Magath’s brooding form – then would reappear a moment later, still staring. Timidly, Colt raised a hand and waved. Porco didn’t stir, just kept staring, one hand against his forehead and the other stiffly at his side. Considering for a moment, Colt moved his own hand against his forehead, copying Porco, and smiled hopefully. Porco was still unmoving, but Colt could see a small dip between his eyebrows start to form, like the boy was fighting against something.
“What are you doing,” his mother hissed suddenly, her hand coming down to swat his hand from his face. That finally broke their stare, and to Colt’s disappointment, Porco’s eyes darted away, expression once again blank and his gaze once again fixated on something invisible.
“Don’t interrupt them.”
Colt was about to apologize when Magath barked again: “Well?!”
The three cadets at the man’s mercy exchanged some side eye glances, then Marcel took a step forward: “it’s my fault, sir.”
Porco turned his head slightly, staring blankly at his brother’s back, though his jaw visibly clenched.
“I beat Porco’s personal record and when he asked for a rematch I said yes, even though I knew there wouldn’t be enough time, sir. I’m the oldest so I should have been the responsible one… I also talked Pieck into joining the sprint. I apologize, sir.”
Magath stopped to look him over. All Colt could see now was the man’s tense back as he loomed over Marcel, but he imagined a face twisted in anger, and a boy struggling to keep his calm in the face of fear. Everyone seemed to hold their breaths.
After a drawn out moment, Magath spoke: “…You two.”
Porco and Pieck lifted their heads more to signal listening.
“Get your asses to the arena, stat. Porco stays here.”
All the color in the younger Galliard’s face drained. “What?!” He pointed at Marcel. “But he–“
“– is late.”
“But he’s the one who–“
“– who will be punished later. Right now, I have an assignment for you, Galliard.”
Porco’s hand fell. His eyes darted between the three – he even looked at Colt for a moment – seemingly seeking to understand.
“Run along, kids.” Magath put his hands on Pieck and Marcel’s heads and gave them both a push. Porco looked after them with his mouth half agape as they ran.
“With me,” the officer commanded, turning and heading back towards Colt. Porco followed a few steps behind him, looking reluctant.
“Galliard, this is the Grice family.” Magath stopped in front of them and Porco did the same, facing Colt by a few feet. He locked eyes with Colt, and Colt’s heart jumped again.
“That’s Colt. He’s joining the program today. Once I’ve filled him in on the basics, it’ll be your job to show him around.”
Colt gave an unsure smile, feeling his tummy tickle with anticipation. Their eye contact didn’t waver as he extended his hand. “Hi. It’s my birthday today!”
Porco stepped forward and took his hand. “… You’re weird.”

Chapter Text

841

Finally, classes were out. The bell tower struck a single, vibrating note, signaling half past five on a rainy Saturday evening and soon, the warrior cadets began filing out after a tense last lesson. Porco was staring daggers at the back of people’s heads as he stomped down the hall. His brain was simmering and his impatience was clear — but did the idiot let him be? Of course not. Did he ever?
“… So it doesn’t really matter about the scores, in the end. Because I’m older,” Reiner — the idiot — was sputtering.Porco could feel the heat in his face rise with his temper.
“Only. By. Three. Months," he said, teeth clenched. If Reiner didn’t shut his stupid face up in ten seconds or less, he would punch him in the mouth. It was officially the weekend and he just wanted some god damn peace.
The blonde bother came into his sideview and he narrowed his eyes to block him out.
One, he thought.
But Reiner seemed too emboldened by his own logic – or his stupidity – to back down. Porco heard him inhale, and the moron continued: “Exactly. You won’t be eight for another three months. You’re seven and I’m eight.” He was matching strides all the way to the exit. For being a pipsqueak, he had guts.
“It. Doesn’t. Matter.” Porco hoisted his gym bag to reposition its strap over his shoulder, and he felt his palms itch to form fists. He wanted to punch that delusional idiot so bad.
Two… three…
The smell of wet sand mingled with the stench of gym socks as they left the building. The rain coming down heavy didn’t exactly help Porco’s temper. He inhaled deeply through his nose and let the air out slowly. He sorely needed to do something mundane like fly kites with weird, boring Colt — not have crybabies breath down his neck about the new combat scores. He was better than Reiner and Reiner just had to deal with it – or get a black eye and go whine to his stupid mommy about it.
Yet the kid harped on, taking no hints: “It does so matter. It’s more important that the one they pick is mature, than that they’re the best at combat and stuff.” 
Ugh. Porco tried to focus of what Colt had taught him: to close his eyes and pretend the problem wasn’t there. But it didn’t work. The problem was right there. Still talking.
Four… five… 
Like, who was Reiner even trying to fool? Certainly not Porco. Well, unless he was failing miserably at yet another thing. He must be trying to convince himself that he wasn’t as useless as he was.
“They’ll pick–“
“They’ll pick the one who’s best for the mission, you stupid idiot.” Porco couldn’t resists opening his eyes now, fists clenching white over his bag strap. What an idiot. Reiner was just the absolute worst. Could he never let Porco have his wins in peace?
Six…
“I’m better than you, Reiner. I’m going to get picked so just deal with it already. Shut up and stop following me.”
Reiner gave an awkward, shrill laugh. “I’m not following you, I’m going home. And I’m more loyal to Marley than you, so I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”
“No, we won’t.” Porco did a skid turn and headed for the northern gate. “We already know. It’s going to be me. Bye.”
“Picking Colt over the rest of us again?”
Porco didn’t answer, just kept walking across the training grounds, chewing on the inside of his cheek in anger. He forced himself to think about Colt’s pointless trick some more. 
Reiner isn’t there.
“Do you really think he’d wait half an hour in the rain? For you?”
Seven-eight-nine-ten!
Porco dropped his bag, did a one-eighty and charged for Reiner with a roar and two fists in the air.
The kid recoiled, everything but submission left in his eyes in an instant. He raised his arms too late, and Porco’s punches landed, hard and mercilessly.
He cried out, tripping backwards. Porco was on top of him in a second, panting with rage, not hearing – or not minding – the surrendering pleas. He had given him plenty of chances. That stupid, weak, charity case. Reiner didn’t belong here, all his friends were just playing nice out of pity, and still he had the audacity to insinuate that Porco was the one without friends?
“Colt. Always. Waits. For. Me.” He hammered it into his stupid face and then let his fist hover over him, shaking.
That’s when someone grabbed him from behind and with forceful certainty, pulled him off the weeping boy. “Stop, you promised mom not to fight anymore.”
Marcel.
“No. Let me go!” He wiggled in his older brother’s grasp like a furious worm. “He was being a jerk!”
“And so were you,” Marcel retorted. Never the less, with a sigh, he let him go.
Porco scramble to his feet, temples pulsating with indignance. He shook wet sand out of his shorts and bit down on his tongue to fight the prickling feeling creeping around his eyes.
“You can’t just punch people whenever they make you angry, Porco…”
“If- if Reiner hadn’t been such a sore loser, none of this would have happened…”
Marcel turned to help Reiner on his feet, apparently not even bothering to listen. “But you can’t punch people for being sore losers,” he said, dusting Reiner off.
“He said Colt wouldn’t wait for me.”
“You know he always does, though…”
“But that’s not the p–“
“Reiner!” Bertolt came running towards them. Porco watched him bitterly as he came up and grabbed Reiner by his shoulders, examining him without even catching his breath. The concern was exaggerated, in Porco’s opinion.
“Are you alright? What did Porco do?”
“Oh, come on." Porco threw his hands up. "We have combat five times a week, don’t act like it’s such a big deal,” he barked at turned away to hide his eyes. His vision was beginning to swim and he didn’t want them to see. Why was he always the bad guy to them? What about Reiner constantly hounding him?
He began to inch backwards, looking around for the bag he’d dropped.
Marcel took him by the wrist. “Mom’s gonna be really upset. You promised her…”
“You don’t even care about my side of this,” Porco mumbled, not looking at him.
“Yes, I d–“
“That’s not the point,” Bertolt said, cutting between them in an uncharacteristically strong tone of voice. He was stroking Reiner’s back for comfort, while his glare was fixed on his friend’s assailant.
They weren’t the best of friends; Bertolt had always been more welcoming to Reiner than to him, but being scolded stung all the same and Porco could feel his throat close up with strained emotion. He bit down on his tongue, fearing he couldn’t keep the tears back much longer.
“You always do this," Bertolt continued. "You always get angry and just punch everyone. It’s rude.”
Pieck and Annie brought up the rear under a shared umbrella while Bertolt continued berated him.
You’re supposed to be my friends, Porco thought, quickly looking across the small crowd. Everyone was facing his way. Everyone looked angry.
You don’t even know the full story, he thought bitterly.
“What’d he do this time,” Pieck asked, sounding unimpressed. This was getting to be too much. They were ganging up on him again. He was the bad guy again.
“He punched me." Reiner lamented, leaning against Bertolt, his tears mixing in with a thin nosebleed. "You didn’t have to punch so hard, Porco.” A few of the others nodded in agreement.
“Now, let’s hang on a second,” Marcel began, probably seeing the tears that finally begun to well in his little brother’s eyes.
Porco let slip a wounded, stuttering breath. Despite his efforts, he knew everyone could see he was crying now.
Marcel frowned. “I think we should–“
But before he could continue, Porco shook his wrist loose and took a wide step backwards. He stepped right into a puddle and he felt cold water seep into his shoe. He gave a loud, quivering roar, lunged for his bag with both hands and turned to run. “I hate you!”
Nobody followed him as he stormed off to the northern gate.

Rounding the building from the west side to the north, would take Porco approximately fifteen minutes that evening. He hadn’t felt ready to face anyone before his eyes were dry, and the fear of further embarrassment had driven him to stop behind a sheltered length of wall, out of sight from either gate, to cry it out alone. The rain had been letting up, but the damp air thankfully helped to muffle his frustrated yells as he kicked his gym bag around. He hated being made out to be the bad guy all the time. He hated it so much! And it cut him even deeper when Marcel would take the others’ side in the name of peace and order, instead of defending him like a big brother should! Ok, so maybe Marcel would help him out most of the time, but he should be on Porco’s side, not somewhere in the middle! Damn it! And how dare Reiner say Colt wouldn’t wait for him?! That was a stupid, stupid lie and Reiner knew it!
“Aaaarg!!” His gym bag was wet and dirty when he gave it the finishing blow, most of his anger-fueled adrenaline finally gone. It hit the wall with a soft thud and lay there limply. Looking at it, feeling deflated and defeated, Porco slowly became aware of how quiet the grounds were now that sessions were out and the place was empty save for superiors stuck in their offices. He assumed the others had gone home now… He inhaled deeply, then let the air run out of his lungs a trickle at a time, deflating further.
Fine. Whatever.
He wiped his face and tossed the bag over his shoulder to leave. With two hands on the strap, he approached the northern gate – where Colt no doubt would be waiting for him. He always did, whether Porco showed up or not. Porco knew, because Colt had told him so.
It had started as an arrangement between their parents, back when Colt was still new – two years ago now; Porco’s mother had volunteered him to be Colt’s guide home, after Colt’s parents had decided they wouldn’t come pick him up any more. Porco had begrudgingly complied; he’d been embarrassed to be seen with Colt at first; he thought he was weird. Nobody at the program particularly minded Colt, but due to him only sharing half their classes, he never really solidified himself as part of the group either. And when he was there, all he seemed to want to talk about was his kites; he seemed oblivious to the fact that nobody shared his enthusiasm for the hobby. Other than that, he rarely spoke his mind at all; he’d agree with whomever he was talking to – or not say anything at all, and just tag along wherever Porco went. Porco heard someone calling him clingy behind his back once, and it had made him furious: why couldn’t Colt just be more confident and have a will of his own? He knew he had one!
Sure, Porco had shared the others’ sentiment in the beginning. But that had changed as soon as he and Colt had begun walking together: to his surprise, the shy, weird newcomer had quickly come out of his shell, and revealed an array of interesting colors to him; he’d laughed and joked, and talked to his heart’s content – whereas before, he’d been too timid to look anyone in the eyes. Colt had seemed to really trust Porco, and Porco had started to feel really good about that; it made him feel important. And to think he’d found a friend who didn’t mind his temper! Strange, shy Colt, had quickly become the most loyal friend he had. The only friend he had, it sometimes felt like.
… But he was so weird. And Porco already struggled to find his own spot in the group – so, afraid he’d be seen as weird for enjoying Colt’s company, Porco put a lot of effort into keeping their arrangement hidden. For a long time. And a few months in, the stress of it all, culminated in Porco yelling at Colt in front of everybody during a shared sparring class. That evening, he’d been too ashamed to show up by the northern gate to accompany Colt home, and for the longest time thereafter, he’d walk home with Marcel and the rest of the class instead. He’d felt plenty nauseous about it, but that’s what happened: he stopped showing up.
Eventually, of course, he began to miss his walks with Colt, though. Like a lot miss them. Of course he did; walking with the group just couldn’t compare to the joy of feeling appreciated by one truly devoted friend. Porco began thinking that maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing to be a weirdo after all – if it meant choosing what truly made you happy… But by then, it had been several weeks since he first abandoned his agreement with Colt, and since Colt never said anything, he assumed he’d just started walking home by himself by now; his classes ended half an hour before everyone else’s after all…
Yet, on a whim, just in case, Porco went to the northern gate after classes one day… and seeing Colt there to greet him with that same, genuine smile of his, weeks after he’d first stopped showing, had felt like a weight off his shoulders.
That’s the day Porco learned that Colt never really stopped waiting for him. Colt had told him he’d been waiting outside the gate every single day since they first started walking together, just in case. If Porco didn’t show up by six – when the bell struck six times – Colt would know he’d went home without him, and go home too. But he didn’t mind waiting an extra hour every day, though! He’d been quick to assure him of that; because he’d just spend the time drawing in the sand or thinking about stuff – and if Porco showed, it would be a happy bonus! He’d said he didn’t mind it if Porco would rather go home with the others, either. He’d seen him leave with them on occasion, but he didn’t mind.
That was the day Porco had realized Colt was his best friend. Even if he was a little weird. Either way, naturally, from that day forward – probably a year ago now – Porco stopped hiding the fact that he preferred walking home with Colt. The others knew, and sometimes that embarrassed him – but being true to what he wanted, was the better option by a long shot. Sure, he’d still walk home with the group sometimes; Colt’s clinginess could get on his nerves now and then – but nine times out of ten, he’d opt to go meet Colt by the other gate. And see that stupid smile of his.
Heh… He’d tried to tell him he didn’t have to wait every day – because “sometimes, maybe I feel like walking with Marcel or something” – but Colt had just shrugged and said it was ok – then he’d wait by the gate anyways, just in case.
He’s like a damn puppy, Porco thought, shaking his head to himself.
As he rounded the corner, he lifted his gaze, and – sure enough – saw his friend light up on the other side of the chain link fence like always. They locked eyes and Porco fought against an involuntary smile. A secret warmth began to spread in his chest at the sight of someone so happy to see him. For a moment, he almost forgot that he was supposed to be angry. But only almost; the guards stirred at the gate and he put his head down quickly. He gave his cheeks another brush in case of stubborn tear trails, then approached, gave each of the armed men a hasty nod, and stood watching the gate pull open for him. The guards said nothing, just stared blankly at the empty space ahead of them.
Colt had come up behind the steel gate while it was still moving, and stood smiling directly at Porco as he came into view. The beaming boy was clearly soaked from the rain, but he didn’t seem to know, by the way he joyously bounced on his heels.
A damn puppy, Porco agreed, feeling color spread across his cheeks. He looked at Colt’s rain soaked clothes and felt a pang of bad conscience. Sometimes he wished Colt would be less cheery; it was sweet, but it just stung all that much deeper to let him down. Besides, right now, Porco wasn’t in the mood – especially not right after what happened with the others. He couldn’t forget that yet, even if he wanted to. Knowing Colt would just try to lighten the mood if he told him what happened, instead of lamenting the others’ rudeness with him, put a damper on the relief he’d instantly felt at seeing him. So Porco frowned, and crossed his arms over his chest – like he was masking the warmth he felt there. He stepped through the gate, up to his waiting friend, and made an effort to look miserable.
“What are you so damn happy about?”
“Wanna fly kites today? Mommy said it would be windy around seven and I repaired the red one like I promised!”
“You know flying kites is really boring, right?”
Colt’s face fell a little, but he quickly shrugged it off and smiled. “Something else then?”
Porco stared at him, examining his face. He wondered, like he often did, why Colt didn’t react when he was being nasty to him. Why was he always so damn carefree?
“Um… Your bag is really dirty. Did you drop it in a puddle or something?” Instantly, Porco’s heart sank into the pit of his stomach, and his shoulders tensed. He made a face and turned to walk, arms a little tighter across his chest now. His clothes felt clammy and warm in the humid afternoon air.
“Oh! Um…” Colt bounced and fell into step next to him, obviously confused – but he didn’t question him further.
Neither of them spoke as they made their way up the hill, heading for the main street. Porco was biting down on what had happened, and Colt didn’t want to provoke him. After some time of silence – save for their footsteps over the gravel – Colt spoke carefully – as it became apparent that Porco wouldn’t: “hey, um, did you see that new ice cream flavor at Henrietta’s Parlor? Mint… I don’t know what that means, but it sounds delicious! Right?” His step got a little skip to it, and he smiled at the thought.
“…Not really.”
“I haven’t been inside yet, because of what mommy said, but it looks so pretty through the window. Have you been?”
“No.”
“Maybe if w–“
“You don’t want mint.”
“…Huh?” Colt gave a small confused giggle.
“The stupid ice cream. You don’t want mint!”
“…Yes, I do?”
“Mint is that leaf thing your parents put in your tooth paste to make it taste less bitter.”
Porco glanced sideways to see Colt looking at him blankly – no recognition in his eyes. Porco raised his eyebrows impatiently. “Well?!” He shook his head. “Do you really want an ice cream that tastes like tooth paste?”
“Um. I don’t think mommy and daddy have those leaves… Anyways, I think Mint sounds good. At least it looks really delicious. It’s like green or blue, kinda both.” He gave another little giggle. “Have you ever seen that colored ice cream before?”
He’s too damn cheery. Porco grit his teeth. His soaked shoe was starting to really get on his nerves all of a sudden.
“Do you think we’ll ever get that flavor in the internment zone?”
Porco closed his eyes. His head was beginning to hurt again. He couldn’t make room in there for ice cream; all he saw was Marcel’s disappointed face, Bertolt’s accusatory frown, Pieck’s indifference and Annie’s annoyance.
Colt sighed contently and looked at the houses at the top of the hill. “I wish the parlor would serve Eldians too, you know? Not just Marleyans? Then I’d buy one of everything!”
Porco felt something pop in his head and his eyes flew open. “Yeah?! Well, I wish you’d have the same classes as the rest of us, but we can’t always have what we want, can we!” He halted at the top of the hill where gravel met cobblestone, and turned to his friend, eyes glaring. The elevated stone, and the steepness of the hill, made him tower over him. Colt looked taken aback, and for a moment, Porco felt like punching him. He wanted to punish Colt for leaving him alone with all the other idiots all the time. The idiots who didn’t just shrug off his temper, like Colt did. People always ganged up on Porco, told him he was rude. They made him feel all alone, and Colt wasn’t there to prove them wrong! Why did Colt have to go have special strategy sessions with Zeke six times a week, while the rest of them had double sparring or whatever? Why couldn’t Colt be there to come running over, to check on him and tell the others off when they tried to make him into the bad guy?!
He kept his glare on Colt while Colt seemed to be groping for words. Porco searched his eyes for hurt – or maybe anger. There had to be a line, right? Even for Colt? A line he would inevitably cross and then they wouldn’t be friends anymore? Everyone else hated him – so why wouldn’t Colt? It was only a matter of time, so couldn’t he just get on with it already?!
“Your kites are stupid! You’re boring!” He felt his nose turn red as he barked. “You’re childish and weird and nobody likes you!” For every word uttered, he saw Colt shrink a little more, and the pain rose like bile in Porco’s own throat as he yelled. The warmth in his chest burned hotter now, but not in a good way; it stung him, blistered his insides. He saw his friend begin to fold in on himself; his arms came up to hug his stomach, like he was trying to shield himself from Porco’s words. But he remained standing, quiet, watching Porco like he was just waiting for him to get it all out, to say his peace.
Porco’s throat clicked and his next breath was a quiver, a prelude to a sob. He wiped his nose with a hasty, haphazard brush of his wrist and just stood there, staring down at him. “W-well?!” Had he pushed him away now? Was he gonna tell him how awful he was now? That he didn’t wanna be friends anymore? When was Colt gonna break?
His friend only looked at him, mouth downturned and eyes big and patient. Porco saw sadness there now, though.
As the tears began to flow hot down his own cheeks, and as Colt became a blur in front of him, he lifted his hands and hid his face behind them – and he sobbed. The shame was all-consuming, but he just couldn’t stop; it was like all the anger and all the guilt – everything – was molding into one big hurt. And the tears just kept coming. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. It felt like a plea.
Please still be my friend.
He hunched over, shoulders jerking with every inhale. Why was he always so bad? Why couldn’t he just be more like Marcel? Everybody liked Marcel. Marcel didn’t lose his patience with stupid people – and he didn’t yell at his friends, like Porco did.
His sobs came out in loud, unforgiving bursts. The distant bustle that the breeze carried with it from the main strip behind him – and the faint swish of the waves down by the shore below them – all made him feel like his cries could echo through the streets for a thousand miles in comparison; his weakness was there for the whole world to witness. Yet, what humbled him the most, was his friend right in front of him – the boy who never hurt him back, who allowed his temper tantrums, who wanted to be his friend despite all his missteps. Every new side of Porco, must look more pathetic to Colt than the last. He must hate him now. Right?
“…I’m sorry too.”
Colt had spoken so quietly, Porco barely heard him at first. But when he felt a hand on his arm, he knew it hadn’t just been the wind. He whimpered and bit down on his lip to try stifling his sobs and listen.
“…I’m sorry I asked about your bag. It’s not that dirty…” Colt’s voice was soft and careful. Porco admired his composure, as he listened over his own choking breath.
The gravel crunched modestly and Porco finally lifted his head to look. Colt was stepping up to stand beside him on the cobblestone.
It’s not about the bag, he thought. He almost said it – but something in Colt’s eyes told him he knew that already.
He gave a small whimper, and Colt moved in to wrap his arms around him – rain soaked clothes, dirty bags and smelly gym socks be damned.
Colt was more of a hugger than Porco; sometimes he’d hug him just for making a cool move with his kite – or for showing up to walk with him – and most of the time, Porco would feel a little awkward about it, especially if others were around. Right now, though? Right now, there was probably nothing else in the whole world that could have made him feel better. Sure, Colt was all wet, but so was Porco – and the embrace was warm and safe all the same. It made Porco feel a little less exposed, and a whole lot less alone.
So he closed his arms around Colt in return, and hid his face against his shoulder, taking in that familiar, yet strange mixed scent, of pear jam and cut grass.
“I’m sorry, Colt,” he cried quietly into his shoulder. “Your kites aren’t stupid.”
“It’s ok…”
The embrace lasted until it felt natural to move. Porco couldn’t guess at a time; all he knew was that it had lasted long enough for most of the hurt to go away and for him to start taking notice of the sound of the breeze picking up. He lifted his head from Colt’s shoulder for a moment, to re-orient himself, and Colt took the hint and released him. Now his friend stood shifting his weight from one foot to the other, looking at Porco then away and back again. He was rubbing his upper arms like they’d fallen asleep, and only smiled in response to Porco’s questioning look.
“What?” Porco had to ask. His voice came out a little too harsh, and he hurried to compensate with a careful smile.
“… Well. You sure you don’t wanna fly kites when we get back? Like I said, mommy says it’s gonna get windy.”
Porco stared at him, then gave a winded chuckle, and shook his head down. At least he was thankful Colt was steering the topic away from his embarrassing meltdown.
“Sure, why not.”

On their way home, the breeze started picking up considerably. By the time they heard the distant bells chime to signal six o’clock, and they were on their last home stretch down the main Marleyan strip, the wind was pulling harshly at their clothes with every gust. Colt had expressed some careful concerns that it could, in fact, get too windy for kite flying – but Porco had told him it was ok; they’d make it work. All the same, though: when they finally passed by Henrietta’s Parlor, three blocks from the internment zone, they were both hugging themselves for warmth. Porco looked longingly towards the home gate, but when he glanced sideways, he saw his friend’s head tilted up, eyes fixated on the swinging sign that hung over the parlor entrance. Then Porco watched his eyes move over to the window, where a neatly fashioned stand was displaying all the alluring flavors Marleyan children could choose from. Seeing Colt so eager yet restrained – knowing how much he’d truly appreciate the opportunity to try one of those ice creams – set off small sparks in Porco’s chest. He wished he could give Colt that ice cream, if nothing else but to apologize for earlier. He pursed his lips and considered it. Then stopped in his tracks. Colt did the same, but only to look at him confused. “Porco…?”
“Come.” Porco slid towards a sheltered wall and peered through any surrounding windows. He grabbed his Eldian armband with one hand, then checked the street up and down thoroughly.
Colt gasped. “No…! You can’t do that!” He quickly grabbed onto Porco’s arm. “What are you gonna do?!”
Porco ignored his question, just kept watch as best he could while he made his move. “You, hold this.” He undid the pin that held the band in place, and swiftly slid it off his arm. He grabbed Colt’s wrist to free his own arm, then shoved the armband into his palm and closed his fist for him. “You wanted mint, right?”
Colt’s face drained of color. “No, wait! I-it’s just for Marleyans!”
“Nobody will tell the difference. Look. No armband.”
“B-but what if they–“
“Colt, did you want mint or not?!”
“It’s too cold now!” He was starting to tear up.
“No, it’s ok, it’s always warmer at home, you know that. Just wait here.” Porco reached up and stroked Colt’s cheek the way his mother did every time he got upset. It seemed to surprise Colt enough to stop his tears momentarily. Porco hadn’t intended for it to be such a breach of personal space, but as soon as it was done, and he saw Colt’s eyes widen, his cheeks flushed hot, and he pulled his hand back quickly. He shoved both hands in his pockets instead, and closed his fingers around the coins he kept there. “Just… wait here. Ok?” He turned, hanging his head in hopes of hiding the spreading blush, and jogged up to the parlor’s corner entrance. On the top step, he stopped and mustered the courage to look back: his friend stood frozen, pose and expression the same as when he’d left him. He lifted a finger to his lips – “shhh” – then went inside, heart pounding.

Colt was still frozen in place by the wall where he’d left him, when Porco pushed the parlor door open with his shoulder a few minutes later. In his hands, he carried two ice cream cones – one with a green-ish blue-ish colored scoop on top, and one with a white scoop, sprinkled with brown. He called a confident “bye” over his shoulder and then let the door slide shut behind him. There, atop the stairs, his shoulders sank and he gave a loud exhale. The confidence he’d put on for the lady he assumed to be Henrietta, drained from his posture, and small pearls of sweat trickled down his temples. But he’d done it. He’d picked, paid and brought the Marleyan ice creams outside. He stood up straighter and smiled triumphantly over at his friend – lifting the cones to emphasize mission success.
What do you think of that, huh?
He huffed, and hopped down the steps – onto the cobblestone, where he stopped to survey the area. Still clear. Thanks to the wind, probably. People had enough to focus on just keeping their hat in place on their heads, he assumed.
“Here!” He hurried sideways over to his friend, using his back to shield the ice creams from the wind. Within range, he extended an arm, holding out a cone for Colt to grab, and smiled. “Mint!”
Colt was reluctant – but he took it, once he’d glanced over his shoulder. “… What did she say?”
“Who…?” Porco scanned his face; this wasn’t the reaction he’d expected. Didn’t Colt want ice cream anymore? “Henrietta? Uh, she said… ‘that’ll be eleven, young man’ or something like that?” He gave a halfhearted snort, but frowned when Colt’s forehead still didn’t release that tight little crease he saw between his eyebrows.
“… That is the flavor you wanted, right?”
“Yeah,” Colt mumbled and held out the armband for him to put on. Porco finally noticed his eyes were still red. He’d been crying while he was gone? He felt a pang of guilt.
“Hold this,” Porco muttered, handing him the second cone. He pinned his armband to his shirt again, and sighed. “Colt, I’m sorry. It wasn’t dangerous, ok? And I wanted you to have that ice cream… Are you mad at me?”
Colt shook his head and looked at his shoes. “… Thank you,” he sniffed.
“It’s ok. Just taste it. It’s probably delicious. All your troubles will go away.” Porco was channeling his mother again: he stroked Colt’s back carefully, and almost reached up to wipe a tear from his cheek – but remembering the earlier reaction, he restrained himself.
Colt nodded and handed him the second cone back, yet only continued to stare at the green-ish blue-ish ice cream still in his hand.
“… You don’t want it?” Porco could feel his heart sink further. Damn it, why wouldn’t he talk? “Don’t be scared.”
Colt shifted on his feet. “… What flavor did you get,” he mumbled.
“Huh? Oh, this?” Porco held it out to show. “Vanilla and chocolate chip. It looked too delicious to pass up.” He watched Colt’s downturned face and waited. What was the matter? The ice cream was right there! It wasn’t guarded behind a window inside a prohibited shop anymore.
“Colt,” he sighed, then reached out and took his hand carefully. “We can taste at the same time. Ok? And if anybody says we’re not allowed, I’ll punch them in their stupid faces.”
That seemed to spark something, as he saw a careful, tiny smile start to form on his friend’s lips.
“Heh. Alright? So don’t be scared.” He turned them around and began leading him homeward. He laced their fingers together as they walked, and began swinging their arms between them, hoping to lighten the mood further. Colt lifted his head at that, and looked at him. Seeing his friend finally respond to him, made Porco feel warm despite the wind; the crease between Colt’s eyebrows was gone, and that little smile he’d given was still lingering.
“We taste on three?”
Colt nodded.
“One… two… three!”

The guard dog was barking at them as they entered the internment zone not five minutes later. Despite the sugary glee that was glossing their faces from tasting Marleyan ice cream for the first time, Colt was instantly disrupted by the sound, and shied away from the beast like he always did. He held his cone in front of his face for protection, and closed his mouth shut in concentrated worry. Porco held his hand tighter – even giving it a little squeeze – and barked right back at the flee-riddled thing. The dog growled in response, but lost interest as they got further out of reach.
“Don’t worry,” Porco told his friend firmly. “Like I’ve told you, I’ll kick his stupid butt if he ever tries to bite you. You’re safe with me. But he’s chained up anyways, so hah!”
Porco saw Colt’s expression soften at that; his ice cream spotted cheeks turned light pink. “Thank you, Porco,” he said quite importantly, and went in for a hug, pressing their cheeks together softly. When they came apart, Porco felt his own face flush; he knew he’d be sticky with mint ice cream now, and made a mental note to wipe it away when Colt wasn’t looking.
“I hope I’ll be as brave as you when I’m a big brother.”
“Oh?” Porco raised his eyebrows surprised.
“Yeah,” Colt smiled, pride blooming. “Mommy’s gonna have a baby!”

Chapter Text

843

Colt tried very hard not to tap his foot. The order had been clear: his lesson was postponed and he was to wait patiently outside the room while his superiors talked to Zeke. But he’d been standing here for twenty minutes now and the monotonous ticking of the clock at the end of the hall was beginning to sound like music from the lack of anything exciting happening.
Oh, to whistle a tune. To tap along to the beat while he waited.
But no. They might hear him — and he had to be extra grown up today. Extra honorable. Nine year olds didn’t give away their boredom during service on even the most mundane of days — so to think he’d consider faltering on today of all days?
He was sure chief Magath had tried to keep it confidential, but everyone could tell: the shifter selection was about to happen. Porco had put his money on yesterday — "It’d only make sense," he’d said, "to do it the first day of the week." — but by the time they met by the gate last evening, emptyhanded as they headed home, they’d known he’d been wrong. Colt’s two months’ worth of allowance rested on today, however. And he just knew he was right. It was the last regular day of training before the big strategy meeting. An enemy nation was rearing its head and HQ had become a boiling pot of activity lately. New ships anchored at port every hour, and the coats of sweat on his superiors’ foreheads were becoming shinier every time he caught glimpses of them running between offices.
Yes, Colt knew that if they were going to select the shifters before all their focus was irretrievably sucked into war management, it’d have to be today.
And he hoped he’d done his job well enough. That he’d proven himself loyal enough to be eligible. Because even thought he was to become warchief after Zeke, couldn’t he also be a shifter in the meantime? For instance: wasn’t he both smarter and faster than Reiner? Porco had assured him he was. So surely — surely! — Marley would want him for their best team.
He bit the inside of his lip and stared harder at the door, insisting to his foot that it needed to stay glued to the tiles. That someone might hear him if he gave in to temptation. And that if he instead restrained himself, honor was no more than minutes away. Surely.
Imagine, he thought, trying to distract himself. Imagine if Porco and I could both fight alongside each other as big, indestructible giants. "Brothers in arms" he’d heard an adult call it once. That would be so cool.
And mommy would be so proud of him. Oh, all the praise he’d get once she saw him in his new armband…
The door swung open and he jerked upright, raising his hand in salute. "Sir."
Zeke stared at him with distant, wet-rimmed eyes. Something red and white was shoved into his pocket and he cleared his throat before talking. "We’ll just throw ball until five", he said.
Behind him, Magath gave a nod. He looks pleased, Colt thought. The knot in his stomach told him that a shifter slot had just been taken.

Why hadn’t he been let inside as well? If he was getting a titan, they would have included him, right? There was no need to tell them separately.
Failure was dawning on him like nausea.
The air was dry and cold. Normally he liked throwing ball — he was getting good at it, and besides, it was way more fun than reading tactical books — but right now he didn’t feel like it. The grey clouds were as somber as his mood. He watched Zeke fasten the new badge on his arm. Red where it used to be yellow. Honorary member; shifter.
"Don’t look so sullen, Grice," the teenager said. He stretched and strapped on a brown leather glove. "You’ll inherit it after me, it’s practically a given."
"Yeah, but how old will I be then?"
"Thirteen years from now? C’mon, you can count."
Colt didn’t reply; just observed him. Watched his jacket tighten over his arms as he moved. Watched the weak breeze pack the cream colored fabric around his lean figure. The curls in his hair bobbing. It was no wonder Marley preferred him; he seemed so… grown up. So in charge of himself. Colt couldn’t help but admire his mentor’s physique. He hoped he’d grow up to be strong and cool like him one day.
He felt a little awkward for it — because it seemed like such a silly thing to fixate on — but he hoped he’d get really big arms, too. Even bigger than Zeke’s.
"Did you hear me, Grice?" Zeke chucked the red-stitched ball in a high curve towards him.
Colt caught it. "Twenty-two?"
"There you go."
But that wasn’t what his mother wanted. He threw the ball back, lost in thought. Twenty-two was a long way from now. Mommy wouldn’t be happy with him if she’d have to wait that much longer.
The ball landed in a dust of sand, several feet to the left of Zeke. He went after it, brushed it off and pocketed it, frowning. "On second thought, let’s just call it a day…"
"What?" Oh no, Colt was doing everything wrong today. "No. I’m all right to go on," he urged.
Zeke shrugged. Strolling closer, he stuffed his glove into his armpit and his hands in his pockets. "If you were assigned a shifter today, you’d have to die at twenty-two, you know."
Colt looked up at him in alarm.
"Porco won’t be selected."
"What?" One of those pesky stomach knots did a small jump in him and he swallowed a rush of saliva. "What do you mean?"
But Zeke didn’t answer. He just stared at him like he was looking for a specific reaction. Colt didn’t know what.
The bell tower began to chime behind them, and he pulled his own glove off quickly, handing it to Zeke. "I have to go, mommy is meeting me by the gate today." To his confusion, his voice sounded like a cry.

After getting changed in the locker room, Colt found himself stalling. He dragged his feet over the sand like they were asleep, and kept zigzagging between the swarm of newly required military vehicles as he made his way towards the gate — trying to keep out of sight from where he thought his mother would be able to spot him through the chain-link.
That little stomach knot was becoming so big and spiky now. What had been the meaning of that look Zeke gave him? And Porco hadn’t been picked? Why was he hoping it was true? Wasn’t that a cruel thing to hope for? And worse: treacherous to Marley? Being picked was the highest honor after all.
No, there was no way they hadn’t picked Porco. Porco was strong and dutiful and honorable. Unlike Colt, apparently. Even though he’d done his very best for nearly five years now.
The thought made the knot lurch. His family had waited almost five whole years for him to prove himself, and this was their thank they’d get? Another thirteen years of waiting? What a fool he’d been for thinking he could make it. What a stupid child he was.
Mommy will be so disappointed.
He peeked out behind an officer’s polished, black motorcar and caught a glimpse of her. She really came…
He wanted to cry. What should he say?
He saw her bouncing something in her arms — and faintly, he heard a baby’s happy gurgle.
"Falco?" His chest swelled in surprise and he jogged up behind the gate, nodding hurriedly to the guards. "Is that you?"
From the other side came the bubbly reply of a gleeful almost-two-year-old who’d just recognized the voice of his big brother, and the gate slid aside to the child’s hand-clapping delight. He made grabby hands at Colt and kicked the air in their mother’s arms.
Colt ran to embraced them both in a vice grip, giving a teary laugh as Falco wriggled and kicked against his chest in unrestrained excitement. Oh, how his squirmy baby brother always made everything better.
"There he is," his mother cooed, nudging him with her hip. "Well?"
"I got to throw ball with Zeke today," he replied, smiling at the unruly tuft of hair on his baby brother’s head. "I’m so glad you came too, Falco. Look, this is where big brother works. Isn’t it cool-looking?"
"About the picking, Colt."
"… They picked him for the beast titan."
"Zeke?"
"Yes. Can we wait for Porco? I want to ask him something." He still didn’t look at her; he was poking Falco’s nose and — in a strained, forced manner — giggling along with him, trying to appear carefree.
"What about the others? Did they pick you for one of the others?"
"I don’t know."
"What do you mean you don’t know? You’d know. Did they give you a titan today or not?"
"… I don’t know."
His mother’s expression soured and her back began to slouch. "Ugh. Here, hold your brother." She handed him the kicking child and exhaled slowly with puffed out cheeks, massaging her tailbone. "I’ll talk to Magath. We deserve to know when they’re going to decide."
"No, wait." He hugged Falco to his chest. He didn’t want her to talk to his superiors again; nothing good ever came of it and Magath would only give him extra laps the following day.
And what if they’d tell her something bad — like "Colt didn’t get a titan because he hasn’t been doing well enough"?
"I— I think they’re deciding the rest tomorrow. But I think I’m getting the Beast titan anyways. After Zeke."
"In thirteen years?" His mother gave a laugh that sounded more like a dying crow than anything human.
"Uh-huh. But— but maybe it’s better that way? If I get a titan now, I’ll die when I’m twenty-two, you—ack—yuh noh." Falco was hooking a sharp-nailed finger inside the corner of his mouth while he talked, and now the child was squealing with joy as his big brother struggled to un-hook himself. "Phalcoh, lehk go—"
Mrs. Grice folded her arms and stared at them. "You didn’t work this hard to be passed up another thirteen years."
Just then, Colt’s fellow cadets came rushing out of HQ behind the fence, yelling frantically. The commotion was so sudden it momentarily distracted all three of them.
Through the chain-link, Colt saw Porco leading the march in his direction. His knees were scraped and he had a dark, red gash across his forehead like someone had clawed him. He looked positively furious.
"Dear me", his mother said. "Colt, don’t walk home with him, you hear? I need you to help me grocery shopping after I’ve talked to you superior."
Colt fought Falco off and hugged him with his arms down to avoid another attack. "Understood," he mumbled and watched with a sinking stomach as their mother tip-toed through the gate while it re-opened. Just as she slipped inside the door to the offices, Porco came stomping through.
And he could see it in his eyes, he didn’t need to hear it:
"They picked that stupid idiot over me!" His friend was nearly screaming it.
Falco shimmied in his arms to see who it was, appearing startled.
"I’m sorry." Colt didn’t know what else to say. And worst of all, he wasn’t. He wasn’t sorry. A shameful flood of relief was making his arms and legs weak with surprising comfort. It was all he could do to keep Falco in place.
"And how does that help me?" Porco said bitterly, shoving him aside so he stumbled. Porco stopped, then, and turned back like he was about to help, but the lanky boy regained his balance quickly, and Porco took off running instead.
The rest of the cadets came stampeding after him. Colt didn’t bother trying to ask who else got picked, or about the fight. He just turned to look towards the hill, where his friend soon disappeared behind the cobble stone horizon.
Porco, he thought. If you were assigned a shifter today, you’d have to die at twenty-two and a half.

But all the same, the knot in his stomach was a rock by the time they reached the grocery store. On the way, the homeless bum his mother always used to spit after was missing from his cardboard box for once — and that seemed to make her only angrier; the veins in her neck were popping out, making the skin look tense and tendril-y — like her head stood atop a pitched tent in strong winds.
Colt lagged behind her, picking up a basket on the way to keep between them like some sort of protective barrier.
She hadn’t said anything since she came back from the office, but the disappointment had been palpable. Colt didn’t dare ask her what they’d said — even though he knew the final outcome.
Inside, the egg-shaped shop keeper greeted them with rehearsed politeness. "Mrs. Grice, little Colt," he said, the pointy ends of his mustache pivoting as he hummed, counting coins in his palm. "Good afternoon."
How he knew who was entering without looking up, was a mystery — yet, he was never wrong.
"Not exactly," Mrs. Grice replied, tossing her ponytail with a stiff twitch of the head. Colt’s stomach threatened to empty itself on the welcome-mat right then. How could he make this up to her?
"Oh, I’m sorry to hear it." At least the clerk didn’t sound too invested. Someone who didn’t care that Colt was a failure — what a blessing. "Perhaps some fruit will make the evening sweeter? Half off, just today." He indicated to the melon stand in front of the counter.
Colt looked over, then up at his mother’s swinging hair. He loved the yellow ones — the honeydews. Some Sundays they’d bring one home, and when they cut it, Colt would get to pick which half to have all to himself. He’d eat it in one go, that’s how delicious they were.
The thought occurred that the sweet honey-like flavor might actually be what he needed to soothe the rock in his gut, but he knew better than to ask for one right now. Instead, he just kept looking at his mother, hoping, mentally willing her to want one too.
"No thank you. Only good boys deserve fruit. And there are no good boys in our household, I’m afraid."
The sentence expanded around them like heavy perfume and for a moment even the shop keeper said nothing. Colt hung his head. He wasn’t particularly surprised, but it stung anyways.
His mother turned up her nose and disappeared behind a shelf of canned goods.
Why, oh why, had he told her about the picking? If only he’d kept it to himself, then she wouldn’t have come to meet him today — and he would have had time to think of a way to make up for the failure before telling her.
"I’m sorry to hear it." The shop-keeper quietly concluded, and opened the cash register to continue counting coins.
Colt bit the inside of his lip and trailed his mother’s heels. The tall, wooden shelves on either side of them smelled of dust and oatmeal, and seemed to close in on them, the deeper into the store they went.
He was reminded again of what Zeke had said. That if he’d gotten picked today, he’d have had to die at twenty-two.
He’d never thought of it that way before.
The comment had made him feel strange. As though he was wading in black tar or something. Like he was stuck, and hard of breathing. And that nobody could see it but him.
To serve Marley was an honor. He’d always been eager to do so… But now? He was scared — like he was walking into something unavoidable and bad.
There was relief, though. Relief that he’d been passed up — but that relief only scared him more. More than the thought of that black entrapping tar did. Because he couldn’t stop wading now. He couldn’t let fear get in the way. He couldn’t let all his hard work go to waste, just because he didn’t want to die.
"Here." His mother put a tin of beans in his basket and kept walking. Falco was whimpering on her shoulder. His chin glistened with drool.
"I think he’s tired, mommy," Colt said quietly. He wanted to go home. He wanted tea with bee’s honey for his nausea and some wind to fly kites; that would help him think.
"Mom," his mother corrected him. "You’re way too old to still be calling me mommy."
Colt’s stomach began twisting and flexing around the rock, like a throat desperately trying to swallow an egg. It was suffocating. "Mom," he said, voice thick. "I’m gonna get us honor. I promise. But—"
"But what?"
But Colt needed fresh air. There were too many thoughts in his head at once, rushing in, sending his stomach sloshing, making him dizzy. Did honor mean dying? Was he dishonorable if he said he didn’t want that? Was he like his traitor uncle now? What happened if treachery was in his blood? Was it? Was that the reason he felt so relieved at being a failure?
The rock was on its way back up.
He pushed past her, knocked over some magazines of dancing adults as he fled around the corner, made for the light of the exit — and practically leapt off the steps, into the cold, free air, and onto the buzzing street. There, he stood shaking, doubling over with one hand against a hand-drawn poster-stand. "All fruit half off." Dated yesterday.
He dry-coughed but nothing came up except spit and hiccoughs. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to feel, either. He wished Porco hadn’t been so upset. He wished he’d been relieved, like himself. Didn’t Porco understand? Now they had more time together, to be friends. To fly kites, to have sleep-overs, to drop rocks in the clear lake after hours. To live.
If they’d gotten picked today, they would have had to die at twenty-two.
He wished Porco understood, because Colt couldn’t tell him. Colt could never utter these things out loud. He’d bring his family crashing down with him if he did.
He sank backwards onto the lowest of the shop’s stone steps, and pulled his knees up to hide. His vision swam.
He was a traitor for thinking this way, wasn’t he?
"Colt." His mother’s polished shoe tips poked out by his shoulder. She sat down next to him and he winced at her hand on his back. But she just massaged him between the shoulder blades and leaned in close to coo at him kindly. "You can’t cry in the middle of the street, honey… Come, let’s finish our shopping and then me and you can talk about what to do next when we get home, alright? I know you’ll convince the Marleys eventually."
He rubbed his eyes with the ball of his palms, nodding at her words. Mommy was always so kind. Even when he disappointed her, she’d always give him a second chance.
He had to put his fear aside. Had to make her proud.
"You don’t hate me?"
"Of course not. Mommy’s just a little disappointed. But it’ll be alright. I know you’ll work even harder from now on."
"I will…. But, mommy?"
She sighed. "Yes, Colt. What is it?"
"… Nothing."
"Ok… Well. Let’s continue our shopping, alright?"
As they stood up, the allowance in his pocket clattered out the side and rolled around on the stones — and he had an idea that for a moment cleared the weight in his gut. "Actually," he said, running his sleeve under his nose. "Can I do one thing before we have dinner today?"

A smell of apple pie wafted through the hall at the Galliards’. Porco’s mother — a thin, cheery brunette in a knitted jumper and apron — took him from the kitchen and up the stairs, while she talked and gesticulated.
"Oh, I’m so glad," she tweeted. "You’re such a good friend, Colt. Such a sweetheart."
Colt nodded modestly behind her, clutching a bag and an ice cream cone. His nose was still pink from his emotional outburst, but Porco’s mother hadn’t made a fuzz about it; just given him a hug and a kiss on the top of his head. He liked that. He liked her.
She leaned against a taped sign that said "keep out!" and knocked. "Porco, sweetheart? Colt is here…" She turned and shook her head, giving an exaggerated pout. "He’s been refusing to come out, poor thing. He’s upset that Marcel got picked and not him. But that’s ok. We’re all still very proud of him. Aren’t we, Marcel?"
Porco’s big brother was poking his head out at the end of the hall, and Colt dropped his gaze to the floor, feeling awkward.
"Porco, he’s brought you ice cream," Mrs. Galliard continued. "Please come out. You don’t want it to melt, do you?"
They heard shuffling from inside, and then the door came ajar. Through the crack, a hand shot out and grabbed Colt by the wrist, pulling him inside. There was a sense of urgency to the act that truly touched him. A sense of trust. Porco’s own family hadn’t managed to get him out, yet Colt was granted instant audience. The feeling it gave was hard to place — but it was warm and exciting and felt a lot like pride.
He felt at home.
"Well?" Porco — flush with color — stared impatiently at him as soon as the door was closed and locked again behind him. At first he seemed angry — but then his chin begin to wobble, and the strawberry blonde went in for a trembling hug.
Colt’s hands were full — but, he was sure Porco knew he was hugging back in spirit. "It’s ok," he said against his shoulder, noticing how much he needed this too.
"I’m worse than Reiner," his best friend sniffled. "Everyone got a titan but me."
"I didn’t."
"Yeah, but you’re you. I meant everyone else else."
They came apart and Colt handed him the ice cream. "Maybe you’ll inherit it from Reiner later?"
"No way I’m sharing memories with that idiot," Porco growled. He had a lick and sat down on the bed. "You know chocolate chip isn’t my favorite anymore, right?"
Colt sat down next to him and opened his bag, revealing half a melon. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I brought two spoons in case you wanted some honeydew instead?"
"Did you raid the store or something?"
He shook his head and handed him the second spoon. "I used my allowance… I won the bet, by the way."
"… I’ll have to owe you."
"It’s ok." Colt hesitated for a bit, then he pulled his legs up on the covers and laid down with his head in Porco’s lap. "I’m happy you’re my friend forever," he whispered. "Can I stay here for dinner?"

Chapter Text

845

The green woods around the lake smelled of fresh grass and pinecones. The thick tree branch hanging out over the water was warm to lie on. On his belly, with one leg hanging over the edge, Porco snuck a rock out of his pocket and dangled it above the still surface. It was fascinating how he could see both the bottom — the seaweed, the sand, the fish —, and at the same time the treetops mirrored over top. Like there was an upside-down world underneath him, where fish could fly.
And where he’d been picked for a titan, maybe…
He opened his fingers, one by one, until the rock dropped into the serene, liquid-y sky, and his own miserable frown began waving in the ripples of it.
He wondered if anyone would even notice he was gone. Probably not. Everyone would be too busy gathering by the internment zone gate today, seeing the procession off.
Marcel, Annie, Bertolt… even stupid Reiner. They were going to be honored like gods today. Sent off in grand motorcars through the streets of Liberio. People would cheer for them. The Marleyans would cheer for them.
And then they’d board at port and be off on mission to Paradis, leaving Porco behind all alone.
He should have been one of them. He knew the plan, he knew the strategy, he knew everything they knew. Just not how to become a big, fighting giant.
He sighed and carefully rolled over on his back, placed his arms behind his head and looked up at the swaying trees. The sun through the leaves. The birds chirping peacefully. At least he felt better out here. In this little piece of nature that Marley had left them when they first built the zone. They could have fenced the trees out; given the lake to their own people. But instead, they gave it to the eldians. A sign of good faith, probably. They were merciful rulers after all.
He closed his eyes and tried to think.
What would things be like, going forward? It had been two years since the picking — and, honestly, he still wasn’t over it — but it wasn’t until now that things would really change. His friends had been on mission before, sure; making a swift deal of quenching an enemy’s war efforts two years ago. But this time was different. They’d be gone a long time this time.
Maybe Porco would even be a teenager by the time Marcel came home…
"Porco?" A soft voice carried across the lake. Some birds rose from the trees in response and flew, southbound, into the blue.
He sat up and squinted across. Watched as his weird best friend scouted the beach and disappeared between the trees to the left. He’d be coming up on the wooded path behind Porco shortly. So Porco sighed once more and climbed off the branch, hopped, and landed between the roots on the dry side of the trunk — and began walking to meet him.
He’d say "nobody" would notice, but deep down, Porco knew that no matter if nobody else cared, Colt always would. And a secret part of him had only been waiting — for Colt to come find him.

"So you’re not going?" His dear, weird friend was washing a beached seashell while he talked. Holding it between his thumb and forefinger, he dipped it into the lake at slow, meticulous intervals, and Porco sat beside him, watching. It was surprisingly meditative.
Their shoes and socks lay discarded behind them and their toes were burrowed deep in the sand with cold lake water up to their ankles. Pant legs rolled up.
"I don’t know," Porco replied, dragging out the last word. "I guess I have to… Marcel really wants me there. At the port."
"I wish I could watch the whole thing too," Colt mumbled.
"It’s probably going to be boring. Plus, it’s embarrassing." Porco filled his chest with air and held it there, watching Colt’s seashell. Up… and down. As it disappeared into the water again, he let the air out slowly. "I didn’t earn the day pass. I’m a nobody. I’m just allowed to come march behind the motorcar because my brother’s a somebody."
Up… down.
"You’re not a nobody to me."
Porco knew that very well. That was half the charm with Colt; his obvious nature. If he trusted you, you’d know. His affection was clear as day — if you only looked.
"Porco, can I ask you something?"
"Yeah?"
"Aren’t you ever just a little bit happy that you don’t have to go on all those missions with the others?"
Porco frowned. "Why would I be happy that I didn’t get picked?"
Colt was quiet for a bit, then he shrugged. "Do you remember," he said, a small smile beginning to tug at the side of his mouth, "the first time we met?"
Porco snorted. "Yeah?" He leaned forward, hugging his knees, watching Colt’s profile with a ticklish sort of warmth in his stomach. "You were so weird." He reached over and took Colt by the wrist, lifting his hand to his forehead, chuckling. "That stupid salute you did while Magath chewed us out? What was that, anyways?"
"I’m glad he picked you to show me around," Colt said, letting himself be puppeteered by his friend. "It wouldn’t have been the same if it’d been somebody else."
"Maybe your mom would have asked Marcel to walk home with you instead of me."
"Yeah…"
Their chuckles slowly faded as they looked in silence out across the calm lake. Porco let Colt’s hand sink, and then he slid his fingers down and laced them with Colt’s, holding his hand the way they’d used to when they were younger. He missed holding hands. Colt said they’d gotten too old for it — but on those rare occasions where Porco would take his hand anyways, he never resisted.
Porco wiggled his toes and watched as an underwater cloud of sand expanded around their feet. "It’s going to be really empty with everyone gone again," he said.
"Yeah… Too bad for you. You’ll have nobody else to spar with but me, so you’re gonna get your ass kicked on a daily basis." Colt turned to gauge his reaction, smiling sheepishly at his own comment.
"Hah." Porco just bumped him with his shoulder. "Yeah right, mister twigs."
"Well, Zeke says he was skinny when he was my age too, so I’ll definitely bulk up."
"You’re taller than me, I’ll give you that… For now."
"…He might be back again soon, by the way."
"Zeke?"
Colt nodded. "And Pieck. Did they tell you about Zeke’s scream yet?"
Porco squinted at him. "No…? What do you mean ‘scream’?"
"Oh… Then never mind. It’s supposed to be confidential. Zeke’s discovered a new ability about the Beast."
As the conversation came back around to titans, Porco felt himself sink back down to earth. He hadn’t realized he’d been sitting on a cloud until he was grounded again. He huffed. "Well, whatever. I didn’t need to know, I guess… Marcel’s the special one, after all."
"I’m sorry…" With the hand not claimed by Porco, Colt lifted the seashell to his face and stuck it to one eyelid like a makeshift eye-patch. He furrowed his brow to keep it in place, and turned to stick his tongue out at Porco.
Porco shook his head and carefully removed the shell, chucking it back into the water, to Colt’s meek protests. "You’re the weirdest person I know, you know that?"
"You tell me all the time."

They could hear the bustle of the crowd long before they reached the clearing. It seemed as though the entire internment zone had gathered to see the heroes off — just like Porco had assumed. He bit down on his lip and held Colt’s hand a little tighter, until they got so close they could make out distinct figures in the mass, and Colt quickly slid his hand out of Porco’s grip and ran up to his mother.
Porco followed at a stroll. His own family would probably be closer to the swarmed motorcars, since Marcel would be sitting in one of them.
"Good job," he heard Colt’s mother coo. She was stroking Colt’s hair now and hugging him sideways against her ribs while she tip-toed to look over the heads of the others. "He’s here," she yelled. When Porco came up next to her, she turned and grabbed him by the arm. A freshly cleaned heirloom bracelet dangled from her bony wrist. "They’ve been waiting for you, Galliard. Come." She gave a nod to her husband — whom was shouldering Colt’s doe eyed three-year-old brother — and began pushing her way through the crowd, elbows out. "Let us through, I’ve got the boy here," she barked as people made way. Porco’s temples began pulsating with embarrassment at everyone’s disgruntled stares. Had they really been waiting for him to arrive? He’d wanted to be missed, but now he wasn’t so sure he liked the attention. All of the strangers looked annoyed and he had a sinking feeling he was the bad guy again.
His jacket tugged behind him and he hoped it was Colt who’d decided to trail after.
Past the crowd, there was a clearing where guards with rifles stood guarding a train of black motorcars. They were facing the people and their expressions were blank.
Colt’s mother stopped in front of one of them. "My son found the Galliard boy," she huffed. "Colt Grice… He’s part of the camp—, the—… He’s the beast titan’s protégé? No?"
No response.
"He found Porco," she said again, cheeks reddening.
"There he is!" Marcel’s voice rose up from inside the first-in-line, roofless vehicle. His combed, dark hair was poking out over the top and his hand came up to wave. In the vehicles behind his, more hands stuck up as well. The heroes were all here.
The guard finally stomped and did a side-step, and Colt’s mother awkwardly moved past him with Porco still in her grip.
In a flash, his own mom was coming around the decorated hood and ascended on them with a pitched outburst. "Oh, sweetheart, where have you been? Everyone’s been waiting. Thank you, Mrs. Grice, thank you." She fuzzed with Porco’s untidy collar and licked her thumb to clean dirt off his cheek. "Let’s get behind our banner, sweetheart. I think they want to get going."
"Mom," Porco groaned, displeased with her stupid, public coddling. He gave her a halfhearted shove and looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, Colt was right there, still holding on to his jacket.
"Can I come over after it’s done?" he whispered, eyes big and brown. But before Porco could answer, there was a sudden blow of musical horns and the gate that separated the Eldians from the Marleyans began sliding aside. The crowd began cheering. Clapping and whooping.
The guard they’d been talking to was signaling for Colt and his mother to get back in line with the other bystanders, and Porco hastened to give Colt an affirming nod. "See you after," he mouthed, over the deafening roars, pulling his jacket free and jogging behind the motorcar to walk after it as it began rolling.
They passed the post where the old dog that always frightened Colt had been chained — before it finally died off about a year ago. Good riddance. Porco looked over his shoulder then, but couldn’t find his friend in the crowd anymore.
"What a delight," his mother chirped and the gate came shut again behind them.
The Liberio streets were lined with even more people than what they left behind in the zone, and all the cheering was making Porco’s head hurt. How embarrassing, he though. Why do I have to walk in the parade if I’m not even good enough to sit in one of the motorcars?
He waited for the right moment, then — while his mother waved to some people across the street, Porco slipped away unnoticed. From the sidewalk, he could turn and glare as they passed by — at Reiner smiling like a misplaced moron — and then he left, taking off down a side-street, taking the shorter path down to the port. He’d be there, waiting for them when they arrived. Rather the shortcut than another hour of this humiliation.

As he saw his brother off that sunny summer evening, Porco didn’t muster more than a cold smile and a hug. Marcel seemed unusually quiet, but Porco was chalking it up to nerves, and his own jealousy made him colder for it.
"It’s gonna take longer without me," he told Marcel as they embraced. But when they came apart, his brother didn’t seem bothered by the bitter comment. Instead, he gave Porco a surprisingly bleak stare and mumbled: "Sometimes it’s more important to be someone’s friend than to be a hero."
It didn’t make much sense — nor was it true — but the strange tone in which the remark had been delivered, rendered Porco at a loss for words. The musical horns sounded again and he stepped back to salute with a confused frown, as his brother boarded the ship. And then — sort of bitter, sort of impatient to head back home — Porco watched, as his big brother disappeared out to sea.
If he was honest with himself, he thought he might miss him a little. But he’d never tell him that.

Chapter Text

848

It had been one of those endlessly dark, rainy beginnings of the year, where the cold wouldn’t let go of the day even weeks into spring season. Colt had almost started wondering if the world would ever thaw. They were halfway through April already, and there was still a thin coat of white frost on the ground most mornings. Before the inevitable downpour came to wash it away till next day, of course.
This Tuesday was no different. Colt was standing at attention outside the sheltered sparring arena, his breath hanging like mist and his limbs shivering with cold. He was reading the horizon, concluding that it was only a matter of time until the rain would hit the coast again. Or maybe it would snow for once? The sky looked so depressing that he thought they might be regressing back into winter without knowing it.
A woolen itch had settled below his knee, thanks to the military’s awful standard issue thermal wear, and it was beginning to drive him mad; Zeke and another three uniformed officers were conversing a little ways away and he absolutely would not reach down to scratch himself while they saw. He was too professional for that.
Damn, he missed shorts and t-shirts, though.
Eventually, Zeke gave one of the men a pat on the shoulder and the man nodded and headed back to base. Zeke then left the remaining two and headed Colt’s way. "Grice," he called, waving a clipboard. "Thank you for waiting. Let’s step inside."
Thank you!
Colt saluted, side-stepped and followed him inside the tent-like structure where a small class of cadets were training, warm and dry. The moment the canvas flap closed behind him, shielding him from view of the Marleyans, he bent over and scratched himself furiously. "You’ve no idea how itchy—…"
"I find monkey’s fur underneath my clothing all the time. Trust me, I’ve got an idea," Zeke retorted, chuckling. He pushed Xavier’s old glasses up the bridge of his nose, hiding his sharp eyes behind a dull sheen of reflected light.
Colt liked him better without the glasses. His eyes were too pretty to obscure. Not that he cared how his mentor looked, of course; it was just an objective observation. He chuckled along and found another itch to scratch below his collarbone. "Right. So, what did you want me for?"
Zeke gave a sideways nod towards the sparring newbies. "I want you to train your brother today. Hey, kids! Get over here for a second."
Colt blew hot air into his palms and rubbed them together.
A flock of six-year-olds came sprinting over, talking over each other and pointing — sometimes at Zeke, sometimes at Colt, sometimes at themselves.
"That’s my brother," the shortest of them said — doe eyed little Falco. "He’s my big brother. He’s this many years old." He held out his hands and tried to show thirteen fingers, not quite making it work given he only had ten. "He’s gonna be fourteen, because he’s seven-and-a-half years older than me and I’m six." He was telling the girl next to him, a dark haired little troll who was jumping relentlessly up and down in front of them. She wasn’t listening at all.
"Can we do laps today, mister Zeke?" she yelled. "Can we? Can we?"
"Today, you do as this man says," Zeke commanded, shoving the clipboard into Colt’s blue hands and smiling at him.
"Wait— what? All of them?" The pride of being called a man was instantly overshadowed by the terror of responsibility.
"You heard me." Zeke was clearly enjoying seeing him fret. The gleam of amusement in his eyes was so strong it even showed behind the thick glass. He turned his back to the cadets and leaned close to Colt’s ear. "These will be your protégées. You’re going to be their overseer. Good luck."
"But I— I can’t train five people at once," Colt stuttered.
And as on cue, the tent flap was pulled aside and the officer Zeke had sent off earlier, entered — followed closely by a strawberry blonde sight for sore eyes.
At the appearance of a Marleyan, all the kids shushed up in an instant, formed a line, and gave the man their best, untrained salutes.
Colt raised his hand to his forehead as well, but was only looking at Porco.
"Galliard," Zeke said, "you are to assist Grice in training the new cadets, until I deem Grice ready to do so on his own. View this as your own form of character training, if you will. I expect you to be on your best behavior."
Colt watched his friend give his own, firm salute — he liked how the jacket would go tight over his upper arm — and then their superiors left.
"Are you really Falco’s brother?" One of the kids asked once it seemed safe to do so.
Colt peeled his gaze off his friend. "I am," he confirmed, lowering his hand and relaxing his posture. "Uh, but that doesn’t mean he’ll get any special treatment."
Then they set their eyes on Porco. "Who are you?"
He was coming up next to Colt, placing a hand on his lower back like some sort of greeting. But Colt felt the touch like a small electric current and reached behind himself to remove it. Somehow it felt private and he didn’t want Porco to do that when anyone else could see. At the corner of his eyes, he saw Porco’s Adams apple bob.
"Don’t worry, I’m nervous too," he whispered, wanting to reassure him about the task.
The kids stared at them expectantly. Falco had them covered, though: "That’s Porco, he plays with Colt all the time."
The strawberry teen made a sudden snorting sound at that and shoved both hands into his pockets. His cheeks began to redden, matching the pimples around his chin.
"We don’t play, we hang out" Colt corrected. "He’s my best friend."
"Who is the girl with the long hair?" The troll-girl asked.
"Who— Pieck?" He frowned, then remembered Pieck would sometime practice at the arena in the mornings. They must have seen her with her new panzer squad.
"Is she your girlfriend?"
Colt laughed awkwardly and raised the clipboard. "Enough questions now. Let’s do muster roll."

They had the locker room to themselves when it finally came time to shower and head home. The rain was drumming against the tin roof above their heads and their clothes were dripping, even just after the short run from the tent to the showers.
Colt was pulling off a soaked, woolen sock, grimacing. This had to be what wet sheep smelled like. "How come your boots never take in water and mine do?" he complained, looking over at Porco. The guy looked like some sort of modern dancer, the way he was shimmying out of his pants underneath a towel wrapped around his waist. "I guess we’ll be lucky if it lets up long enough to go kiting," he added, still observing his friend’s ridiculous efforts to undress without the towel coming undone. He hadn’t always been so shy about undressing in front of others, but this practice was becoming a daily thing now. Colt didn’t want to comment on how silly it looked, though, because he felt the same way about the showers, honestly. He couldn’t quite pinpoint when it started or what, precisely, "it" was, but there was this new uncomfortable tension between them at the end of the work days. When they knew the shower was due.
Not that Porco should have any reason to feel ashamed, mind. He’d been hitting a growth spurt lately. His shoulders were broadening and his chest was starting to get some definition. His arms were getting a little veiny, too. Like Zeke’s. Sure, he had started getting breakouts around his chin and on his back, but so what? He still looked good.
Then again, Colt didn’t feel like he looked too awful himself — so what was his excuse for feeling awkward?
"Dunk it in water, then," Porco grumbled, voice strained like all that hip wiggling was wearing him out.
"Hm?"
"Oh for fuck’s—!" After a brave battle, his friend finally managed to wrestle the pants, undergarments and underwear off himself and with an unnecessarily forceful kick, he sent the bundle of clothes flying. They ended up underneath the bench that ran the length of the lockers. "Your boot," he said, sounding annoyed. "Dunk it in water to find out where it’s leaking. Obviously."
"Oh. Thanks. I’ll try that." He got up and headed into the single bathroom stall, adjacent to the tiled shower area. He turned on the faucet and watched the water fill up. Secretly, he was hoping Porco would take the opportunity to get his shower over with on his own — so that Colt, in turn, could also shower alone. Not that he was incapable of showering with him, but Porco’s strange temper was getting to him now. He didn’t mind his angry side; he knew he never meant the things he said. But something about him was off today. Though what, Colt could not say.
When the water filled he basin, he lowered his boot into it — and sure enough, at the heel, where the leather met the sole, tiny bubbles began rising rapidly from one specific spot.
"Gotcha," he whispered — then noticed a shadow peering over his shoulder, and jumped. He spun around, yelling in surprise.
Porco yelled too, stepping back. "What?!" He leaned back, expression apprehensive and confused, one white-knuckled fist curled around the knot on his towel. "What is it?!"
Colt began laughing. He shook his head and leaned forward, using Porco’s shoulder for support to stay upright. "I’m sorry, I thought you’d gone into the showers," he wheezed. He placed his second hand on Porco’s other shoulder, and hung onto him as his friend tried stepping away, backwards.
When Colt looked up, he caught him blushing like he’d done this morning.
"Idiot. I tell you to go check your boot," he grumbled. "And then you expect me not to come see?"
"I’m sorry." Chuckling, he regained his composure. He rubbed his face. Maybe his cheeks were a little hot as well. He had this sudden urge to give Porco a hug. He didn’t really do that anymore; he shouldn’t. They were big now and it didn’t suit big boys to hug each other. Yet he found himself compelled. He gave one last, strained chuckle, pivoting on the verge one way or the other — then thought better of it and drew back towards the boot in the sink. "I found the hole," he said.
"I saw that."
"By the way," Colt mumbled, the air around him changing; a timid seriousness creeping into his voice. He had to keep his back to Porco for this. He lifted the boot out and tried wringing the tough material. "… What’s been up with you today?"
Behind him, he could hear his friend shifting from one foot to the other. Maybe he was contemplating what to say. For a moment, Colt was sure he’d just misinterpreting everything and Porco had no idea what he was on about.
But then Porco said: "You like Pieck, don’t you?"
Something froze in him. Literally froze. Like the ice encapsulating the ground in the mornings, he felt his body swallowed by a coldness. It sent chills through him. "… I’ve never said that?" he began.
"But you think she’s pretty."
He turned back around, dropping his boot in his bewilderment. It made a slurping sound as it hit the floor. Not sure if he was angry or afraid, he just stared down his beloved friend. "She’s pretty but I don’t like her."
"Then why didn’t you say she wasn’t your girlfriend?"
"I didn’t say she was, though."
"Yeah but you didn’t deny it when they asked, either." Porco’s voice cracked and the blush made a modest return.
"What does it matter? She’s not my girlfriend."
They remained standing. Staring at one another for a few, agonizing moments. Colt felt like he was being tested. Quizzed. And despite his quickened heartbeat, he felt ice cold. He didn’t want to talk about this. He just wanted to be. Not talk, not ask questions, just be.
Finally, Porco was the one to end the stalemate. He huffed and turned. Halfway into the shower area, he threw the towel.
From around the corner, he said: "I just thought you’d tell your best friend."

When the rain finally let up after dinner, Colt’s stomach sank when Porco came knocking like they’d agreed. The discomfort was still in him from earlier, but he didn’t know how to tell his friend he didn’t want to see him.
He got the kites from the shed and handed Porco the red one, while he began untangling the string to his own — the camouflage sniper; a newer model he’d spent several months saving up for last year.
He said nothing. And neither did Porco. He didn’t know if that was worse than small talk, honestly. The tension was thick and confusing. Did Porco really think he liked Pieck? And why did he care so much? Maybe he liked Pieck? Colt hoped not. The idea of other people coming between them made him almost nauseous to think about. "You can just take off," he mumbled, not looking up.
"Yeah but there’s knots. Plus, you gotta show me."
"…Every time?"
He could see Porco’s green jacket raise around his hips, and he assumed it was a shrug. "Alright. Just give me a second."
In a way, it was kind of cute that Porco never got any better at this. That Colt had to show him how to get the kite in the air every time. Yeah,… cute was the right word.
Eventually, he got the sniper ready and took over for Porco, untangling his string and handing him back the body and the spool. "Now you just hold it up— Just like that, yeah." He picked up his own to demonstrate, walking backwards towards the more elevated area of the backyard. He was looking forward to getting the kites in the air. Everything felt better then. It was easier to talk — or to be quiet together without it getting awkward. Leading a kite gave you the excuse to hide in your head without it being weird. "Tilt it up to catch the wind underneath — it’s important to adjust until you feel the wind pass under it just right. Can you feel it?"
"Like this?"
"Yeah, that looks right. Then you just—…." And he took a step or two forward, letting the friction push the kite back and up. Quickly, he undid several flats of the spool, and watched as his sniper shot into the sky. A rush of excitement filled his stomach and he let out an unintentional laugh. He felt elated — light. Almost free, in a way. Like he was the one leaving the ground, bobbing weightlessly in the rushing wind above the chimney tops.
"Like—ack—" Porco made an amiable — if not a little insecure — effort at replicating the action, and his kite lifted half an arm’s length… before reversing and slamming its tail against his chest.
Good thing they weigh nothing, Colt thought, chuckling. Cute. "You can do it."
"I’m trying!" And this time, he really did try. Colt’s old, red dragon lifted from Porco’s hand, and in a gust of wind, soared sideways into the air. "Hah!"
"You did it," Colt cheered, stepping aside to give him more room. He readjusted his line, bringing it down to about the same height as Porco’s. "Just don’t cut my line this time."
"I won’t."
He felt better already. They felt better already.
He took hold of the line above the spool and began carving the infinity symbol in the grey air with his sniper. "You remember how to do this one, though, right?" He loved the feel of the line tugging and slacking, like a fish on a hook. Sometimes it fought, sometimes it gave.
"I’m not dumb," Porco said, and began copying him. "But I can’t believe you do this for hours without getting tired. Your arms must be made of steel or something."
The comment made his stomach sort of tickle. Discretely, he looked down his own arm as he moved, saw the muscles at work underneath his sweater, and determined that yeah, he was pretty strong. His limbs were longer and leaner than Porco’s — where Porco was built more compact, looked much stronger — but he thought he might measure up. He’d been working on his arms after hours, after all.
And the thought that Porco had noticed, was thrilling. Not that it was weird to want your best friend to notice your hard work or anything.
"I’m glad you came over," he said, noticing he meant it.
"Eh, you’re the only one who isn’t obsessed with talking about titans," Porco replied. "Titan training this, titan after-effects that. Can’t walk properly after staying in titan too long, blah blah. It’s like being a shifter is all there is."
Colt knew he meant Pieck. And he knew he didn’t mean anything by it. She was their friend and Porco was just butt-hurt about the picking — even close to four years later; one and a half years after the others had gone off to Paradis so they couldn’t rub it in his face anymore.
… Yet, a secret part of him was happy to hear him be displeased with her. Feeling guilty, yet reassured, he concluded that Porco, in fact, wasn’t in love with Pieck either.
Not that it mattered. He just didn’t want anyone to come between their comradery.

Chapter Text

849

"Oh, but you look so handsome, sweetheart,» Porco’s mother fawned. In the mirror he could see her giving him an adoring look from the doorway — holding a fresh apple pie between her oven mittens. "Don’t be nervous."
"I’m not nervous," he growled. "Get out of my room." He stared intently at his own reflection as he combed his hair back, wondering if the sage scented aftershave had been too much. His chest swelled with expectations — and yes, nerves.
"I wanted you to taste it for me," she said, stepping over the threshold.
"Mom." He tossed the comb on his bed and turned to go push her out. "I don’t have time. I told you, I need to get ready for the event."
Morale had been low after years of no Paradis-progress, so the military had decided last minute to host one of their infamous summertime celebrations, despite it being early September. The other noticable difference this time being that everyone — regardless of rank — were invited. Meaning this would be the first time Porco showed up to base in civil clothing. He wanted to impress — even brought out his fine suit jacket for this. The one that made his back look broader and his figure leaner. Plus, the arms had become pretty tight due to his new bulk, and he knew Colt would notice.
"Is that perfume you’re wearing?"
Heat began creeping up his throat and his buttoned up collar felt too tight. "It’s just aftershave. I said get out."
"Aftershave, sweetheart? Since when do you shave?"
"I’m practically sixteen, ok?"
"Well, I suppose you’ve gotten a little peach fuzz lately. We’ll have to get you your own wash basin."
"Mom."
Halfway down the hall his mother dug her heels into the carpet and turned to survey him up and down once more. "Look at you," she cooed. "So grown up. You can tell me if you’re dressing up for someone, you know."
"I’ll be down in a minute," he said between grit teeth, before turning and slamming the door on his way. He hoped the heat in his face hadn’t betrayed him. He returned to the mirror to assess: The spotted redness around his jawline was darker, but otherwise he didn’t look too phazed. If she asked, he’d blame it on the razorburn.
Hair — check. Shave — check. Breath —
He blew on his palm and got a whif of strong mint.
Check.
Guns?
He turned and did a bicep flex. Oh yes.
Check.
It was an unspoken thing, but he was sure there was something between the two of them. The way Colt’s eyes would always linger on him. His arms — he knew he liked his arms. The way they’d always end up with one sitting on top of the other during sparring sessions. It wasn’t on accident. Porco liked pinning him — made a conscious effort to do so — and there was no doubt in his mind that Colt consciously let him.
And the way Colt would lean in closer whenever they were alone?
… Just never close enough for Porco to dare make that move — that leap of faith. Colt would always reel himself back in at the most critical moment — like he only wanted to go so far. And it made Porco unsure. Confused. Made him hold off on that kiss that could finally seal the deal. End the cat and mouse.
He would have been more afraid, had there been no hint of reciprocation. Maybe then he’d feel more embarrassed that in a sea of people — half of them girls — his heart was set on a boy. But because they were two, it just felt natural. It was the way it’d always been: Colt and him, against the world.
…Because there was no way Colt wasn’t aware of what they were doing, right? They were obviously flirting. Weren’t they?
Ah, but that icy shred of doubt…
His shoulders raised high as he inhaled and slowly let the air back out. Damn these nerves. But he had to make a move. And tonight was special, so why not?
"Porco, It’s getting cold."
"Coming."
When he entered the kitchen, his parents stopped murmuring and raised their heads to look at him. He got the distinct feeling they’d been talking about him.
"What?" he grumbled.
"Isn’t he handsome?" his mother sighed, taking her husband by the arm. "Oh, Porco, you’re making your mother’s heart melt. If only Marcel were back yet so he could see you. He would be so proud."
"Mom."
"… Come now, have a bite." She approached, holding out a big fork of pie and a hand underneath to catch crumbs.
Porco rolled his eyes. "There’ll be plenty to eat at the party."
"Yes, I know, sweetie, I just thought you could bring this with you if it tastes well enough for the military’s standards."
"No way—" He let up his protests to let her land the hovering fork in his mouth, then he continued: "We’re not supposed to bring our own. It’ll look weird."
"Don’t talk with your mouth full, pumpkin."
Forgetting himself for a moment, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "It tastes good. Can I go now?"
His mother smiled and looked over her shoulder at her husband. "Honey, plate the pie, will you?" Then she brushed her apron, tilted her head and gave Porco another one of those overly adoring looks. "You may go, yes." Following him into the hall, she looked like she had a sugary secret on her mind. "Are you walking there with Colt?"
"Obviously."
"I’m sure you’ll melt his heart too."
Bent over to tie his boots, Porco felt his face flush against the crook of his arm. This time he knew the damage was too much to explain away. Ok, so maybe he was a little self-conscious about his crush. But even if he were to be unapologetically himself, that didn’t mean he wanted his mom to know all about his business! He stood up fast and grabbed for the door. "Mom, seriously. Don’t be weird."
"What? I’m only saying. Don’t you think so too?"
"I’m going now." His cheeks burned.
"Don’t forget the pie, sweetheart."

They met where the two main streets of the zone came together to form an open space. Everywhere, people sold fruits and vegetables from open stands; the air was warm with the smell of soil and grass. Porco saw his friend coming around the corner of a melon stand and broke into a jog, plate of pie in one hand. "Hey…!" What was Colt wearing? At first, he thought it was their regular uniform — but as he looked him over more, he realized it was a white suit jacket: almost identical to their uniforms, apart from an open neck. And — oh, wow — a tie? He looked so professional. Maybe even a little uptight. Colt really didn’t play around when it came to the job, huh? Next to his little brother in a light blue coat, he looked like an officer arresting a kid for sneaking apples.
As the guy looked up, Porco slowed to a walk.
Play it cool, Porco. Play it cool.
He straightened his back and pushed out his chest, locking eyes with him in front of the honeydews. "You excited?" he asked, flashing what he hoped was a nonchalant yet charming half-smile half-smolder. The thought didn’t even occur to him to say hi to Falco; all he saw was his friend’s flustered smile and everything else disappeared for him. The way Colt’s eyes were slowly giving him a once-over… He couldn’t be delusional; Colt had to like him back.
"Yeah! …um." Colt’s cheeks almost got some color, when his gaze began darting around the stands and he suddenly turned on his heels. "Let’s go," he said, and headed for the gate at a swift pace.
Wait. That was it? Porco caught up with him quickly, staring at his profile; trying to gauge what had happened. It looked like Colt was trying to suppress one of those sheepish, frowny grins of his — the ones he’d give whenever Porco tried making an advance at him. Like he was pleasantly surprised yet didn’t quite understand — or didn’t want to understand.
What did it mean? Did Colt like what he saw or not?
Usually he’d get at least somethingg out of him when they walked together — a modest bumping together, a brush of hands, an innocent comment about workout paying off. But now? Just half a grin? That Porco didn’t even know if he liked or not?
He kept staring at him as the guards inspected their passes and opened the gate for them. Even as they stepped onto the swept streets of Liberio: no change in expression.
Fine. So he’s shy when there’s people around. That’s not new. I just have to pick my moments better.
He cleared his throat. "So… What do you think we’ll get to eat?"
"I want tomatoes," Falco said, almost whispering, having been taught not to disturb the marleyans.
"…Just tomatoes?" Porco asked.
"And that one." The kid pointed at the pie in Porco’s hands.
"Ugh, yeah. Mom wouldn’t let me leave without it."
At that, Colt gave a barely audible chuckle. Porco caught it only from seeing his shoulders jump. Otherwise, Colt was bowing his head the way he always did outside the zone, to where his face was almost hidden. It was as though the taller he got over the years, the deeper he’d bow — just to make sure the marleyans knew that he knew he was beneath them.
That had never sat well with Porco. Even though they had a lot to thank the marleyans for, something about the way wonderful Colt was made to devaluate himself in their presence didn’t feel right. Though — and he’d never tell Colt this, but — it was probably more his mother’s fault than the marleyans. That woman wasn’t right.
He gave a sigh and wrapped an arm around his friend’s shoulders. "I’m pretty sure mom made it for you, by the way. She knows how much you like her pie." He lifted the plate to Colt’s nose and made an exaggerated sniffing-sound. "Mmm. Apples."
His friend gave another chuckle, but said nothing. So Porco leaned a little closer and whispered: "Hey, I bet you ten ice creams your tie will come off before the night’s over."

"You brought cake?" Zeke — strange-looking in a thick, green jumper — stopped arranging the buffet to look and laugh. "This isn’t a garden party, Galliard."
Holding his mother’s pie away from his body now, like it smelled bad, Porco rolled his eyes to hide his embarrassment. "Mom insisted. It’s apple pie."
"Your mother’s surely something," Zeke said. "Bet she’s the one who got the board to agree to send me out to sniff out your brother over New Year’s. Bribed them with pastries."
"It’s really delicious," Falco chimed up, holding Colt by the hand. "I bet you’ll go for seconds, mister Zeke."
Zeke lit a cigarette. "You can place it there."
Porco gave his friend’s brother a thankful side-eye and put the pie down next to a cooler filled with bottled beer. Then he left before anyone else could connect him to the shameful thing. The brothers followed.
"It’s so strange," Colt said.
And Porco had to agree. HQ looked transformed, like some sort of venue. The rows of food? The coolers? There was even a sunny banner hanging from the bell tower, like the place was some sort of leisure-time park. Vehicles had been driven away to make room for at least twenty — maybe thirty — round tables across the training grounds. They looked like pink, shiny disks in the setting sun, all decorated with flowers in water-vases and lit candle lanterns. When it got darker, Porco was sure they’d light up great. Maybe even make the place romantic. It was different. But nice.
"It’s so strange seeing everyone out of uniform."
Oh, so that’s what was strange? Porco gave his friend a glare. Is it, though? Then why haven’t you said anything about my jacket yet?
Before Colt could catch on, Falco tugged him by the arm to get his attention. "There’s Gabi. Can I go sit with her?" Falco pointed and waved.
"Yeah — but don’t forget to behave, alright? And remember, the marleyans are still your superiors."
"I’ll remember."
"And no yelling—!" Colt shouted it after him but the kid was already kicking up dust. He shook his head. "Gabi always brings out his rowdy side. Will you help me keep an eye on them tonight?"
Porco still held his glare, wanting Colt to see. But the guy didn’t even notice: he was too busy scanning the area for superiors. His back visibly straighten for each new sighting.
"Hey…"
Finally — now just the two of them — Colt gave him the attention he craved and Porco took in the sight. His high cheekbones, his unbearably innocent eyes. The… pomade in his hair?
Actually, now that he considered it, he thought he’d caught a whiff of lavender on top of Colt’s usual outdoors-y scent — and his hair sure looked shiny.
Well, that’s new. Wonder if it’s for me.
"You smell good," he whispered. He gave Colt the ghost of a suggestive smile, hooked two fingers inside his white waist pocket and when Colt didn’t resist, he discretely began tugging him backwards towards the corner of the building. At first, his friend looked merely surprised — but then his professional facade cracked and he blushed pink. "What?" he chuckled, continuing to let himself be lead away from the party. "Stop acting weird."
"You’re the weird one, remember?" He lead them out of sight, around the bend, into the blue shadow of the sheltered wall — where it was just the two of them.
The air was colder here, and the murmur of the guests was more removed.
Porco stopped there, not quite sure what to do next. He hadn’t expected Colt to be so eager to follow his lead. To not stop at some point along the way and smile his crooked smile.
"I just…" Porco began.
The way Colt was looking at him; he seemed so expectant. And the way his chest rose and sank… It told Porco he was managing his breathing with effort. Like he was nervous.
"Just…?"
Porco had to fight against himself to manage a thick swallow. The nerves were catching up to him too, settling in his throat. His heart was even drumming. Damn it, he wanted to be cool! "…wanted to fix your tie," he finished. "It’s untidy."
"Oh!… Haha…"
They fell quiet.
What was happening right now? He hadn’t expected to get an opportunity so soon; the party hadn’t even started yet, it wasn’t even dark yet…
Colt licked his lips.
Should I do it right now?
Porco came in closer. Colt didn’t flinch. Didn’t step back. So he came in even closer. Unbearably close. Their knees brushed together and Colt let out a huff as Porco grabbed him by the necktie.
He could do it. He could kiss him right now. He knew he could — it was obvious. There was no more leniency for doubt: Colt felt the attraction too.
He stood up on his toes. And leaned in so close he felt Colt’s breath against his lips.
…And then Colt turned his face away. Before Porco could even register the change, Colt’s hands came up and grabbed him by the shoulders. Colt was pushing him back. Colt was laughing. "Thanks," he was saying — stammering. Flashing that sheepish, frowny grin again. "Thanks for telling me. I’ll fix it myself." He couldn’t stop laughing. It sounded forced.
Porco was crestfallen. His face burned. "No," he said. His knees were shaking. "Not again. Colt, you— you don’t get to be confused this time. Aren’t we—"
"I don’t know what you’re talking about!" The guy was tugging and pulling at his tie, wriggling it back and forth without direction. Laughing with his eyebrows downturned and his eyes wide. "C’mon." He was red as those stupid tomatoes Falco wanted. He was stupid. Why was the entire Grice family so stupid?
A loud cheer rose from the other side of the building and a summery, lighthearted breeze of orchestra music began rolling out across the field. The illusion of being alone was broken. Not that it mattered now.
Porco stared at him. And the lack of reaction seemed to take the edge off: Colt stopped fretting. He let his tie be and just returned the stare. With those unbearably innocent, brown eyes of his. They looked so scared.
What are you so afraid of?
"I— I need to see if they need help with anything," Colt whispered. He sounded out of breath. And then, before he ran back around the bend, he put his hand out. Just put it there. Right on Porco’s chest. Palm flat against Porco’s hammering heart. And held it there. For several seconds.
The touch confused Porco so much it paralyzed him. He stood there, gaping — and then his most beloved friend rushed out of view.

The thing about the two of them was they’d always come back around. Like a perpetual push and pull. Every time Porco lost his temper — every time Colt backpedaled one of Porco’s advances — they’d always be back to normal in no time flat. Granted, it was more thanks to Colt’s forgiving nature than Porco’s. But that’s how it always went.
The anxiety of walking back into the party after what had happened, was something Porco had never felt before. This had been different. Colt knew now. And had shown how he felt about it. He’d rejected him.
Their friendship had been up in the air for the first time since Porco stopped showing up at the northern gate so many years ago… But, like that time, Porco had bit the bullet again: dragged his feet the painstaking distance… and found Colt smiling. The cheery teen had bid him welcome. Told him how excited he was to try the apple pie. Offered to grill his food for him. Told him he’d saved a seat for him. Like nothing had happened.
Porco had never felt vertigo before, but he imagined this came close. The elation and heartbreak tore him in two polar directions. Why did Colt act as if nothing had happened? And what had that hand on his chest meant? Given that he knew Porco’s feelings now, Colt wouldn’t be acting so sweet if he wanted to ward off more advances, right? But then why had he rejected him in the first place? And he’d looked so scared!
Maybe he’d been so appalled by Porco’s feelings that he just had to pretend it never happened? That certainly could be…?
Oh, it tore at him! Was he rejected or not? What were they to each other?
It was dark before he could even eat properly. He was hunched over a cold, grilled chicken, thinking a hundred thoughts with each bite, when Colt got up without a word. He’d been all smiles tonight — even brushed up against Porco’s leg under the table at one point — but otherwise he’d been kind of quiet.
The speeches were over with and the musicians had returned to the podium.
Porco looked after him, watched his back sway, bathed in orange. The lanterns had stepped up full force, casting their night-strengthened glow across the place. The plates of half-eaten salads, gnawed-on bones, dessert and endless bottles of beer. It all looked like monochrome orange. Almost bioluminescent.
And now Colt’s back was a shrinking pillar of orange. Porco didn’t know if he was grateful for the abandonment or worried. He watched the guy stop by the buffet across the field. Standing there, talking to superiors. Laughing dutifully — at what Porco assumed was a very bad joke.
What’s in your head, Colt?
"What are you looking at?" Pieck leaned over to nudge him from the next table over.
Porco turned in his seat, opting to hang over the back of his chair. "Colt. Look at him, he’s such a kiss-ass." He didn’t know why he felt the need to, but playing mean was such a provider of relief, he found himself unable to hold it in. He directed Pieck’s attention to the buffet. "Oh, what a splendid joke you told, sir Magath," he mocked, dubbing Colt’s conversation from afar. "You’re so funny I’d rather talk with you than my friends. May I have the honor of carrying you around on my back for the rest of the evening?"
Pieck snorted. Porco wasn’t sure if she was picking up on his turmoil or not. "Sure, go ahead, Grice," she replied, deepening her voice behind her glass of lemonade. "But if you wanna play horse, you may only eat carrots from now on."
"Haha— oh, here comes Zeke. Mister Zeke, mister Zeke, won’t you please give me extra guard duty tonight? I just hate having fun. Or a mind of my own."
Pieck kept giggling, the straw in her drink bubbling. "Quite. But only if you give me a massage first, Grice. I know you long to feel up these back muscles."
Initially, Porco laughed at that. But it didn’t take long for his fake delight to wither. With his chin resting on the chair, the corners of his mouth began drooping down towards it and his eyes glassed over.
"Oh, come on, I’m only joking" Pieck said, nudging him again. She got up and took the vacant seat next to him. "But don’t tell me you haven’t seen the way Colt looks at him?"
He side-eyed her.
But the drowsy-looking girl just started laughing — this time with a hand on her stomach like she was particularly tickled. "Oh, if only you could see your own face right now, Pock."
"I’ve told you not to call me that. And what do you mean ‘the way he looks at him’?" His temples were lightly pulsating now.
She leaned against him. "Don’t worry, I don’t think it’s anything serious. You really thought Colt would loosen up tonight, didn’t you?"
"What are you even on about now?" He growled and turned the cheek. Looking back at Colt in the dark distance — his handsome, gentle Colt — he felt his stomach sink.
Colt was usually the one with the sensitive stomach, but tonight Porco was feeling that syrupy nausea his friend always complained about. It felt heavy and intense. Not quite painful, yet, then again it hurt? So bad?
Does Colt really have a thing for his mentor? No way. No— no way.
He reached back for his previously forgotten — now lukewarm — beer, only to sniff it and putting it back. This stuff hadn’t been all his superiors had made it out to be.
A mosquito drifted towards the lantern on the table ahead of him, and he found himself hoping the light would somehow zap it to death. But when it landed peacefully on top of it and nothing happened, he gave a hearty sigh.
Ok. So. Colt isn’t necessarily not into guys, he thought. He just… doesn’t like me. That could make sense… But if Colt is interested in boys, then that means there’s still a chance, right? I could still woo him — if I just do it quickly, before anyone else gets the idea.
"Hello?" Pieck groaned and gave him a pinch on the elbow. "Lighten up, will you?" She reached over and grabbed an empty bottle that someone must have left. "Don’t be a sappy drunk. Let’s have some fun."
He turned back around. "I’ve only had the one," he said, pushing his smelly bottle of yeast-drink away from himself. "What sort of fun?" The newfound resolve was perking him up a little.
Yeah, he could woo Colt. He’d been taking for granted that the guy liked him already, but this was a game changer. Porco needed to be smoother. More charming. More direct. But! In a tasteful way; he didn’t want a repeat of earlier.
"Spin the bottle. Guys, come over!" Pieck waved for the guys at the table she’d left. Her panzer unit. "Let’s play spin the bottle!"
Sometimes, Pieck was a godsend. A mindless game was exactly what he wanted now, to cool the nerves and hatch a plan. He wrapped his suit jacket tighter around himself and stared at the bottle as a warmth seeped back into his chest. A bonfire had been lit some ways away, where tables had been pushed aside to give space, and the cozy flicker was actually getting to him. Like the flicker of hope.
Five guys he vaguely knew the names of gathered round, and Pieck spun the bottle.

*

The bonfire had turned to embers and the weather was getting colder. Some of the lanterns had gone dark and the stars were out — but the festive mood was all but extinguished. Once the live music had gone home, a gramophone had been brought out from one of the offices and placed on a stand, and the spin-the-bottle table had become full to the brim with participants — some laughing, and others howling drunk. All entertained.
Porco was nursing his beer — still lukewarm but almost empty now— and grinning as the merciless game-bottle stopped in front of Pieck again. For once he felt entirely part of the gang. Heck, he didn’t even know half these people, but they were all so friendly, so eager to cheer each other on. Colt was still zigzagging around the marley officers somewhere in the dark, but Porco couldn’t be bothered. Well, for the most part.
Besides, his good mood was boosting his confidence. He’d decided he was going to ask Falco to walk home ahead of them when they got to the vegetable plaza later. That way he and Colt could talk in private before saying goodbye for the night. And that’s when he’d tell him. Not make an advance, no: He’d just… tell him. Yeah.
The idea felt like a comfortable warmth, filling his body. Lulling him.
"I swear," Pieck was saying, hiding her face in — obviously feigned — despair. "It’s got it in for me."
Porco chuckled. And he felt the rumble of twenty, maybe thirty, more voices accompanying him in his delight.
Her panzer unit was whooping at her. Some were even patting her back. "Go on," they egged.
"Fine, fine." She stood up and looked Porco directly in the eyes. "This is your fault.”
The whole table got quiet and watched as she approached a cluster of officers over by the gramophone. A good ten of the men were gathered there, clinking their glasses together and looking quite pleased. It wasn’t mandatory, but the majority of the marleyans had sort of congregated at the opposite side of where Porco and the other eldian foot soldiers were seated. And so, it felt as though Pieck was heading into forbidden territory. Well, not quite — Colt was over there, and the kids were running around all over the place — but…
They held their breath as Pieck began sneaking. She found an approaching angle that left her out of view for most of them — among them Zeke. Then, mere feet away, she broke into a sprint and rounded the bearded man. Porco heard Colt yelp, his conversation with his mentor interrupted, as Pieck dove and grabbed Zeke’s glasses clean off his face.
The table erupted in cheers. Yelling and howling, they beckoned her back and she turned to sprint their way. Porco was laughing.
She actually did it.
Behind her, he saw Zeke perch like he was about to barrel after, but then he shook his head and his shoulders hiked like he was amused. Colt, on the other hand, looked frozen in shock.
"The hero returns," someone yelled, and Pieck got swallowed up in the mass of arms wanting to hug and pat and congratulate. The triumph in her face shone like a lantern as she swirled around the mass. And when she found her seat, her forehead glistening, she raised the stolen artifact in the air and let out a warrior’s yell. "Success!"
Porco could have sworn she’d only had lemonade this entire time.
"Alright!" Pieck left the glasses on the table and rubbed her hands together. "My turn to pick a dare." She grabbed the bottle. "The one the bottle points to, has to," she said, dragging her words as she thought it over. "Hmmm. Kiss someone! Oh, and if it’s a girl, it has to be another girl, and if it’s a boy it has to be another boy." She giggled only louder as a couple of people groaned. "Weaklings. Let’s go." And then she spun.
Porco shoved a hand into his armpit and held it there kind of nervously, staring at the bottle. Actually, this could be a good excuse, couldn’t it? He glanced over his shoulder. Colt wouldn’t deny a dare, would he? This way it wasn’t about feelings, after all. Plus, nobody liked being a spoilsport.
"Carlo. Or… Porco?"
He looked back and saw the bottle rolling sideways with its neck pointed somewhere between himself and the red-haired guy next to him.
Immediately, the party broke into loud debate about whom was the true pick, and Porco felt a flush of heat creep up his neck. He fought hard not to give away his hopes. "It’s— uh. Carlo can do it."
"No way," the guy said, looking a little pale. "It pointed at you first. Then it rolled sideways towards me. It landed on you."
He seemed to wait for a counter argument but Porco didn’t challenge him; instead, he just looked around the table with a drumming chest, seeking a consensus. "So… me?"
"Bah, but that’d be cheating, though," Pieck said, stilling some of the immediate claps of approval. "It’s no problem for him, he’ll just kiss Colt." Some participants began voicing their disagreement but she held up her hand. "No, no. I bet he even likes him. It’s cheating."
Porco gave a snort and yanked at his collar. "Haha, what?" Still looking around at everyone, he noticed to his relief that most of them just nodded or chuckled. Or even talked amongst themselves without paying attention. In other words: no sign of alarm. It was as though him liking Colt… wasn’t a big deal. Just like with his mom, whom apparently knew…
Apart from the heat up his neck, the fuzzy wholeness he’d been feeling tonight was still comforting him. And that lulling sensation was taking the edge off his nerves. Maybe he really was safe.
So when Pieck said: "Because you do like him… don’t you?", Porco replied by taking a sip of his beer and grinning. "I… Yeah. I do."
And there it was. Said. Out there. Just like that.
Some of the people around the table began cheering. Pieck’s unit whooped. And Porco didn’t see whom — because he had to look down in a moment of vulnerability — but he even got someone’s pats on his back.
"You guys," he mumbled, smiling like a fool.
He felt weightless. Like one of Colt’s stupid kites. He’d said it. Damned be whomever didn’t like it; he’d said it! And it felt great!
And then some of the people on the furthermost seats parted to make room, and Porco saw Zeke push his way up to the table. "Alright, enough child’s play. Where’s my glasses?" His tone was cheery, like he was still in on the joke — but the party was simmering down with what seemed like anxious anticipation. Maybe they didn’t realize how well Zeke and Pieck got along.
The girl simply pushed her hair back and gave him a sweet smile. "Right here, mister Zeke. Oh! Colt!"
And that’s when Porco realized his friend was there was well: he was on his feet, a few paces behind his mentor, swaying like he was standing on the deck of a boat in harsh waters. His eyes were red and squinty, and he had a strange, crooked grin on his face that didn’t seem to fit the rest of the expression.
He’s had alcohol…
Some of the people closest to the drunk teen began to laugh. One of them even tugged his arm. "Guess what," Porco heard someone call out in his direction.
Oh no. At first, he felt a jolt of panic. They were going to tell Colt!
But then he looked at Pieck, and he saw her safe eyes, and he was reminded that he was alright. As a matter of fact, wasn’t he going to tell Colt later today anyways? And maybe Colt getting to see how little anybody cared that they were a little different, would be as relieving to him as it had been to Porco.
So he perked up — then reconsidered and slouched nonchalantly backwards in his chair, grabbing his empty beer in one hand — and let Pieck do the job.
"Colt, guess what," the girl said in a sing-song manner.
"What?" Colt asked, chuckling unsurely along to everyone else’s festive buzzing.
"Porco just told us something very interesting about you."
Zeke even began to look between them like he knew what was coming, pulling his beard in amusement.
"About me?"
Man, Porco’s heart was beating out of his chest now. He could feel it everywhere — from the tips of his ears, all the way down to his heels. They were locking eyes now, and he knew he wasn’t able to hide his excitement at this point. Colt could probably read it in his face. Maybe that was why the guy was beginning to flush.
"He has a crush on you."
The table broke out into renewed cheering. Someone patted Colt on the back and the guy staggered sideways out of view. Porco stood up, half worried, half excited. But when he caught sight of Colt’s face again, the guy looked mortified. His eyes were wide open now, his smile gone in favor of a half-open gape, and his face was dark red and shiny with budding beads of sweat. He grabbed his tie and began pushing the knot up to make it tighter, legs unsteady. He was examining the faces around him, apparently finding something terrible in them, the way his eyebrows twitched.
That heavy nausea was beginning to drag Porco back down to earth. He wiped his hands on his pants.
And then, finally, Colt said something: "Ew."
All the warm, comfy confidence in Porco was turning into a scalding fire. He shook; couldn’t contain it. But he was welded to the spot, mouth shut.
Colt’s single word shushed most of the people up, but a small group of them were still yapping amongst themselves. And yet: Porco’s heart was the loudest thing of all.
"Ew," Colt said again, louder this time. His hands flailed like he was feeling around for something to support himself as he backed off. "I’m not like that," he said. He was slurring his words. "I’m not— I’m not gross like that. We’re not— I didn’t even— I’m not a— not a freak. So…!"
And while part of the table laughed and part of the table booed — Colt turned and ran.

Chapter Text

850

Porco’s confession had turned Colt’s existence into a waking nightmare. His nerves were frayed. Every day he’d expect this to be the day his superiors caught wind of him and Porco. For Magath to call him into his office and say they’d decided to demote him because his brain wasn’t wired correctly.
Every day, he’d wonder: Would this be the day somebody told his mother?
He felt eyes on him constantly. Felt that something awful was written across his forehead.
Why did Porco have to say that thing back then?
It had ruined everything. Even taken away his one sanctuary.
See, it wasn’t that Colt was a—… like that, but he’d liked being close with Porco. He’d liked it more than anything in the world. It had been thrilling, this unspoken thing between them. The secret touches and shared laughs for no reason. How he could run his fingers through Porco’s hair without it meaning anything, because it didn’t have a name.
… And then Porco gave it a name: a crush. It implied that all these things were flirts. And in turn, that meant… that if Colt were to indulge…
Damn it. The thought had been nauseating. Had effectively made every act of intimacy a torment from that day forward. Because now it came with implications. And he wasn’t like that. That’s not why he liked being close to Porco. He just liked it because. Because…
"Will you stop looking over your shoulder? Nobody’s coming, Colt."
Colt hugged his knees and looked back at him: Porco was jogging lightly back and forth along the water’s edge, already wearing his swimming trunks. Stretching his arms over his chest like he was preparing for a competition.
Of course. Colt hadn’t been able to stay away forever. That night at the event, he’d been so upset, so disgusted. He’d ran straight home. Grabbed Falco and ran — because he’d just wanted so desperately to get away — as far away as possible — before any of those words could rub off on him, too.
Porco’s a freak. A freak. Freak.
He’d refused to see Porco for a week straight. But he knew it couldn’t last. Porco was the reason his days had any meaning. Sure, his goal was to win his family’s honor back, but… Well. In the evenings, he’d cry himself to sleep, wishing he was staying over at Porco’s. Even though Porco was the problem.
Soon, he couldn’t bare it without him. And so, on a rainy Sunday morning, Colt came crawling to the Galliards’ doorstep. His mom didn’t even know he’d left the house. And when Porco opened the door, Colt had begged for forgiveness…
They’d made up so easily. Like it had been just another normal falling out. How Porco had such patience with him, Cold couldn’t understand. They’d locked themselves away in his room. Colt hadn’t gone home for a day and a half… And they’d touched. Innocently, sure — yet it had stung like a knife to the gut, now that the meaning of it was at the back of his mind — but he couldn’t get enough of it. Those hands across his body. He’d felt so good again.
Until Porco had gone and spoiled it, by asking him how he felt about it. It had sent him running back home in a panic. And almost once a week now, this cycle would repeat itself. Because Colt didn’t like talking about it. It scared him. And Porco couldn’t shut up. Why was he so adamant about giving it a name? Colt wasn’t like that. Yet,… damn it. Sometimes…
No.
He wasn’t like that.
It was just that something kept pulling him back. It was as though there were two people inside of him who wanted completely opposite things and it gave him chronic nausea.
"Earth to Colt. Are we swimming or not?" Porco was coming up to the picnic.
"Oh. Sorry." He stood up on the checkered blanket and began kicking his pants off to strip to his trunks. Despite knowing how much his friend hated it, he cast one more cautious glance over his shoulder, checking that trail top — where at any moment a head of a Saturday morning stroller could emerge. It was just too important that nobody got the wrong idea.
But the coast seemed clear. So he packed his clothes into their backpack and did a deep inhale, looking out across the lake: after a cold, grey season of naked branches out here, and then a slow early summer, the trees were finally fully in bloom with all the colors they had been holding back on. Their lively palette lay across the surface like a rainbow.
The smell of nature. Of wet sand and dewy grass. The late summer sun… How this remote beach was such a forgotten spot, Colt couldn’t understand. But he was grateful. All he needed to know was that he could be alone out here with Porco.
"Now, what did we agree on? One stretch or back and forth?" Porco came up close and snuck an arm around Colt’s back. His fingers came to rest against his ribs, sending small jolts of electricity through his body. It was always like this. Colt could never get used to it. How good it felt, despite the accumulating ice in his gut.
The sand crunched under them as they headed for the waterline.
"One," he said. His long limbs gave him an advantage when it came to swimming. But Porco’s endurance and raw strength would begin to catch up the more laps they did. So one stretch was best for the sake of winning. "First one to reach the other side," he said. He took a big gulp of fresh air — felt Porco’s hand move with his expanding sides — and then he dove in head first. The water splashed and darkened around him as he disappeared under. The bubbles hissed in his ears and the cold was absolute. In his side-view he saw another splash and white bubbles rushing to the surface. The race to see who was the fastest swimmer — just for the boyish heck of it — was on.
Colt propelled himself forward using controlled kicks and long arms. Garnering speed fast. He closed his eyes and timed his gasps for air with every break of the surface. Felt like a projectile. Confident and in command. And, if the sound of thrashing some ways behind him was anything to go by, much faster than Porco.
It made him smile. He couldn’t wait to pick on his friend for losing.
Once the water began getting warmer, he knew he was close. His hands hit the seaweed first, and then he brushed against the rocks. He broke the surface with a gasp and wiped his face with dripping hands. "Made it," he yelled and climbed up on one of the bigger blocks, where the lake gave way to a small cliff. Above it swayed the colored tree line. And that big branch they’d sometimes perch on.
Porco arrived in a splash of foam and kicks. He bumped into the rock Colt sat on, and reached up to hang from it while he caught his breath. His body was blotched pink with cold. "You cheated," he panted. "I didn’t say go."
"You didn’t say ‘ready, set’, either," Colt laughed. He was reaching down to help pull the guy up next to him. There was just about room for the both of them on the flat top.
"And that makes it less cheatsy how?" Porco breathed, teeth chattering. Once situated, he began rubbing his arms and legs for some warmth. Poor guy was shivering.
That’s one disadvantage to being so hot blooded, Colt thought. Literally.
"H-how is the water still this cold? It’s spring, for fucks sake."
"There, there," Colt said, and began rubbing his back to aid in the quest for warmth. Looking back towards the beach and the trail — so far away, it seemed, from here — he felt a sense of invisibility. A safe invisibility. Like he and Porco could sit here and the rest of the world wouldn’t see. Would be too far away. The only other place where he felt removed from the rest of the world like this, was in Porco’s room — with the door locked. As soon as he heard that mechanism click, those four walls was all that existed. And the people inside, were all that mattered…
"Are-ren’t you cold?" Porco stammered. He leaned sideways against Colt’s shoulder, nudging like he wanted an arm around himself.
Colt obliged, lifting his arm to let Porco lean in closer. All while the ice in his stomach grew. "You know my body temperature is lower than yours," he said. The electric current was back. Surging through him like freezing energy. Gave him goosebumps.
"Y-yeah, but this much lower?"
"Good thing you have dry clothes waiting for you back on the beach," Colt said, just holding him. Now he sort of wished they were in Porco’s room. So he could wrap a warm duvet around him, of course. Not for any other particular reason than that.
"Yeah… This was a bad idea."
"It was yours," Colt said.
"Let’s head back." Porco slipped out of Colt’s embrace to to sink himself back into the water.
Colt felt a strange, sinking feeling in his gut, but followed suit. The water felt alright to him. "So… Sucks to lose, huh?"
Porco chuckled, but Colt could tell he was too preoccupied longing for the shore. So he sped ahead and fished Porco’s towel out of the backpack for him. Stood waiting on the shore with its ends outstretched, sometimes looking over his shoulder. Until his dripping friend came out of the water and he came to wrap him.
With the thin barrier between them, Colt held him. Stroked up and down his trebling back. Massaged him gently between the shoulder blades. Rested his chin on Porco’s shoulder and felt his own heart flutter as their cheeks squished together lightly. Wet and cold, yet somehow so dangerously intimate.
But it was just a hug.
He was just helping Porco get warm.
It wasn’t an issue that Porco had his hands snuck out from under the towel to rest on his lower back in return. His fingertips light as feathers on Colt’s naked skin.
They were just holding each—
What was that sound?
Colt’s head snapped to look. He barely registered the way Porco groaned; just stepped back and scanned the trail top.
"Colt…"
"No, no, I—" He could have sworn he heard someone.
"Colt." Porco grabbed him by the wrist. When Colt looked back at him, the sun lay across his face. Made the beads in his eyelashes sparkle.
"I’m sorry," Colt breathed. Nobody was coming; he must have heard wrong.
Did Porco have any idea how much he loved him?
"Just sit down, will you?"
Colt did as he was told: sat down on the blanket and hugged his knees. Watched as Porco pulled his shirt on. Saw him struggle with the material bunching up on his back because he was still wet — until Colt had to reach over and help him.
He really felt as though they should have stayed in Porco’s room. This could look so wrong.
Porco’s trunks were still dripping, but he seemed happy now that the shirt was on. He shifted on the blanket and laid down on his side, propping his head up on his arm. "You know what?" he said. "You can have that win. It was cheating but you can have it."
"It wasn’t cheating."
"Like fuck it wasn’t." Porco rummaged the backpack with his free hands and came out with a lunch box. "But like I said, you can keep it." He opened it and picked a slice of the honeydew Colt had bought them. "You have no chance when we do it fairly, so."
Colt chuckled. The banter was helping him relax. "You’re so dumb."
"Hey, watch it. I’ll have you know I scored higher than the others on all my tests." Porco was chowing down on the melon, chewing loudly.
It was making Colt laugh. "Somehow I doubt that."
Porco stopped and gave him a look.
"What?"
"You’re such a smartass, Colt. The only reason you’re the brightest in your class is you’re literally the only one in advanced strategy. C’mere." He sat up and shuffled around.
"Doesn’t the word ‘advanced’ tell you anything?" Colt asked, but his reply was falling on deaf ears as Porco was preoccupied trying to dig for napkins while simultaneously pulling at his shirt which had become twisted from his moving around. The slice of honeydew was between his teeth. "Lieh dowh."
"Hm?"
Porco pulled out a bunched-up paper towel and began walking on his knees towards Colt. He put his sticky fingers on his naked shoulders and pushed him backwards. "Lieh dowh."
Colt swallowed and obliged, sinking down till his back met the blanket, feeling that nervous grin he could never help, spread across his face. "What are you doing?"
Porco grunted. He straddled Colt’s hips, finished wiping his hands, and finally took the honeydew out of his mouth to elaborate: "Giving you your cheatsy prize, smartass. Woulda thought your advanced brain could have figured that out."
"Ha ha." Colt was playing it cool — or trying to — but inside, his heart was a bird; thrashing against his ribs to get out. Porco on top of him was creating a whirlpool in his stomach. He wouldn’t call it excitement, but he didn’t know what else to call it either. The thighs on either side of him were firm against his sides and Colt was praying — praying — that it wouldn’t get him too worked up.
Gently, he rested his hands against Porco’s legs and met his eyes. The icy electricity was making him shiver.
"Open up," Porco said. He lowered the slice of sweet fruit towards Colt’s mouth, and although it felt a little awkward, Colt did as he was told. He parted his lips and was about to take a bite, when Porco yanked it away. "Ah-ah," he said, and a clever smile came over him.
It gave Colt dizzy spells. It was like he was being submerged in icy water — much colder than the lake.
Porco lowered his hand again. And pressed the fruit lightly against Colt’s bottom lip. He bit his own lip as he did it, and slowly, he began tracing Colt’s mouth.
It was confusing. Colt swore — he didn’t know what was about to happen. Porco was just being silly! Yet his body was pulsating with anticipation. What was this a prelude to?
The way Porco’s breathing was becoming labored, made tension build in Colt’s abdomen as well. Something had to give. He pressed his legs together and closed his eyes just to keep his bearings.
What a relief it was, then, that Porco’s weight lifted off him as the guy tipped forward. Leaned in.
Colt didn’t dare to look; only sensed his minty breath against his mouth. The tip of his nose brushing against the side of his own. And then a light — a tickle — of warm pressure against his lips. Soft, sweet.
His heart shot into his throat and he couldn’t breathe. He opened his eyes and the sight of his friend’s closed eyes; the tender dip above his eyebrow that told him he was emotional; the light tremble in his upper lip. Something about it all just broke Colt’s panicked heart. This was the first time. No — the only time. But he— And he was— He didn’t know what! He didn’t know!
The joy he felt was terrifying. The absolute need for more of this. He knew he’d feel like this. That’s why he never let it get this far before. But now…
He grabbed Porco by the shoulders — pushed him off — and scrambled out from under him. Breath fast and erratic. "Porco," he choked. "I don’t—"
"But you let me!" Porco rushed to his feet when Colt did. "You closed your eyes and—"
"But I’m not like that, Porco. I’ve told you!" Colt heaved, grabbing for the backpack. Desperately digging for his clothes. "You’re ruining everything again," he said, voice breaking. "W-why couldn’t you just keep—"
"I ruin everything?" Porco raised his voice. "Everybody experiments with their friends, Colt! Every time, you’re the one making a big deal out of—"
"But it’s not normal!" Colt was stepping into his pants, struggling to get it past his dripping trunks. He swayed and caught himself with one foot in the sand, squinting to see through building tears.
"This is your mother talking again. Can you have your own opinion for once in your life?"
"Leave mom out of it!" He wrestled his shoes onto his sandy feet and kicked off towards the trail. Shirt on backwards. Nausea up to his Adam’s apple.
What a never-ending nightmare. Why couldn’t Porco just stop pushing it? Colt felt like he was trapped fighting against an inevitable disaster. Why couldn’t Porco just understand? For him it was easy, but for Colt… this thing could cost him everything.
What a never-ending nightmare.

*

His mother didn’t ask him why he came storming home wearing wet pants and dirty shoes that mid-day. Didn’t ask him why his eyes were red once he finished his shower and joined her in the kitchen to set the table afterwards, either. The knot in his stomach told him she knew. Somehow she knew. And any second, Colt expected his stomach to empty itself on the stone tiles because of it.
Things didn’t exactly get better over dinner, either. He couldn’t even eat, and Falco was giving him looks.
He was aching to go to bed. To just lock himself in his room and never come out again. His terrible secret was ringing in his ears. Burning on his lips.
"Aren’t you hungry?" his little brother whispered once everyone else were done eating.
"If Colt’s not hungry, he’s not hungry," their mother replied. She looked around the table and sighed. Then she got up. "If mommy’s cooking isn’t good enough for him, it just isn’t good enough for him."
"No, mom, that’s not—"
"No, I get it. I get it. The potatoes were a little stale. I admit it…" She dropped the napkin on her plate and put a hand on Colt’s cheek. "But the least you can do is help me with the dishes, alright, hun?"
"I’m sorry, mom," he mumbled. "I will. My stomach’s just a little upset." He tried not meeting Falco’s eyes to the left of him.
"You don’t say…" His mother’s hand moved to his forehead. Her bony fingers were cold and soothing. Her thumb stroked softly across his bangs. "Come, let’s get the plates in the sink now. Then I’ll make you some tea with honey once we’re done."
"Colt, do you wanna fly kites with me after you’ve had your tea?" Falco asked, getting to his feet next to his brother. Still giving him that concerned, doe-eyed look. Even after eight years he still hadn’t outgrown the expression of an all-trusting, all-adoring child.
It stung to look at. To think how Falco looked up to him.
If only you knew, Falco… You’d be so ashamed of me.
But he gave Falco a pat on the head and said: "…Yeah." Next to Porco, his little brother meant everything to him.
Falco, in turn, tilted his head and smiled. He seemed happy with himself. "Then I’ll wait in the garden."
"You can start without me, but use the red one, ok?"
"Ok."
Their mother tsk’ed, already in the process of gathering dishes. "A little help here?"

Fifteen minutes later she spoke again, elbows deep in soapy water. Like always, they stood shoulder to shoulder, Colt drying the dishes as she passed them to her right.
"So, he gave you a tummy ache again, did he?"
At that, Colt’s chin sank against his chest. The mundane act of doing dishes would usually calm his nerves. He and her usually did them together. It felt like quality time, in a way. But… only so long as they left the difficult stuff at the door. "What do you mean?" he said, feeling the bile rise in him.
"Oh, don’t play coy with me, Colt" she said, using her shoulder to scratch an itch on her nose. "You know, I’ve been thinking lately. You two are getting too old to still be doing sleepovers."
His stomach was twisting. Squeezing that bile up his throat. "Why?"
"It’s childish. Don’t you think?" But before he could answer, she turned to him. "No, really, Colt. It’s like you don’t want to spend time with your family anymore. Why aren’t we good enough for you anymore?"
Oh.
"…You are, mom." His nausea let up a little, but instead, his insides began hurting in another type of way. With guilt.
"I swear, it’s like you love that family more than your own," she continued, her lip beginning to quiver.
The sight was making his heart ache. Here he was, too preoccupied with his own selfish wants, his unnatural obsessions — to realize he was neglecting his own family.
"You know, I read you so many stories when you were little," his mother continued. "You loved the one about the falcon, remember? I sang you to sleep. Fed you, cleaned you. Gave you honey for your stomach…"
"Mom," he said, meekly.
"No, no. I understand… All that pales in comparison to angry boys and apple pie, doesn’t it?"
He swallowed thickly. Met her sharp eyes. Come to think of it, how long was it since the last time he gave her a reason to smile?
"Mom, I— I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—"
"Three days in a row," she said. "And now this — coming home all dirtied up and with an upset stomach? That boy isn’t good for you." She turned away again and began scrubbing slowly. Sniffling. "And still you pick him over your own family. Your own mother, who loves you so, so much. What an unwell sort of prioritizing. Unnatural."
"I’m sorry," he whispered. "He’s my best friend. But I’ll—"
"—And I’m not?"
"…"
"I said ‘and I’m not’?" Foam splashed as she let the things in her hands plop into the water. She pulled her gloves off and put her cold hand on his cheek. "Nobody loves you as much as I do. I don’t know why you feel the need to run around with that boy when the one who loves you unconditionally is right here. I miss you at home, Colt."
The affection hit him in the chest. He’d felt so awful lately. These past months, they’d been such a nightmare. Every day, he walked around with this fear in his gut, that he’d lose them — his mom, his dad, Falco. That they’d be too disgusted to love him, once they found out…
He dropped the pan and rag, and dove in to hug her. "I’m sorry," he whimpered, wrapping his arms around her as tightly as he could. Hiding his face against her shoulder. "I’m sorry, mommy. I love you, too."
This was why she’d been so quiet. Colt felt so stupid. Here he’d been, thinking she knew his disgusting secret, while in actuality, she just loved and missed him.
He closed his eyes and felt the relief wash over him. Felt her frail arms around his shoulders.
"Promise me you’re sleeping in your own bed tonight?"
"I promise, mom."
"Good. Because if you keep picking another boy’s bed, I’ll have to start wondering if you're unwell, won’t I."

*

Porco didn’t show up at his door the following Sunday. Colt thought he would have.
In a way, it was a good thing, because it had given him more time to spend with his mom. They’d made breakfast together, done the dishes, read books, gone to the store together for fresh food, made dinner and done the dishes again. The mundane chores had helped him push all those complicated feelings to the back of his mind again. Made him feel normal again.
All the same, by the late evening, he was growing restless. His mother had a migraine and Colt was just lounging around the living room by himself. Sort of waiting, sort of not. He’d prepared how he’d tell Porco off when he finally showed. He wasn’t going to give in; he’d be strong. Say he wanted to spend the day at home with his family.
…Was Porco really not going to show?
When the silence became too much, his lips began to prickle with the memory of that thing they’d shared again. The nausea and shame he’d wrestled with all night was creeping back. So he grabbed his coat and snuck out using the backdoor — just so they’d think he was flying kites, if anybody heard him leave.
The farther he walked, the less nauseous he felt. And the more he felt like crying. To combat it, he began jogging.
He jogged down the main street, weaving between the merchants packing their crates up for the day until he reached the plaza. Apples in barrels. Pears, carrots,… honeydews.
He slowed down, hugged his stomach. Realized his hands were shaking — and ducked inside the nearest grocery store to search for more distractions.
What he definitely wasn’t going to do, was go see the Galliards. He wasn’t going to pick a boy over his family.
"Young Grice," the man behind the till said, counting coins.
Not that young, Colt thought to himself. "Good evening… again."
"Did your mother forget something?"
"No, I’m just looking. Thanks…"
He walked down the narrow aisles, aimlessly running his finger over the canned foods, tried reading the labels to himself instead of thinking.
Beans… Canned peaches…
… He could be normal. All he needed was to focus on it. Not to lose sight of what mattered. Not to stop caring about everything else as soon as that lock clicked and they were alone in Porco’s room…
… Was Porco really mad at him this time?
"Pickles," he mumbled. He stopped and picked up the jar, reading the label over and over. Why did he feel like he was on the brink of tears?
He drew deeper into the store, towards that stand. The one that pulled him with invisible strings. The one he made sure not to look at when he came here with his mom. Now, he stood with his hands in his pockets, facing them. The magazines. With his heart hammering, he scanned the uppermost row. The ones with women in crude poses and a minimum of clothing. He could see their stiff nipples through the fabric and the sight made his abdomen tighten… And he tried to look only at them — the women — but the men; he couldn’t avoid his eyes drifting.
Sometimes he considered hiding one of those magazines inside a regular one. Just wanted to see what was inside.
"Have you gone to see the Galliards yet?" It was the store owner. Calling from the other side of the shelf. Colt nearly had a heart attack but regained his composure and skulked further up the row before answering from behind the beans: "No?… I don’t see him every day, actually." He stuck his hands under his arms to still the tremble. Had his mother asked the store owner to keep an eye on him and Porco? Was he spying for her for money?
"Well, you should."
"… Why?" Reluctantly, he moved back towards the front of the store to look at the man. For once, the guy met his eyes; put the coins away and frowned.
"Oh, it’s such a shame, isn’t it? The oldest one died on that island. I heard it from Karina just earlier."
"What?" His body froze over. "Marcel’s dead?"
No wonder Porco hadn’t come, then. Zeke had been due back any day now. Had he just arrived with the news?
Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no.
He broke out of the freeze and kicked off. Threw open the door and ran.

It took a while before anyone came. Colt thought he heard whimpering from inside, still he hadn’t been prepared for the cries that hit him once the door finally cracked open.
Porco came out and stood on the mat, saying nothing. His face was pale. His expression hollow. And from down the hall behind him, came the deep, cracked yammering of a woman in pain.
Colt had never heard Mrs. Galliard make such a sound before. It sounded like an animal. Primal and unrelenting. Terrifying.
He tried to speak. Took a step back, and a step forward. Mouth opening and closing.
"She doesn’t stop," Porco said, sounding as hollow as he looked.
Colt searched for resentment in his face — thinking perhaps Porco wanted to be left alone — but found none. "I’m sorry," he breathed.
Porco just turned and headed back down the hall, the door left open. Colt took the hint and followed. He kicked his shoes off and ran on tippy toes to keep up. At the foot of the stairs, the yammering and cries were the loudest, and he fought not to cover his ears as he hurried upstairs behind his friend.
Past the door that said ‘keep out’, Colt closed and locked it, before running to embrace Porco on the bed. The guy was crying now; his face was in his hands and his shoulders were jerking violently.
"He’s dead," he choked. It was as though the words expelled all air out of him, and he sank down on the bed, bringing Colt with him.
They lay like that for a long while, Colt just holding him. Stroking his hair. Very gently, he began kissing his hammering temple. Shushing him quietly. “Shh,” he whispered. “I’m sorry." Again and again he whispered, while Porco cried. “I’m so sorry, Porco.”
It was as though yesterday was erased. It was as though Colt’s house was far, far away.
As though the most important thing right now, was to hold his friend. To soothe him.
“I love you,” he whispered.
Porco’s hands held around him harder. His nails dug into Colt’s arm. “I miss him,” he whimpered.
“I know…”
Eventually, the sun was setting, and Porco seemed too exhausted to keep crying. And while they tried to fall asleep in each other’s’ arms, all they heard, were the muffled yammering of the mother downstairs.

Chapter Text

850

Magath had called Porco into his office a month after the news about Marcel, and told him he was to inherit his brother’s titan. Porco had an hour to prepare before they’d bring him to the cave.
Now, of course, he could always deny the offer — and suffer the consequences of disloyalty — but he hadn’t wasted a breath: he’s said yes, then excused himself; not to think long and hard, but to battle the surging emotions alone in the bathroom.
Finally, a wrong would be righted. He’d be a shifter, like he should have been seven years ago. But, more importantly: he’d secure his brother’s memories. Marcel would come home… as much as he could come home.
Mourning someone who’d already been missing for five years, was hard. One day he was just away, and the next he was never coming back. But his room wasn’t any emptier now than it’d been since Porco was a child. And they were still just three around the dinner table when Colt wasn’t over. Nothing changed… just this shift. This feeling of being a little less whole than he’d been the day before. And not knowing what to do about it.
There was no grave to cry at — and no body to put into one, either.
Just an invisible, directionless loss.
Still, worst of all was all the things Porco had left unsaid. His big brother was his rock, and he’d never told him. Yes, as much as he had hated to admit it before, Marcel had always been Porco’s absolute role model. Without him, Porco was a ship without an anchor. And the waves were just getting taller and taller. He didn’t know what to do about Colt — he didn’t understand, didn’t know where to place them anymore — and he just knew… Knew, that if Marcel were still here, he would have known. Would have been able to tell Porco what to do to get through to Colt. Would be able to explain what to do when he went from hot to cold.
But now his big brother would never even hear about it. Porco would never be able to tell him. Who he was and who he loved.
… The only comfort in all the turmoil was this: today, he was bringing Marcel back home.

But after it was done,… Well. He tried not to break until they dropped him off outside of base. The cave had been… different than he’d expected. It had been taller. Almost religious in feel, with its massive columns. The wide staircase and the gigantic altar.
And that young woman… She’d looked like a pathetic lamb for the slaughter. All his hatred and anger had come boiling to the surface at the sight of her. And that’s the last thing he remembered before waking up on the hot, stone floor.
Yet, what was making him tremble now, was how he hadn’t seen any of Marcel’s memories at all. Just that— moment… of him pushing Reiner aside. And… Reiner surrounded by strangers. Reiner, Reiner. How he’d seemed to enjoy the company of the enemy. How he’d acted so strong and reliable — so unlike himself, and so alike Marcel.
He could murder someone. Porco had to fight to keep a level-headed appearance as he was ushered out of the vehicle and had his blindfold undone — the one he had to wear so the entrance to the cave would remain a secret.
"You’ve got the rest of the day off to recover," the officer said, and Porco just nodded. Felt his knees shake as he saw the motor car drive off through the gate, into HQ. The gate rolling closed again in front of him. And then he hid his face in his hands.
Marcel,… where are you?
"Porco! There you are!"
Colt.
He couldn’t even catch a moment. He felt like his brain was boiling. He wanted to scream and punch and kick. His brother was truly lost, and all Porco was left with was this woman’s useless memories of strangers!
He pressed his thumbs against his eyelids and grit his teeth. Damn it, he wasn’t about to cry in front of HQ. "Leave me alone," he growled.
"Where have you been? Nobody wanted to tell me."
Porco could hear him shaking the chain-link from the other side of the fence.
"I said leave me alone."
"… What’s wrong?"
Porco didn’t answer. Didn’t look up. Felt his heart sink as he heard the gate open and a set of footsteps coming his way.
"Colt, not now," he hissed. But it didn’t help; a moment later, he was swallowed up in a pair of strong arms. He kept his eyes closed, felt Colt’s nose bump against his temple, smelled his grassy scent and lavender pomade.
It did warm him. He wanted to be patient. And yet, Porco couldn’t help what came out of his mouth next: "So now you don’t care who sees, huh?"
"Porco," Colt warned under his breath. He shifted; placed his chin on the top of Porco’s head.
"No." Porco shook him off and stepped back. "Colt, I don’t wanna deal with your self-serving shit right now." He curled his fists, felt heat rise to his head. "I’ve got more important things going on than dealing with you. I want to be with my family right now. I just ate the Jaw, and I’m— I’m bringing Marcel home!"
Colt’s mouth fell open. "What?" He looked stricken with surprise. Or fear? Porco didn’t quite understand the reaction. And no wiser did he feel, when Colt’s shock morphed into an expression of anger.
"Why didn’t you tell me you were becoming a shifter?!"
"It was none of your business?"
Colt began pacing. Looked like he was fighting against something on the inside. "Just like that? Why so soon?" He looked over his shoulders at the guards, grabbed Porco and began pushing him up the trail, out of earshot. "Why didn’t you wait for me? Why didn’t you—"
The entitlement set Porco’s mind ablaze. "Why should I?! Why do I have to take you into consideration? It’s not like I’m your boyfriend or anything!" He was trembling. Met his best friend’s widened eyes with a hateful glare.
"…"
"That’s right. You heard me. You don’t get to cherry pick when I belong to you and not."
"I don’t cherry pick. You’re always my best friend!"
"But nothing more, right?" Porco slapped Colt’s hands away. "Why are you best friends with a ‘freak’, anyways?"
"Porco…"
"No, really! And since I’m such a freak, why did you kiss me?"
Colt did a sharp intake of breath and gave Porco a fast, hard shove. "Shut up!"
It was like setting fire to a wick. Porco felt the gunpowder in his guts begin to stir. Colt never — never —… Colt just didn’t push back. He just never did. But now. Of all times? What right did he have to be upset right now?!
And when Colt looked over his shoulder again, to check if the guards had heard, Porco exploded: "My brother’s dead and all you care about is making sure nobody knows you have a hard-on for men?! How selfish are you?!"
Colt audibly gasped. He turned back and began forcing him up the trail. "Shut up, Porco! Don’t—"
"Why should I?!" His vision was fogging over. "Why should I care?!"
"This is a nightmare," Colt whispered under his breath. He was kicking up stones as he kept pushing Porco backwards. "Porco, I care! Ok? I care about Marcel and I care about you! Just please—!"
Porco got up on the cobblestones and dug his heels in there. He grabbed Colt by the hair, and stood fighting not to knee him. "What kind of caring friend says he’ll stay with me until I feel better, only to leave as soon as his mother comes knocking?"
"I stayed over four days! Nobody cares as much about you as I do, believe me," Colt said, looking on the verge of tears. "You’re the one who doesn’t give a shit, it turns out."
"About what?" His fists were trembling. He needed to murder someone but he didn’t want it to be Colt.
"About us! About me…"
"What a selfish thing to say," Porco said. With effort, he let his hands sink.
"… You’re going to die." Colt’s voice was a ghost, a breathless whisper. "Before me. I’m going to outlive you. Live to lose you…"
"It’s not like I had a choice, Colt." He crossed his arms. Frowned and watched as his friend doubled over to hug his stomach. "Besides," he said. "It’s an honor to be a shifter. You should be happy for me. That’s what a best friend would be."

He’d left after that. Colt hadn’t argued further, and Porco was getting a headache. Not to mention, he had his own troubles to deal with. Such as not feeling like he had Marcel there with him. What would his parents say?
All he saw, was flashes of a blonde girl that gave him the echo of a warm feeling in his chest. He was sure the woman — Ymir — had cared a lot for this girl.
He didn’t give a shit.
It just made his knuckles whiter with anger. He didn’t care about those devils. They were all going to be eradicated anyways, as soon as Marley took over that island. As they should be. The people of his demonic forefathers…
"Damn it," he mumbled under his breath. Took a deep breath before stepping up to the front door. His hand on the handle.
Please let mom be better today…
But his dad was the only one in the living room. "What’s wrong?" the man asked as soon as Porco came up to him. And that’s when Porco broke. He hung his head and stepped in — leaned on his toes like he wasn’t sure, before falling with all his weight into his father’s arms, who gave him a tight hug.
"D-dad," he sobbed. "I got the jaw. I got it…"
"The—… Marcel’s titan? When?"
"I just got it. Today. I just got back…" He shook. Cried. Like he hadn’t done since that Sunday. He’d been so empty. But now it was coming back. The pain, the feeling of being powerless to do anything. "I can’t see anything from him! It’s just— j-just some stupid girl. The one who stole it from him—" He hunched over crying.
"Sweetheart?"
Mom?
He let up. Heard his father speak above him: "Honey…"
Porco turned to see: his mother was standing in the door to the hall, a thin figure. Dark under the eyes, face drawn, hair a mess, a duvet over her shoulders. "What’s the matter, sweetheart?" she rasped. Her voice was almost gone. But when she held her arms out, she looked like herself. And Porco went to hug her. Wasted no time; just hugged her. "You’re out of bed," he cried.
She stroked his back, held him to her chest. "Sweetheart… did something upset you at work?"
"Porco got the jaw," his father said, coming closer.
"I wanted to bring him home. B-but…"
"Such… wonderful news," his mother gave him a weak squeeze. "Did you… get his memories?"
Porco pulled back and tried to wipe his face. "N-no. But I’m sure—… I’ll probably remember… They said it usually takes time. It just… takes time."
"Oh… I see." She tried to smile but the disappointment wasn’t well hidden.
Porco looked away, couldn’t take the way it stung. Began digging in his pocket. Pulled out a letter, wiped his nose with his sleeve and handed it to his dad. "Just some info… A-and, about the Mid-East-thing."
"Mid-East-thing?" his mother echoed.
Porco turned to her. Wiped his hands on his thighs. "They… uh… they’ve declared war on us. Somehow they heard about us losing—… losing Marcel. And the others…"
"Oh… such bad news… Will you… be sent out there?"
"Yes. B-but it won’t be an undercover mission. Don’t worry, mom. We’ll be helping the marine a little, but they’ll take most of the heat… so…"
"Have you talked to Braun yet? Did he say anything more? Did he explain? I still don’t understand…"
Porco frowned. He tried to signal for them to sit down. But they all just stood… like they’d forgotten how to interact. Be human. Be a family. "He’s still in custody. But he might be sent out with us."
His father lifted his head from the letter. "In two days? It says ‘in two days’."
Porco nodded. "… In two days."

That night he had a terrible dream. A monster grew out of the ground and grabbed him. Reiner was there. For some reason, Porco shoved him out of the way. Wanted to save him. Felt responsible for him.
The last thing he saw, was big, jagged teeth coming down around him, he heard the crunsh or bone, felt an icy pain numb him and his vision turned to black.
He woke up dizzy and breathless, feeling like he’d been trying to scream with a crushed rib cage. But then he realized where he was: in his bed, in his room. Safe. Alive. He reached for his night light. Flicked it on with a shivering hand, and grabbed for — anything — to distract himself. The disjointed, scribbled letter Falco had come over to give him that evening. After dinner. Like some sort of errand boy.
"It’s from Colt," he’d said. Looking like he didn’t quite know what to think of it, only that his brother was worrying him.
He read it again:

Porco,
I know you didn’t have a choice, but maybe you could have asked to postpone it a little. The thief still had a few years left of her term and maybe they could have trained her. She gave herself up willingly so it wasn’t a matter of eating her before she could run off.
I just wish you’d tried. That you’d thought of us a little. How could you give away six of our years together so easily? Why didn’t you fight for them? I thought you liked me. And you’re right, you’re not my boyfriend. But I don’t want   I feel like we’re more than that What we have is more important special and I don’t need to have a girlfriend as long as it’s us I have you as my friend. Because it’s always been just us and that’s the best part of my life.
And it just hurts that now you’re going to die and leave me alone for six years. It hurts. And I know Marcel is your brother and you care about him a lot. But we had a future. Me and you. And now it’s shorter.
I don’t know what I’m trying to say
I’m happy for you. I know getting a titan was important to you. More important than me, apparently. So you deserve it. And I deserve to suffer the loss of you I guess? I’m worth the sacrifice.

Zeke told me you’re going to train with Pieck before we leave, so I’ll see you on the boat on Wednesday I guess. Good luck.

PS: I love   I love I meant that thing I said to you a month ago. You didn’t say it back so I guess you don’t care, though.

PPS: Don’t show this letter to anyone.

Yours,
C.

Porco laid his head back on his pillow. Mulled the letter over, like he’d done for hours before bed. He still couldn’t decide if it was sweet or insulting. A bit of both? Colt obviously couldn’t put himself in Porco’s shoes.
But if nothing else, it was getting his heart rate down.
He sighed and read the crossed-out lines again by shining the light through the back of the letter. Colt obviously loved him. This was the closest thing to an explicit confession he’d given. … It was the nature of the love Porco couldn’t quite grasp, however.
"Don’t show this to anyone," he mumbled, and crumpled it up. "Asshole…"

Chapter Text

850

Zeke was giving him that look again. This was the fifth time Colt had looked up to catch his mentor staring, and it was beginning to make him nervous. Make him feel as though Zeke could hear the argument playing on repeat in his head. It had been loud and unrelenting all class, as clear as any real voice. Making it impossible to focus. Why do I have to take you into consideration? It’s not like I’m your boyfriend or anything! — You don’t get to cherry-pick when I belong to you and not! — How selfish are you?!
…I’m going to outlive you.
He closed his book and cleared his throat, trying to drown out the voices. "Is there something?" he asked, wanting to sound unfazed.
"Indeed…" Zeke leaned on his arms across his desk. "Say, Grice, are you in a hurry to head home today?"
"Not particularly. Why?"
"And you haven’t been to my quarters before, have you?"
"… No?"
"Well, then. You need to slouch a little." Zeke stood up, threw his jacket over his shoulder and shoved a thick folder under his arm. And when Colt remained seated, looking confused, he added: "Comfier seating there. Follow me."

His quarters were big, but crowded with things; piles of books on the floor, maps scattered around. All around were frames on the walls. Diplomas and real, actual, photo-camera pictures. One side was completely made up of windows, however: tall, with a view leading into a backyard area below, where officers were walking to and from or smoking by a bench area. So, this was where the important people could be found between meetings… Colt hadn’t even been aware there was a yard in the middle of base.
Inside was a lavish sofa, thick curtains with ruffles, a liquor cabinet — and even a gramophone!
It was like stepping into a rich man’s house.
There was a door at the other end of the room from where they came in. It was ajar, and through it, Colt saw a strip of light hit the end of a bed post.
"You live here?" he asked quietly, passing a photograph of a black-and-white man with a baseball bat shaking a kid’s hand. He took a seat by the table in the middle of the room.
His mentor closed the entrance behind them. "When it’s busy. Have a s— not at the table! The sofa, kid. The sofa."
Like a fire cracker, Colt shot back off the wooden chair to move to the sofa instead. He sank into the deep, velvet cushions and felt small. Felt swallowed up. The way his stomach had been swallowing itself since Porco ran home today, a doomed man.
Zeke stuffed the horn of the gramophone with a red-stitched ball and cast Colt a glance. "… Alright. Tell me."
"… Tell you?"
He threw the jacket and folder on the table and went to grab a bottle from the cabinet. "You haven’t been able to focus all day. Tell me why."
"N-no, I have. I’ve been paying attention."
Zeke poured a glass and handed it to him. Then grabbed a chair and pulled it up in front of him. "Oh, you have, have you? Tell me the battle plan, then?"
"Uh— all of it?"
Zeke poured himself one and nodded, crossing his legs.
"Well…" Colt held his drink between his hands, fidgeting with the crystal. "Two days from now, we board and head south-east with the marine to meet the Allies' fleet. We hope to catch them before Needle Point, so we can block them off from reaching too far north."
"Yes, but the strategy, Colt."
Colt felt his face flush. "The marine will try to push the Allied forces closer to shore, where our military’s dropped off to open fire from land. And you, Pieck and Porco will try to deal damage from land as well?"
Zeke nodded but he didn’t look too pleased. "The Allies' fleet is much stronger than the Marleyan. There’s no way we can beat the Mid-East in the water. So, we’ll need to play them a trick or two…" He emptied his glass in one and poured himself a second serving. "But you don’t care right now. So, tell me… How did you feel when you heard about Porco getting the Jaw?"
Colt’s head shot up. The lump in his throat prevented him from talking for a moment, so he had a gulp of his drink and returned to staring stiffly into the glass. The heat of the liquid running down his throat prickled, like the burn of nettle. It washed the lump down. "… Being granted a titan is the highest honor an eldian can receive—"
"—Colt."
"I don’t know! Does it matter?"
"It does when it affects your ability to focus on the coming war."
Colt twisted uncomfortably in the big sofa. Somehow, he felt less at ease here, now, than in the classroom. He felt exposed.
And when he didn’t say anything, Zeke sighed deeply. He crossed his legs the other way over and coughed into his drink. "Look, I know Porco’s special to you. I don’t— it’s not exactly a secret. Alright? And by all means, do whatever you want together."
Colt felt the heat creep higher up his forehead. He closed his eyes and knocked back half the glass.
"… But in your own time. You hear? You gotta be professional about it. And right now, I need you at your best, more than ever."
Colt’s knees lifted. He wanted to pull them to his chest, to try and squeeze the nausea away. But he stopped himself. His hands shook as he finished his glass, feeling that alluring haze growing at the back of his mind. Like embers. Alcohol was his newfound escape.
… Yet, it was nowhere near overtaking the shame that still laid like a rock in him. It was heavy and jagged. He wanted it out so bad. It was painful carrying it around, keeping it inside, never telling…
But Zeke knew — that much was obvious. And while Colt could never truly tell what his mentor was thinking, he definitely didn’t seem to judge. So… if there was such a person as someone he could open up to, maybe Zeke was it?
For a fleeting moment, he met Zeke's eyes and felt his own heart jump. "It’s like…" he began, swallowing hard. When Zeke held out the bottle, he accepted a second serving. "It’s like… there’s two people inside of me," he said, leaning back, playing with the glass. Palms damp. "Do you… understand?"
His mentor shifted in his seat. "Why don’t you explain it to me?"
And perhaps it was the drink, but in his bravery, Colt replied: "Have you ever felt like you wanted to kiss someone but also you didn’t…?"
The moment he’d said it, the nausea shot up into his throat and he chased it down with another big gulp of drink.
Zeke snorted. "Colt,—"
But Colt interrupted him: "I’m not—!… like him. Ok? But… also… I just… don’t know what to do about him."
"Do you have to do anything? And stop drinking so fast, you can’t handle it."
"…"
"Look, teenage romance has always been a rite of passage. You need to relax more. If one part of you wants to explore a little, why not? As far as I remember, he said he likes you, didn’t he?"
Colt rushed another gulp, one leg jumping nervously.
"I said take it easy on the drink, I still need you to look over the plans with me." Zeke leaned forward and put a hand on his shoulder. "I say get it over with and kiss him. Was that all of it? You’re love-sick? I would’ve thought… Oh well."
The chime of the bell struck from above them and reverberated through the walls. They must be directly beneath it. Class was officially out. For a fleeting moment, Colt’s eyes sought the windows, like he was looking for Porco on his way towards the gate. Then his heart sank as the status of things came back to him.
Zeke stood up. Opened the folder labeled ‘Operation Needle’ and began spreading its papers out across the table. "Alright then. If that’s out of the way, let’s go over this one more time…"
Colt watched him. Watched his shoulder blades move under his shirt. He felt fuzzy and warm, but still heavy. "Mister Zeke," he mumbled. "I already did… Sort of."
"Hm?" His mentor looked back at him. "Already did what?"
"Kissed him…" he breathed, touching his mouth. The ice in his gut was slowly battling the heat of the drink in him. He shivered, trying to suppress — all the while longing back to — the memory of the beach a month ago… "Or, really, I just let him kiss me. I didn’t move or anything… But that isn’t the problem," he added, after a bit.
"Ok, go on. What’s the problem, then?" Zeke turned, leaning against the table, drink at his chin.
"…The problem is he’s going to die before me now," Colt said. His gut did a lurch. "I thought he wasn’t getting one. I thought we’d be together…"
Zeke nodded knowingly. "Try to look at it this way: it’s still thir—"
"—And he didn’t even care!" He pushed himself upright in a sudden burst of force, a momentary fire. He stood and glared into space, legs unsteady. "He just— took it! Didn’t even think to ask me. Like he doesn’t want a future with me. Can you imagine?" His eyes sought and held Zeke’s. His edges were a little less solid than they’d been earlier. "I care more about my future with the freak, than the freak cares about his future with me!"
"Please don’t talk that way with me, Colt. Other people might fall for it but I won’t. You care for him, don’t call him names."
Colt let the air go out of him, went to drink but realized his glass was empty again somehow. "I’m sorry," he mumbled. He bit his lip, sucked on it, lost in thought. "Have you ever felt like this?"
"Like what?" Zeke came over and took the glass from him. Lead him to the table to sit. "You can have more later."
Colt slumped over with his elbows on the papers. "Like you want to be close to a boy."
Zeke sighed. "Sure." He patted Colt on the shoulder and remained standing.
"Really?"
"Sure. Now, Colt… I need you to listen carefully."
Colt looked up at him, eyelids heavy but head boiling with curiosity. Zeke had liked a boy, too?
"In less than six years from now, you’ll inherit the Beast from me. Which means you’ll finish your term less than six years after Galliard. All you’re losing between yourselves is six years. Not even."
Colt slowly leaned back against the backrest, staring up at him. "Six years is a lot when you miss somebody… What happened to the boy you liked?"
"If six years is a long time, then thirteen years together must be an astounding amount of time in comparison, though, right?"
"… I suppose..."
Colt wondered if the boy Zeke had loved, had died before they could be together...
His mentor began pacing, looking at the papers while he talked. "Good. So instead of getting caught up in all the time you’ll be apart, you should focus on the time you have together. Thirteen years."
"…"
"How about this: write him a letter to tell him how you feel. Hm?" He adjusted one of the papers and tilted his head to read.
"… I'm not like him, though. It's different," Colt mumbled.
"I didn’t say you were. But you care for him and it’s getting to your head. If it’s hard to talk in person, a letter can help… Remember: if you don’t get your head out of your ass somehow — and soon — you’re doomed to make a blunder out there and cut your time together very short and bloody indeed. Don’t forget, this is war."

*

It was dark before Colt finally came crashing into the hall at home, cheeks wet and nose red. Kicking off his muddy shoes with effort. His vision was blurry and his body was numb. Code names and numbers were buzzing around in his head like mental bees.
Sixty ships — one hundred ships. Ten military units, two transport ships, two hours ahead, five hundred sacks of sand.
Sometimes the mental bees stung, too — especially the ones about Porco. He was part of the shifter unit now. Doomed to die before he’d even turn 30. Colt’s dear, dear best friend. That he’d sort of kissed! And told Zeke about! Oh boy…
The strategy talk had been fine at first. Motivating, even. And tonight, Colt was going to write Porco that letter. Just put it all out there.
But the more Zeke had talked about Porco, the more of Colt’s nausea had returned.
As the Jaw, Porco would be jumping onto enemy ships from shore, ordered to aim his claws at their canons first. Then, to make sure the sides of the ships were pierced.
… But what if Porco got stuck somehow, and sank with one? Or took critical damage to the neck before he could wipe out their artillery? What could Colt do to help him then? All he could do, was spend his ammo from shore and hope for the best, and that wasn’t enough.
… He was reminded of the way Porco had accepted his fate so willingly. So eagerly. He didn’t see what Colt saw at all. That the honor of inheriting a titan, was the same as signing off on your own death sentence. Your early death by military predetermined.
Colt didn’t have a choice. It was ‘become war chief or your family’s tried for treason’. He was resigned to die young in order to save the rest of them. But Porco? He could have kept his head down and it wouldn’t have made a difference. And Marcel had already granted them status, besides.
Colt grunted. Pushed off the wall and tried wrestling his overcoat off. Two extra hands helped him do it.
"Are you sick? Oh!"
Where had Falco come from? Colt squinted at the tiny figure fuzzing around him to fix the knocked over things. "What are you doing?"
"Shhh, mom's in bed, she has a migrene."
A moment later, the blond little boy was leading him up the swaying staircase. It felt as though they were already on a boat, the way Colt had to lean on him in order not to lose his balance. "You're so special," he sniffled. "You know that? At— at least I'll have you. You're safe. You're staying home for phase one."
"I know," Falco panted, dragging him upstairs in a hurry, down the hall, and finally shoving him onto his bed. "But mom said you weren’t allowed to have alcohol again after last time, so try not to let her hear you, ok?"
"I didn’t have that— that much…" Colt hiccoughed and rolled over on his back, wiping his eyes. He felt clear in the head, but the ceiling above him was spinning. "I have to write a letter."
Falco laid down next to him and tried to keep him down by holding around him. "Why are you crying?"
"I’m not," Colt sniffled.
"Did you argue with Porco again?"
Colt’s windpipe closed up with emotion. Alcohol tended to have a way of making a whirlwind of things for him. "What would I do without you?" he choked.
Falco held his big brother tigether. "Play with Porco more often," he suggested."But why are you sad?"
"I’m just sad."
"I know... Did you argue with him?"
Colt shook his head no, then slowly yes. Despite the meek restraint, he managed to pushed himself back into a seated position, sighing. "But Zeke says to write him a letter…"
Falco sat up too. "What kind of letter?"
"… About… how I feel. About things." Colt burped and pulled his knees up, hugging them, swaying. He stared into space, then began crying openly.
Falco jumped at the sudden outburst and hugged his arm. "Colt," he pleaded, "don’t cry!"
"I f-feel so disgusting."
"Why?"
"And I’m so angry."
"Angry? Colt,… please tell me. I promise I won’t tell mom. I-is it because you like Porco?"
"Apparently he doesn’t care about me a-anyways," Colt cried, hiding his face behind his knees. "I don’t know what to write. B-because what’s the point now?"
Falco kept clinging to him. "Please don’t cry. I’ll help you write. What do you want to say? I know you always say big brothers are supposed to help little brothers, but little brothers can help big brothers too."
Colt shook his head. "It’s not that easy… He’s… he doesn’t care s-so nothing good can come of it. Besides, he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t— understand." He rubbed his face hard. Then he swallowed and shimmied out of Falco’s hug to stand up. He staggered to his desk, grabbed a pen and some paper. "… I know he didn’t have a choice… b-but it’s like he didn’t even try…" He sniffed.
"What do you mean?"
"I just—… I wish…"
I wish it could all go away. The coming war, Porco’s curse, everything holding me back.
He stood hunched over the desk, scribbling, wiping his cheeks.
"Colt," Falco whimpered. He came up next to him and hugged him around the waist. "What are you going to tell him?"
"That I’m happy for him."
"About what? But you’re sad!"
"That he chose what he wanted. It just wasn’t me."
Falco stood on his toes to try and read, but Colt blocked him with his elbow.
"… You should tell him you like him back. Please don’t say he’s a freak again!"
Colt tried pushing him off. "Even if things could be different… like h-how I wish—… " He hunched further over the letter.
‘I love’—
No, he shouldn’t.
‘I love’—
What was it good for now? What was it good for, loving someone if they were going to die? He could lose everything — his status, the Beast, his family’s honor, his mother’s love, in worst case all their lives — and then he’d lose Porco on top of it! What would be left to show for it?
"I don’t like him, ok? But even if I did—… Even then, so what? It’s gone! Even if I were to give up e-everything… There’s nothing to run to now."
"Colt," Falco said, sounding scared. "You want to run away?"
"No. There’s nothing to run to." He stuffed the letter in an envelope and handed it to him. "Can you give this to him?"
"Right now?"
Colt nodded. The room spun faster because of it. He staggered back to bed and collapsing on the mattress. "I won’t get to see him before we head off," he mumled against his pillow. "Unless I ditch my last meeting tomorrow, and I can’t do that… Besides. There’s nothing more to say now. He chose." He wiped his face with the duvet.
Oh, brother, how the world was spinning.
He closed his eyes and thought he felt a hand on his forehead, but wasn’t sure. Then he heard the door close and the room fell dark.
This wasn’t good enough. Deep down, he knew it wasn’t.
He curled up, holding his stomach.
…If we die out there, is this really the last thing I want to say to him?
As the answer appeared to him, so did the knowledge of what he had to do…

Chapter Text

850

A dizzy swirl of heat and deep red. The sensation reminded Porco faintly of summers as a child, when his mother would boil water in a barrel in the backyard, to give him and Marcel hot baths before bed.
This was about the same feeling — of being submerged to the neck in something a little too warm and heavy. Only, this didn’t feel good natured at all; this was invasive.
Transforming felt like being swallowed where he stood, like the flesh of a breathing mass grew all around him, pushed itself on him from all sides. Till he was trapped inside the beating, hungry thing. The wet, fleshy wires that grew into his neck, into his cheeks, his scalp and skull: chaining him to the monstrous body. Connecting him to it. His consciousness like ripples in a barrel: pushing outward, reaching every edge of his new, extended shape.
Porco hadn’t expected shifting to be so terrifying.
Yet, perhaps, most terrifying of all: how seamless it none the less felt. Like it was as natural as lifting a hand and pointing. Such, he could will himself into this encapsulating prison with the blink of an eye. Like he’d always had it in him.
In a way, it felt like his rage incarnate. That’s how he pushed through the discomfort of it. Because past the claustrophobia, he could still kick and claw, punch and growl — with no restraints. Moreover: all of it, he did better with the suit than without. He felt powerful in it. Dangerous.
… And equally weak coming out of it.
"How do you do it?" he panted, crawling away from the steaming carcass after his second transformation of the day, collapsing on the sand. His limbs felt like jellyfish.
Titan training had to happen away from base — at a designated beach along the coast — and right now, he thought he could feel the ocean lap away at his shoes, but he couldn’t for the life of him move his legs out of the way.
Pieck stood over him with her hands on her knees, smiling a bit too satisfied for his liking. "Same way you do it, silly. How was it? You’re getting a feel for it now, I can tell. Just… work on your precision a little."
"I could control it fine," he growled. Even though she was right. He rolled over on his back. True, he had unfathomable strength in him now, but he still needed some fine tuning before he had full control of how much kick was needed to jump so and so high or so and so far. And sometimes, when he practiced pouncing targets, his palms would land in the sand with the strawmen poking up between his fingers, unscathed. What if he’d miss the canons at a critical moment out at sea? This time tomorrow, they could already be coming upon the enemy fleet and people would rely on him to protect them…
Truth be told, he hadn’t spared it a thought at all — this fact that two days to master a titan was a lot to ask — but today he was becoming painfully aware.
Pieck hauled him upright by his arms and propped her crutch under his armpit. "Don’t look so beaten, we’ve got plenty of hours left. Did you see alright?"
"Yeah…"
She lead him over to some rocks to sit on. "Good. Sometimes it can be a bit foggy. At least for me. Means you’re exhausted. Just remember to give yourself plenty of time to re-energize and you should be good. A sandwich can do wonders for that." She rummaged the backpack next to the rocks. "I made extra."
Porco mumbled a thanks and reached back to feel his neck. He still wasn’t used to the deep grooves the Jaw left him with. The exposed tissue. The whizzing, sizzling steam as he slowly healed. His human jaw was especially numb after the fact. He didn’t dare feel that part.

"But you feel alright, right? Mobility is tip-top?" Pieck continued her questioning as they ate.
Porco just nodded.
Pieck was the more talkative of them, no doubt. It was odd how that changed from person to person: With Colt, Porco was usually the more active talker, while with Pieck, he had a tendency to turn inward. She was good company, definitely… but she was also the captain of whatever ship she decided to set sail.
So, too, now — as she set another one on the water: "I’ve been meaning to ask, by the way… I noticed you didn’t walk to base with Colt today. Is everything alright between you two?"
Porco shrugged, mumbled an "I’dunno" and took another bite to avoid elaborating.
It was a good question. Was everything alright between them? He honestly couldn’t tell; Colt was impossible to figure out at times. And his letter hadn’t exactly been clear in its message, either. He loved Porco, yet he was adamant he didn’t like boys? It was "them", yet they weren’t boyfriends?
"C’mon. Tell me." She poked him in the side. "I heard he got piss-drunk with Zeke after hours yesterday." She snorted. "Are you the one to blame?"
He coughed and covered his mouth to talk: "How can I be the one to blame if he decides to chug that shit?"
She shrugged and said a mocking "I’dunno."
"You asked me last time, too. Colt just likes getting drunk, ok? There’s nothing more to it."
"So defensive." She stretched, hands over her head, and yawned. "Look, I just hate seeing you miserable, Pock. You looked like a lost puppy arriving alone today."
He finished his sandwich and brushed crumbs off his lap. "Don’t call me that. And Colt just wasn’t home, ok? He’s got double the regular meetings. I won’t see him till we board tomorrow."
Pieck nodded and they fell silent. It didn’t feel like case closed, though; Porco had a distinct feeling her mind was working, even if her mouth was closed. So he stood up in his wet shoes, began stretching his legs and said: "… he had Falco hand me a letter last night."
She perked up. "So he did write you! What’d he say?"
"Wait, how do you know he wrote me?"
She giggled and gave him a wink.
"What’s that supposed to mean?"
"I’dunno," she said, impersonating him again. "But what’d he say?"
Porco shook his head. "Whatever." He kicked a small rock across the sand with his slowly strengthening legs. "He said a bunch of shit. I don’t know… He said he loved me?"
"A love confession?!" She jumped off her seat. "So he is in love with you!"
"I don’t know."
"You don’t know? But you just said…"
"Yeah, he wrote ‘I love’ and then crossed it out." He gave an annoyed growl at the thought. "But besides, even if he hadn’t crossed it out, love and in love are two different things."
"But you kissed?"
Porco shrugged. "What do you want from me? I’ve told you I don’t know. I don’t know if he’s doing that stuff to string me along or what. Maybe he feels obligated, I don’t know. He says he’s not like me — so maybe he isn’t." His mood was rapidly nosediving.
Pieck tilted her head and gave him a sad smile. "So maybe it’s time to demand a straight forward answer? It’s cruel to keep you in a limbo like this."
He couldn’t argue with that. "The problem is he won’t talk."
Pieck ‘hmmm’ed. "How about this. A straight forward question for a straight forward answer. Tell him: ‘I want a boyfriend. Is that you, or should I find someone else?’ Tell him it’s one or the other. That you’re done waiting. He can’t lay claim to you forever, if he won’t actually claim you. So either he says yes and you’ll be boyfriends, or he says no and you’ll know once and for all that he’s not an option."
Porco thought about it. Kicked another rock towards the water. "I guess…"
The only problem was he didn’t want a ‘no’…
He gave a long sigh and said: "But I’ll cross that bridge once I get to it. I’m ready to go again." His head was pounding; he had to focus. After all, war gave you no do-overs. So he rolled his neck and threw the crutch. "Get the targets back up. I’ll hit all of them this time."

*

Their shadows were long by the time they finally returned to base. The evening sky was hot orange. From port came the endless barking of voices, as the navy’s last ships laid anchor. Tomorrow they’d be heading out. Into actual war… It was beginning to feel real now.
With his back to the low sun and his head in a haze, Porco told Pieck goodbye outside the boys’ locker room — and then that was that. He couldn’t speak for Pieck — she looked well enough — but he was beat. As the door closed behind him, his shoulders sank and he let out a deep sigh; first session over with. Rough as shit.
He slung his bag down on the wall-length bench — and jumped when a figure moved at the other end of the room.
"Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you." Colt was standing up, but maintained his distance. He looked haggard: red under the eyes and his hair unkempt — like too many fingers had run through it today. His bangs had curled, the way they did when his forehead had been damp for too long. Probably from that hangover-sweat he always got. Porco didn’t understand the attraction Colt had to that shit, but he couldn’t be bothered to comment.
Honestly, he wasn’t sure if he was happy to see Colt here or not; he didn’t know where they stood. Was too knackered to pick a fight, besides — if that’s what Colt wanted. What was he doing here? "I thought you had meetings for another two hours or so…?"
Colt bowed his head. Apparently, he wasn’t sure where they stood either, judging by his demeanor. "Zeke gave me leave. I’m not allowed to speak when the board is present anyways." He was fingering one of the black straps on the front of his uniform — like he was trying to readjust it, even though it was perfectly in place. "And I’ve got something to sort out," he added in a mumble. "Listen," he said and drew a long breath. But then he didn’t say anything.
Porco just stood. Heard the slow drip from the showers around the corner, took notice of Colt’s labored breath. Was he nervous?
When Colt still didn’t say anything, Porco said: "… Anyways, what was the point of your letter yesterday? That I'm the asshole for getting my brother back?"
Colt’s throat clicked. "That’s why I’m here, actually… I shouldn’t have—… I’m sorry I sent it."
"Because you were hammered? Yeah, I heard about that. What's that thing about hearing the truth from kids and drunk people again...?"
"Porco..."
Porco shoved his hands in his pockets and tilted his jaw up. "What? You can have a do-over right now, if you want." A part of him ached whenever he pulled the hard exterior on Colt. Just hours ago, he’d felt like a needy fool — desperate for Colt’s ‘yes’ — yet, now that he had him here, he couldn’t help but fall back on his anger for support. He couldn’t explain it. And it bothered him. It always had. But he was no closer to taming it now than he’d been as a child.
And seeing Colt shrink under his glare filled him with a painful sort of satisfaction.
Yeah, you better feel bad, you selfish prick. You knew how much Marcel means to me, and still you couldn’t be happy for me. Your letter was full of shit.
"Um…" His friend took a deep breath and stopped fidgeting. "I just wanted to say that—…" He blinked. Looked like he was gathering strength. "…I love you."
Porco felt his heart ache. Of course he knew there was more to the letter than accusations. But even the sweet parts were overshadowed; by how Colt would cross them out, the same way he'd always censored himself in person. The implied shame of it gave Porco a bitter taste in his mouth.
'Don't show this to anyone'...
Sure, this was the second time Colt had said he loved him now — actually taken the step to say it. But Porco didn't know where it was leading. What did it mean? Love could be so many things and he wasn't about to put down his guard just yet, only to be hurt and disappointed again. He had a limit, too.
So he tilted his chin more and said a purposefully unimpressed: "And?"
But to his surprise, Colt’s face began twisting in what looked like sudden despair. Like he'd pushed exactly the button he shouldn't have.
"Why don’t you ever say it back?"
Alarmed, Porco pulled his hands out of his pockets and jogged across the room to him. He wanted to— something! Grab him? Hug him? He didn't know what was right to do — because he was still afraid. But he said: "I’m sorry, Colt. I love you too, you idiot."
It was the truth, after all.
"Then why won’t you ever say it?" Colt began wringing his hands like he didn’t know how to process whatever emotion was eating him up. "This wouldn’t be so hard if I knew how you felt."
Porco’s heart was picking up a pace now: was Colt finally talking? He came even closer. Took Colt's hands in his to stop him fidgeting. "You know I love you, Colt," he mumbled. "I just don’t want to get hurt. I don’t know what it means, you know? When you say you love me? Does it mean you’re in love with me, the way I’m in love with you? …Colt?"
Colt was swallowing with difficulty. Like his words were stuck in his throat again. "It just means I love you," he managed to squeeze out. "And I just wanted to tell you before we leave… Because I don’t want to—… I don’t want to die without having told you… You’re the only one. To me, it’s always been us. I don’t want to— It’s not… It’s just us. It’s us. And I wanted to ask if you felt the same way, because it doesn’t seem that way when you don’t care that we’ve got so little time left."
Of course Porco cared. He didn't understand what the big issue was; Colt had said it himself: it hadn't been in Porco's power to object to the honor. He'd been assigned a titan and that was that. But... "What does ‘it’s us’ mean, though?" He was stroking Colt’s cheek. How a guy could look so soft and so strong at the same time, he'd often wondered. Colt was beautiful. Even when he put Porco through agony.
"…"
They both must have needed the comfort, though, because by the time Porco even realized, they were standing nose to nose. The way they'd lie in bed at home with no one watching.
"Colt...?"
In the absence of communication, their hands began ghosting across each other’s arms. Wanting to hold without knowing how. Colt was pressing his lips together so tightly they were white. His jaw tensing every time he swallowed. When Porco tried to catch his eyes, they darted away, settling on Porco’s collarbone instead.
"Colt, what do you mean by ‘it’s us’?" He was whispering now, afraid that if he spoke any louder, he’d scare his friend away again. And when Colt’s fingers ran along his neck and settled on the side of his face, he tried not to move at all. It felt good. Really good. Colt's thumb caressing his cheekbone.
"It’s," his soft, strong friend began — his voice, too, at a whisper. But just then, their bottom lips brushed together — and perhaps he felt the sting of electricity too — because not a second later, Colt’s lips parted and his mouth pressed hot against Porco’s.
It was like a jolt: Porco cupped the back of Colt’s head and kissed him back, fast and hard. A little desperately, perhaps. Until he realized Colt wasn’t pulling back; no, with every move of their heads, Colt’s lips only followed — seeking Porco’s mouth again and again. Needing.
Their movements slowed down. Became safer and bolder at the same time.
Porco’s mind was hazing over again, and his heart was in his throat, as they pushed against each other, seeking that closeness. Their stomachs together, their tongues colliding. Sharing one breath.
This was different to the peck they’d shared at the lake: this was them melting together. Moving — soft and wet — together.
It was the shared experience of it — the mutual hunger — finally it was mutual!
They came apart and the cold air filled the space between their lips as they panted. It was icy; felt like it was only a matter of time before they’d need to come together again. Like being naked in a snowstorm; they needed the other’s warmth to fucking survive.
"I love you," Porco huffed. Colt’s eyes darted to meet his for just a second. But it was enough. Right now it was enough.
Porco leaned in again, closing the distance just to feel him once more. The taste of ungodly amounts of meeting room-coffee wasn’t a bother; he was sure his own morning mint had worn off long ago — it didn’t matter. It was the excitement of it. The way Colt’s fingers dug into his back as he struggled to find a grip that met his needs. The way he was pulling at Porco’s shirt a moment later. His fingers on the inside of the fabric, grabbing at his muscles. Sending heatwaves across Porco’s body.
"I want a boyfriend," Porco panted, moving his head back just to say it.
Colt didn’t answer. Just followed his mouth like he had no time to waste on words, hands coming around to run up his abs.
Porco separated them again: "Be my boyfriend."
Still no answer.
Porco had to cup his face to hold him back. "Be my boyfriend, Colt."
"...You know I’m not like that."
Porco pursed his lips. Not this again. The haze began to ebb. He reached underneath his shirt and held Colt’s hands in place where they’d found their way to his chest. "Then what’s this, hm?" he asked, talking slowly just to try and keep the cool he so slowly felt slipping. "You’re feeling me up." Surely Colt could feel his heart. He wasn't about to feel the way Porco's heart beat for him — and then reject him again anyway, right?
"I’m not—"
"—And you seriously think I can’t feel your hard-on when you push up against me like that?" The bubbling, frightened anger...
Colt’s cheeks flushed like blooming roses and he yanked his hands away, backing up. "It’s not like that. You’re not listening."
"...I’m tired of waiting," Porco said in a white-hot cool. His heart was sinking so fast it was experiencing pressure sickness. "I want a boyfriend. Is that you? Yes or no."
"But why do you want a boyfriend so bad? That’s what I don’t get! I thought me and you were enough!"
"We are! That’s why I want you!" His temples were drumming in that old familiar way. He reached up to rub at them.
Don’t lose it now, Porco.
"But I’m not a freak," Colt squeaked.
And that was it. It was like a pop. Or a snap. Something in his head just went ‘phk!’ and his fist came up in a flash — like it had done so many times today. It felt almost like he was in his suit again, the way his rage was aflame.
What a stupid fucking idiot he’d been. Colt wasn’t coming around. How could he have thought something so stupid?!
But worse yet — Colt, you don’t even care who you hurt, do you? It’s always about you!
His knuckles connected with Colt’s brow bone and the back of his head slammed into the steel lockers. The doors rattled on their hinges as the guy slid down against them, ending up with his ass on the bench.
"You’re such a selfish, fucking asshole," Porco barked, massaging his wrist. Deep inside somewhere, he felt terrible. He’d never — never! — harmed Colt outside of training before. But at the same time, he’d never felt so powerlessly heartbroken. So infuriatingly disregarded. "I don’t want anybody else either, you fucking dimwit. But I want love! You get me?! I want someone to be in love with who’ll love me back! Who doesn’t call me a fucking freak! Do you even hear yourself?!"
Colt was looking up at him with fogged over, glassy eyes. It looked as though he was about to cry, but to Porco’s horror, he realized he couldn’t tell if the rapid reddening of his eye was due to emotion or swelling.
"I do love you," Colt was saying. "Why isn’t that enough?" He stood up. Stood swaying like he was drunk again.
"Sometimes I fucking hate you," Porco said, voice breaking. How could one guy make him feel so high and so low at one and the same time. Like he’d never been closer — and farther away — from what he daydreamed about?
Colt’s breathing was more labored now. And, damn it, Porco was downright nauseous looking at the rapid spread of purple across his nose and brow.
Never mind that he deserved it.
"Please," Colt mumbled. He blinked like he was struggling to keep his eyelid open. Reached out to hold onto Porco.
And Porco was too afraid to step away; just let Colt use him for support, even though it hurt to have him there — the guy he wanted to love — so close.
… Until Colt dove in to kiss him again — hard and erratically. Their noses bumped and Colt’s trembling fingers clambered onto Porco’s shirt collar with a desperation that almost scared him.
"Colt, what the fuck! No, fuck you, get off!" He shoved him off, and Colt sank back down on the bench.
His hands went to his swollen eye and he began rocking back and forth. "You always ruin it," he choked. "Why can’t we just be? Why won’t you kiss me unless I use the words you want me to use?"
"What’s the fucking difference?" Porco wanted to cry but kept it in. Instead, he brushed his shirt off furiously and went to grab his bag. He’d shower at home. "Maybe I just want someone who doesn’t think I’m a freak! When was that gonna occur to you?!"
Who was Colt to act like the victim? He was the one calling people names. He was the one toying with others’ emotions.
Yeah, Porco wanted to cry.
But he was too fucking proud.
He threw the bag over his shoulder and made sure the door slammed on his way out. The sun had sunk into the sea, leaving the sky blue in its abandonment.

Chapter Text

850

Colt was staring himself down in the hallway mirror while his mother fuzzed about his uniform. The hour was ungodly; if he hadn’t been up all night thinking, he’d probably still be half asleep right now. Instead he just felt half dead. First the hangover, and now a full night of sleepless ache. About how yesterday had turned out.
In the dim light, the massive bruise around his eye looked coal black. Though, up close, he’d seen a sheen of sickly purple and a faint, unnatural ring of green around the edges.
"Can you believe these creases? I ironed them last night! Ugh, Colt."
Behind his mother’s ponytail, which swung as she brushed him down, he watched his own ghost reflected back at him. Emotionless on the outside. A wreck on the inside.
It hurt. So bad. Not only because of the intense pressure behind his eye — like the eye itself was about to pop out of its socket — but also because… because…
It was all so hopeless.
He’d allowed for his true feelings to show for the first time in his life: he’d kissed a boy. Not passively allowed someone to kiss him, no; he had taken the initiative. The implication being that he had the interest.
Even to Zeke, he’d insisted he loved Porco without an interest.
‘I’m not like him’… Always: ‘I’m not like him’.
Well, he was. He was like Porco. He didn’t just like girls, like everybody else; he liked boys, too.
And he’d wanted to keep that fact locked away forever so bad: that would have been for the best, for his family. But instead, he’d let it out. For Porco. He’d given him honesty. True, unrestrained honesty.
… And it hadn’t been enough. Worse: he hadn’t been seen. Colt had bared his soul and been found wanting — by the one person he needed to understand him.
It had taken him all day yesterday — nerves in a sweaty knot — just to ask for that time off. The looks he’d been given hadn’t been pretty. It would probably cost him down the line. Just to follow through with his resolve. To dare show up at the lockers at all.
But he’d been brave. Powered through and given Porco all he was able to give, to set things straight before they went to war. The only thing he couldn’t quite do was say it. And frankly? He shouldn’t have to, because he was showing him, clear as day.
…Only to be punched in the face and called selfish.
That shameful secret he’d always felt like people could read in his face? Well, here it was. He bore the mark of it now.
And alright, so Colt shouldn’t have used that word — ‘freak’ — but was one word — one word — truly enough to erase all of his efforts? He didn’t think so. Yet, apparently, Porco did. And he might just have lost all chance at a relationship because of it. Because even if they made up, unless Porco came around and agreed to be Colt’s without any labels, Colt didn’t see them getting out of this stalemate. And if Porco hadn’t been keen on a label-less relationship before, he’d certainly be less interested now...
"Oh, you would have looked so sharp, wouldn’t you," his mother said, sighing as she stepped back to look him up and down. "It’s too bad about that accident with the table. You should have been more careful. Now you’ll go to war looking like a raccoon." She clicked her tongue and shook her head. "Oh, Colt."
He swallowed against the lump in his throat and mindlessly adjusted his supply belt. "If I provide sound suggestions, they’ll look past it," he said, the ghost in the mirror mouthing along to his words.
"Have you remembered to pack everything?" his father asked.
He bit his lip and gave him a sharp nod. The ghost copied him again. Then he tried stretching, testing the fit of his second change of uniform. This one had been sitting in his closet for special occasions and he’d forgotten how stiff the fabric was when it was like new. Apparently, the reason it was so resilient, was so that it could absorb some of the bullet’s speed, should the wearer be unlucky enough to get shot by a pistol.
… It did nothing to hinder a navy’s canon blowing you to bloody pieces, however.
At least if he died, his secret might sink to the bottom with him yet…
He turned away from the mirror, that black mark of shame being the last thing burned into his retina. He reached for his backpack, and Falco — with a bad case of bed hair and still in his pajamas — cut in before him, to help pick it up. It was big and clunky — as standard issue often was — but it was spacious: three changes of clothing, toiletries, books and magazines, gun and ammo, binoculars and a helmet — basically: it fit a lot of stuff. Plus stamps and envelopes to write home.
"Thanks, Falo," Colt mumbled. Underneath the tired monotony of his voice, there was a slight tremor now; he’d miss his kid brother more than anything. He secured the strap across his chest and turned back to face all three of them.
These three. These irreplaceable three.
His mother: his guide.
His father: his security.
His brother: his heart.
I hope I’ll get to see you again…
"Mommy loves you so much, Colt. Go make her proud."
He accepted her embrace with a sense of dread. It wasn’t as though war meant certain death — and he was excited to win her honor. To do good out there. To finally come home a family hero. Hopefully.
Yet,… he didn’t… actually want to go. He couldn't tell anyone, but... he was afraid.
"… I love you too, mom."
"We’ll miss you, son," his father said, looking moved. "But we know you’ll be great. You’ve grown up so much."
Colt had never felt smaller.
Falco came in close, sleep in his eyes and yawing. And even with the heavy backpack, Colt hunched down as low as he could go, fabric squeaking, and hugged him tight enough to last them both a long time.
"I’ll miss you so much, little brother," he whispered. "Please write me back sometimes?"
"Uh-huh. If you write me first so I know where to send it." The eight-year-old had his arms wrapped around Colt’s neck, and didn’t let go even as Colt stood up — just hung from him, with Colt’s arms wound tightly around him.
"You’re getting heavy." Colt tried to laugh, but he couldn't.

He left the house waving. Couldn’t quite grasp the concept of being away from home for as long the mission plan implied. One year just to fulfill phase one? Could carnage really take that long?
But even so, he left waving — with that rock of dread in his gut.
To be fair, he couldn’t remember a time it hadn’t been there — even if the shape, temperature and reason changed; it was always there. One weight or another. And always this: the knowledge that he had to ignore it in order to be perfect. And that he did have to be perfect. Because if he wasn’t, his family ran the risk of being be executed. As a matter of fact, Colt was sent into life with the explicit purpose of saving them from that fate.
...And this might be it! If he did good out there, he might finally erase that doubt which his superiors kept dangling over him, and solidify his place as Zeke's next in line. He'd finally prove himself and haul his family's future off rocky ground at last.
The outcome just wasn't a given...
Yeah, there was a lot resting on his shoulders — and that was ok! He didn't mind! It wasn't his family's fault, and he loved them so he was glad to do it… But he wouldn't want this to transfer to Falco; couldn't die and let that happen. The very thought of failing him...
He couldn't...
Falco was just too special. Deserved the very best life Colt could win for him. True to character, he’d been the last one remaining on the steps as Colt left, too. Maybe he'd sensed that Colt needed it. His special little brother, waving after him until Colt couldn’t see him anymore... It had made him want to cry.
He held onto his shoulder straps a little tighter. Fought the feeling back — allowing for only a small sigh to leave his lips.
And there it was again: their lips... His mind returning to the locker room... It hurt.
His heavy boots gave off echoes along the cobblestone and he breathed in the cold morning mist. The otherwise so crowded streets of the Liberio internment zone were as desolate as the night. With just the crack of dawn reflecting off the taller-most chimneys.
He gave the guards by the outer gate an acknowledging nod. There was no point showing them his permit; they knew him. They knew Porco. They knew Falco, and Gabi and Udo and Zofia and — they knew everybody. They knew who had an exit permit and who didn’t. And right now, it was too early for anyone to be bothered going through the formalities.
"Give them hell," the tall, lanky one said, smiling with brown snuff poking out of his upper lip. He hadn’t even bothered getting off his chair inside the booth. He’d replaced the old guard a few years ago, and ever since, the booth had received several upgrades for comfort. A chair was the latest — and obviously most beloved — addition.
"Looks like somebody already gave him some," the fatter one added.
Their dry laughter was joined by the rusty whirring of the gate rolling aside.
Colt pretended he didn’t hear them.

*

There was no fanfare this time. No parade, no cheering — no waving from inside expensive motorcars. No; this time, they couldn’t risk the enemy being alerted to their movements.
So Colt carried his backpack in silence, head down as usual, all the way to base. Met only a few yawning comrades along the way, none of whom paid him any mind. He’d always kept to himself, so it was fair. And truth be told, he didn't mind the invisibility so much just now. With this bruise and all that…
He wondered if Porco had boarded yet. Hoped he had; he was much too embarrassed to face him. Never mind how hurt he felt; if Porco asked him why he'd tried to kiss him again after the punch, Colt might sink into the ground and die.
That rock in his gut? It was icing over again, just imagining it.
Because at least they could get over arguments. But this…?
‘Colt, what the fuck! No, fuck you, get off!’
He closed his eyes to no avail; the scene had been an inescapable loop in his head all night. The pathetic way he’d clung to Porco — been desperate for more.
‘Colt, what the fuck! No, fuck you, get off!’
… Because the moment Porco’s fist had connected with Colt’s face, he’d felt a jolt of danger. Exciting, unpredictable danger. It had completely overwhelmed him — and he’d been desperate for more.
… After the fact, he couldn’t even understand. Felt more disgusted by himself than anything. This wasn’t normal. Nobody liked to be punched. And they definitely didn’t find it exciting. Not even Porco was like this — as made obvious by his reaction.
‘Colt, what the fuck! No, fuck you, get off!’
What the fuck indeed. No, Colt didn’t think he liked pain. His fingers ghosted the black eye as he walked; the socket throbbing like a broken heart wasn’t exactly pleasant. And no less pleasant was the thought of going to deadly war… And yet, when it came to Porco. What had happened…The way the pain and adrenaline had surged through him, made him hyperaware of his senses, made him feel alert and on edge but still safe somehow, because it was Porco. It had been intense…—Agh! He didn’t know what to think! At all! And that’s why he couldn’t bear the thought of running into him right now. Couldn’t bear the thought of being asked what the fuck he’d been thinking.
Because he didn’t know. All he knew was that he was deeply embarrassed by what he’d felt. How he'd acted. And he needed to process it, in order to know how to store it away.
He tried poking the bruise lightly, but ended up hissing in pain.
Yeah, no — he definitely didn’t like to hurt. Maybe it had just been a fluke...
He passed HQ and headed east to port, where the massive steel ships lay motionless in the water — like sleeping metal beasts. Coming up next to them, they towered over him. The scale of war was daunting. Made him ask himself what worth he held, in the grand scheme of things…
Barely any. If any.
He found the boat matching his assigned number and began climbing the four-story ladder on heavy feet, head light from lack of proper sleep. The mouths of two broadside canons poked out over the top as he ascended and the sight made him feel even smaller: A whole man could fit inside one of those things. And an innumerable amount could be killed by one. Zeke had warned him how much better the Alliance’s canons were, yet he struggled to imagine. It reeked of death already.
Ah, but this was it. Time to put duty first. Time to work. He planted his feet on deck with a straight back, and took in the poignant smell of salty sea without a grimace.
Immediately, he was greeted by a bark that sent his headache into a gallop: "Grice! What in Helos’ name happened to you!" Commander Magath. He was marching Colt's way — and that frelckled helper of his was tailing him with a stack of papers.
Colt saluted, his hand hitting his forehead with a thud. "Tripped and hit a table, sir," he said, looking between the commander and the assistant. He doubted he could sell the same lie he’d told his family, to a military man, thought; Magath definitely knew the mark of a knuckle sandwich when he saw one. But Colt couldn't think of what else to say, in the moment.
"A table, huh?" Magath narrowed his eyes, then cast a glance over his shoulder to silence the freckled guy's chuckle. "Well, Grice... whatever disagreement you and the table have, I expect you both to leave it behind once we depart, understood?"
Colt felt himself blush. "Understood, sir."
"Here." The commander grabbed some papers off the stack and handed it to him. "Ship schematics."
Colt looked them over while his cheeks burned, thankful that he hadn’t been prodded further. "Shifters stay on second deck, same as marleyans, sir?"
"Faster access to main deck, in case of emergency,” Magath replied matter-of-factly. "For the rest of you, berth’s on third; so go get situated. And we’re expecting you at the CIC in fifteen, so hurry up."
As Colt headed for the stairs to go below, Magath called him again: "And, Grice? If that eye gets worse, you have my permission to excuse yourself to the infirmary. But otherwise, don’t ask for personal leave again." He held him with a stern gaze. "It reflects poorly on Zeke and I."
"…Yes, sir. My apologies, sir."

He stowed his things away in an assigned crate and stood for a few moments just staring at it. He really didn’t want to go to that meeting — to a room filled of Marleyan superiors — looking like this…
But duty was duty was duty.
He ran his hands through his hair and closed his eyes. Reluctantly, he grabbed two fistfuls and tugged. He didn’t know why. He just had this ache, on the inside. Like it was all getting to be too much.
He’d known the day would come — but he wasn't ready for the responsibility he was about to be assigned. People were probably going to die on his watch.
The prickly sting of his roots being pulled, took his mind off it a little. He exhaled... Then let go, pushed his hair back and headed back into the narrow passageway with a straight face.
Apart from the rumbling of the boiler room several compartments ahead, the ship felt dormant: Five of the six berths in his compartment had been occupied by snoring cadets, so it would appear that everyone except the strategy-team had been allowed to continue their night’s sleep once boarded. It was barely morning yet, after all.
Despite his sleep deprivation, Colt didn’t understand how anyone could fall asleep so easily, though, knowing what they’d wake up to…
Vigilant for the thud of heels, he ascended to second deck, holding his breath. No sign of Porco. Good. The boots he heard were another deck above him still — and the only sound coming from this corridor was the electric buzzing of the yellow lightbulbs all along the bulkheads.
Yet, he lingered with one foot on the ladder.
… Somewhere down that way, Porco was probably getting situated.
His hands were gripping the railing with a light tremor. He still had a few minutes...
‘What does ‘it’s us’ mean?’
He wished they'd reached some form of agreement yesterday. That they'd be setting off for this hell together, rather than split. Colt had given everything he had in order to make it happen. And yet,...
He was aching to go back in time — but not to do things differently; no, just to get to kiss him again. He needed it; it had felt so freeing. A moment of total weightlessness: no more rock in his stomach, no heavy burden. No duty or honor or right and wrong way to like someone. None of it existed in that moment. It had only been them. And he needed it so bad right now. He needed that island of alleviation. Now — as the pressure to perform was through the roof, his family was out of reach and his head was in a turmoil.
‘Colt, what the fuck! No, fuck you, get off!’
… But Porco’s disgusted expression came floating back to him, and he continued climbing.
No, he just couldn’t stomach facing him right now.

... What a cruel trick of fate, then, that just as he came upon the door to the CIC, a particular strawberry blonde rounded the corner at the other end of the corridor.
Colt's subconscious recognized him instantly — and he froze before he had the mind to run. 
No. Not now.
He felt his eye begin to throb. His throat was closing up. He saw Porco stop and gawk, eyes wide — like he was mortified. Then his mouth opened and Colt begged him — mentally begged him — not to say anything. Because one wrong word and Colt thought he might break.
"Colt—"
And then the door to the meeting room opened and Magath stuck his head out between them. "Good, you’re both here. Let’s begin."
"… He’s joining the meeting?" Colt squeaked.
"All shifters will be part of the meetings going forward. Galliard, have a seat at the table. Grice, you know the drill. Stick to the wall unless directly addressed."
Colt dropped his gaze and slipped through the door, turning his back to Porco, whose footsteps he heard following directly behind him. For a moment, he thought he even felt his breath against his neck. A part of him wanted to turn, to say something, to ask if they could forget everything and just kiss again, but he couldn't. All eyes were on them, it was too late.
Below their feet, the engine was coughing and whirring. The metal beast was waking — about to bring them out to sea, to face the enemy.

Chapter Text

850

The whirring of the engine was reverberating up Porco’s legs from where he sat, perpetuating the unrest he felt. A flat, shimmering ocean landscape was gliding past the portholes — giving a bizarre feeling akin to that of riding a motorcar — but he could barely look; all he saw was that bruise across the room. Half of Colt’s face was dark as a blueberry — and it was his fault. The regret was beating at his temples.
When would this meeting be over so they could talk? Porco had boarded the ship this morning with a luggage full of vindictive rage. Hurt turned hate. But now? He had to talk to him. Had to apologize…
Yet, they were going on two hours now and Colt still hadn’t met his eyes. He just stood there, stiffly — motionless; emotionless — on his feet by the wall behind his mentor’s chair. Staring into space.
Did he even want to talk? Was he angry? Sad? Did it hurt a lot? He gave nothing away. Apart from a light tremor of his hands, which could mean anything…
"Understood, Galliard?"
Porco stuffed the newest handout into his folder and gave honorable General Calvi his outward attention. "Yes, sir. I’m at mark three. My signal is red."
What was going on in Colt’s head…?
"Good."
The officers around the table looked pleased. Papers ruffled as they moved on to next point on the agenda. Magath took the time to lean back in his chair, mumbling to his assistant. "Go fetch me another coffee, Leslie."
As the freckled guy proceeded to somehow both jog and tiptoe out of the room, General Calvi looked after him with a peculiar smile. "On first name basis with the eldian, Magath?"
"Koht’s a sufficient enough assistant," Magath said, not — Porco noticed — answering the question.
"Any dog can play fetch," General Calvi replied and shrugged, the medals on his chest jingling. A few of his peers chuckled at the comment. "Now, Grice."
Porco’s heart jumped. Finally they were getting to Colt. He turned back, but Colt’s eyes were already fixed on the man; no room for lingering glances here. He was stepping forward at the wave of the general’s hand, and was looking — if possible — even paler now. Apart from that awful black eye, that was.
"I’m sure mister Yeager here has given you the rundown already. Do you know which post you’re assigned?"
"No, sir," Colt said. Porco was half expecting him to sound as disheveled as he looked, but there was nothing but professionalism in him as soon as he opened his mouth: "My mentor and I have gone through the full operation folder and I know it by heart, sir, but I have yet to be assigned." He offered Zeke a sideways glance. "We thought a more advanced mind, such as your own, ought delegate the units."
Zeke nodded in the affirmative.
"As I have," the general replied. His medals jingled again as he reached for a second stack of papers. "Everyone, have a copy." He waited while the stack made its round around the table. Observed as Zeke passed a copy to Colt — whom was still on his feet right behind his shoulder. Then, General Calvi cleared his throat and was about to speak — when the door opened. He halted, and everyone stared as Leslie slipped back inside with a mug of steaming coffee. The guy stopped in his tracks once he noticed all eyes were on him.
"Well, what are you waiting for? Get on with it," Magath barked, looking pressed.
The room fell quiet once more as the flustered assistant jogged up behind his superior and offered him the beverage. He then returned to his spot by the wall, beat red. "…Apologies, sirs."
"… Right." General Calvi shifted in his seat and sucked on his bottom lip. It was almost as though he was containing a bit of amusement. "Where were we? Grice, Grice… Grice. Ah, there you are."
Now that his friend was closer to the table, Porco could make out the beads of sweat on his forehead. Though Colt hadn’t sounded it, he was clearly nervous about something.
"Unit Commander: unit one."
The words struck like lightning down Porco’s spine. "Wait—" His head snapped to gawk at the general. "The decoy unit, sir?!"
Pieck kicked him under the table and several of the officers began muttering displeased.
"Magath, must I remind you to keep your Eldians under control?" General Calvi lowered his paper to shoot his subordinate a warning stare.
"I beg your pardon, sir. They know not to speak out of turn, it won’t happen again," Magath said. And the stare he forwarded to Porco said: ‘or else.’
But Porco was struggling to give a shit about the rules right now. General Calvi was assigning Colt to command the decoy unit? What was this, some sort of test?! Colt was way too valuable to be placed at the most high-risk post!
The battle was to take place at Needle Point: Military units would be placed along the rocky length of shore that stuck out into the ocean like a pier — or: a needle — and the idea was that once the Alliance arrived, the Marleyan fleet would place themselves on the outer side of them. Marley would then push the Alliance within cannon range of shore, at which point the ten land-based units would open fire — every round firing as one.
The role of the decoy unit was to be the only unit without camouflage — so that from a distance, they’d give off the appearance of being a small, single offensive.
And given that the enemy would be finding themselves in an unexpected double-flank attack, Marley estimated that it would take anything from ten to twenty minutes for them to realize the actual number of land units — the assumption being that they wouldn’t prioritize land-side retaliation for that amount of time, because of its supposed irrelevant size.
This would — if all went according to plan — give Marley a window to inflict crucial, unobstructed damage. Because all — if any — land-side retaliation would, for those first ten to twenty minutes, be directed only at unit one. And sure, unit one might suffer total wipeout because of it, but as long as the other nine units went unnoticed, that’s what decoys were for.
… Porco understood the necessity of sacrifices in war — and he had held his tongue when he’d heard that all three titans were to be on standby until after the Alliance realized their mistake — but now, his entire body was burning with resistance. Because how could General Calvi justify gambling with the future Beast titan this way? With wonderful, clever — irreplaceable — Colt? It was reckless! It was stupid!
He couldn’t help himself — his feet began to push off the seat — he rose with a head hot as fire, his throat boiling with curses — when a confident voice cut through: "Sir! Allow me—" Colt: as unaffected as if he’d just been assigned desk duty, as authoritarian as if he were a seasoned veteran — back straight and chest pushed out. With not a sign of the nerves he’d had a moment ago, but for the tremor of his hands. "It’ll be my honor to command such a key unit, sir," he said. "Thank you for the immense trust you bestow upon me, a mere eldian. Should I fail you, I lay down my life for the motherland with pride. However, I have every intention of repaying your trust with a full unit standing to watch as Marley rises victorious. Sir."
Porco sank back in his seat, feeling a mix of dazed admiration and incredulous nausea. Colt really wasn’t upset? How? Was he truly that confident — or was he a fool?
Under the table, Pieck took Porco’s hand.
General Calvi gave Magath another look. "…Yes, very good," he said, and then waved his hand for Colt to step back. "I see your traitor parents taught you all about boot licking."
His peers chuckled heartily — and Porco saw a faint blush spread across Colt’s pale cheeks as he backed up to stand, again, rigid against the wall like a suit of armor. Now he wasn’t so hard to read, though; Porco knew Colt’s tells of shame very well: the way his jaw tightened, the way his stare hardened. The way his throat began to bob like he was keeping something down. And hadn’t he been in the presence of superiors, he would probably be hugging his stomach just about now…
"Anything to survive, I suppose." General Calvi sighed and began thumbing through his papers. "As long as they didn’t teach you to be weak like your uncle, too. Would be such a shame to have to terminate them now, after all these years…"
"—They didn’t, sir!"
"Ugh. Magath."
"Grice, quiet!"
More chuckles.
Porco had never heard superiors tease Colt so maliciously before. Was this normal?
"Of course. The Grice’s are quite the loyal people now, aren’t they? As long as you don’t take leave out there, I’m happy with my choice." Honorable General Calvi smiled. "Anyway…" He slid a paper across the table and leaned back in his chair, shiny medals playing on his chest again. "Magath, have your assistant tack my unit delegation to the notice board, please. We shouldn’t be coming upon the enemy fleet until tomorrow afternoon, so there’ll be plenty of time for everyone to read… Meeting adjourned."

His friend was out of the room with such haste that Porco could barely keep up. "Colt, wait!" By the time he caught his wrist, they were halfway down the hall. "Can we talk?"
But Colt wouldn’t look at him; kept turning his face away, shoulders raised. His hand was rigid in Porco’s grip like he wanted to leave but didn’t have the energy to put up a fight.
"In here…" With his free hand, Porco pushed the next door open and with some nudging, managed to herd Colt inside, just as the hallway flooded with officers — some of whom cast annoyed glances through the closing crack. Inside was barely more than a passage of a kitchen. A stove, some kettles, a single porthole lighting up the room from the other end. By the smell, this was where that assistant had prepared Magath’s coffee for him.
Colt pulled free, hugged himself and drew towards the window — where he remained standing with his back to the room.
"Colt, will you please look at me?"
Colt shook his head.
"… Look, I’m sorry about punching you. Are you mad at me?"
"… That’s what you wanna ask me right now?" His voice was thin but cold.
"… Yes? Shouldn’t I?"
"How about ‘are you ok’? Or ‘you ready to die tomorrow’?"
Porco frowned. "So you don’t want unit one…?"
"What do you think?"
"… Can you at least look at me?"
Colt gave a dry laugh and then, to Porco’s surprise, he turned. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and wrapped his arms across his chest — meeting his eyes. "… Happy?"
"Thanks, but no, I’m pretty fucking far from it, actually. I wanted to punch that guy in his stupid mouth for you." He was slowly stepping closer to him, but stopped at that, feeling a faint flush. "I— I mean,… I’m sorry… I didn’t mean—… I’m sorry about your eye."
One side of Colt’s mouth tugged despite him. "It’s ok…"
"No, it’s not."
Colt shrugged. "Alright, then it’s not ok." His throat clicked.
Porco began approaching again. "You’re angry with me, aren’t you?"
"…"
He sighed. Stepped even close — Colt still didn’t flinch, and it was giving him hope. As a matter of fact, once he was within an arm’s length, Colt’s own hands fell to his sides like he was opening up for Porco — and when Porco placed his hands on Colt’s hips, he let him. It sent Porco’s heart racing; they could work this out yet! "It’s just… what you said wasn’t ok either, you know? All I wanted was to know where we stood. Like, what are we— are we—"
All of a sudden, Colt let out a loud yelp and pushed him off. It took Porco by such surprise, he stumbled into a pile of drying pots and they came crashing to the floor. "Colt?! What the—"
"Why can you never shut up and listen?!" His eyes were widening with… something. "This is the last thing I need from you right now—"
"Excuse me?!"
"No, I won’t excuse you!" Breathing hard, Colt tried squeezing past him but Porco grabbed him and began wrestling to push him back against the wall.
"Let go!"
"Not until we talk, damn it! What’s the matter with you?"
"What isn’t?!"
"What— Colt— fuck!" He tripped on one of the pots and fell to the floor with a heavy clang — and then all he could do was watch and bark as Colt escaped into the hall. "I actually felt bad for you for a second, you asshole! But you know what?! Fuck you!"

*

Second deck was pretty dingy. The lighting was dim, the bulkheads felt moist every time he brushed against them. And lest Porco forget: when he opened the door to his compartment, Pieck was sitting on the second bed — because Porco couldn’t even get a room to himself! He had to share with her!
He growled as a greeting and sank down on his berth with a heavy expel of breath.
"I saw you two head into that room," Pieck said, in the midst of wrapping another layer of bandage around the grip on her crutch. "Didn’t go so well, did it?"
"That obvious, huh?"
"Was he very angry with you? I have to admit, when you told me you punched him, I didn’t realize how hard…"
"Me neither… But I just—… I don’t know…"
"You don’t know?" She reached for the scissors on her nightstand.
"I think he’s angry about it? But when I said I was sorry, he said ‘is that what you wanna talk about’ or something, like he had other shit on his mind."
"I mean, he was just assigned unit one."
"… Yeah." Porco rubbed his face and groaned. "Damn it! But he was being such an asshole, though. Like, about yesterday. Refused to talk and shit."
"About your thing?"
Porco scoffed. "We have no thing."
"No? You sure?"
"…"
She sighed. "Alright. Well. Now you know, then. He’s not the one for you. Not like that, anyways."
He sat up, giving a reluctant nod, scratching his stomach absentmindedly. "…Pieck? I’m scared for him."
"He probably is, too."
"If he gets shot at, I’m coming out of hiding to help him. I’ve made up my mind about it."
"Porco!"
"No, really! It’s bullshit that we have to wait until after the Alliance realizes there’s more units. We’re the indestructible ones."
"Exactly. If we show ourselves right away, the Alliance wouldn’t let themselves be pushed close enough to shore in the first place, because we’re such a threat. And our navy needs the land flank, or else they stand no chance, you know that."
Porco stood up and began pacing. "I know… Damn it. But just — ugh. Why did he have to be unit one, though!" He imagined Colt out there, on the very tip of the Needle, exposed… blown to shreds in a matter of minutes. Nothing left but mangled bits of body.
No.
Porco’s temples were throbbing. He couldn’t wrap his head around the thought of losing him. Colt was his universal constant. Even when they argued, it was as though he knew they had each other. Even now, he thought he could sense Colt’s existence on the deck below him. They just belonged. And always would… But not if Colt was ripped to pieces tomorrow!
"Ugh, Pieck, do you wanna play cards or something? I need to take my mind off this."
What should I do? What can I do?
She nodded. "Good idea. Carlo has my deck, though. They’re in the common area."
"The guy with the glasses?" He knew her panzer unit well enough, but his jealousy had made sure he always kept that emotional distance. The concept of not having to be jealous anymore, was still just a few days old.
"Uh-huh." She stood up, leaned the crutch against her bolted wardrobe, and linked elbows with him. "Let’s join them."

Sure enough, the five of them were joking around quite noisily by a table in the corner of the common area. Porco supposed their merriment was the reason all the Marleyan officers had congregated at the other end, and he liked the unit all the more for it.
The guys were all smiles as Porco and Pieck got seated.
"We’re playing Go Fish," Carlo told them, adjusting his glasses. He began gathering up the cards to shuffle. "For every ten sets you collect, we’ll owe you a beer. You both in?"
"Oh, I like that! Yeah, we’re both in — right, Porco?"
"Great. Finally some competition. These guys owe me a round each already," the bigger one said, rubbing his hands together and laughing.
"You just got lucky," Carlo snorted.
Then Pieck giggled and all five of them blushed.
Feeling a little better and about to let his worries lull, Porco picked up the hand he was dealt and leaned back in his seat — when he thought he heard the name ‘Grice’ being mentioned some ways away. Automatically, he tilted his head to tune in to the table across the room. And at first there was nothing but a modest batch of chuckle, where Porco began wondering if he’d misheard — but then he heard a haughty voice say: "No, it speaks volumes, doesn’t it? When the so-called most competent of the lot, isn’t even civilized enough to rise above fist fights and getting wasted between meetings? And to show up looking like that — isn’t he ashamed?"
Porco’s heart shot into his mouth. They were talking about Colt. He shifted in his seat and discretely turned to look. It was that lippy veteran again — General Calvi. He felt a rage-headache set in immediately. And to think he’d been in awe of his decorations at first.
The general continued: "No wonder the Eldians were their own undoing. Little more than cavemen, the lot of them."
To the left of him sat Magath. Usually a tall man by Porco’s standards, he now looked uncomfortably sunken next to his superior.
"To be fair, Grice said he obtained that bruise by accident, sir."
"Of course he did. You don’t lose a fight on purpose, do you, Magath?"
"Porco, do you have queens?"
"No, sorry," Porco mumbled, not turning away from the officer’s table.
The general’s medals jingled in that self-important way as he lifted a cup to his lips. "No, I tell you," he said, in-between blowing on his beverage. "If that sickly fellow falls tomorrow — or any other day — good riddance. ‘One bad egg’ they say. I say: if the eggs are laid by the same hen, likelihood is they’re all rotten."
Next to Calvi and Magath, Zeke was lighting a cigarette with a look of what Porco analyzed to be restrained annoyance. Two other officers sat nodding their heads on either side of him. Could General Calvi say anythingg they wouldn’t agree with? They were the true boot lickers, not Colt.
If this was the sort of threats he heard in his meetings, no wonder he was so afraid of his family facing repercussions for his missteps all the time. If he was still scowled at and accused behind his back…
"Porco, it’s you."
"Oh, uh. Pieck, do you have twos?"
"Go fish."
He pulled a card from the pile without looking.
"We can never — should never — put down our guard for any eldian who’s ever been associated with the restorationists. It boggles my mind that in order to prove their innocence, we’ve allowed the enemy to infiltrate our military. And not only that, now we’re granting them key positions? Ridiculous."
Porco’s heart was hammering harder in his mouth. It was almost cathartic when Zeke stood up and headed for the exit. "If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen."
That’s right, show them how detestable they are.
"Well, not you, Zeke. We all know the sacrifice you’ve made for the motherland."
"Mhm." Zeke gave a dismissive wave and disappeared around the corner.
Magath shifted uncomfortably. "If you’ll allow, sir, I’ve worked closely with Grice since he first started and I have to say, I’ve rarely seen a more dutiful attendant."
"Didn’t they say the same about Braun?" General Calvi slurped his drink like the noise asserted dominance.
"Yes, but— But. In my professional opinion, Grice is a safe asset. Not to mention a good one."
"Yet, it’s predetermined, isn’t it?" Slurp. "I’m sure if you placed that — that, what’s his name, that freckled joke of yours — Koht." Slurp. "If you put him in strategy instead of Grice, he’d take to it just the same, no? In my veteran experience Eldians are interchangeable. Not to mention: disposable. And, honestly, isn’t that the charm of them? They’re like poker chips, no? You gamble with a few of them, and if you’re lucky, you gain a great advantage in return. If not, oh well, plenty where they came from."
"… I suppose, sir. Though, it would save us years if Grice proved his worth out there."
General Calvi put his cup down, looking humored. "How about a bet, then, Magath? You say he will, I say he won’t. Winner pays for lunch."
Porco had heard enough. He stood up, head throbbing.
One… two…
He wanted to hurt him. Wanted to rip the medals off him and shove them down his throat.
Three… Colt’s life isn’t a game… Four… You don’t put him in decoy just so you can place funny little bets on whether or not he’ll get his head blown off… Five…
He shoved his cards into Pieck’s hand. "Here."
Fucking ten, whatever…
"Where are you going?"
"I just need some air."

*

It was strangely windy out on main deck. Even for October. Porco had to wrestled the metal door open, because gusts kept trying to force it shut on him — and it took him a few tries just to break out. Once he made it, though, he stood staring: blue on blue on blue… Flat as far as the eye could see… Over on the other side, he saw the small tips of grey and green poking out over the horizon. Miniature mountains. Bizarre.
The cool was helping against his headache. At least that was something…
As he sought aft-ward for cover behind the bridge, his hair kept whipping at his temples and the weather whistled in his ears. Was this a storm? It couldn’t be; the skies were blue. He took broad, heavy steps along the railing and peeked over as he walked: Down there, the ocean was foaming against the hull. Other than that, it didn’t appear as though they were sailing very fast; the horizon was fixed.
"You look confused, Galliard." Zeke was poking his head out behind a mast of some sort. The smoke from his cigarette was whirling all around him. "It’s your first time off land, isn’t it?"
Porco joined him. "Is it always this stormy?" He had to yell over the wind. His jacket danced around his waist.
"Anything’s stormy if it goes fast enough. Twenty knots," Zeke replied and pointed towards the control room.
"How hasn’t your cigarette died out yet?"
"What?"
Porco pointed at the cigarette.
Zeke gave a strange smile and threw the butt over board. At first, Porco thought it was going to land on deck, but about a foot from the railing, the wind caught it and the butt shot back into the air like a bug — before diving out over the water.
"I thought you were playing Go Fish," Zeke said, taking his glasses off and putting them in his breast pocket.
Porco pointed to his ear, shaking his head.
"Have you talked to Colt?"
"No… Or— No, I mean… I guess? Why?"
Zeke nodded towards the poopdeck and went for the stairs. Porco assumed it meant for him to follow, so he did.
The wind was about the same up there — at the very back of the ship — but it seemed less uniform; less sound got carried away. Porco’s hair kept living its own life, though, and for a while he tried keeping it down with one hand, then the other — all to no avail.
From their elevated position, they could see the trailing Marleyan fleet much better. Sixty massive ships, following the two military transport ships like a horde of metal sharks stalking a prey. There was both a sense of terror in the sight, and also one of strength; these were their sharks. Marley’s power.
Zeke went to lean on the aft railing with both hands, looking out at the company. He seemed to be thinking. "…That bruise. What happened?"
At that, Porco averted his eyes quickly. The sinking realization that everyone probably knew he was the one who’d harmed Colt, reawakened the headache. "Does it matter now?" He gave up on his hair and shoved his hands in his pockets.
Zeke sighed. "No, I suppose the damage’s done…" He turned and leaned his back against the view, facing him. "But look, Colt lives on his superiors’ mercy — so unless you want him to stick out in a bad way, don’t give him another reason to."
"…Would they really punish his family after all this time?"
Zeke gave a strange laugh. "Aren’t they?" He pulled out his pack of cigarettes. "Anyways, if you were him — would you risk it? If superiors told you to behave or else… wouldn’t you?"
Porco still couldn’t meet his eyes. He knew Zeke was right… In hindsight, he supposed he hadn’t really taken Colt’s worries very seriously before. Just assumed it was perfectionism.
He felt bad about that now…
"This is why I wanted you two to sort your thing out before we were in the middle of the ocean in the first place. War doesn’t care if you’re having a bad day. Lose focus for a second, and you’re ground beef." Zeke hid a smoke in-between his hands, and got the end lit — even in this wind. "Plus, when you annoy the big guys, it affects all of us. General Calvi has no patience for personal issues."
Porco’s lip twisted. "General Calvi is an ass—."
Zeke gave him a look.
"He’s… Well. Why does he hate Colt so much, anyways?"
"Oh, don’t get me wrong. He hates all Eldians." Zeke said behind his cigarette. "But listen. I don’t know exactly what’s going on between you two. I don’t know what Colt told you to make you mad. I’m assuming it wasn’t what he should have said — so I’ll say it for him: He’s love-sick for you. Simple as."
Something in Porco’s chest ached. "… But he’s not like me."
Another hollow sounding laugh rose from Zeke’s throat. "Trust me, I’ve heard that enough for the both of us." Strings of smoke seeped out the sides of his mouth, till he parted his lips and it all escaped into the air. "Full transparency: it was my idea that he talk to you… My mistake. So here’s a better advice: realize that everything Colt says is scripted. Obviously, he’s only able to says whatever he thinks he should say. So, stop paying attention to what he says, and start paying attention to what he does. Alright? You’ll see what I mean, if you don’t already."
Porco bit the inside of his cheek. What Colt said and what he did did seem like mirror opposites sometimes. That kiss, for example? There was no way that hadn’t been genuine. "So… I should assume he’s my boyfriend, even if he says he isn’t?"
Zeke rolled his shoulders, flicked the half-finished cigarette over board and pushed off the railing. "I wouldn’t go that far. But if he acts like your boyfriend, why not treat him like he is?" He began heading back towards the stairs. "Just, make up. For all of ours’ sake. And be professional out there… Wake me for dinner."
"Yeah…" The image of that black eye — Porco cringed with guilt. "Wait, though— What do we do about unit one now?" He drew closer to the ladder.
Zeke halted. "How do you mean?"
"Now that Colt’s in it."
"Oh… Like that." He frowned. "I’m sorry, but there’s nothing we can do. It’s unfortunate, but we should all be prepared for any mission. I wish him good luck, though…" And then he continued down the steps.
Somehow, this wasn’t what Porco had expected Zeke to say at all. He’d expected… well, he didn’t know what. Just, something more proactive. A clever plan. Something. Anything…
He watched Colt’s mentor leave, worry beginning to throb at his temples. Colt would really have to stand out there, at the point of the pier, exposed — with an entire fleet of canons pointed his way and nothing but bravery to guard him?
His body… blown to bits in the sand…
Porco rubbed his face and headed back to aft railing, panning out over the metal horizon. He was beginning to shake with cold.
If Porco let unit one be to fulfill its mission, Colt might die with them… But if he intervened, he might mess up the whole operation, not to mention rob Colt of potentially standing his ground and winning important favor with his superiors.
… Blown to bits in the sand.
Colt’s words from three days ago echoed at the back of his mind: "I’m going to outlive you. Live to lose you". It was as though Porco heard it clearly for the first time. He understood it now. The sickly fear behind the words.
On his way down to second deck, he wondered if he should continue down to third and find Colt right away — but he concluded that it would be too soon. There was still plenty of time, and it was probably best to talk on a rested patience… Truth be told, Porco was tired out of his mind from this morning already.
So he found his compartment and sank down on his berth like before, curled up underneath the duvet and began forming a half-hazed idea of what to tell Colt after dinner,… and not long after, he was asleep, remembering none of it.

*

Next thing he registered was a deafening howling; an incessant alarm just above his bed, on and on and on. Metallic drumming of boots rushing past his room. Frantic shouting.
"Galliard!"
He sat up in a confused panic, eyes lined with sleep. His door was thrown open and in the strip of glaring light, a figure — a blonde in a hardhat?
"Get up, Galliard!"
"Colt?"
"No, Koth." Magath’s freckled assistant flew across the room and began digging through his cabinet. "Get dressed. The Alliance is upon us sooner than expected and we’ve got to set up posts immediately, or our surprise operation’s blown!" He threw him the set of binoculars he found. "Do you need a map?"
"Wh— what time is it?" Porco grabbed around for his clothes.
"You just missed supper. Now get up!" Despite the barking, Leslie sounded terrified.
"Where’s Pieck?"
"Already getting into position."
Porco was in his clothes in what felt like seconds, but no later did Leslie grab him and urged him to run.
Porco’s binoculars beat against his chest as they stormed past fretting soldiers — some ducking into cabinets, others climbing up or down the ladders. Many of them carrying sacks of sand over one shoulder. Everyone barking at each other over the siren.
On main deck, Porco froze for a second, seeing the black strip that now coated the horizon. Whatever fleet was on its way, it was going to be big.
"That boat there," Leslie yelled, pointing at one about to be lowered off the side of the railing. Then he shoved a map in Porco’s hand and ran off somewhere.
Porco stood pumping with adrenaline — was about to run and board — when he noticed the person shouting commands at the boat next to his: it was Colt. From the side, his bruise didn’t show. His brow was sharp and his throat was red with contained aggression.
He was delegating tasks with a loud and tremble-less voice. His back muscles played as he passed sacks of sand into the boat — again and again and again.
He looked like a true superior: in control, in command. Focused on what needed to be done.
"Smith to third! Haywood, tell Wulf he can abandon eleven-o-three and come help them set the last boats. Yes, stat! Unit one about to post!"
Porco opened his mouth. For the second time today, he felt a surge of awe…
And then Colt looked over his shoulder. For one, intense moment, they locked eyes. Porco felt like all sound ceased.
Don’t die out there. I can’t lose you.
Then Colt’s eyes let him go. He turned back to his men and stepped into his boat.

Chapter Text

850

The push towards land felt endless. Colt sat at the stern with his heart in his throat, watching the Alliance darken the horizon by the minute, bringing night with them. They’d come too soon. Marley was in disarray — had only about an hour to mount and disguise their flank. They could still make it — but every minute counted now and if they weren’t quick enough, the enemy would undoubtedly discover them prematurely. All ten units would be sitting ducks. Out of range to even retaliate.
All around Colt’s unit were other rowing boats. Men pushing for land with the same tight expression of distress on their faces. And the quiet was agonizing: all Colt heard was the hush of the waves, the rasp of breath from men manning oars, the distant voices of soldiers still onboard the transport ship in their wake.
This agonizing, anticipating quiet. Like air held down in a pair of lungs — about to be forced back out into a scream. Just not yet.
His eyes searched the boats. Where was Porco? Was he on his way to his mark yet? Or was he still on the ship?
He turned his gaze towards it. Colt had seen him there. In the midst of all that chaos. A frozen moment in time, their eyes had locked. And Colt had gotten this sinking feeling… that it was the last time they’d ever see each other.
It sat like ice in his stomach now. Sent shivers through him in the growing dusk.
"Commander, who mounts the canons once we arrive?" one of the men behind him said.
He turned, looking at them — his unit of five, excluding himself — these men whose lives were now in his hands. He assessed them. Strong but nervous. All of them his own age. Teenagers.
Could they survive?
Maybe. If Colt lead them well, then maybe…
"Smith and Peters mount the first. Haywood and Hatt mount the second. You will also be operating them. Got it?"
"Yes, sir!"
Colt swallowed against the heart in his throat. "Winter and I man the rifles."

The keel of their boat grated to a halt over the sand an eternity later. Colt’s boots hit the beach, his pulse racing. The enemy ships were starting to take form in the distance and there was no time to waste. "Smith, Peters, Haywood, Hatt — you know what to do. Get moving."
The four young men began running towards another supply boat, while Colt and Winter bent to pick sacks of sand from the bottom of their own. There should be about fifty for each unit — big and heavy. Meant to be stacked in front of their posts; a measly protection against incoming projectiles. Colt suspected that just like their uniforms, though, these sacks wouldn’t do much against the blast of a cannon. There was, after all, a reason the military didn’t usually aid the navy.
… But this was not the time to mull; this was the time to act. He slung one sack over each shoulder and began sprinting to post. Despite his boots digging into the wet sand, he made way quickly.
"Here?" Winter was panting next to him.
"Here." At the outermost point of Needle Point, they had water on all sides. It felt terribly exposed.
… As was the point for their decoy unit.
"The cannons will go here and here, snipers on either side. We do half and half. Got it? I build on the right, you build on the left."
"Got it."
They dropped the sacks and sprinted back for more.
Facing down the pier, Colt could see more units touching land further down it — each post some sixty feet apart. Others were already in position on the cliff-side — naturally, it was easier to blend into rock than flat beach, so everyone except unit one were posting on the rising cliff range.
But there was a problem with what Colt was seeing: the fact that he could see them.
Damn it.
Why weren’t they putting up their camouflage tarps yet? With the enemy so close, it should have been the first thing! Sure, they needed their cannons up, but…!
He grabbed another two sacks with his head down, sweat dripping from his nose.
Any moment now, he thought. Any moment now, the Alliance might see them. The entire operation will be blown.
"There’s Haywood and Hatt", Winter exclaimed.
Colt huffed. "Great. Between the sandbags, Haywood," he yelled, and jogged past the two of them carrying the barrel part of a cannon.
"Roger!"
Through the blood pumping in his ears, Colt heard Magath barking from afar: "Wulf to cannons, right now!" His usual manner was replaced with the rage of an ox. Each unit commander had their own responsibilities, sure, but Magath was the chief overseer of this operation — and it was showing. Every attack would be at his signal. Not a cannon ball would fly without his lowered hand. No titan called to protect them without his raised flag.
They’re manning the cannons already? We gotta hurry!
Another two bags down. "Good job, Haywood. Yes, mount here." Colt only took the time to wipe his forehead before kicking off again. The thought of how many trips were left was making him dizzy. But he had to push on. Had to provide his men with this minimum of protection…
Along the beach, he saw a figure sprinting to meet him in the dark. Magath’s assistant? Colt thought he recognized him on the freckles once he came close enough.
"You need to man," the guy panted. Yeah, it was Leslie — out of breath and with one hand on his throat. "There’s no time to get ready," he gulped. "You need two men at the cannons right away. If Marley can’t intersect the Alliance’s trajectory within five minutes, unit one has to fire alone."
"What?! But the Alliance is still out of reach! We’ll be calling attention to ourselves while our cannon’s useless!"
"I know — but it’s the best chance we have at keeping eyes off the other nine until they’re ready."
"It’s a death sentence for us," Colt said, face burning.
"I know. But you only have to do it if Marley doesn’t open fire on them first."
Simultaneously, they turned their heads to take in the sight: the enemy fleet — out of range yet already so vast — twice the size of Marley’s. Coming directly towards them. At this rate, if Marley didn’t hurry up and get on the outer side of them to open fire — to distract them — all ten units ran a high risk of being spotted. They’d all be picked off.
It was unit one or all of them.
"…Understood," Colt said, his heart sinking to his icy gut. He bent to pick two more sacks of sand, feeling like he was floating outside of his own body.
Falco waving at him from the doorstep…
Over his head, he heard Leslie mumble in the cold wind: "I wish I was back home…"
"Hey," Colt said. "Me too…"
"… Good luck out there, Grice."
"You too." Colt stood.
No more than distant acquaintances, for a moment connected in the shared experience of a nightmare, they bumped shoulders. Shared a nod. Then Leslie turned and jogged back into the night where he came from — and Colt, likewise, returned to his own unit to tell them the situation. "Haywood and Hatt, on post stat. We might have to open fire alone."
"Wait— already?"
"Already."
"But we’ll be defenseless!"
"The other units need time to install their cover," Colt said, staring down Haywood and Hatt’s fear stricken faces. "If Marley can get around the side of the Alliance to engage them first, we won’t have to. But we need to be on standby." He gave them a nod before sinking down on his knees behind his stack of sandbags. There, he began assembling his rifle, one eye on the water.
Any second now… If Marley doesn’t intercept…
"Commander, I—"
He looked up. Haywood’s knees were threatening to buckle. His mouth was twitching. "I can’t do this." His voice was a choke. "I don’t want to die yet."
Colt felt the bile rise in his throat. "None of us do. So let’s do our best—"
"—I can’t do this!"
His throat closed on him and he heaved. Shot to his feet and inhaled sharply. "Winter, switch with Haywood!"
"What?"
"Right now!" His pulse was choking him but his voice was strong. "Get ready right now! Haywood, run and tell Smith and Peters to stay by the boat unless Marley engages the Alliance first. We don’t need more than the three of us at post for this."
Haywood and Winter exchanged looks. Then Haywood lunged and ran.
Colt sank back down on his knees by his propped rifle. "After every fire, lay flat behind the sandbags, alright?" he told Winter and Hatt. "Chances are any fire our way will go over our heads then."
"… Got it, commander."
That agonizing silence was back: nothing but the distant thud of boots in sand, Colt’s own panting — that, and the continuous, muffled barks along the coast, making him only sicker to his stomach. Why did it take so long for the other units to get ready? He wished he could leave his post and go make them get their tarps up, but he couldn’t. If the Alliance kept coming at them with the speed they had now —…
He raised his binoculars: against a grainy night sky, Marley was slowly circling the Alliance.
Come on, Marley…
The collective breath was beginning to ache to be released.
He turned to fix on Magath, whom had his hand in the air, ready to signal. "Ready the cannon…"
Any second now…
In the tense suspension of time, Colt’s mind returned once more to Porco… Surely, he was in place on the other side of the ridge now, hiding out like Zeke and Pieck. So close; just a wall of rock between them. So close; just too late.
He wished he’d said something back there, so bad his heart ached. He’d wanted to show Porco what he meant to him before he died — how could things have ended up so screwed up? Arguments and hurtful words. Feeling invisible, feeling fooled. What did all of it matter now? If only they’d had another moment alone.
What wouldn’t Colt give to go back in time now — to that moment on deck, that small kitchen compartment, the locker, the lake. Any place, any time. Their eyes locked, like nothing else mattered. Porco’s hands on his hips, like he belonged to him. His lips against Colt’s, like it had always meant to happen. Because it had. Hadn’t it?
And then a loud thundering sound rolled across the landscape. It came from the water. He heard Winter and Hatt gasp, and when he looked back, the unmistakable flashes of cannons blitzed across the waves.
Marley had opened fire on the Alliance.
"Thank you," Colt whispered. For a moment, he thought he might faint; his head felt light and his vision clouded. But the sound of the two at the cannons sniffling, returned him to the present. "Men, stand by…"
Despite the short notice, it looked like Operation Needle might go on as initially planned after all — raising unit one’s chances of survival from zero to… ten percent, maybe?
"Just remember… we’re not out of the woods yet."
Now, the other nine units really needed to get their stations covered — and quickly. Even if distracted, the Alliance was still being pushed their way faster than ideally. Land flank’s cover could still be blown — would be blown; if they didn’t hurry up and cover up.
And all unit one could do now was wait — for the enemy to get within firing range.
As the cannons thundered like slow heartbeats in the distance, the flashes lit up the beach; exposing them a second at a time.
From afar, he heard running footsteps; the rest of his unit coming to join them.
"Commander…!"
"We’re back to plan A! Mount the second cannon and get into position! The Alliance will be within range soon!"
Porco, if I survive this… I’ll tell you everything.
He readjusted his kneeling in the sand. Undid the safety on his rifle, rested its barrel over the top of the sandbags, and put the binoculars down — when a screaming whistle cut through the air, and a blinding explosion struck the hillside several units down. Rubble and sand was slung into the waters and voices shrieked in what sounded like horror.
Colt’s blood froze. That hadn’t been a gross miscalculation by the Alliance; it hadn’t been intended for unit one; land flank’s cover was blown!
"Fuck!"
In the distance, he heard Magath yell: "fire", and Colt echoed him: "Fire!"
The cannons next to him delivered two deafening gunshots, and jumped with recoil. It sent Colt’s ears ringing.
Shit!
He couldn’t even see if they hit anything. The gun smoke was blowing in their faces and Colt’s hammering pulse was giving his vision black spots.
"Again…!" It was Magath.
"Again," Colt copied. And again, his men fired.
Down the pier, another explosion glinted behind the smoke, and debris began raining over them — even from this distance.
Above him, one of his men began screaming.
"My leg…! Commander, my leg!"
"Man your post or get down low!" Through his scope, Colt tried to find Magath in the smoke. There — his arm was up. "Ready the cannons again…!" Magath thrust his hand forward — "Fire!"
The cannons jumped with recoil again, and Colt’s ears rang painfully.
Along the flank, cannon fire blitzed out of beat. Again. And again. And again. Colt turned his scope on the coast and his blood ran cold: units were firing without Magath’s command. Were they all in a panic?
"Fuck!"
Another explosion hit the rocks as he watched. The dust settled and strewn around he saw— no. He couldn’t look. He faced the boats on the water, tried to see anything through the smoke. Was that—? He couldn’t even tell if the men on deck in his scope were with Marley or the Mid-East. They were all just blurred figures in gunpowder fog.
Then, a single ship came out of the thicket. It looked to be diverging from the rest of Mid-East’s formation, coming directly towards land.
So that’s what you’re doing…
He searched the top deck with his scope.
There—!
A face between the steel. Colt pulled the trigger and through his scope, he saw the figure collapse.
…As if it made a difference now; another explosion hit their flank a moment later and the screaming escalated. Sand and rock rained over him where he knelt. This was turning into a disaster; the element of surprise was lost and their artillery wasn’t landing. They needed to call in the titans. Magath needed to call in the titans. Out of range or not, it couldn’t make the situation any worse.
"Commander…!" Haywood was crying.
"I’m here, load the cannons again…! You fire at my comm—" —And then a violent, burning force of white, threw Colt sideways into the air. Someone was screaming. His arm felt like it was torn clean off and his vision blacked.
He didn’t know how much later — it felt like minutes — he skidded across the sand and the world stopped spinning. He laid still for a moment, trying to get his bearings with his face in the sand. His mouth tasted blood.
Someone was screaming so horribly.
Mom…
He pushed himself up on his knees using his right arm. Trembling, disoriented, unable to breathe. Something wet stuck to his cheek. "Wh— Wi-inter?" Next to him lay his subordinate.
Help…
Those wide eyes — help me — that gaping mouth; it was twitching. Severed at the neck, its mouth was twitching! An incessant, mute plea. To help. Commander, help. As if Colt could— he—
Help…!
He staggered to his feet, screaming. His left arm wouldn’t move. "H-help…!" He spun around himself. At the bottom of crater, between steaming, formless pieces of metal — lay several sprawling bodies… Frayed tissue; like something blew them apart from the inside. He’d never seen a person look like that—… Where did one end and another begin?
Mom, help!
Next to the hole, underneath a headless torso, another person began to stir. "…Hh… help… My hands… My— help! Somebody help!"
"Haywood…!" Colt stumbled over, fell to his knees in the sand and began pulling the charred body off of Haywood. How was a torso so heavy? And the smell — why did it smell like that?!
"C-commander, I can’t find my h-h-hands."
Colt tried to say something. Looked at Haywood’s blown off stumps for hands, twisted to the side and threw up.
Take me away from here…
"H-help me, Grice!"
Colt’s insides wouldn’t stop twisting. "I can’t," he whimpered. "I can’t…" He wiped his mouth and coughed.
"I c-can’t find my hands."
"Just… lie still," Colt whispered. He closed his eyes and breathed… Just breathed… Then he forced himself to face the mutilated teen once more — to look him in the face rather than at his hands. "I’ll—…" He fought a pocket on his supply belt open, and pulled out a roll of band-aid. With trembling fingers, he began wrapping the bleeding things. "I-I’ll g-get Magath to call the titans, y-you wait here. Alright?"
"M-my hands…"
"You’ll be fine. Just get down in that hole, alright? You’ll be protected down there… You hear?"
Haywood was looking over at Winter’s severed head.
"That would have been me…"
"I know," Colt said, feeling the urge to vomit again.
"If you hadn’t switched us—"
"I know!"
A cannon ball whistling above them and they ducked. Flashes like lightning illuminated the night to reveal broken equipment and bloody entrails across the sand.
…Colt had never heard such screaming in his life. All along the coast. "I—…" He stood, looking at Haywood’s covered stumps. Looked at the guy’s helpless expression. "I’ll be back… Get down in the hole with the others."
And then he ran.
He had no idea who were dead and who weren’t. If any of the body parts in that hole still contained life — if that was all of them, or if somebody lay buried in sand, needing assistance. It just couldn’t be helped — they were all dead if nobody came to save them soon!
He sprinted and stumbled, staggered and ran — over the sand towards unit two. Somebody was still firing at their cannon over there. "Magath!" he called. "Magath, please…! We need Porco! We need—" he tripped over someone and hit his head against the edge of a hardhat. Sitting up, Colt found himself straddling a freckled corpse. Leslie’s burnt out eye sockets were staring up at him — his dislocated bottom jaw hanging open in a bloody, toothless grin.
He screamed and rolled off him, bumped into another lifeless body, and scrambled to his feet, gasping for breath. Desperately, he tried brushed some form of soft, purple mush off his pant-legs. There was blood on his hands, pink gunk under his nails. "Mom," He choked. "Mom, h-help..!"
I want to go home…
But he couldn’t.
Where beach gave way to the rising hill, he began to climb on all four up the steep rock — to reach the cliff-post above. He still couldn’t feel his left arm, but at least it was moving like he told it to now. "M-magath," he yelled. Unit two’s cannon fired again somewhere over his head. "Sir..!" He hauled himself over the ledge, where he found Magath staring wide-eyed out at sea, a strip of blood running down the side of his face, and with his hands full of cannon balls. He was firing and reloading his cannon at rapid pace. Two of his men lay by his feet, writhing and moaning.
"Sir!" Colt yelped, staggering to his feet, using the rock wall for balance.
"Grice? What are you doing away from your post?!"
"It’s wiped… Please, call— call the titans." On inhale, the smoke made Colt double over in a coughing fit.
"They’re not in range yet, Galliard and Finger won’t reach them."
"But Zeke will! Please! My men—!"
"And mine! But better the eldian flank gets wiped, than the fleet," Magath barked over the thunder and screams. "Our job isn’t to survive, it’s to give the Alliance enough hell that Marley as a whole can overpower them!"
"I know…! But I think the Alliance is sending a single ship to take care of us on its own. I saw it break out of formation." Colt hunched as more debris came raining over them.
Magath stopped firing his cannon and turned to look at him.
"Sir, if I’m right and we set all out titans on the incoming ship, I think we’ll win our flank. Breaking out of formation is suicide, so they’ve probably made the decision to sacrifice that ship in order to focus the rest of their power on the navy flank."
"Then they must be feeling overpowered."
Colt nodded. "So please. Look at us. We’ve barely got any hell left to give. If none of us survive, the rest of phase one will be wasted. The navy still needs land assistance for another year… Sir, please. The titan unit has to take over." His knees felt weak. He couldn’t feel himself crying; all he could feel was his body convulsing the way it did with heavy sobs. "…Leslie," he said, sinking to his knees. "Did you see what happened to Leslie?"
Magath turned his back on another hailstorm of debris. He rubbed his forehead with a sooty hand and in the midst of all the noise, Colt thought he sensed a moment of silence.
"Sir… e-even if I’m wrong, nobody’s even following your lead… We’re headless chickens." Winter’s severed head — his twitching, moving mouth — flashed before Colt’s eyes, and he leaned forward on his hands. There were rocks in his stomach fighting to come up, but all he did was dry-gag.
… And when he looked back up, the commander had pulled out a yellow flag.
"But we keep firing," Magath said, looking at him.
Colt’s heart sank in a sickening, relieving wash of emotions. "Thank you," he whispered, feeling limp — as Magath raised the flag in the air, and on the other side of the ridge, a lightning struck from the sky.
In the dark, Colt saw a tall, impossible figure raise above the land. Impossible in its stature — its form — its very being. So this was the Beast? Now he understood the name.
His eyelids felt heavy with a strange, intense need for sleep. And when he saw Magath raise another flag — red — he closed his eyes and cried.
Porco.
Another lightning flashed behind his eyelids, and amidst the explosions, the screaming and crying — the terrible, high-pitched whistle of incoming destruction — he heard the guttural, raging roar of a monster.
"I said we keep firing, son," Magath barked close to his face. Colt threw his eyes open as the man pulled him to his feet. "Back to your post! And get that arm bandaged!"
"Y-yes, sir!" He stumbled towards the cliff-edge where he’d come from, and in his peripheral, Magath threw the last and final flag in the air.
Colt found his footing as a third lightning flashed, illuminating his path — and he began to climb back down the side of the hill. Just then, the sky turned black above him, and when he looked up, he saw the massive form of a living thing — a white mask of jagged teeth, sharp, ready claws — a monster, flying clear of the hill and landing heavy in the sand below.
Colt froze in place. Stared at the swelling form of muscle and rage. The monster’s pinprick eyes searching the beach. The thing parted its jagged teeth and roared towards the steaming crater where unit one had been.
This was Porco. It had to be.
"Porco—…" Colt almost lost his grip, the way his heart drummed in his fingertips. He clambered on harder. "Porco!"
The monster turned its face in the direction of his voice.
Colt could barely fathom it, even as he knew it: that thing was Porco. That live, ghoulish monster was his beloved friend… The illustrations in their history books didn’t do the terror of real life titans justice. Colt thought now that he understood why the rest of the world wanted eldians dead.
"I’m h-here," he stammered, as the thing crawled on all four over sand and dead bodies — to get to him. Colt remained frozen, looking at its eyes. Was he imagining it, or could he sense Porco somewhere in there?
Take me away from here. Please.
It came close enough to reach out and touch.
"I—" Colt stammered. Didn’t know what to say, what to do. Porco had to fight. Colt just wanted—… to live.
Then a high-pitched whistle cut through the air, and another violent force of white exploded against the side of the hill. In an instant, there was no grip, no solid vision; just a blinding sense of pain and confusion. Another scream? His head was splitting in two — he couldn’t feel his legs. What was happening?
He slammed against something cold. It was icy. It submerged him. Slow and suffocating. There came a hissing in his ears and for whatever reason, he was reminded of swimming in the lake at home. Of competing with Porco to see who could reach the other side faster.
Sunlight on his bare arms.
Gliding through the water.
Laughing on a rock.
Kissing on a picnic blanket.
Silver bubbles were rushing past his dying vision.
Porco… I don’t think I’ll make it to shore this time…

Chapter Text

850

Cleanup was a test of patience. An early morning sun was rising and seagulls laughed leisurely in the clouds somewhere above the anchored Marleyan fleet — like this hadn’t been the scene of a bloody battle just hours earlier. In the tired, pink tint of seven’o’clock — playing mule for what was probably the hundredth time — the Jaw swam on his stomach towards the nearest ship, carrying another batch of salvaged equipment on his back. The way he’d carried stretchers of broken men five hours earlier.
The enemy was gone and what was left in their wake, was smoking embers and scattered wreckage. That, and a sickening stoicism amongst the cleanup crew. Collectively, they worked — gathering bodies to add to the pyre, digging up equipment and getting the operable bits back onboard — with quiet disassociation.
But to Porco, cleanup was a burning trial.
Sure, his muscles ached, too — he’d never been in titan this long before, ever, and exhaustion was etching all the way into his bones. But what hurt most, was this burning… This fear. All he could think about was Colt.
With every return, he’d ask. But there hadn’t been an update to Colt’s status for hours. They removed the shrapnel and stitched him up around three’o’clock, and he still hadn’t come out of his coma even now. Porco was starting to worry he never would.
Why couldn’t Porco get time off like everyone else from the flank? The survivors were either resting up or being interviewed by general Calvi about what happened — everyone except Porco. He didn’t want to play mule for the cleanup squad; he wanted to be by his boyfriend’s side! And no, he didn’t care; Colt was his boyfriend now, he didn’t care. Colt could say whatever he wanted about it — as long as he just woke up to say anything!
… The way his soaked, lifeless body had bled out in Porco’s palm… He couldn’t get that image out of his head; it had been the scariest moment of his life. Till Colt’s chest gave the faintest rise and Porco knew there was still hope.
Still hope…
He reached for the ropes that hung over the hull, and pulled himself up — hooking his claws over the railing to see if the space was cleared for another boarding. It was. So he got on deck and reached back to snip the ropes keeping his cargo in place, before exiting his form at the nape.
The sudden rush of steam and whirling ocean air had him gasping. Feeling everything so directly — after getting so used to the dull sense of touch he experienced inside of the suit — was intense. He staggered down and leaned on his knees, panting. His face feeling skinless; raw and sizzling.
The stench from the funeral pyre was hitting him hard now, outside of the titan. How did the others back at the beach handle it so up-close?
"Good going, Galliard," a comrade said above his head, as men came in to bring the cargo below deck.
"Is he… awake yet?"
"For the millionth time—" someone else began, but the first guy cut him off: "—Actually, I think I heard a nurse mention he was."
Porco looked up, all else blown out of his head. "When?!"
"Just on my way up here, I h—"
"—Out of my way!" He shoved them both aside and ran.

His boots hammered on-beat with his racing heart — down the metal passageway of third deck — his sight a tunnel vision on the infirmary wing ahead. He couldn’t quite say why he felt so scared; Colt was finally awake! He just… needed to see it for himself. That, and… if he was honest with himself, he was worried about the ambivalence of where they stood, given how they parted. Could he really assume all was forgotten just because he saved Colt from drowning?
Past the operating compartment, he slowed down to a tip-toe — reminded by the sign that said: "Operating: keep quiet!" — and held his breath, as he opening the door to the sickbeds next-door. It was dark in there; no portholes, just a couple of lightbulbs buzzing on low.
A row of beds, separated by white curtains. Sleeping, bandaged men.
"Colt…?"
There. Closest to the door, shielded from the rest of the row by a white curtain, lay his bruised up boyfriend. Despite the gnarly, black stitching across his discolored torso, the bandaid around his head — the blood-soaked patch on his shoulder — he was the most beautiful sight. Because his eyes were open and meeting Porco’s.
"You’re awake!"
Colt’s tired expression broke and he hid his face behind his hands in what looked like a fight against tears. "Porco…" He sounded so weak.
Porco swallowed. Came up next to the bed, knees shaking. "How are you feeling?"
"Did we win?"
"The Alliance retreated…"
At that, Colt’s hands sank back down on the duvet and he laid his head against the pillow with his eyes closed; a visual representation of the bitter relief Porco himself was feeling. And when tears began to run down Colt’s cheeks, Porco also let go: "I was so scared for you," he said, voice breaking. "I know that you’re angry with me. B-but, please… can I hug you?"
Colt reached for his hand and took it, sniffing quietly. "H-how am I alive?"
When he flashed his brown eyes again, Porco’s insides stung. And with his free arm, he leaned in and hugged him. As gently as he possibly could, all the while wanting nothing more than to squeeze — squeeze and squeeze and never, ever, let him go. "I got you out of the water. I saw where you landed. Th-thank fuck— I saw where you landed."
Colt breathed shallowly against his shoulder. "…What happened?" His bandaid smelled of rubbing alcohol, gun smoke and dried blood. The combination made Porco a little nauseous, but he was relieved all the same.
"A cannon blast threw you into the ocean."
"No. Everything else… How did we win? Who’s… alive?"
Porco frowned. Felt his tears smear against Colt’s cheek. He moved his head to the side and kissed the guy on his bandaged forehead.
"Porco," Colt complained.
Yeah, he had the sinking feeling Colt wanted him to cut to the chase. That, or he was telling him he didn’t want to be kissed. In case of the latter, Porco was keeping in mind what Zeke had told him: that he should focus on what Colt did rather than what he said. And he hadn’t moved away, so…
He got seated on the stool next to the bedframe and hunched over him, with his elbows on the mattress and Colt’s hand in both his own. "Magath said that you were right about that ship diverging… It caught fire not long after you blacked out and Pieck said her unit saw barrels of gunpowder up on deck. So, it really looks like they wanted to blow up and take us with them… I sank it, though."
Colt licked his lips and gave a stiff nod.
"You should be careful with your neck by the way, the nurses said you likely got a bad case of whiplash." Come to think of it, Colt was lying stock still apart from light head- and hand movements… Porco grabbed his thigh and gave it a light shake. "You can move your legs, right?"
Colt grimaced. "Yeah." He shut his eyes again, his eyelashes releasing two beads. They rolled like perfect pearls down his face and the sight made Porco’s insides hurt only worse.
"Colt, are you sure you want to talk about what happened right now…? I—… I just want to be happy you’re alive. Can’t that be enough for a bit?"
Colt’s lower lip quivered. He squeezed his eyelids together very hard, and said: "I just need to know… w-who survived. Haywood… Did he…?"
Porco shifted in his seat. "He’s in the bed next to you. But—but don’t— He’s sleeping, don’t wake him up…" Seeing Colt’s expression coming undone, Porco reached up and cupped his green-bruised cheekbone. "He’ll be ok. He said he was alive thanks to you."
"His hands…"
"I know."
Colt cried quietly, with his cold cheek against Porco’s hand. "Who else?"
"… From your unit?" Porco didn’t want to say. But the small nod against his fingers made him: "No one else… I’m sorry, Colt."
Colt frowned like something painful, yet expected, was stabbing him in the gut. "…It’s my fault."
"It’s the Mid-East’s."
He didn’t reply to that, just kept crying against Porco’s hand. And when neither of them seemed to know what to say, they just sat like that for a while. Porco was damned if he’d move away first; even as his arm started cramping up from being held out at an uncomfortable angle, he didn’t move; just let Colt seek comfort against his touch.
He’d seen what became of unit one. If Colt was there when they were blown to bits like that — if he’d seen that shit as it happened? Up close? —… Porco couldn’t imagine. Just carrying all those body parts to the pile after the fact had messed him up. Heck, the pyre itself was disturbing enough; Porco wasn’t aware that Marley burned fallen eldians instead of bringing them home… He supposed it made sense, but…
"… How many more?" Colt finally lifted his head and returned to lying stiffly against his pillow.
"Hm?" Porco massaged his tender bicep. Looked at the door to their left. No, he didn’t want to run…
"How many dead?"
…but he hated this. "…Fourteen survivors. Twelve injured."
Colt sighed. "I don’t understand… how it got so out of hand."
"Their cannons were stronger than anticipated… It— It’s actually concerning the higher-ups. Zeke took a bad hit."
"Zeke’s hurt?" Colt stirred and Porco grabbed him to hold him still. Shamefully, he felt a tinge of jealousy at his reaction.
"No, he’s fine, you can relax. He’s all healed up. We’re titans, remember? But… Magath says he believes it could be the prototype of a new form of weapon targeted at us. So… I don’t know. It’s not the best of news."
"No…"
They fell silent.
From the other beds came the faint ruffle of bedsheets, someone was turning in their sleep. Above them were the hollow thuds of boots against metal; of military men working like it was just another day. Seagulls far away…
Colt was looking at the pipes running along the ceiling and Porco was looking at him. "Listen," Porco said in an unintentional whisper. He cleared his throat and pulled the stool closer. "I… I’m sorry. About everything…"
"Me too."
"I mean, about us," Porco specified.
"…"
He thought he saw Colt side-eyeing the curtain.
"Everyone’s asleep, you don’t have to worry about them hearing us…" He put his hand on Colt’s chest. It was clammy and cold. But in there, he felt the most beautiful heartbeat.
Colt was pressing his lips together again. Porco could never read what he was holding back when he did that; it scared him a little.
But he’s not rejecting you. He’s listening. Just remember what Zeke said…
"I’m sorry that you have to worry all the time… I think I get it now." And even so — even as he got it — he wished he one day could tell the world that Colt was his.
Colt swallowed thickly. "I love you." His wet, brown eyes turned to Porco. "Ok? I love you."
...And Porco’s heart sank. They’d been here before. Yes, he knew Colt loved him, but to what extent? In what way? What did it mean? In accepting that Colt would never speak the truth, was Porco doomed never to know? He didn’t want to upset Colt again — wouldn’t risk his health for anything — least of all to ask about something so trivial. Yet, he yearned for him to elaborate. "… I… I know. And I love you too."
Sniffling, Colt reached for him; his fingers grabbing at Porco’s collar. Pulling him closer. Porco lifted off his seat to follow; didn’t stop even as he was lead to practically lay across Colt’s chest. He propped himself up on his arms on either side of him so not to be too heavy, and rested a knee on the mattress between Colt’s legs for good measure.
Ah. Hovering over him like this…
Colt was examining his face up close. "Are those your titan marks?" he breathed.
Porco blinked, a near motionless sign for yes. He closed his eyes and felt tears streak his cheeks, as slender fingers began tracing the raw grooves around his eyes.
"Does it hurt?"
"No… Not that much…" His arms were so tired… But he wasn’t going to give in; wasn’t going to lie down on him.
Colt moved on to trace the most tender parts of his jaw. Porco wondered how he knew; wondered what it must looked like. Was it very ugly?
What’s in your head, Colt?
"That titan was you, wasn’t it…?"
"Hm?"
Colt brushed Porco’s tears away with his thumbs. "The one in the white mask… The one that came up to me?"
"Yeah… At first, I thought—… I saw your unit, and I—" His heart skipped a beat; he hadn’t just ruined the moment, had he? "I’m sorry."
"…It’s ok." Colt touched his elbows. "You can lie down. I’m not made of china."
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
With shivering movements, Porco lowered himself down on top of him as gently as he could. And as their faces came together, Colt tilted his chin up to catch his lips. Porco wasn’t exactly caught off guard, but the feeling of being on good terms again, made him break out a sweat. This felt like a second chance and he was damned if he’d mess it up again.
Don’t talk, keep quiet.
He leaned over on his side a little, to balance his weight between Colt and his elbow, and cupped Colt’s jaw to keep him there, against his mouth. Unlike last time, Colt’s lips felt chapped and dry. It wasn’t a bother, but it served as a reminder that he wasn’t exactly in the best of shapes at the moment; and Porco wasn’t going to go so hard. Instead, he pecked his lips a few times, softly. And reveled in how Colt did it back.
This was nice. Circumstances notwithstanding.
He stroked a finger down his neck, a gesture of affection. Porco loved the simplicity of it. And how Colt seemed to like it; his pale chest catching color and, oh, how the blush rose beneath his bruised eye, too. Porco wanted to cry over it. The relief of it, the beauty of it. He kissed him there — on the hurt he’d caused. A silent apology.
"I mean it," Colt whispered.
"Hm?"
"That I love you."
"It’s ok, Colt. I know."
Their voices were nothing more than breaths. On their private side of the thin, white curtain. In the buzzing half-dark. In each others’ arms.
Yeah, this was what made sense. Colt could name this whatever ugly word he wanted, but this was something special. Something more than a friendship…
"I’m just glad," Porco whispered, mouth moving to rest at Colt’s temple. Feeling Colt’s pulse beat against his lips. "That I got you back…"
"…Can you sleep here tonight?"
Porco sighed. Dropped his head to the pillow. "I wish. It’s morning. Seven’o’something."
"Oh… It feels like night."
"Yeah…" He nuzzled his face against Colt’s neck and let his hand trail down his stomach gently. This wasn’t the time or place to get frisky, but Porco could barely contain the elation he felt; this was the longest Colt had allowed him to touch him so intimately, and he just wanted to give him all his attention forever. Wanted to be boyfriends — to be each other’s comfort in a world of violence.
It seemed like, finally, he was doing it right…
"I didn’t want to die without having told you," Colt mumbled, words jumping in unison with the way his abs twitched under Porco’s fingers. Porco guessed it meant that he liked it.
"Hey, it’s alright. I know you love me. We love each other," he said, feeling a little hot despite his gentle intensions.
"Yeah, but—"
"—We don’t have to talk about it."
Colt frowned. He bit his lip, sucked on it, watched Porco’s hand as it caressed him. "… Ok," he breathed. Paused. "… But I like you, too."
Porco’s throat bobbed and his temperature rose further.
I knew it… I knew you liked me.
"…You do?" His words muffled against Colt’s damp throat. He kissed him there, feeling short of breath.
"I—… yeah…" Colt shivered. Grabbed Porco by the wrist.
This was it. They were each other’s now. That’s what it meant. It had to.
Porco propped his head up again, to look at his boyfriend. His boyfriend’s blushing face. Those sweet, intense eyes…
He grabbed around him. Held him. Leaned in and kissed his lips, smiling…
When the door whined on its hinges.
The very second, Porco felt Colt’s body freeze. Heard him do a sharp intake of breath. And in passing, as he turned to look, Porco registered the terror in Colt’s eyes.
At the door — with one hand frozen on the handle — stood commander Magath.
No…
He scrambled. Slung his legs off the bed.
No, no, no. Fuck!
"Sir…! Sir, I—" What could he possibly say?! There was no mistaking this!
Magath looked between them without saying a word. The vein in his neck was popping and the sight of it was making Porco sick to his stomach. He had just ruined everything for Colt…!
Then, as suddenly as he came, the commander backed up and left, closing the door behind him.
Shit!
Glancing back at Colt, the guy looked shell-shocked; pale and wide-eyed.
"I—" Porco stammered. "I’m sorry—" — then he charged for the door.

"Sir! Please wait, I need to explain!"
Magath stood with one foot on the ladder, giving Porco a hard stare as he caught up. "This is no concern of mine," he said stiffly.
"Please," Porco panted. "Colt didn’t ki—"
"—Save it, Galliard!"
Porco shut up with his heart beating in his mouth. He wanted to scream. How could he fix this?
"They’re asking for you back on shore."
"I’m sorry, sir. I just— I needed to see him. But we’re not—"
"— I said: it’s no concern of mine." Magath was speaking through grit teeth. "Look, I understand that you two are involved—"
"We’re not; I just—"
Magath raised his voice: "—but you do not have permission to abandon your duty just because you feel like it!"
Porco bowed his head. Feared that his own mess-ups were going to affect Colt…
"Do you understand? Our fleet’s compromised. Who knows when the Alliance decides to turn back for round two! We don’t have the men, the artillery nor the strength right now."
"…"
"…You have five more minutes to find yourself back on deck. And if I catch you putting personal business before duty one more time, there’ll be consequences. Understood?"
"… Understood, sir."
"Good." Then he turned his back on Porco and continued climbing the steps. "… Tell Grice that general Calvi wanted to interview him as soon as he’s feeling well… And that I’d like a word with him after."

Chapter Text

850

His head was an absolute mess. Of white explosions and relentless hailing debris… Of bodies in sand and ringing in his ears. It was like a fog that he couldn’t shake.
His body felt foreign. Detached from him. Or him, detached from it. He’d taken a hit to the lower back and his legs felt numb when he walked.
And at the front of his mind, lay icy shards of a shattered moment of relief. He’d promised himself he’d tell Porco the full truth if he lived. And he had.
And then it’d all broken apart again.
He just didn’t know how to shoulder all of this.
He stood teetering in the cold, dim passageway, trying to muster courage to knock on Magath’s door. But did he even have it in him to face this right now?
He hadn’t been to see general Calvi yet; he was fresh out of the sickbed. Once Porco had left, he’d hobbled straight here. Defied the splitting ache at the back of his head, the way his stitches caught painfully on the fabric of his shirt whenever he moved… All of it.
Because despite the pain, and despite the fear — before he could do anything, even breathe — he needed to know. Needed to ask what would happen now.
Magath might be penning his letter of dishonorable discharge this very moment. Or worse, a letter to his mother…
Colt rubbed his face, feeling sick. Trying to will some self-assuredness into existence.
You’ve been to war... You can face your shame.
…Would Magath even look at him?
Enveloped in a surging, icy cold, he raised his good arm and knocked.
Behind the heavy metal door, the commander's voice boomed: "I'm busy. Come back later."
"It’s Grice, sir."
"… Come in."
You can do this. Remember what Porco said…
After Porco had rushed out and left him in the infirmary to digest what had happened alone, Colt had suffered an endless minute of limbo. He’d felt the walls of his life crumble around him. Had imagined the worst… the absolute worst.
All alone.
Where had Porco run off to? Was he even coming back?
Then Magath had started barking down the hall, and Colt was ready to wish he’d died out there with the rest of his men. Anything, to avoid the downfall that was about to come.
… And then Porco came back. Even in the midst of the despair, the way he wrapped his arms around him simply stopped Colt’s freefall. "I don’t think he cares," he whispered.
"How can you say that? Didn’t you see how he looked at us?"
"He was just mad at me for not being at my post… I don’t think he minds us…"
Colt had just laid there, in his arms.
"He gave me five more minutes with you. That’s got to be a good sign, right?"
… Maybe.
Magath watched him enter his office. "That was quick. Didn’t general Calvi want to see you?"
Colt bowed his head and limped towards the front of his desk. "I haven’t been yet… I wanted to talk to you first, sir."
Magath’s uniform squeaked as he reached up to scratch at a bandage on the side of his face. "… Then I suppose we do this now. Have a seat, Grice."
A bit surprised — he wasn’t often offered a chair — Colt pulled out the guest seat and sank down carefully. His knees gave in when he was almost down, and he ended up thudding against the backrest with a grimace.
"Are you sure you should be out of bed yet?"
"I’m alright," Colt mumbled, staring into his lap.
"So,… did Galliard tell you what happened?"
Colt felt a numb sort of prickling in his cheeks. "… Some of it."
"You were right about the diverging ship."
He nodded.
"You were right about calling the titans, too… If they hadn’t been on sight when that ship caught fire, we wouldn’t have been able to sink it in time."
"…"
"… You did good, Grice."
He swallowed thickly. He didn’t know what to say to that. There were too many thoughts fighting for space. If he did good, why were four of his five subordinates dead? If he did good, why did he feel so bad? … And if he did good, why did Magath sound so reserved? Almost cold…
Granted, Colt felt cold, too… But he was scared. And it was killing him now, how Magath was talking like he hadn’t just caught him with a boy…
They fell quiet. From outside, they heard thrashing in the water and then scratching along the hull, before, lastly, heavy thudding up on deck. Porco was back at work. His indirect presence made Colt’s cheeks prickle only stronger. How strange: in the lack of body heat, not even his blush felt warm.
He fidgeted with his sleeve, wanting the awkward silence to end. "Sir,… actually,…"
"Look, there’s no easy way to dip your toe into war. It’s always a rude awakening. And I understand all too well how the loss of your comrades gets in the way of feeling accomplished. But I want you to know that more lives would have been lost if it weren’t for you. Apparently, the Alliance intended to use the wipe-out of our flank to gain a positional advantage. They came our way after their decoy exploded — but once they realized we were still alive and firing, they changed course and retreated. Not only did you save your flank, you quite possibly aided in ending the battle prematurely."
"…"
"… You’ve got nothing to say to that?"
Colt reached around his knees, fighting to remain stoic in front of his superior. He didn’t want to look weak. Didn’t want to break at the reminder of what he’d been through. But all he could think about was that severed head’s sickening twitching… How Colt had effectively ordered that man to his death. "Did you," he mumbled, "know Winter?"
"Winter?"
"Mark Winter… He was in my unit."
"Oh. No, I’m afraid I didn’t. Not very well. Why?"
"… I killed him."
"I beg your pardon?"
Colt bit down on his lip and felt its dry skin break. Felt the push of tears and the taste of blood. "Haywood was too scared to operate the cannons… S-so I switched him with Winter. Last second… Haywood lived because of me… and Winter didn’t. Because of me."
Above his head, he heard Magath do a long inhale behind his desk. Then he exhaled and a drawer was opened. "That’s what it’s like, I’m afraid… Being in charge means being responsible for the fate of others. Means giving orders and living with the consequences…"
Being careful not to make eye contact, Colt lifted his gaze to watch what Magath was doing: he was patting down the bottom of his desk drawer, giving a frustrated frown. "Damn it, where is—…" Then he stood up with a distant look on his face. "That kid always knew where I kept my things better than I did… Ah." He pulled a flask and two glasses from a cabinet and brought it all back to his desk. As Colt watched, he poured the both of them a knuckle of cognac each, then leaned back, shaking his head. "…You’re not the only one who lost men out there, Grice," he said, a bit quieter than usual. "But we’ve got to see the bigger picture. The Alliance took a big hit… Have a glass, it’ll help."
Colt was breaking a cold sweat. He reached for it with both hands and downed a hearty mouthful in one. His stitches tugged painfully beneath his shirt and his left arm ached. Then his shoulders stiffened and he shuddered, fighting not to give away how the liquor started burning in his throat.
He felt so hollow, somehow.
"Ah. That’s good," Magath said, scratching his bandaid again. "But yes, such is war… You’ll have to get used to it, you’re our next war chief, after all."
Colt froze. Really? He was still going to be war chief? "You’re not… demoting me?"
"What? Of course not! Why would you think that?"
He almost met Magath’s eyes on accident this time, and quickly looked away, sucking on his bottom lip. The split stung; the alcohol coming into contact felt like salt in a wound.
"…Son, you haven’t been this afraid of eye contact since the first day we met. You’ve got nothing to be afraid of."
Colt sank in his chair. He wanted to be relieved. To feel like everything was alright as long as he still got the position. But… if his affinity came out… "… Please… don’t tell my mom," he whispered. The things his mom used to say… He didn’t want her to say those things about him. Didn’t want others to say that about him.
Magath sighed. "Like I told Galliard. Whatever involvement you and him have with one another, I don’t care…"
Colt wanted to refuse more than anything. Take it back, have it undone. But there was no point. Magath had seen and there was no point saying it wasn’t what it looked like…
"I’m sorry, sir," he whispered. He knocked back the rest of his drink before his stomach would refuse; it was mixing poorly with his nausea all of a sudden.
"Don’t be. Not to me, anyway."
"We’re… we’re involved, but I’m not—… what you think I am…"
Magath sighed. "Look, like I said, I don’t care. I don’t care what you are or who you’re with. What I care about is that you do your job well. Which you do. For the most part."
"… For the most part, sir?"
"Yes. For the most part…" His uniform squeaked as he leaned over on the left armrest. "You’ve got to be careful not to let this… involvement, affect your ability to perform."
"I won’t, I mean I don’t," Colt said, swiping sweat off the underside of his bandaid.
"You say that, yet yours and Galliard’s actions are more transparent that you seem to think. I might not care about your orientation, but I can’t guarantee that the other higher-ups don’t — and they’re just one more slip-up away from putting two and two together, I can promise you that. Especially after Galliard’s actions out there."
What…?
"And what more, I need only refer to your own blackened eye, to prove that you do. You do let your private interest in Galliard affect your performance. You asked to be excused from a highly important military meeting, on the cusp of war, to go see Galliard. On military time."
Colt cringed. He pushed the empty glass away from himself on the desk and wrapped his arms around his stomach. Everything was twisting inside of him. Wanting to come up.
"Am I wrong?" Magath said darkly.
"… No, sir," he breathed.
"…Thank you for proving my point."
His mouth was watering, his eyes were welling. "What… did Porco do?"
"Hm?"
"You said—"
"—Oh, yes. Well, apart from sinking that ship, he seemed to be more focused on you than the enemy. The first thing he did was seek you out. Once you were hurt, he abandoned his post entirely, to carry you to his hideout on the other side of the ridge. To get you out of harms way while you were out cold… Once the nurses arrived, he more or less stole a handful of them and brought them to you rather than letting them do their job… All in all, his priorities did not seem to be Marley first. You can ask general Calvi for my report if you want the details."
Colt couldn’t open his mouth or he’d vomit. What had Porco done?
"Oh, don’t give me that look, you didn’t think I’d hand in a false report, did you? I had my inklings about you two as it was, but I kept my retelling professional, don’t you worry. If you stay focused from now on, I’m sure nobody will know about you two."
He knew it. He knew they’d need to hide it. He knew it wouldn’t be accepted.
"S-sir, I… I don’t approve of what h-he—" Colt stammered, but couldn’t finish, lest his stomach acid spewed all over the desk.
"I know, I know. His actions are his own. And your offences are minor compared to his — Gallaird will have ample punishment once he’s sent back home, to be sure."
Sent back home? What?!
"But the fact of the matter is that you’re both too valuable to be pulled into question. So all this personal business needs to stop. You won’t tell, I won’t tell. So just stay in line from now on and you’ll be good. Alright?"
"H-home?"
Magath sighed and straightened his back against his seat. "Yes. We’re returning home to drop off the titan unit. We suspect the enemy’s developing a new weapon targeted at them and we can’t afford neither to let them test it on a titan, nor risk a titan at this phase."
Now Colt’s world really was crumbling. Porco and him were going to be separated for a year? He had to go through all this alone?
He stood up, the back of his knees knocking the chair back. "Sir, I—… I’m so sorry. I’ll be professional from now on. I’ll never— I’ll never let my personal issues get in the way of duty again..! I—… may I be excused? I don’t feel well."
Magath frowned, looking up at him. "Colt… it’s going to be alright. Just pull yourself together. Stay in line and it’ll be alright."
"Sir, please."
"… You’re excused." He stood up as well and came around the desk. "But don’t forget to see general Calvi once you’re better." He put a hand on Colt’s good shoulder and began leading him to the door. "And once you’ve given your retelling, you can tell him from me he owes me lunch." There was a tinge of humor in his voice that Colt didn’t understand. It felt so out of place in the midst of everything coming undone — but he didn’t stop to ask; just hobbled his way out. Not stopping till he was around the corner, out of sight. Before sinking down against the bulkhead, staring into space…
I might not care about your orientation, but I can’t guarantee that the other higher-ups don’t…
They’re just one more slip-up away from putting two and two together…
Stay in line…

*

The way Porco wrapped his arms around him…
Colt burrowed his face against his chest. Everything hurt when he moved, but Porco’s comfort was the only safe thing in this life.
The infirmary was so quiet. Like everyone were holding their breaths. Listening in, after what had just happened. Magath had seen them.
"I don’t think he cares," Porco whispered.
"How can you say that? Didn’t you see how he looked at us?"
"He was just mad at me for not being at my post… I don’t think he minds us…" His fingers ran softly through the tufts of hair that stuck up over Colt’s bandaid. "He gave me five more minuted with you. That’s got to be a good sign, right?"
… Maybe.
But Colt felt so hopeless. He didn’t want anyone to know. Even if they didn’t care. "He’s going to tell."
"Tell whom?"
"Everyone."
"… Maybe they won’t care either."
"…"
"Colt… look at me." Porco pulled away to catch his eyes. The way the bed squeaked made Colt’s insides twist.
"They can’t throw you out, you’re too valuable," Porco whispered. "And if Magath tells then maybe, after a while, they’ll get over. Maybe coming out won’t be as bad as you think."
Colt pressed his lips together and gave a weak nod. Porco was wrong; he said he understood yet obviously he didn’t… But Colt was too exhausted to argue. Instead, he leaned in. Feeling guilty as he did it. And kissed him. His only comfort. This boy…

… Never again. Never again!
He needed air.
Fighting against a wind that wanted to keep it shut, Colt forced open the door to main deck and stepped out. The interview with general Calvi had been a trial of patience. The way the man was leering and sneering at every other turn of the conversation; Colt could never tell where they stood — only that the man was displeased about something.
He probably had his suspicions after that report. The very thought of that document was enough to make Colt want to scream. He went to war to win his family honor, and look what he gave them instead! He didn’t think his mother even though it possible to fail her this miserably.
I shouldn’t have let it go so far. Never again.
A continuous whirl of wind tugged at his clothes and he shivered against the cold. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs — and then immediately ran to the railing, dry heaving. What was that stench?!
His eyes trailed the black smoke coming from land. A massive fire — the ship?! No. No, wait. His shock cooled and it dawned on him. A funeral pyre…
He held on to the railing with both hands, his numb feet threatening to give. They were burning the dead?
Winter… I’m so sorry… All of you guys… I’m so sorry… I failed you.
Needle Point looked like some blackened volcano landscape now: ashy and littered with pieces of wreckage. And that fire…
‘That would have been me… If you hadn’t switched us.’
He swallowed thickly against the bubbling memories. The relentless flashes of images… Severed limbs… Frayed bones and exploded muscle tissue… Pink gunk under his fingernails…
He wanted to go home.
‘I wish I was back home…’
Colt pushed off the railing and stepped backwards, picturing a freckled, grinning corpse.
He wished he could just forget… All of it. But was that wrong? Maybe that was an injustice towards the one who didn’t make it… To just forget.
He heard a massive splash and saw the Jaw in the water, swimming this way with things strapped to his back.
Colt’s throat bubbled. He couldn’t be here when Porco arrived. Couldn’t face him now. Couldn’t stand to think about the hurt he was going to cause him. By ending what they had.
Because he had to.
Unless…
He needed to talk to the only other person who could understand his situation right now…
As Porco’s massive claws clasped onto the railing, Colt disappeared back inside — the door slamming shut behind him.

*

Second deck was a lot brighter than third deck. Strangely, that was the first thing Colt could think about as he limped his way down the passageway. Ahead, the space opened up around the corner — from where, daylight was flooding in and he heard voices.
He’d read the schematics. Second deck had an actual common area.
Holding his breath and straightening his back, he rounded the bend and scanned the area as fast as he could: a few superiors sat snickering amongst themselves at a table in a corner and two bandaged panzer unit members were playing cards in what looked like hollow silence at the opposite end. By the pretty curtain in front of the windows, sat Zeke.
Colt swallowed and made his way towards him in long strides, trying very hard to walk without the limp. "Mr. Zeke…?" He kept his head bowed in a sign of awareness that he didn’t belong here.
Zeke saw him and raised his eyebrows. "Grice..! I hadn’t expected to see you up and walking so soon."
Colt stopped before him, clenching and unclenching his fists nervously. "May I have a word with you?"
"Go ahead." Zeke tapped his cigarette over an ashtray.
"N-no…" He leaned in and lowered his voice, eyeing the two groups at either end. "… Somewhere private, please?"
"Somewhere private? Oh, alright." Zeke stumped his smoke and stood up. "My room’s down this way."
Colt let him pass and followed behind him, breaking a sweat from all this walking. "Thank you," he mumbled.
"Don’t thank me yet. I don’t know what it’s about yet." Zeke held a door open for him down the hall. "Welcome to my humble abode."
Inside was a spacious one-bed-one-desk compartment with an extra storage locker. It looked almost like a regular bedroom, apart from the circular window and the angled walls. That, and everything being bolted, of course.
If there was one thing Colt was going to envy Zeke for while they were stuck at sea, it was having a private bedroom.
…Oh. Right.
"Have a seat," Zeke said and pointed to the bed. He spun the chair by the desk around to face where Colt would sit. "Alright, shoot. Surely it’s not about your performance. I heard you did good out there."
Colt sank down on the made duvet, knees giving in on the way. He stared at his palms and started rubbing them together anxiously. "Can people hear us in here if we talk normally?"
"… It’s that serious, huh?"
Colt felt so sick. "Remember when I told you I’m not like Porco?"
"Mhm?"
"… Well, I am." He looked up. Met Zeke’s eyes, heart thumping. Wished he could convey it all with his eyes so his mouth didn’t have to do the work. Didn’t have to say the words.
Zeke didn’t seem particularly fazed.
"I’m—…" Colt swallowed thickly. "I like boys… A-and girls! But boys too."
Oh, just being able to say it, to someone who was like him. Someone who already navigated the ranks of military with this identity. It felt like such a weight off. It made him almost light-headed.
Zeke raised an eyebrow. "… And?"
He blushed. "A-and… I— well, I… I. I made a really bad mistake. And I was wondering if you could help me… figure out what to do… Please?"
Zeke reached behind to garb a white leather ball that had been sitting on his desk and began throwing it into the air. "Hm… Alright. I’m not sure I’m the right person to give advice past this stage anymore, but shoot. What did you do?"
"No, you’re exactly the right person," Colt mumbled. He leaned forward and rested his chin in his hands, elbows on his knees. "Magath caught me kissing Porco. At the infirmary…"
How odd… A vague feeling of giddiness came over him as he said it. A misplaced tinge or excitement — almost a sense of pride. Just from telling someone he trusted, that he’d kissed the boy he liked? It enthused him even as the words twisted his stomach… He shouldn’t be this way.
"He did?" Zeke snatched the ball out of the air and crossed his legs. "What’d he say?"
Even in this dire situation, unburdening himself from his secret felt like a weight off. Colt wasn’t alone in this. "He said he didn’t care but that the other superiors will."
"They might."
It stung a little how matter-of-factly he said that. Colt nodded, feeling his stomach sort of sink again. Even though Zeke was technically just seconding what he was saying, it made him nauseous. Brought him back to reality. "… Yeah. And he told me to pull myself together. Because apparently—" His throat bobbed and he swiped a hand underneath his bandaid to catch sweat. "Apparently, Porco made it really obvious out there that he likes me."
Zeke pursed his lips and looked to be thinking. "Hm… Yes. I’d say so…"
Colt sat back up straight, pinching his thighs anxiously. Despite feeling weird about it, he wised the giddiness would stay; now he was slowly returning to that desperate, crumbling state from earlier. "Zeke," he said, breath hitching. "I don’t know what to do anymore… Magath said he wouldn’t tell anyone, but he put that stuff in the report. What if general Calvi puts two and two together? Or if I—… I can’t make another mistake. I can’t be with him."
Zeke frowned. "If you do your job well, it’s your own business what you do in your own time, Colt."
"No, I can’t risk it! Porco doesn’t understand; I’m afraid he’ll tell someone… I just can’t… have him so close." He looked out the window, grabbing his chest. "And besides… I can’t turn it off. These feelings." The flush in his face was flaring. But he knew he was in trustworthy company. "I… keep having these urges… To be close with him… If we’re together, I’m less likely to be temped. You know?"
"…"
"A-and it doesn’t exactly make things easier that he’s so damn good looking, either." The last part he said in a bit of a desperate laugh. "I wish I could turn the attraction off, but. I can’t…"
Zeke sighed.
Colt assumed his mentor knew exactly how he felt. "Mr. Zeke," he said, echoing his sigh. "…How do you do it?"
"… How do I do what?"
Colt chuckled nervously again and swallowed. "You know… being like this, keeping it a secret, staying away from those urges?"
Zeke gave him a puzzled look. He tossed the ball in the air again and said, almost bothered: "I’m not gay, Colt?"
"What? Oh— s-so you’re like me? You like both?"
"No? I don’t like men."
Colt’s heart stopped. What? "…But you said?" He grabbed his knees, just to hold on to something, to stay grounded. "I asked you if you’d ever felt like you wanted to be close to a boy and you said sure…!" His voice quivered.
"Oh, that." Zeke stood, rubbing his neck and looking towards the door like he wanted out of the situation. "Look, Colt, I was just saying that to make you feel less crappy about yourself. I can relate to caring about people, that’s what I meant… I didn’t think you’d take it so literally." He bit his lip and gave a sheepish smile. "Sorry, kid."
Colt was horrorstruck. Felt like he was drowning all over again and jusr sat on the bed, staring up at his mentor in dumb horror. This mentor of his whom he’d just told everything to. Whom he’d thought understood him… Thought was like him.
But no… Turned out Colt was the only odd one out after all. The only one with these freakish urges. He was utterly alone. And an utter shame.
Zeke must be so disgusted with him…
"… You hear? I’m sorry you took it that way," Zeke repeated, fidgeting with the ball.
Colt felt the already collapsing walls closing in on him. There was nowhere to go and no way out. Nowhere to hide from this… From this shame. He’d always had the nagging feeling at the back of his head, that one day everyone would know… And now it was happening. His disgusting secret was leaking. Porco knew — and didn’t see the danger in spreading it. Magath knew, and had written a full report on it. And now Zeke…
He felt betrayed. Lured into a trap, to reveal his innermost secrets in hopes of being met on equal ground. But there was no equal ground. And once again he was a freak. Only, now, people knew.
He stood, like in a trance. He was so tired… So tired of feeling like this.
"Colt? Ok, just go get some rest, alright?" Zeke was talking through a fog. "I’m sorry you misunderstood. But hey, your secret’s safe with me… Here, let me get the door for you… You’ll be alright."
Colt made his way out. Limped down the passageway, past the common area. Wasn’t even sure where he was going.
All he knew was that he had to… pull himself together.

Chapter Text

850

The laughter and music filling the common area of second deck felt out of place. Uncanny, in a way. Even with his fingers cooling against the frosty glass of his fourth or fifth beer, Porco didn’t know quite how to feel. It hadn’t felt like the right time to celebrate, but apparently, general Calvi and his minions wanted to lift Marley morale — to celebrate their victory — and you don’t say no to superiors. Crates of free beer had been placed at every deck. And by the time evening fell, everything Porco had knocked back, was actually starting to give him a fuzzy feeling. Something akin to jitters.
But it still felt weird… With everything, it felt weird.
If only Colt would show up. Then maybe Porco could let go of the lingering anxiety, like everyone else in the room seemed to have. Just for tonight.
C’mon, Colt. You were invited up here hours ago, what’s taking you so long?
Magath and his co-superiors broke into laughter two tables over. They were playing poker. Porco had seen General Calvi serving up shit-eating grins all evening, from behind his growing stack of chips. He didn’t turn to see if he was giving another one now.
Are you in a lot of trouble? Are you trying to avoid the higher-ups?
Actually, he hadn’t seen Colt since yesterday — since the infirmary. Where was Colt’s head at? Man, Porco was aching to go find him, to ask, to comfort — but he wasn’t about to make first contact. Wasn’t going to risk causing more trouble than he already had. He felt so bad for Colt.
Still,… he missed him up here.
Missed his mouth, for fuck’s sake.
You’re not going to let me leave without a proper goodbye, are you?
Lifting the bottle to his lips for another mindless swig, he gulped down and let it rest there, the cold glass against his mouth, as he watched the black water wash on by outside the porthole. They had about another 24 hours left now. Still no sight of the coast — just this endless dark expanses of nothingness — but home was fast approaching, no doubt.
"I’m sure they’ll make do without us," Zeke was saying across the table, hand hanging over the ashtray.
Porco nodded.
… I guess he’s still drinking with the other third deck’ers. Getting some of that liquid courage before turning up.
He had seen Colt turn into a floundering fool many a time from drinking. And he still doubted getting thoroughly wasted was worth that kind of embarrassment — but the more Porco drank tonight, the more he thought he understood Colt’s need for this… This numbing elation.
Man, I can’t believe I have a boyfriend…
He closed his eyes and felt the waves spinning the room.
"It’s going to be weird waiting around at home, though," Zeke continued. "Might think of something to do in the meantime…"
"Mhm," Porco hummed. He put his bottle down — why was it empty already?
A boyfriend…
To be honest, the vertigo-like buzz was starting to shake off his reasoning for why he shouldn’t take matters into his own hands. Who really cared if they were together anyways? Magath certainly hadn’t. Who the fuck cared if they spent this evening together; they’d be separated for a year come tomorrow! And anyways, everyone was too busy drinking and playing; they probably wouldn’t even notice if the two of them got a little frisky.
Pieck and her unit broke into laughter on the other side of the room, for a moment overshadowing the blaring of the gramophone. Yep, even with mental exhaustion heavy in the air, it seemed as though everyone were leaning into this break eagerly.
For sure, nobody would care. They all just wanted to get drunk.
"…Fine. I see how it is," Zeke said, "I wanted to ask you something, Galliard."
"… Hm?" Porco opened his eyes.
"It’s just something minor, really. I didn’t mean to upset him, but… Well, I think I caused some offence with Colt yesterday. Has he talk to you about it?"
Porco narrowed his eyes. "You upset him?"
"It was just a misunderstanding… He thought— well, he thought I were like you two."
What?
"What?" Porco pushed his bottle aside, toppled it — "oops" — and leaned over the table. "What do you mean? Why did he think that?"
"Ey, don’t worry," Zeke chuckled, showing palms. "He’s all yours. We were just talking. All yours."
"Yeah," Porco growled. He wiped his mouth and stood up. Damn, the waves really were big tonight; he caught his balance on the table and blinked.
"You alright there?"
"Peachy." He hiccoughed and set course for the crate of unopened beers.
"Uh, don’t tell him I told, alright?" Zeke called over the gramophone.
"Yeah, sure, whatever," Porco answered with his back to him, topping off a bottle cap and taking a swig.
Ok, fuck it, I’m going to find him. I’ll find him and just fuckin kiss his stupid face.
He wiped his mouth.
So everyone knows he’s mine.

*

Third deck was so much darker than second; it was almost hard to find his footing down the passageway. And with no common area, he had to follow the sound of laughter and thumping till he stood outside a sleeping compartment, to find the party.
Having too much fun to leave, are you?
He knocked and half the voices stifled. The other half began choke-chuckling, like kids at a sleep-over, caught staying up past bedtime.
"Who is it?"
"Galliard. Is Grice in there?"
An audible sigh of a relief. "Come in."
And when he did — finding about twenty cadets crammed into a small compartment, sitting in a circle around the crate of beers, like campers around a fire — the lot of them raised their bottles and cheered.
"The Jaw has come to join us! All hail," one of the young men chanted, and a couple others joined in by stomping their feet against the metal deck. "Augh, augh, augh!"
Porco gave a sheepish smile and raised his own bottle. "Just looking for— oh, there you are. Colt." He held on to the door frame for balance. "Aren’t— aren’t you coming to join us?"
Sitting on the edge of the lower berth, next to Haywood whom was propped up against a hill of pillows, sat Colt. He lifted two beers, and smiled with red eyes. "Didn’t think they’d miss me," he slurred, nudging Haywood before placing one of the beers at the hand-less guy’s mouth.
"Pff, are you kidding? Everyone’s asking for you," Porco said.
"Everyone?"
"… Ok, maybe everyone’s me."
Some of the others "ooo"-ed and Porco thought he saw Colt’s cheeks turn a faint shade pinker. The sight melted the sparks of annoyance he’d felt earlier.
"Galliard, do you have an embarrassing story to share? It’s Marvin’s turn but since you’re standing to his right, right now…"
The gathering began thumping the floor again. "Story, story, story."
Porco chuckled, trying to keep Colt’s eyes — but the guy turned away, nervously chewing on his bottom lip. "Well, there was that one time I tried to get my best friend to come join me, but he picked a party over me…"
The guys chuckled and "ooo"-ed again.
"Oh, come on," Colt said. He put Haywood’s drink on his nightstand and stood up. "I’m not— I’m not choosing a party over you." He was swaying like a flagpole in a storm.
"Ey, careful," Porco said, stepping over arms and legs to reach and grab him. One swaying pole helping support another. His hand came to rest on Colt’s back and their eyes met. "Then come outside with me for a second?"
"… Fine," Colt breathed, squinting at him up close. "But I’m not going to second deck."

*

They stalked down the dark passageway and ended up at the far end, where the laughter from compartment 0306 was only a hum. The whirring of the engine, however, was loud and deep.
"Alright," Porco said, rounding on Colt once he thought they were out of earshot of anyone. "Why not second deck? Magath said he invited you."
Colt leaned on his hip and began staring back at him with a strange look on his face. Slowly, he began tipping sideways, until he lost his footing and Porco caught him. "Hey— Careful."
As soon as Colt regained his posture, he brushed Porco’s hands off and took a swig of his beer. "Let’s go to top deck."
"What?" Porco tried wrapping his arms around Colt’s waist to pulling him closer, bottle between his hands. But once again Colt pushed him off.
"I’m serious, let’s go spit over the railing on top deck," he said, chuckling a bit too shrilly. He began staggering backwards the way they’d come.
"Colt…"
"What!" Colt’s bruised face peered out at him, head nodding with imbalance. His edges were slowly obscuring in the dark, but his eyes were glinting… There seemed to be something going on inside them that Porco couldn’t quite grasp. Something being held back.
Or maybe it was just the alcohol. Wouldn’t be the first time.
"Are you mad at me?" Porco asked, squinting as Colt finally blended in with the shadows. "Or Zeke? ….I wanna spend the rest of my time on board with you. Don’t you want that too?"
When Colt still didn’t answer, he emptied his beer in one and followed.
Catching up, he found Colt leaned against the bulkhead next to the stairs. The shadows were deep under his eyes from the lighting from above. He stood staring, waiting on Porco with that same strange look on his face as earlier. Beer left on a step. "…I told Zeke about Magath."
"Yeah?" Porco put his empty bottle next to Colt’s and closed the gap between them by placing his hands on the wall on either side of him. Sort of boxing Colt in with his body. "You didn’t tell me."
Damn, the alcohol was getting to his head, too. So fuzzy.
After a bit of silence, he added: "Got nothing to say to that?"
Colt pressed his lips together and quite clumsily caught his fingers in-between the buttons on Porco’s shirt. Porco wasn’t sure if it was meant to be threatening or flirty, but either way it felt nice. The way Colt’s fingertips brushed against the bare skin in-under the fabric.
"… I wanted him to tell me it wasn’t a big deal," Colt said and sighed with exaggeration.
Porco gave a confused smile. "What? I’m too tipsy for riddles right now." He shuddered, body numb and prickly.
Colt hung his head and gave a dry, cracked laugh. "You fucked me."
"Uh?" Porco echoed the laugh, albeit confused. "Not yet I haven’t?"
"Oh, fuh— fffunny guy…" Colt raised his voice against the whirring engine. "You fucked me. Ok? Magath wrote all that shit you did for me in the re— in the report."
Oh… So he was mad? Despite his slurred speech, tone of voice didn’t lie.
Porco shifted his weight from one foot to the other, focusing hard. Damn this spinning; it was making it hard to focus. "… So… I was supposed to not save your life? You’re angry I saved you?"
I get you’re mad, but where’s the logic?
Colt turned his face to the side and Porco couldn’t resist cupping his cheek.
But of course, Colt brushed him off again. "Stop." He turned back to set a pair of heavy hooded eyes on him. "Are— are you even listening?"
"I… ugh. I am. But, Colt…" Porco blinked hard and swallowed. "I thought… we were good. Now."
Colt scowled but didn’t answer.
Am I supposed to listen to him? All he says is scripted, right?
"I missed your lips, boyfriend" Porco tried, and leaned in.
…But Colt grabbed him by the shoulders. "Stop. Seriously."
"Why?"
"Isn’t it obvious?"
"No?"
"… I want you."
"And?" Alright, for real, Porco couldn’t make sense of this now. "What’s the problem, then? You’ve got me!"
"I don’t!"
"Yeah you do?"
Colt hooked his fingers in Porco’s belt loops and dragged him so close Porco could feel the guy’s half-mast against his hip bone. Though, he decided not to comment.
"No," Colt slurred. "Because I have to pull myself together…"
"…Why? You’ve been doing great from what I’ve heard."
Colt huffed, obviously unamused. "Not like that." Then, in another sudden, confusing change of mood, he threw his head back and groaned. "Damn it, Porco, you make it so hard…!"
"What?" Porco snickered and fought not to go for the low-hanging fruit of jokes. "Colt, you’re not making sense… This is our last night together for a whole year. Don’t you want a proper goodbye?"
But Colt wasn’t hearing it. He was rubbing his face in obvious frustration now. "Those arms, they’re killing me! And that jawline! Ugh!"
The message was finally clear and Porco felt a grin spread across his face. "Oh, so you want want me. Why dih—didn’t you just say so?"
"I told you!"
Porco gave a playful thrust and the subtle breath that escaped Clot’s lips caused electric jitters to erupt in his stomach. "And I told you: you have me." He loved this; loved Colt being explicitly into him. He could get used to this.
Colt laid his head back against the wall. And underneath the whirring, Porco thought he heard him whisper: "So fucking weak." Then: "Ok…" He straightened his posture and locked eyes. His pupils were dilated. "I have you… But just for tonight."
The crowd was thumping the floor inside 0306 again and Colt gave a weak smile. "Let’s stay down here, though. They’re more fun."

*

Sometime later — maybe twenty minutes, maybe two hours; it was impossible to tell without windows or a clock — Porco was fully captured by the spirit of the rest of the third deck. They were on their fifth round of stories, and the insanity of the stories rose with the collective intoxication. Porco was laughing so hard he couldn’t care less that his ass was numb from sitting on the floor. He slouched over Colt’s shoulder and pulled him further into his lap, wheezing for breath.
Colt, equally, hung around his shoulders, howling laughing.
Oh, this felt good.
Porco didn’t know if it was thanks to the additional alcohol or Colt’s resolve to give himself ‘just tonight’, but either way, Porco was over the moon to play boyfriends with him. And nobody seemed to care! As a matter of fact, more people were resting in each other’s’ laps by now.
… And alright, so maybe it was because of the awful floors — why weren’t third deck given chairs? — but still… This was nice.
"So the— so the idiot," Marvin squeaked through tears of laughter on Porco’s left, "pissed over railing on the wrong side, and the wind blew it right back in his face!"
Porco toppled over on his side, wheezing. "Noooo."
"Yes," Marvin cried, wiping his eyes. "Fucking idiot… And that’s why Magath had him on permanent cleaning duty."
"Nooo!"
"Yes!"
"Man," another guy — the one who’d initially invited Porco to join — snickered, and stood up. "Absolute meat head." He caught himself on a berth. "I’m gonna go ask for more beers, anyone with me?"
Several of his friends volunteered. And in the break from all the talking, Colt leaned over Porco on the floor, smiling. There was something in his eyes again… A cleverness this time. Unsteady legs all around them, and all they saw were each other. "Stay," he whispered.
"Yeah, I’m not gonna ask no general asshole for nothing," Porco assured him, licking his lips.
"No," Colt said, adjusting his hands on the floor on either side of Porco’s hair. "Stay for phase one."
"… What?" Porco squinted up at his beautiful, blurry face. Felt the heat rise in his cheeks as Colt’s legs lowered on him, straddled him.
"Stay with me." Colt whispered. Then several people began "ooo"-ing and Colt rolled off him to sit up. "What? We’re just talking. This is normal," he said, smirking like a fool, swaying like a leaf of grass. "We’re jus— just kidding, you know."
Porco sat up too, adjusting his pants to hide his rising tent. "Yeah… Colt’s always a tease."
"Hey!"
"Hahaha, sorry, sorry—" He shielded himself from a few shoulder-slaps before lunging at Colt to push him off balance, this time pinning him to the floor.
"Ugh, get a room," someone called.
Colt, beat red but smiling, looked up at Porco and whispered: "Wanna get a room?"

*

They stumbled down the passageway, arm in arm for support.
"Seriously, I barely— ba-barely made that ladder," Colt said, hiccoughing.
"Shhhh," Porco replied, putting a finger to his lips. "Common area right around the corner."
Colt snorted. "I don’t caaare. You shhhh."
"Grice! There you are! Just the man we wanted to see," Magath called as soon as they staggered into the light.
Porco saw Zeke get off his chair, and gave Colt a careful shove towards his bedroom. "No, we’re tired," he said loudly. "See you later!"
Then Porco and Colt both put their heads down, giggling and disappearing down the other end of the passageway.
"Thisss is me." Porco opened his sleeping compartment and let Colt in first. Then he locked the door behind them.
Colt wasted no time: he turned on him and pushed him against the door. "I’mmmm not supposed to do this," he giggled.
"‘Just for tonight’, remember?" Porco retorted, grabbing him by the hips. The room was spinning like a whirlpool and somehow, he loved it.
Colt stuck his hands up underneath Porco's shirt, hands inching up his stomach. "I have to break up with you," he breathed.
"What?"
But Colt didn’t elaborate on his mixed messages, just leaned in to kiss him, and Porco didn't have to be asked twice. Their mouths caught and it was like the wick that had been burning all night finally reached its dynamite: Their tongues clashed in a deep kiss, rough and sloppy. Their hands grabbed at each other's clothes like they needed to come off in seconds or else—. Colt seemed almost angry; the way he tugged and grunted. "Pull my hair."
Porco did as he was told and they tumbled along the bulkhead until he was the one pinning Colt; the way Colt gasped told him that’s what he wanted.
Shit, are we actually doing this?
His heart was hammering in his throat. He’d read about this so many times. Dreamt about it even more. In his nightstand lay all the things he knew they’d need. And yet, he felt hopelessly lost now that the time had come. All percieved knowledge was out the window. Was he really ready to go all the way? What if he was awful at it? O-or did it wrong?
He broke from Colt’s mouth to ask: "On the bed?"
But Colt just leaned in and bit down on his bottom lip in reply — and the small taste of pain sent jolts through Porco.
"You like that?" Colt asked, a blush bloomed across his face. His trembling hand snaked in between them and came to rest against the front of Porco’s pants.
Fuck, ok. Fuck it. Alright. Porco would just have to wing this the best he could. Becuase it was getting hard to even see straight with how much he wanted it. "Get—get on the bed."
They staggered their way over, giggling without breath, missing each other’s’ mouths as they tumbled — and before Porco knew it, he found himself on top of Colt, springs squeaking under them. Their panting echoing against the walls. "I want you so bad," he stammered; hands fumbling with Colt’s shirt buttons.
Colt was looking up at him with big eyes, already sweating from his flush. "Y-you’ll lead, ok?"
Distant laughter washed down the hallway. To Porco, the outside sounded a world away. "If that’s what you want," he said, pulling Colt’s shirt off him.
"Y-you know… how…?" His voice jumped in unison with Porco’s hands on his skin.
"Yeah." Porco swallowed against the heart in his throat. The springs squeaked.
"… Good."
But some of the urgency was leaving Colt’s voice. His expression was glassing over, and it was giving Porco pause. "… Y-you want this… Right? I’m nervous too, if that’s—…"
In the distance, some superiors yelled out about royal flush and Colt turned his face towards the door.
Oh, no. Please, no. Not now.
"H-hey… Hey. They can’t hear us." Porco cupped Colt’s cheek to turn his focus back to him. His heart was growing in his throat. "Please… ‘Just for tonight’, remember?"
… But Colt was propping himself up on his elbows now. "What am I doing," he stammered, head nodding drunkenly.
No.
"Colt… Fuck. If—… If you just want to— We don’t have to do it do it. I could…" Porco was struggling with the words, they felt so big in his mouth and hard to force out. "I cuh—could blow you. Instead. If you—…" He began scooting backwards on his knees to reach for his fly. "If you want."
But he knew. The way his heart was sinking; he knew.
The way Colt’s eyes were being overtaken by dread; he knew.
"N-no—! Shit— This is a bad idea—" Colt began kicking himself upwards until he could pull his legs free. "I’m not—"
"—Don’t! Don’t say it…"
"I—" Colt’s breath hitched. But he listened; at least he listened: "I can’t disap— I can’t risk—" He rolled off and staggering around the bed after his shirt, throat violently red, like he was on the brink of screaming. Only, the more he talked, the quieter he got, till his voice was just a squeak. "It’s… over. I let it g-go too far again…"
"Colt."
He watched as Colt stumbled and tripped, hitting the back of his head against Pieck’s bolted cabinet and knocking over her crutch. "Ow! D-damn it!"
And all Porco could do was sit there. His heart was nowhere to be felt anymore. Ripped out of his body. "… Colt, stay."
"I’m not—"
"Please."
Sitting on the floor, Colt began fighting with his shirt. "I..! Can not…! Do this to them! Magath said one more mess-up and they’d know! I have to prove— have to prove I’m not—" He got it on, the wrong side out, and stopped for a second, panting, hair a mess, eyes out of focus but staring in Porco’s direction. "I can’t… So… Just stop. This was the last time. I’m not interested. Not anymore."
And then he got up. Unlocked the door. And staggered out with a limp.
… Porco didn’t even feel any tension anymore; his body just hurt. Like it was hollowed out.
What a fool… He’d really thought. Yesterday, he’d really thought…
It’s never going to end, is it? He’s never going to be my boyfriend…
He exhaled a deep, deflating sigh… and crawled underneath the covers, the room spinning. He closed his eyes — althought it didn't help the spinning — and curled up, hoping the alcohol would let him stop existing sooner rather than later.

Let me forget this ever happened... Please

*

Another indistinguishable amount of time later, he was awoken by the door swinging open and slamming against the wall.
He turned in his bed and saw Pieck dancing her way over.
"Hiii. Sorry, did I wake you?" She dropped down on the empty space next to him, giggling at the ceiling.
"… I thought you said you weren’t gonna get drunk."
She stifled herself. "Don’t be mad at me, ok?"
"… Ok?"
His mouth tasted like ash and his head was throbbing.
"Colt’s awful at cards," she said. And the bare mention of him, made Porco want to disappear.
"Ok."
"But, uh… You know how you said you two didn’t have ‘a thing’?"
"… Yeah. We don’t."
"Uh-huh. Well… He kissed me."
Porco froze. All the jitters he’d previously felt, turned to tiny needles on his skin. White-hot needles. "… What?" he whispered.
Pieck covered her mouth. "Don’t get me wrong," she muffled. "I would never. Even though you two didn’t happen, I know you like him, so I would never. I didn’t know he was gonna do it. But he just sort of… did it."
"…"
"I told him he’s not my type," Pieck continued. "But you were right, he is pretty good... Wonder why he did it." She sighed and sat up. "Oh, what a strange night…"
Porco mustered just enough strength to turn back around to face the wall. Then he held his breath and listened as Pieck climbed into her own bed across the room. He hid his face against his pillow and bit down hard. As quiet tears began to run.

That’s it, is it? This is how you want to end it?

Chapter Text

840

It was a hot Sunday morning. The Liberio market square was bustling with life and little Colt was holding on to his mother’s hand, making googly-eyes at everything. So many exciting things to look at. So many voices, so many smells in the heat.
There was a stand selling colorful fruits; there was a scarecrow sticking out of a wheelbarrow. Over there was a cow being milked below a banner. There, a wind chime. A cat hissing at a rat. Prices shouted over heads.
"Look, mommy, a man juggling potatoes!"
"Yes, Colt," his mother sighed, adjusting the basket at her hip. "But we’re done now."
He looked up and saw the silver hairpin that kept his mother’s Sunday scarf on her head, gleaming like a tiny sun. "Can’t we go look for just a minute? Pretty please?"
"Hmmm." She looked down at him — and he made sure to give her his biggest most good-boy’es eyes right back.
"Do you think you’ve been good enough today?"
"Uh-huh. I helped you carry the basket earlier, remember?"
She seemed to think, then broke into a soft smile. "So you did. Oh, alright. Let’s go have a look."
It worked! "Yesss. Thank you, mommy!" Oh, Colt loved Sundays. Sundays were the best. Time off from the military-thingy, yummy food and extra lively markets.
"My good boy," his mother cooed above his head. She began cutting through the maelstrom of shoppers towards the potato stand. And Colt did his best to keep up with her tempo. After all, he was big now, and didn’t want to slow her down anymore.
… But then she stopped. In front, people were parting to let a carriage through. A carriage with — not one, not two; not even three, but four — horses attached.
"Oooh," Colt said, his mouth a big O. "Look, mommy! They must be rich! Maybe it’s that family you lived with befo—"
"—Be quiet!"
"—Oh! …Sorry." He peered up at her and saw that her smile was gone. And when she adjusted her scarf and turned her face away from the carriage, Colt hurried to do the same. He shielded his face with his other hand and pretended they were secret military spies who mustn’t be recognized by the enemy.
Phew! That was a close one! Captain Marley’s position still secure.
The carriage pulled up a few stands further down the street and feet flooded the path once again. Colt’s mother straightened her back, huffed and scurried them over to mingle with the juggle-onlookers, her back towards the horses.
Colt looked up at her again, gauging her expression. "Those were really big horses, huh?"
"Did you want to watch the man juggle or not?"
"—Sorry. I want to."
As they stood there, watching — amongst the kids "ooo"-ing and "aaa"-ing — one of Colt’s mother’s friends happened upon them, and to Colt’s dismay, they struck up a conversation that just, would never, end. Not even when the juggler finished his performance and went back to work, did it end.
Colt couldn’t stand whenever this happened. His mother and Mrs. Phi always talked for forever and ever and ever. And always about such boring things! How could they stand it?
… Asking mommy if they could leave already was an absolute no-no, though. So after what felt like hours, Colt let his mother’s hand go, in favor of exploring. He really wondered about that carriage, but given his mother’s reaction, he knew he shouldn’t approach it. She’d be mad at him. So he settled for poking around the nearby shops instead. The next one over had bouquet in all sorts of colors on display and his attention was soon captured. So many pretty colors. Oh, and look! Flower-crowns made of the yellow flower that mommy had on her scarf!
He poked his head around the corner to look back at her and Mrs. Phi. Bwah, still talking…
… But mommy was going to love this, he was sure of it. So he made a decision: grabbed a crown and ran. "Mommy, look what I found! Can we get one of these? Pretty please?" He skidded to a halt in front of her and held the flowers up proudly.
She turned away from her company to look at him… and faced him with arched eyebrows and a stiff smile. "What do you think you’re doing?"
Oh.
His tummy did one of those twisty thingys. "… Showing you?"
"Put it back," she said, still with that smile.
"…Can’t I have it, pretty please?"
"Stop being silly, Colt. Put it back where you found it," his mother insisted. She looked over her shoulder at Mrs. Phi and laughed. "He’s been unwell."
"… I have?"
"Yes… Now, put it back before someone thinks you’re stealing, honey."
His cheeks got warm. "I didn’t steal. I’m just showing you. It’s like your sca—"
"—Flowers are for girls, Colt." There was no more smile now. She stretched her neck taller — like she was scouting down the street for something — before kneeling in front of him. There, she put her basket aside and grabbed him by his arms kinda hard. "You hear?"
"B-but it’s pretty, like you mommy…"
She squeezed her grip and leaned in closer. "Look at Mrs. Phi," she whispered. "She’s feeling so embarrassed by you right now."
He stole a sideways glance up at the lady. "… She is?" He didn’t want to embarrass anybody.
"Mhm. And do you know why? Because boys don’t ask for flowers."
"… They don’t?"
"No. Normal boys don’t want flowers. So if you’re asking for flowers, it means you’re not normal, you’re unwell. That’s embarrassing."
"…" He tried to shimmy his arms free but it only made her hold him in place harder.
"Look at everybody. They just heard you asking for a girl thing. They’re laughing at you. Aren’t you embarrassed?"
Colt swallowed against a lump in his throat and discretely looked around. So many people… All of a sudden, he just wanted to go home.
"Now you go and put the thing back where you found it, alright? And don’t talk to anybody else, only the shop keeper. Apologize for stealing from them and come right back. Because we’re not thieves. Only unwell, not-normal people are thieves."
"I didn’t steal," Colt said, choking up.
"I know, honey. But they might think you did. You asked for a girl thing, didn’t you? So who’s to say you wouldn’t do other unwell things as well? …Go give it back, apologize, and then maybe — if you can be good now — mommy can buy some pretty flowers to decorate the dinner table with instead. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Yeah, you would. So go ahead now. Good boy."

…Not before they were almost home, did Colt ask his mother why unwell people were thieves. He had offered to carry his share of groceries the last stretch of the way, and perhaps the added weight was what finally broke the camel’s back, despite the worry in his tummy.
He asked, with the sinking ache that perhaps she, too, thought he wasn’t normal, after what he’d done. She had told Mrs. Phi he was unwell, after all. And then she’d said he stole — even though he hadn’t! Really, he hadn’t!
"It’s because that’s what unwell means, honey," his mother answer him sweetly, nudging him with her hip as if all was forgotten. She seemed to be in a much better mood ever since they left the square.
… He was thankful he had such a forgiving mommy.
"Unwell people don’t know what’s right, because their heads aren’t put together right. And when you don’t know what’s right, you do things that are wrong. Does that make sense?"
"… Uh-huh."
"Only uh-huh me if you mean it, Colt."
"Sorry… How do you know if you’re unwell?"
"Hmmm. Well. Do you think eating flowers is normal?" She stuck the bouquet she’d bought, out at him.
His cheeks flushed like earlier. "No?"
"No. You’re right, eating flowers is strange. But if you’re unwell, you don’t know that. That’s why people don’t like the unwell. Because you never know what the unwell might do. If they would eat your flowers, what else would they do? Paint your horse’s hooves blue? Climb your roof at night and hoot like an owl so you never sleep?"
"…Turn your curtains into kites?"
His mother stopped and looked at him. Then she laughed, and his stomach un-knotted a little. "Haha, yes, precisely. They would turn your curtains into kites." She ran her fingers through his hair. "Silly Colt. Precisely. And they’d steal… Well, if you’re ever in doubt, just ask me, alright?" She stuck the bouquet out at him again. "Want to hold it?"
He shook his head.
"Good boy. Mommy loves you very much."

*

850

Haywood’s dry cough brought Colt out of his head and back into the uncomfortable chair by the bandaged guy’s bedside. How they’d managed to smuggle him both in and out of the infirmary last night for the party, he had no idea. But by the look of him, it had been ill advised; Haywood was coming down with a fever.
"Sorry, Hay" Colt mumbled, rubbing his aching face. "Got lost in thought there for a second… Did you say wanted water?"
It could have been any time of day; the lightbulbs were the same pale yellow down here — be it night or morning — had it not been for the fact he’d been up top to grab Haywood’s breakfast for him half an hour ago and seen the early sun rising above the coast.
"Please." Haywood tilted his chin up and Colt put the cup to his lips.
"But slowly this time, alright?" Colt felt too ill to have any food himself yet. But it felt nice to help. At least there was that.
Man, what a fuck-up, though… All of this. The entire night. What had he been thinking? He’d stayed away from Porco ever since the beers came out because he knew precisely what would happen. He’d even told himself to be strong. To remember his choices jeopardized not only himself but his family.
… And then he’d fallen at the first hurdle. Again. Porco had just held him, and that had been it.
Worse, in Colt’s own ridiculous weakness, he’d managed to do neither one thing nor another in the end; he’d risked his reputation again and he’d ruined the mood.
… Yet, what hurt the most was how happy he’d felt there for a second.
Why the fuck am I so weak?
"I’m losing you again, aren’t I?" Haywood rasped.
"Hm? Oh… Sorry." Colt put the cup back and stretched his neck, this way then the other. "Another bite of porridge?"
"If you’ve got people to say goodbye to, I don’t want to keep you, you know…"
"No, I’m— I was just… thinking. Honestly." He stretched his back, then deflated with a groan, sinking into his seat. "Rough morning."
"Same here." Carefully, Haywood used his stumps to push himself into a more upright position against his fluffed pillows. He was drenched in sweat and the rings under his eyes were blue. "Once we arrive," he said, grimacing, "they’re temporarily discharging me… Temporarily. Can you believe it? Like, what good am I ever going to be to them at this point? Look at me."
"Hay, don’t say that…"
"You don’t have to lie… But thanks… I suppose, in the end, I’d rather they see some use in me, than agreeing I’m a waste of space."
"I’m sorry, man," Colt mumbled. He couldn’t imagine what Haywood was going through right now. Even in the midst of all Colt’s fear of losing what he’d worked so hard for, for his family — and of having to letting go of the one thing he wanted for himself — he still wouldn’t have switch fates with Hay.
Not to mention, he was sure Hay’s gory nightmares were just as hard to sleep through as his own, if not worse.
In the silence, they heard footsteps against steel somewhere above them. The lightbulbs buzzing.
Then Haywood turned to cough into his pillows again. "Ugh… Shit. At least I get to go home… But what were you thinking about?"
Colt gave a small, empty laugh. "… Just about how weak I am."
"What? Bull shit!" Haywood fell back, dark hair haloing his pale face. " You didn’t hide in a hole like I did. You risked your life to go warn the commander Magath."
"It was my duty…"
"But weren’t you scared? It wasn’t just your duty. It was everyone’s… I wasn’t brave enough to risk my life for anyone."
"…"
"I’m the weak one. Winter—"
"—Let’s… let’s not. Not right now," Colt said, sinking further in his seat and pinching his nose bridge. He didn’t want to think about Winter again. Didn’t want to see that face again. Not right now.
"… Yeah. But you’re not weak, Grice. They’ve told me what you did out there. As if commanding us and helping me wasn’t enough, you stood up to Magath too. To call for backup. If it hadn’t been for you—"
He nodded, but perhaps his face was telling the truth of how he felt, because Haywood stopped. He couldn’t know…
"… Well, at least I don’t think you’re weak."
"Thanks, Hay…"
"Thank you… For helping me with everything…"
Colt gave a small nod. Yeah. He was happy to help. But it was the least he could do… Apart from trying to support his subordinate, the only thing he’d done right this entire time was kissing Pieck in front of his superiors last night. General Calvi had seen it. Magath too. A lot of people had. It hadn’t felt good — and today it was the biggest, most painful rock in his stomach of all time — but it had gotten the job done. Given him a leg-up on the leaking rumors. Made his family just that little bit safer.
…As long as Porco didn’t ruin it by telling anyone back home. He wouldn’t do that, would he? No. Now that Colt had broken them up, there was nothing to tell. He hoped.
… Still, he wondered if he’d gotten the message across. Almost taking someone to bed wasn’t exactly the strongest way to convey a breakup.
How fucking hot was that, thought? … Ugh. No. Seriously, I’ve got to stop thinking about it. It doesn’t matter what I want. And he’s leaving…
That last thought gave him physical heartache. It didn’t matter what they were; they’d always be best friends. And a year apart would be hard.
But even so, he dreaded having to talk to Porco again before arrival. He’d lead him on and then bailed, like an asshole. Even though he didn’t have a choice. The way Porco had pleased with him to stay, had broken his heart into so many pieces… He was scared to find out where Porco’s head was at today.
Yet, they had to talk. He had to apologize — and worse, and more importantly, he’d have to make sure Porco knew it was over anyway.
That’s what he dreaded…
"I’ll be fine if you need to go get cleaned up and stuff," Haywood rasped after a bit of silence.
"I’m ok," Colt mumbled, rubbing his face.
"Morning shower and all that."
"No, really, I’m ok."
"… Grice, I’m trying to tell you you stink. Go take a shower, I won’t die while you’re gone."
Oh.
Colt cracked a smile despite himself and peered out at Hay from between his fingers. "You’re one to talk… But you’re probably right."
Yeah. A shower might help.

*

Upon being offered, he threw down half a cup of coffee for the hunger, then collected his toiletries before limping up to second deck for the showers. The anticipation was actually growing on him; a shower would be nice. Just the water rushing over him, soothing his aching body. The cold temperature taking his mind off cannon blasts and blood and wants he shouldn’t cater to yet couldn’t shake.
Yeah. A shower would be nice.
He pushed on the door, the hinges creaking, and stepped into the tiled hall. Then froze. At the other end of the wall of lockers, stood Porco. Drying off with his back turned this way.
No.
Colt’s stomach immediately twisted in that awful way.
Not now. I’m not prepared.
But the strawberry blonde was already looking over his shoulder at the sound of the hinges, making it too late to back out. The guy’s shoulders stiffened and he growled a low "shit", before turning away again.
Colt had hoped the rejection at the end of the party hadn’t overshadowed all the hours of enjoyment they’d shared leading up to it… But gauging Porco’s mood, it looked like those chances were slim. He swallowed his nerves and said: "…Hey."
But Porco didn’t answer. Just tied the towel around his waist and pushed his dripping hair back, shaking his head.
Ok then…
Slowly, Colt stepped up to the bench at a generous distance and put his items down. "So… Last night was fun," he tried — then jumped when Porco let out a sudden angry laugh.
The guy swung around. "Wow, Colt. Wow."
Colt shrunk at the sight of the fury in his eyes. "Look, I’m sorry about leaving you hanging, ok? I shouldn’t have let it go that far, bu—"
"—You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!" Porco crossed his arms over his bare chest. The way the water ran down his neck; how some of it pooled at the dip between his collar bones… Colt hated how seeing it made him feel butterflies even now. Why was it so hard to put aside feelings?
"… I’m sorry, ok!" He fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. He should probably wait with undressing till Porco left. But did that send the message that things were weird between them now? He didn’t want that either. He wanted everything to just stay the way they’d been… "You said we didn’t have to do it if I didn’t—"
"—That’s not the problem, you fucking asshole!"
Colt’s heart sank. "Then what is?"
"Pieck!"
He felt his face flush. Shit. "What about h—"
"—Oh, fuck off!" Porco threw his arms up. "You kissed her!"
"Look, that—"
"—You really thought she wouldn’t tell me?!"
Colt did a deep inhale and pressed his lips together, the pressure behind his eye starting to build. "No, I wasn’t worried about that. Becau—"
"—You weren’t wor—?!" Porco cut himself off and threw his head back. "Wow! Ok!" He straightened his stance and stepped in, pressing a finger to Colt’s chest. Colt watched the vein at his temple begin to bulge. "You’re so fucking selfish, you know that? I’m glad I’m getting off this boat today. A year without you will be so fucking good for me."
The admission stung; through it all, they’d always had each other. Even when they were angry. Porco being glad that they were separating, stung.
But now Colt’s own anger was beginning to stir as well. It was spreading like warmth from the center of his chest where Porco’s accusatory finger pressed, and overtook the hurt he felt. "Really? I’m selfish because I kissed Pieck?"
"Yeah. You are."
"Why? Whom I kiss is my business, not yours."
The hand that wasn’t borrowed into Colt’s chest, began curling at Porco’s hip. His face was turning hot red. "You really don’t care at all, do you? Just two days ago you told me that you liked me back. Yesterday, we almost fucked." His lips were quivering. "And now you have the gall to tell me I shouldn’t feel upset that you’re kissing other people?"
"No," Colt said through grit teeth. "I’m not telling you not to be upset. I’m telling you we’re not together. When I left yesterday, I told you that. You don’t own me."
"So you’re just going to switch? Just like that?" Porco was on the brink of losing it, Colt could tell. It was making his stomach simmer with a mix of fear and tense anticipation. Was Porco going to punch him?
Either way, Colt wasn’t about to stand there and take this — this accusation of not caring, on top of everything. "No," he said, the remnants of his black eye throbbing. "I’m not interested in her. I kissed her because I had to. And you’re the selfish one for not being able to see that."
"Oh, fuck o—"
"—No, let me talk!" He grabbed Porco’s hand by the wrist, thought he didn’t try to move it off him just yet. "You told me two days ago that you ‘get it now’. But you don’t. You obviously don’t. That kiss had nothing to do with you. Or me. Or us. It’s so much bigger than that. It was about who saw." His voice was rising, because he saw no recognition in Porco’s eyes. "That stupid, meaningless kiss might have been what secures my position! My family’s honor! Maybe even their lives! And when a one-second kiss can do all that, I’d be stupid not to go for it. You’re selfish if you think your feelings are more important than all of that. You’re selfish, if you can’t stand to suffer one second of heartache in order for someone else’s family to live. And I mean, come on. Pieck dares people to kiss all the time!"
Porco seemed to be processing what he’d said with some effort. His temples were visibly beating, and his face was so red now he was breaking a sweat. It looked like words were stacking and getting stuck in his throat. Then he did a deep gasp for air and gave Colt a shove. "You made me think we were boyfriends! I actually thought—"
"—Did you even hear what I just said?!" Colt staggered for balance, clutching his bad leg.
"Yeah." Porco was shaking. "I heard a load of bull shit. Because this isn’t about your position at all. Or your family’s lives. It’s all just a fucking front… This is about you being a fucking cowardly mama’s boy."
"What?!" Colt flushed with indignance. "No, it’s not?!"
"Yes, it is! You just don’t want your stupid mom to hear about us. And you’re being a massive asshole to everybody else just to prevent it!"
"That’s not what this is ab—"
"—And you know what, Colt? I think I’ll do everyone a favor and just tell her myself."
Colt felt the words like a fist to his gut.
No.
"Porco, seriously… Do not tell her."
"Why not? I’d be doing you a favor too. Once she knows, you don’t have to keep fretting about keeping the secret anymore. It’ll be over with." He folded his arms and glared. His chest heaving. Even with this upper hand, there was no triumph in his face, just some sort of angry… disgust?
"Please," Colt stammered. "Porco… Please, don’t tell her." Fear was welling up in him, taking over.
"So it is about her!"
"No," he choked. "But I don’t want my mom to hate me either…"
Porco rolled his eyes.
"You don’t know what it’s like, Porco… She’s— She’s not like your mom, ok?… Your mom’s—…"
"… Nice?"
Colt swallowed against the urge to vomit. "Your mom isn’t strict like mine is, ok? You don’t know what it’s like…"
"Spare me your sob story, Colt. Your mom’s a hateful bitch, so what? That makes it ok for you to be one too?"
"Please stop. You never try to understand… Just because she’s strict doesn’t mean she’s mean. You don’t know what she’s been through. She’s strict because she has to be…"
"We’re going to have agree to disagree on this one," Porco growled.
Defeated and scared, Colt tried limping towards him… And when Porco didn’t dodge, he wrapped his arms around his shoulders, shirt clinging to Porco’s wet stomach. "Please… I’m so sorry. I know I hurt you. I didn’t even want to do it, but I had to. Just don’t—… don’t tell my mom."
Porco turned his face away, but remained otherwise unmoved. His chest continued to heave.
"I’ll— I’ll be your boyfriend, ok? If you just promise you won’t tell."
Porco’s eyes fluttered shut, his jaw clenched on a deep inhale, and Colt saw his color rise again fast — a sight that was giving him a bit of hope. "You want that?" he stammered, carefully cupping Porco’s red hot cheek.
Porco’s lip twitched and his temples were beginning to pop again. The sight was making Colt even more hopeful: it looked like he was getting through to him. So he leaned in and kissed the side of Porco’s tight mouth. "I love you."
The words caused an instant reaction: Porco’s eyes flew open and he grabbed Colt’s throat in one quick motion.
It caught Colt so off guard he gasped — and then he was slammed back against the lockers and pinned there.
"Stop playing with me!" Porco’s hand spasm’d around Colt’s windpipe. He was panting with badly restrained rage. The way his muscles flexed under his skin, reminded Colt of a wild bull.
"O-or else?" Colt stammered, feeling like his heart was leaping out of his chest. "You’ll hit me again?"
"Shut up!"
"G-go… ahead. Hurt me… all you want." Colt’s Adams apple scraped up and down his closed throat as he tried to swallow against a surge of adrenaline. How far would Porco go? Not knowing, was making him tremble. "It doesn’t make me l-love you… any less."
"I said shut up!"
"I-it’s kind of — hhh— hot, actually," he wheezed and brushed his fingers again Porco’s abs.
"Don’t touch me."
"No, really… isn’t this… what you want?" He was beginning to see stars so he grabbed Porco’s wrist instead and wriggled weakly. Porco released him, and he slid against the lockers, gasping for air.
"What part of any of this would I want? Huh?"
"Us," Colt replied, coughing.
"Not like this."
"Why not…?" He grabbed onto Porco’s arms to stand. The guy was scorching hot.
"Let go of me."
"Or you’ll hit me?"
Porco grabbed him by the hair and pulled hard. "Don’t… make me…" He stuck his face up so close Colt could feel puffs of breath against his lips. He recognized it as an attempt at intimidation, but the way his roots pulled, all Colt could focus on was his skin prickling. It felt icy and exciting. "You know I like this, don’t you?"
Porco shifted, grabbed Colt’s hair with both hands now, and continued to glare. Oh, he was angry. Colt couldn’t stand the anticipation.
"Why the hell would I give you what you want?"
"Because it’s what you want too," Colt whispered, then hissed when Porco tugged harder.
"No."
"Before you leave…?"
"I said no!" Porco slammed a fist against the locker and stepped back. It was like he was trying everything to avoid actually punching him this time.
Colt’s knees sagged, dread sinking back in. He pushed off and staggered forward. "I thought you wanted to be boyf—"
"—I swear to Helos, if you come any closer!"
"I understand that you’re mad," Colt said. "But don’t you think you’ll regret it later if you leave without forgiving me? Please think about it, we still have—"
"—nothing! We have nothing. Don’t touch me."
Colt reached for one of his clenched fists. "We still have ‘us’. The kiss was jus—" Then, before he could register what followed, an explosion of pain and color cracked against the side of his head.
The force of Porco’s punch sent him diving backwards, till he felt himself bounce off what must be the tiles. "Ack—! S-shit— P-Porco…" He touched the back of his head for his stitches. It felt like something had raptured there.
Out of focus, Porco towered over him, fists raised and trembling. "I said stop playing with me!"
"Ugh—" Colt crawled backwards, his heart racing. The visual snow was back. "I’m not playing with you…!"
"One second you’re telling me to get over it, and in the next you’re trying to egg me on, Colt! I can’t do this anymore!"
"I said I’d be your boyfriend!"
"Yeah, to save your own ass!"
Colt wanted to cry. Wasn’t it obvious that what he wanted — what he wanted — was to leave the military and live somewhere far away from all of this, with Porco? There hadn’t been any use lying to himself for a long time now: he wasn’t normal and he couldn’t change that. But that would have been ok — maybe — if only he had the opportunity to be himself. Only he didn’t. There was no room for that in his life, it wasn’t part of his predetermined purpose. "Porco, please…"
But Porco was too blind to see past his own hurt feelings. It was clear as day. "I’m not taking you back after what you did! I’m not weak minded like you! I have morals and I fucking stand by them!" He aimed a kick at Colt’s shin.
"Ow—! Fu— I do too! Why can’t you see that?! I can’t do what I want, like you can! My life doesn’t come first for me! I have actual lives on my shoulders!"
"Nobody shoved a gun in your mom’s face and said ‘kiss Pieck or she dies’!"
"N-no, but they did once!"
"What?"
Colt tried to tilt over his knees, but his balance forced him back on his elbows. He blinked against the snow. "That’s why I was born, you idiot. I’ve told you… After what my uncle did? Marely rounded my family up, h-held them at gun point. Said they wanted them to prove the Grice could be trusted. A-apparently, my mom was on their shit list for something grandma did already, s-so they weren’t very keen. But m-mom agreed to have me to make up for it… Put me in their program. S-she agreed to it right then and there… With a f-fucking gun to her head."
"…"
"And the gun never goes away…" He choked. "That’s what you don’t get. If Marley ever starts feeling like I’m not trustworthy anymore. Or no longer worth the mercy my family lives on,… they’ll just pull the trigger. One misstep and everything is over."
Porco’s fuzzy figure shifted on its feet. Then it backed off. Without getting up, Colt watched him grab his clothes and start to dress. It took a few moments to realize the figure was crying.
It caught Colt by surprise. He continued to sit, watching Porco dress in sniffling silence, not knowing what to make of it other than that it hurt to hear.
Then, with his bag over his shoulder, Porco turned and headed for the door, brushing past Colt on the floor. "… Liking a guy doesn’t make you untrustworthy, Colt," he muttered. "And a gun to your head doesn’t make you hate gay people. She’s a bitch and you’re a coward. Goodbye."
And then he left.

*

They arrived at port that same evening. The lights from the town flickered like melancholy welcome signs in the dusk. Colt watched them from poopdeck, leaning against the railing, trying to make out where — or whereabouts — his home would be amongst them. Of course, he couldn’t really see the internment zone from port, but he’d like to think that if he could see through walls, his eyes were pointed directly at his own, safe living room right now. Strange to think he was so close, yet wasn’t allowed to leave the ship. They were just dropping off the shifters and wounded… Then setting off into the endless sea again.
There sat Falco, by the table, taping together Colt’s camouflage kite after he probably broke it despite being told only to borrow the red one. There sat dad, reading one of his curricular books for work. And there stood mom, arranging flowers in the window.
Maybe, if Colt were there with them, she would have made him tea with honey for his stomach just about now…
… You don’t understand her, Porco…
The pain in his heart from earlier had turned into a dull ache. There were too many things to be upset about, they numbed each other out.
He was sad that he wouldn’t see Porco for a year. Heartbroken that they were parting as nothing short of enemies. Terrified that Porco might make good on his promise to tell. Dreading the possibility that he’d return to find disgust in his mother’s eyes. Sick to his stomach about the battles ahead of him and even sicker from the one behind him.
It was all just one, big melting pot of pain at this point. Stirring in his gut.
Below his broken heart.
… They were carrying the wounded out now. Porco was already long gone; hadn’t even turned to look behind him. Just gone.
Colt stood on his toes to see. There — Haywood was being carried out on a stretcher. Colt raised his arm as tall as he could, and waved. Haywood saw him — Colt didn’t know why, but he’d needed Hay to see him so bad, for anyone to bid him farewell as he set off again all alone — and when the guy waved back, with his bandaged stump for a hand… Colt cried a little.

Chapter Text

851
January 1st

Happy New Year, asshole,
For a while there, I actually expected to receive some pathetic, drunken letter from you again. How naive of me, right? Stupid Porco, thinking Colt would own up and properly apologize. I heard you’ve been docking regularly at East Canter for a while, so I know the silence isn’t from lack of access to postal services either. Truth is you’re too proud to write to a ‘freak’ like me, isn’t that it?

…I still can’t believe you told me that pathetic sob story about your mom, like that was supposed to make the whole thing O.K. Like I’d feel bad for you, when the only one you care about is yourself. The least you could have done was be honest about why you did it and how selfish it was. It wasn’t about your position. It was about making sure your bitch mother doesn’t hear about her baby being a freak.
I mean, come on. Magath saw us! If you’d be thrown out for liking men, you’d be discharged already! Or, sorry, Marley would have «pulled the trigger» already.
… Yet, here you still are. Strange how that works.

Anyways, here I am, being the better man (again). Wishing you a happy fucking new year, whenever you receive this. Hope you’re good, now that I’m not there to compromise your precious positon anymore. Or worse, save your life. You must be so glad.

Sincerely,
Fuck you

851
January 20th

Dear St. Porco,
You’re the one who said time away from me would do you good, so how am I the bad guy for not writing? And I already apologized so I don’t know what more you want to hear. That «you’re right, I’m a demon just like our forefathers»? I bet that’s it. Poor, flawless Porco. Got his feelings hurt so now he has the right to relentlessly insult me and my family. Sure.
If anyone’s a bitch here it’s you.

Mom’s under a lot of pressure and it’s hard because it’s not in her hands to fix anything. It’s all on me. How would you feel if you were that powerless?
She and I understand each other in a way you don’t. When I’m feeling stressed, she’ll make me tea with honey and let me rest my head in her lap while she reads for me. Even if she’s busy. She’ll put her chores on hold to help. All you do is find some way to feel personally attacked.

And for the record, you’re still wrong. Just because Magath doesn’t care, that doesn’t mean other higher ups won’t. Magath said so himself. Even told me to pull myself together so nobody found out. Why would he say that, if them finding out wasn’t a problem? I kissed a girl to make sure Marley wouldn’t put stock in the growing rumors. That’s all.

And why? Because a normal brain wouldn’t be wired this way, Porco. We both know it. Yes, being with you feels nice, but that’s just proof my head’s put together wrong. And since I’m so unwell, what other things might I have an unwell approach to? Marley already knows I asked to be excused from an important meeting to see you on military time. Such an unnatural sort of prioritization doesn’t reflect well.
If they learn the extent of our relations, they might find my wiring unfit for a warchief’s position altogether. And if so, I stop being an asset. And then, yes, they’ll pull the fucking trigger!

…By the way, my face was blue for a month after you punched me (again) and apparently General Calvi now thinks I’m an uncivilized caveman. I overheard it. So congratulations, you pretty much erased any good will I bled for at Needle Point. Thanks, St. Porco. Truly selfless of you, ye who cannot do wrong.

Don’t bother writing back, man-bitch. Sincerely,
Fuck you, too

851
February 8th

Hi, Colt,
Wow, I’ve never heard such a disgusting load of bullshit before in my life. You make me sick. «Wired wrong»? «What other things might I have an unwell approach to»? You’re right, you’re messed up in the head, but it’s not because you like guys. Do you even hear yourself? It’s so warped I almost feel bad for you.
Your mom’s obviously brainwashed you. Oh, she makes you tea with honey? She reads you books when your stomach has a boo-boo? 1. Fucking mama’s boy. Grow up. 2. Giving your child attention when he’s feeling bad is basic parental responsibility. You seriously think your mom deserved a medal for that? What about all the self-hatred she’s given you? No? Thought so.

Even if you were «unwell», you’re too valuable to be thrown out. You know that, right? For one, who’d be warchief instead? Falco? Udo? Haywood?? You know you’re fit for the position, because you do well in strategy classes and you did great at Needle. So stop. (And don’t blame that bruise on me, I warned you. Besides, you said you liked that shit, weirdo.)

But anyway, I’m done. I was just writing to let you know I took the liberty of telling your mom about us yesterday. I’m just too fuck-tired to hide it for your sake any longer. Especially when all you do is shit on me. But, hey, it’s alright, right? Since your mom is so nice? I don’t even have to tell you how she reacted, right? Since you already know she’s so loving? Yeah… no. Hope they have honey on board.

Sweetest kisses,
From one town freak to another

851
February 26th

Porco,
I can’t believe you’d do that to me. I’ve told you mom wouldn’t understand. Act sarcastic all you want, but you knew what you did by telling her and that says it all about your true colors. I can’t believe I ever trusted you.

We’re heading out for another land-flank operation tomorrow, so bye.

Colt

851
March 16th

Dear Colt,
I thought you and your mom «understood each other», so what’s the problem? Oh wait, maybe she isn’t as nice as you keep claiming? Uh-oh.

Fat load of irony that you’re calling me out on my colors, but whatever. Since you’re saying goodbye, I’ll say it too. Goodbye and good luck out there. Maybe a cannonball can help de-scramble your «wires» so you wake up «normal».

Have a blast. Sincerely,
Porco

851
May 1st

Hello??
Are you trying to worry me or some stupid shit? I would have heard if something happened to you, so I’m sorry to say it’s not working, Colt. I know you’re just being an asshole. But mom keeps asking so I’m writing for her sake. She wants to know you’re O.K. So, if you could just write us back soon so she could stop worrying, that’d be fucking magnificent.

And by the way, I was joking before. I didn’t tell your mom. Or anyone else for that matter. I can’t believe you actually believed me. But, I guess, assholes expect everyone else to be assholes too…

Yours,
Porco

*

851
May 2nd

To Colt
Hi, big brother. It’s your little brother (Falco)! How are you doing? Porco gave me this address but he said maybe you moved port so I hope you get this letter. I miss you a lot. It’s super boring at home without you and it feels super strange when it’s just me and mom and dad at the table. Mom and dad said to say hi from them and that they’re proud of you. Also, I think Porco is worried about you a lot. He asks a lot about you if anyone has heard from your ship. But you’re just busy, right? He said you were really brave. I knew you’d be. Is it true you can’t see any land at all from the ship? That sounds so strange. I hope I’ll get to see it, but Udo says the navy are bastards and that we should be happy they didn’t want us. Somebody he knows died. I bet if they had been in your unit, you would have saved them. Oh! And thank you a LOT for the birthday gift from you and Porco for my birthday! You’re the best! Now if I make a mistake, I won’t ruin one of yours. I can’t wait for you to come home so we can fly them together! Also, I broke my personal record at the track yesterday! 45 seconds flat! I’ll beat Gabi soon, I can feel it! Please come home soon, I miss your awful humor. Love you! PS: I drew you a drawing, do you like it?
From Falco

851
May 29th

Dear little brother,
Thank you for the letter and the drawing, they made me very happy. I’ll tape the drawing to the wall next to my bed so I can look at it whenever I miss home. It looks great.
I miss you so much, Falco. And tell mom and dad I miss them too. Love you guys.

I’m sorry it took me so long to write you back. All the mail gets stored at an office while we’re at sea, and often we’re too busy to go collect it for a long time. Yes, when we’re far enough out, all of land disappears. We can’t see anything at all except water and sky. But it’s not as interesting as it sounds. I bet it’s actually even more boring than home, because there’s nowhere to go. So don’t join the navy just to see it.

Don’t worry, I’m O.K. Since we can’t go anywhere, everyone on third deck plays cards together and have become good friends. There’s never a dull moment.
Still, I wish I were home. I miss telling you my awesome jokes.

Oh, and I’m so glad you liked your birthday gift. Can’t wait to see you fly it!

Good job on your laps, buddy,
Your big brother forever

*

851
June 3rd

Dear Porco,
In case you forgot: We had battle! Excuse me for being preoccupied! Oh, but I’m sorry for being such an asshole. You’re right, this entire war is my fault.

I can’t believe you’d joke about telling my mom like that. You have no idea how scared I’ve been. I was so afraid I didn’t even open a letter from home for a month. I really needed that letter, Porco! You stole that comfort from me. I’ve been constantly sick in this floating coffin.

What you did was so shitty I don’t even think you realize. Oh, but you think buying Falco a gift from me makes up for it, don’t you? It doesn’t. Why did you even do that?!

Still alive (sorry to disappoint),
Colt

851
June 22nd

Dear Colt,
The battle lasted three months, did it? Please. You wanted to worry me. Yet another example of you not caring about other people’s feelings.

And hey, if you felt like shit, guess what? Now we’re even. That’s how I felt when you made my feelings for you into a joke, too. A joke for a joke. Besides, why’d you worry if your mom’s so nice?

About the kite. I figured I’d be the better man and help you out since you couldn’t be there for his birthday. Thought you’d want that, sorry I was wrong I guess.

Freakish kisses,
Porco

851
August 12th

Dear Porco,
You do remember telling me to get hit by a cannon ball, right? Don’t tell me to die and then call me an asshole for not keeping you updated on my health like you worried. You said it yourself, you didn’t. You wanted me to die.

And no, we’re not even. I didn’t kiss Pieck specifically to hurt you, but you lied specifically to hurt me. There’s a difference. And at least I’m sorry for what I did. You’re obviously not. Don’t you think it’s enough that I’m all alone out here, in the middle of a war? You have no idea how bad it gets. You were only on board for a few days. It gets so much worse. There’s nowhere to go, you start feeling trapped. People fight. And puke. And wake you up at night crying. If you’re not the one crying yourself.
And I’ve got nobody to talk to. It’s my fucking birthday and I’m so alone. You’ve got Pieck. And your parents. And your home and your warm bed that doesn’t constantly fucking rock. Even when we dock, I feel waves under my feet like I’m cursed.

The only thing I have to look forward to is going home. Then you go and tell me you’ve told my worst secret, and for three months I think I’ve lost it. Lost home.
We’re not even. What you did was so much worse.

Sincerely,
Lonely birthday boy

851
September 5th

Hi,
Of course I didn’t want you to die. You’re not that dumb, Colt. You know I didn’t mean that. It just hurt, what you did. It’s like all I do is keep trying and keep trying, and you keep shitting on me over and over. Then, finally, I think we got together — and then you just shit on everything again. You keep saying «you have no idea» but the same goes for you. You have no idea how much you hurt me. And it keeps hurting, because its seems like you don’t care. I know you don’t. I know that. It just hurts, because I do.
But whatever. I get it. Spilt milk that wasn’t even mine to begin with…

As for home, you’re not missing much. It’s quiet, everyone’s gone. And Pieck isn’t all that much fun, really. So you’re not missing much.

PS: Happy belated birthday.

Sincerely,
Porco

*

851
September 20th

Hello, Grice,
It’s Haywood (PS: don’t get too excited, I didn’t sprout new hands, my sister’s writing this for me). Your friend, Galliard, came for an unexpected visit the other day. Did you know he’d do that? My parents were really honored to have a warrior over for coffee.
He looks so much older, I would have thought five years had passed, not one. But then again, time hasn’t exactly been going by fast, what with us just waiting around. Marley keeps saying I have to expect a call-back «later» so I keep waiting. I seriously wonder what they’ll use me for.

Anyways, Galliard told me which port you were at, said you might want a letter. So here’s that. I’m doing alright, I think? This year has been rough, but when I stick my arms under the blankets, I can almost pretend as though nothing’s changed. Mostly I just lie here. But I've taken up singing (don't laugh) and I don't want to die anymore. And my family’s been really good to me. We even joke sometimes. The other day, they insisted I join them at cards.

Anyways, how are you? I really hope you’re hanging in there. Also, it was your birthday recently? Happy belated. Hope the kitchen made you cake.

Thanks again for saving me,
J. Haywood

*

851
October 26th

Dear Porco,
Been an eternity since last time we docked, but here I am. By the way, I just learned that when we move, old post offices forward our mail to the new port, so you can write whatever office you want (though, it takes longer if you write the wrong one).

Of course I care. I feel more bad than you think. Even though it wasn’t about us. I’ve told you why I did what I did. And what you did in return wasn’t nice either. But if you can’t let that kiss go, go out and kiss somebody else and hurt me back double, then, I guess? Whatever you want. Because I don’t know what you want at this point. I don’t know. When I told you I loved you, you punched me, so it’s like you want to be mad whatever I say.

Happy belated birthday (when you get this), though. Hope you had fun…. I thought I’d be home by now to celebrate with you, if you’d even want. But apparently, it’s going to take longer.

Sincerely,
Colt

PS: Could you give the attached letter to Hay? (Thanks for that.)

851
November 15th

Dear Colt,
I kind of don’t care about the kiss anymore. It’s been so long. I’m just hurt that all you do is excuse it away, saying that it was «necessary», when there could have been other ways to help yourself that didn’t involve hurting me, the person you claim to «love». Why didn’t you stop to think how I’d feel?

… But I kind of hate talking this out over letter, it takes so long, and when I sit down to write, all the things I want to say come out wrong or I forget stuff. I’m just tired. Maybe you are too.

Want me to not get Falco anything for his birthday over New Year? Also, your mom’s asking me if you’ve written me. What should I say?

Yours,
Porco

852
February 1st

Colt,
You’re gone again. I swear, if you’re doing this to upset me…

Please write back. Have someone post it for you, if you’re bedridden. It’s agony to sit here and not know. It doesn’t have to be to me either; write your brother or Haywood or whomever. Just let us know you’re alive. I heard you came to blows with Mid-East again close to port, so I know you’ve been busy, but it’s been months.

Porco

*

852
February 2nd

My dearest Colt,
When are you going to write your own mother? I hear you write Galliard. It’s quite upsetting. To think you find it more important to keep that boy updated, than your own mother whom loves you so much. For more than a year now, I’ve waited — and nothing. Your prioritization, honey. Are they well? You should search yourself.

Oh, but my sweet Colt, I’ve heard all about your first operation. What a success! I know you’d honor us! Just such a shame I had to ask around to find out, like some unwanted gossip hound. Do I deserve this? Please let me know how you’re doing. Will you be unit commander for any more operations?

The one who loves you the most,
Mom

852
February 20th

Dear mom,
I’m sorry. We’re at sea most of the time, so the opportunities to post letters are few and far between. But of course you don’t deserve to have to ask around. You’re my mom. I’ll prioritize better from now on. And I’ve written Porco just a few times, because he’s sent me something first. That’s why. I love you.

Life at sea is a little hard, but don’t worry, I’m staying strong! I’ve remained unit commander at active missions, so I think the Marleyans approve of my efforts.

Though, even though I’m grateful to be out here getting us honor, I really miss home. I miss being warm, and the calm. I miss helping you out around the house. And when you read for me while I relax on the sofa. All the chairs here are so hard. Even the bed is hard. When I come home, I’ll never leave the sofa.

Not that I’m complaining. I’m grateful for this opportunity! Don’t worry, I won’t squander it! But I miss you guys.

I love you lots,
Colt

*

852
February 20th

Dear Porco,
Believe it or not, I just didn’t have the opportunity to write you before now. I didn’t want to worry you. I’m sorry you did.

There’s been a meeting about phase three and I don’t know what to do, Porco. Have you heard how they’re going to utilize Zeke’s scream? It’s confidential so I can’t write about it, but I just… I don’t know, Porco. I wish you were here right now. And please don’t be mad at me for saying that. I know you’re hurt. Just, please, believe me, I didn’t mean to hurt you. It’s the truth. And you’re right, it was an easy way out. I was just so scared. I messed up by being so hands-on with you at third deck that night and I just knew it would travel the next morning. I didn’t know what else to do at the moment and it couldn’t wait. It was shitty but I told myself you’d understand. I feel bad every day.

I miss you constantly. It still hurts that you made everything so much worse for me on purpose, when you know what my mom’s like, but I don’t care. I’d give anything to have you here right now.

And I’m not just saying this to «play» with you. If you’re mad, you don’t have to write back. Just know I’m sorry.

Wish you were here,
Colt

PS: Did you tell my mom I write you? It’s O.K. if you did, I’m not mad, but please say it’s only been a few times if she asks again.

852
March 12th

Hi, Colt,
No, your mom didn’t hear that from me. I’ll watch what I say if she asks again, though.

I’m sorry about phase three. I’ve heard. I mean, it’s a necessary evil so that Marley can win the war. And the people they’ll use are convicts or sick anyways, so it’s not like we’re sending a bunch of healthy people to their deaths. But yeah, it’s pretty rough.

And I miss you too! So much! It sucks here without you! I know I’m lucky to be home and not out there, but shit, I’m bored out of my mind! And Reiner’s been let out of monitoring so now I have to listen to him whining about that island constantly during training. It’s all I can do not to gut him. If you don’t come home soon, I might. Please come home. I forgive you, I know you’ve got a lot on your shoulders that you have to put first. Yeah, it was shitty, but I get it. Forgive me too?

Miss you,
Porco

852
April 5th

Porco,
I forgive you. Man, I miss you so much. I miss your stupid laugh. The one you do when you’re trying to be tough but can’t help laughing anyways. And, man, I miss the lake. Swimming with you. I haven’t even seen a tree in so long. The ones along the coast when we go to dock don’t count. I miss the ones at the lake. And nobody else around but you and me.

Our fleet’s been breaking off ships to go visit Paradis Island lately. I hope it means phase one is coming to an end soon. I can’t wait to see you again.

Yours,
Colt

852
May 14th

Colt,
I miss your laugh too. The one where I can hear you putting aside all the pressure and just be you. I miss you! …And I miss crushing you at swimming, haha. And flying your boring kites.
Hey, when you get back, let’s do that again.
Remember that time you tried to teach me the Infinity trick and my line just kept getting tangled in yours? That’s kind of how it is with you and me. No matter what, we just get tangled together all the time. We’re just meant to stick together. I remember thinking it back then, too.

Miss you so much,
Porco

PS: Enclosed are some leaves I got from the trees at our lake. I tried to pick different shades, hope you like them.

852
June 5th

Dear Porco,
Your letters are what keep me going. Thank you so much. The leaves are on the wall next to my bed now, I’ll look at them every day and think of you.

And if we’re two tangled kite strings, I never want to be untangled. When I come back,… could we try again? I won’t kiss anyone else again, I promise. Not even for Marley. I really did think I was doing it to secure my position… But I won’t do it again. And not just because I think I’m in their good graces again.

Yours (if you’ll have me),
Colt

852
June 30th

My Colt,
Yeah, let’s try again. After all, I can’t be without my favorite asshole. And I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. But thank you for saying you won’t do it again. And I’m sorry for hurting you back. I shouldn’t have let my pride take the lead. But I hope you know I would ever actually tell. I know it’s difficult, you’d have to be ready.

I can’t wait to see you again either. And just hold you. I’ve been working on my arms for you, actually. So. Excited.

See you soon, hopefully,
Your Porco

852
July 18th

Porco,
Oh, you have? I can’t wait to feel them. I can just imagine it now, how firm they are. I really can’t wait to see you again. I’ll probably kiss you as soon as I do. If I don’t, trust me, it’ll be solely because of willpower.

Hope I’ll get back while there’s still some summer left. Swimming together sounds nice just about now. I want to see you. All of you. Actually, I dreamt about you last night…

Thinking of you,
Your Colt

852
August 6th

Colt,
Funny, I dreamt about you too… … …

Don’t worry, you’ll get to feel them plenty. And you can feel other parts of me too, if you want. All yours. Only condition: I get to feel you as well. Because you’re all mine.

Man, now you really need to come home soon. I’d love to hear you to tell me about your dream in person.

My heart’s racing just thinking about you,
Your Porco

PS: Happy birthday when you get this. I’ll be thinking about you.

852
August 26th

Porco,
I’m coming home!!! Finally!! Magath told me we’re heading home in three weeks’ time! I can barely believe it! It’s like the endless nightmare finally has an end! I can’t wait! I can’t wait to see you and get off this awful thing! I’m uncertain of the time yet, but they’ll inform the base by the time we’re on our way. Please be there when I arrive? I love you! I can’t wait!

See you there,
Your Colt

Chapter Text

852

The news had reached Porco on an otherwise uneventful Monday. He’d checked the post office after practice just out of habit — and the incredulous message he’d found there, had promptly sent him flying home, aflame.
Colt was coming home! He was coming home!
At his desk, Porco’s pen had trembled over his papers and his breath had been bated.
I’ll be there, boyfriend! I’ll be there!
It took him halfway back to the post office to realize that Colt wouldn’t get the letter in time. So, Porco supposed that Colt would just have to know on his own. Colt would just have to know, that Porco would be there. Because of course he would. After two long years apart, he wasn’t going to waste another second.
He couldn’t stop smiling.
And Colt was coming home.

The remaining wait had been almost as agonizing as the last two years combined. Porco couldn’t wait. Just like he couldn’t sleep, or eat or think about anything else half the time. He just couldn’t wait.
Because Colt was coming home, and they were giving it another try.
Now, Porco stood at the port in a crowd of friends and family, watching the silhouette of war ships gliding towards land. There was a big lump in his throat, as the orange horizon set the tone of something grand.
This grand reunion…
His heart was fluttering. His mouth drying with nerves. Their letters had been so happy these last few months. But would everything really be the same face to face? This was the day he’d know…
In his peripheral, Porco saw Falco, bouncing on his toes, scouting over heads. Anxious. Like the boats couldn’t dock soon enough for him either. And behind him: the parents. Less outwardly moved, but Mrs. Grice was holding a handkerchief to her nose like she was feeling something.
Would them being here, undo Colt’s resolve?
Porco tried not to look at them. Tried to hold on to his elation. His hope. That things would really be fine, like in their letters.
The ships were docking now and people were pushing their way forward. With Marleyan soldiers on either side of the path, everything keeping people from storming the staircases being wheeled up to the boat hulls, was reverence and discipline.
But even that was waning, as the doors opened and tattered figures began filing off the ships. The crowd began calling for their loved ones, the mass stirred and pushed. Some were crying. But in that strained longing, elbows rubbing — in this sunset — it felt like joy, all of it. They were all the lucky ones. They were here to welcome their family back, alive.
"Colt!"
Porco couldn’t see him yet, but Falco apparently did; he was pushing his way past people, and when Porco followed his trajectory, his heart finally stopped, because there he was. Colt. With his backpack over his shoulder, his — oh, wow, his shoulders? They were so much broader! And was he even taller?
"My boy," Colt’s mother sniffled to Porco’s left, as they watched Colt kneel and brace himself — before his little brother all but slammed into him, chest first, and embraced him. Hadn’t he been a strong and burly man, Porco might have shed a tear at the sight. It was like watching his own joy unfolding. He wiped his cheeks quickly — although he definitely wasn’t crying — and felt his chest ache, as he saw Colt’s expression crack, half burrowed in his little brother’s hair. His forehead furrowed. He looked so tired — and so much older. But relieved. Relieved and overwhelmed.
Porco thought about what he’d said. That even on land, Colt felt waves under his feet. Was he feeling it now?
Colt stood up and Porco continued to watch him from behind the flickering mass of people. He wasn’t about to run up and demand that promised kiss. Wasn’t about to put Colt on the spot in front of his family. He’d let Colt greet them first.
But he stared. Even as Mr. And Mrs. Grice made their way over, he stared. At Colt. Willed him to meet his eyes. Needed him to just see him.
And then he did.
Time stood still for a moment. The way it sometimes did with Colt. Porco’s heart stuttered to a halt, as he held those expressive eyes. And in them, he saw a definite spark of… something. An intensity in an otherwise so exhausted frame.
I’m here, Colt. I came.
And then Colt gave a single nod, and it was as though Porco could hear his voice inside his head: "Stay right there, give me a second". Then the guy straightened his back and meet the embrace of his mother. It was as though the crack of emotion he’d let show a moment earlier, ceiled, and he was again a polished soldier.
From a distance, Porco heard Mrs. Grice talk in a high-pitched voice. He couldn’t make out the words, but he could tell she was worked up in a good way… And at least, he could appreciate Colt being met with affection.
… But that wait. That wait, for his boyfriend to finish greeting and chatting, while he himself had to stay back. Could time move any slower? Was Colt giving them a detailed description of every single day he’d been gone?
… Or was he postponing because he didn’t want to greet Porco after all?
No. He’s going to come over. He’s going to come over and greet me too. Any second now.

And after some long, long minutes — as the crowd was slowly letting up and people were heading back — Colt finally gave another nod in Porco’s direction. Both his parents looked that way, and Porco felt their eyes on him like scrutiny. But then they nodded too, and they took Falco by the hand. Began heading back, while Colt remained standing.
Porco’s heart picked up a pace. His mouth was getting dryer. He offered the Grice family a once-over as they passed, and when Colt made no sign to close the gap, Porco strode on to the dock to do it himself, knees weak.
Yeah, Colt was definitely taller. It was becoming more and more evident, the closer he got. And his jaw — it was sharper. And that was definitely a mild razor burn.
You’re shaving now, too, huh?
Colt had retuned a man. In so many ways, Porco was sure. Standing face to face with him now, he saw a matured poise in his friend he hadn’t seen before. Some of that juvenile spark was gone. War undoubtedly did something to him…
But he’s back now. Finally.
Standing and arm’s length from him, Porco felt the sides of his mouth tug and tremble. His heavy breath was matching the way Colt’s chest rose and fell. Knowing they still had a small audience of people behind them, he didn’t want to go first. Didn’t want to overstep whatever place Colt’s boundary lay. But damn it — shit fucking damn it — he wanted to grab a hold of him so bad he was breaking a sweat.
"You’re back," he said, lamely. Because where did he even begin?
Colt swallowed, and his Adams apple — now more prominent than when he’d left, Porco noticed — bobbed. "And you came."
"Of course I came."
Colt’s eyes lifted, trailed what Porco assumed was the gravel path behind HQ. "I told them to meet me at home… Said I just had some business with you back at base…"
"At base?"
And then Colt stepped in and grabbed Porco by the wrist. His pulse was beating in his fingertips, hard against Porco’s skin. "The lockers. Come."

They made the short walk from the dock to base without much more small-talk. Porco still didn’t know where to start, and the way Colt’s jaw clenched told him the guy had enough on his plate just keeping it together till they were out of sight.
That made two of them, Porco thought to himself. It was clear to him why they were seeking an isolated spot, and the anticipation was drumming at his temples. It was past training hours; there would be nobody else there.
As Colt reached for the handle to the locker room, Porco peered sideways at him. Watched the way color was flushing up his neck. The way his jacket — a little too small now — contoured his toned back. The way his shoulders jerked with… restraint? Excitement? Nerves?
Maybe all of the above.
Probably all of the above.
But it was strange… like looking at a person he didn’t know where to place anymore. Bigger, older, quieter…
"I’ve missed you," Porco whispered. It just slipped out of him.
Colt’s throat clicked and he grabbed Porco by the shoulder. Ushered him inside like they were out of time. He threw his backpack on the bench. The door shut, he flipped the lock and — without missing another beat — he whipped around and grabbed Porco by his collar with both hands. "Every day," he said, and — before Porco could get a read on the sad spark in his eyes — he rushed in for a kiss.
Porco met it — had been ready for it. Parts of Colt were still easy to read, after all. And he wrapped his arms around the guy’s back, hugged him tightly over his trembling shoulder blades, and kissed back with all of the ferocity that Colt was giving. Like they had two years to make up for. Kissed without breath. Heated, erratic.
And while Colt might be taller, the way he deflated against Porco — seemed to shrink and want the embrace to swallow him up, as he pushed and tugged at him, without direction but for a clear desperation — it made Porco’s chest swell with a powerful sense of ownership. He hadn’t felt this big in ages; Colt made him feel so strong. So wanted. No, needed.
He caught Colt’s bottom lips between his teeth when he was thoroughly out of breath, mouth burning, signaling to take it slower. And the way Colt was panting in return, made his body feel electric. "You wanted this from the moment you stepped off the ship, didn’t you?" he said through his teeth.
The two years apart had already melted on their tongues; this felt as intuitive as going to bed in the evenings. Only, there was this… shift. Colt’s figure feeling just a little different between Porco’s hands, his curves a little sharper, his voice a little deeper — the impersonal smell of smoke and steel masking the scent Porco used to remember him by.
Still, this was his Colt. As if they stood here yesterday.
And Colt smiled. His lip released from Porco’s teeth and he gave a shaky exhale. "For two years." He bowed his head and Porco took the opportunity to rest their foreheads together. Staring at Colt’s brown eyes so up close, he felt like all was soon right with the world. He’d pull the unique man out of this stifled soldier once again, and then all would be right with the world. Soon, Colt would smell of grass and pear jam again. "Even when you were mad at me?"
"Every day." Colt’s buttoned uniform heaved against Porco’s mirroring chest. Breath matching. Then Porco felt Colt’s thumbs begin to brush at his jawline, and he realized how much he’d missed being touched this way. This way that only Colt would. Intuitive, familiar — a day and a lifetime ago.
"So we’re trying again?" Porco whispered. It seemed the answer was clear, but he needed to hear it. Needed Colt to say it.
"I don’t think we ever really stopped," Colt replied, taking Porco’s hands, guiding him to the buttons at his collar. Popping the first one open and nudging Porco to do the rest.
So eager.
Being this wanted was keeping up the surge that ran through Porco, and he loved it. Colt had probably been touch-starved for two whole years, and Porco was hungry to be the one to correct it. "Maybe," he whispered in return; popping Colt’s buttons, slowly, one by one.
"Training’s out, right?" Colt’s sounded dizzy already. Poor guy.
Porco bit down on his lip to stifle a chuckle. "C’mon, you haven’t been gone that long. You know everyone’s gone by this time of day." As he undid the last button, he felt a shiver run through the other. "Plus, you locked the door, so don’t worry."
Ideally, Porco had wanted to get handsy at home, in a comfortable bed — maybe shared a celebratory meal first — but he could see now that Colt would never have made it that far. The flush had crept from his throat up his cheeks and his eyes were hooded; he looked drugged with desire. Clearly, he needed Porco right away, and Porco was glad to provide.
He pushed Colt’s jacket off his shoulders, the heavy garment fell to the floor and the buttons clicking against the tiles echoed inside the shower area around the corner. "There it is," he whispered and leaned in to kiss Colt’s red throat.
"There is what?" Colt sputtered.
"Your smell." In the crook of his neck. Dried sweat and a distant hint of something sweet like pears. Porco gave a playful nibble. He wasn’t exactly sure what Colt’s deal with pain was — and Porco himself wasn’t the biggest fan of it — but the way he knew Colt would respond, was enough to stoke his fires.
And sure enough, as soon as his teeth dragged along Colt’s burning skin, the guy let out a moan. Quiet, but obvious, even under his breath.
"You like that?"
Colt did a thick swallow and nodded.
"… But your family’s waiting for you at home, right?" Porco let his own jacket drop to the tiles, revealing his arms in a sleeveless tank. He didn’t want Colt to leave now that he had him. Couldn’t bare being second in line one more time; having to wait to see him again until his family was had had their share of his time first.
Porco got what he wanted by the way Colt’s eyes fixed on his arms.
"… I have time," the flushed blonde whispered.
Good.
"Told you I’ve been working out for you."
Colt’s hands began tracing his muscles with unabashed interest, and his dilating pupils were enough to make Porco’s heart race with confidence. He let the starved man touch him a moment more, then wrapped his arms around his waist and tugged him closer with a grunt. "Time," he said, planting open-mouthed kisses along his collarbone, biting now and again. "Time for what?"
Colt gave another stifled moan and his knees seemed to go weak, so Porco pushed him up against the wall for support. "Whatever you want, you can have it…," he whispered. "But I need you to say it."
Their waists bumped and to Porco’s excitement, Colt felt hard against him already. Feeling wanted — this wanted — it was addicting. Sure, he’d like to talk as well, itched to ask so many questions. But nothing beat being wanted like this. He wasn’t about to back down. "Say it."
Colt whispered something, but it was too choked to make out.
Porco pushed against him harder, making sure Colt could feel that he wasn’t the only one with a hard-on. "Say it, Colt. What do you want?"
"I… got ready."
"What?"
"For you." Colt’s expression was dark red, but he didn’t look deterred, albeit a little embarrassed.
"You got ready for me?"
Colt nodded. "… And I’ve practiced."
Now it was Porco’s turn to flush. He smiled against Colt’s neck, feeling heat well up in him in waves with the current. Had to breathe deeply to stay on top of the building tension between his legs. Something about Colt ‘practicing’ for him, was dizzying.
Just for me.
"Good," he whispered. "You want that, then? You want me to— you know…?"
Colt nodded again and snaked his hands down between them to shimmy his own shirt over his head. Porco helped, heart skipping at the sight of his naked, lean physique. He’d pictured Colt like this on his bed many times. He wasn’t quite sure how to work with the current location, but desperation finds a way. "You’re so hot," he mumbled, shucking the garment off to the side and grabbing Colt by his ribs. "But I don’t—… I don’t have lube with me."
They could still make it work, right?
"In my backpack," Colt stammered.
Porco looked over his shoulder and chuckled. "You fiend." He backed off and went to dig through the pack, pulse loud in his ears.
Colt remained standing, stroking his pink chest a little awkwardly, like he was shy about his body. But that couldn’t possibly be it, as toned as he’d gotten. Maybe he was feeling cold, now that their bodies were apart for a moment; Porco could relate. He already hungered for the feeling of a hot guy beneath him.
"Here we go." He pulled out a flask of clear, thick liquid.
"There’s… there’s condoms too," Colt mumbled. He swayed and began making his way over.
"I’ll take my chances, won’t you?" Porco put the flask down and turned to him to wink. "If I get you pregnant, I get you pregnant."
"Ha ha." Colt was still rubbing his chest. For a second there, his fingers lingered over one of his nipples, and Porco thought he saw him pinch it.
"Hey. C’mere." He reached out to pull Colt over, took his hand. "Look at you… You’re so fucking hot." Next, he lightly brushed a knuckle over Colt’s modest, blonde happy-trail.
The guy shivered.
"Bet I wasn’t using a condom in that dream you had about me."
Before Colt could answer, Porco pinned him against the lockers, both arms raised over his head. He held a tight grip around both of Colt’s wrists, and gave a little squeeze just to get his pulse back up, his nerves out of the way. "Bet I was rough, too. Like this?"
The thin metal of the lockers shook, Colt inhaled sharply.
Porco would much rather make love to him on a goose feather bed, but ah, the way manhandling him made Colt so obviously horny… Seeing his eyebrows scrunch and his mouth open in such poorly restrained need. It was such a fucking turn-on.
Porco gave Colt a hard, rushed kiss on the mouth and hissed: "I bet you dreamt about me fucking you in the boat lockers every time you took a shower, too."
Colt’s breath choked and he whispered a "yes".
"Take your pants off."
Colt wriggled his right hand free. And something about the way this big, tall man immediately obliged — hand fumbling desperately with his fly like it was life or death — made the tension between Porco’s legs ache even better. "C’mon. Hurry up."
He let him try and fail to push his pants down with one hand a few times, until the wait became too agonizing. Colt let out something akin to a whine, and Porco released him so they both could strip. They did so in a hurry — threw the pants, then their boxers, socks; it all came off in a building rush — till they stood there, panting, facing each other. Looking at each other’s flushed bodies. Their dark, hard erections.
Porco thought Colt maybe was a little bit bigger than him, but it wasn’t enough to cause embarrassment. Plus, the novelty of seeing Colt — all of Colt — this way… It was intense. Porco’s chest was hammering. His head was throbbing — his dick was throbbing.
He shifted from one hip to another. Forced his eyes from Colt’s hard-on, to his eyes. Although he was dying to touch, he was a little afraid of hitting that boundary. So instead, Porco wrapped his arms around Colt’s shoulders and slowly lowered himself against him. Colt stood stock still, but for his heaving breath, allowing him, till they brushed together — sending shivers through the both of them — till they settled, flush together.
Fuck, this felt intimate. Porco could feel Colt’s dick actually throbbing — against his stomach. And his own — fuck — felt scalding hot against Colt’s hip bone.
Colt’s breath hitched as Porco slowly began moving his hips, just to create some friction before the pressure got too maddening.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
"Just you and me," he stuttered, hoping to encourage Colt to stick with it.
But Colt just huffed, appearing too overwhelmed to talk. That, or too into it to scare. Or both.
Porco gave him another kiss on the mouth, fingers twitching as they kept grasping at his raising shoulders. The sensation felt so new — kissing naked. Their lips so burning, and yet the hyperawareness of their erections grinding slowly together stealing all the focus. "… Let’s do it in the shower so we don’t have to clean up," he said, giving Colt’s lip a bite.

As soon as Porco adjusted the water temperature from hot to a luke-warm, Colt seemed to relax. Bent forward, his back sank. Water bounced off his muscles. His hands that were up against the wall stopped cramping and he let out a low groan that Porco took as a sign that they could try again.
"Good. Now— now, just stay relaxed, alright? I’ll add some more lube." After applying what he thought was a generous amount, he grabbed Colt’s hips from behind and slowly pushed himself inside again; past the initial point that had proven so impossibly tight — and kept slowly pushing, despite Colt’s grunts becoming louder.
Shit, this was still going too slow; Porco’s head was spinning with need to alleviate the pressure between his legs now; the tip wasn’t barely enough! Yet, he didn’t want to hurt Colt worse than he could handle, either. "Y-you’re still good, right?"
"Fuck—"
"Colt?"
Colt’s back began to arch like before. "Ah— Ow—!"
"Colt!"
"What?!"
Porco barked with impatience: "Are you still good!"
Colt gasped. "Yes! Keep g— fuck — keep going!"
Porco groaned and leaned forward on him, grabbing his shoulders and giving his first genuine thrust.
Immediately, Colt stiffened and he let out a choked yell.
"Relax—! Remember, the more you seize up, the more painf—"
"— I know! Ok?! Damn it—!" Arms shivering, nails clawing at the grout joints in the wall now, Colt seemed to fight with himself. Slowly — very slowly — he regained control. His back drooped once more, his head hung and his seat muscles de-clenched. He was still breathing fast, though — Porco felt a little bad — but once again, the guy nodded for them to continue.
So Porco kissed the curve of his neck and began to push deeper — slowly, slowly. "…Thought you said you practiced."
"Don’t even start," Colt wheezed. His shoulders jerked and he let out a moan that sounded oddly melodic. Porco couldn’t tell if he was amused or in excruciating pain.
"You good…?" He had to ask through a haze; he was beginning to lose touch with his awareness past the crazy pressure enveloping his dick.
So fucking tight.
"I-if you ask me that one more time, I swear…"
Porco grunted; too far gone to give a laugh at this point. He began doing small pulsing thrusts, stomach finally touching Colt’s ass cheeks. "Aaa… Ff—…" The tension was finally begging to alleviate. His abdomen felt rock hard, but the repeated friction was edging him into a state of pleasure.
Below him, Colt began whimpering. "Ow… Ow, shit… Ah—"
"You—"
"—Yes, I’m fucking good! J-just… keep— ah… Like that. L-like what you did there."
Was he crying?
"Colt, are you crying?" Half-dazed, Porco wrapped his arms around his waist and gave the guy a hug from behind, still pulsing carefully inside of him. Yeah, Porco was concerned, but holy shit, this had begun feeling really good.
"I’m alright," Colt sniffled. Water kept drumming against his back. Bouncing off his shoulders. "It just—… S-shit… It’s a little painful… Do what you did before."
"Like this…?"
"N-no, l-like— ah! Yes, like that!"
Porco repeated the upward thrust — and hit what he assumed was that special spot, by the moans Colt let slip: deep and throaty. The blonde arched his glistening back, muscles playing, and grabbed for one of Porco’s hands with a whimper. They laced fingers at his ribs, and with a stuttering sound, Colt began rolling his hips on beat with Porco’s thrusts.
Electricity surged through Porco’s body at the movements — it stole his breath away.
H-holy—!
"It f-feels so good being inside of you, Colt."
"Y-yeah." Colt panted. "Pull— pull my hair."
With his free hand, Porco grabbed a fistful and tugged his head back. Colt whined.
They moved together — moaned and trembled together — for what felt like… minutes? And eternity? Honestly, Porco had no clue; with every wave of pleasure, he had to pull on Colt harder, just to stay grounded to something as he ascended to an ecstasy. That’s all he knew. Stars were blinding his vision and his blood was pumping in his ears.
He could barely believe they were finally doing this. After all this time; all this tension. Finally, he had him, all of him. All of Colt. And if the guy’s rising, heated yelps and trembling body wasn’t enough, the idea of this alone, was pushing Porco over the edge.
"Colt— ah! I’m— I can’t keep it in—"
"C-choke me."
"…What?" He missed a beat, then caught himself and kept going.. "No? … Ah—" He gave Colt’s hair another tug as compensation. "I’m pulling out…!"
"Wait, wait!"
Porco hissed. It was getting so hard to keep it together. "I can’t. I’m pulling—"
"—Choke me first!" Colt sounded desperate. His only hand remaining on the wall was slipping.
But Porco couldn’t help it. He gave Colt’s neck a second’s squeeze, then quickly moved his weight off Colt’s back — raking his nails down his red-splotched skin as he did — and slowly, slowly pulled out.
"Porco— gh—!" Colt’s knees bent and once Porco was fully out of him, he turned to lean against the wall, water washing down his face and torso. Eyes red, knees sinking. "Fuck," he choked, cupping himself with a trembling hand.
Porco spun to finish into the drain, gasping for breath. His vision swam, he was filled with bliss.
Holy shit, we just did that…
He leaned his head back and moaned. It took him a bit to regain agency of himself. His limbs felt heavy and his head was light as clouds. "Holy shit, Colt," he panted. And turning back, he finally became aware of the guy still stroking himself. Colt’s face was drawn and his movements desperate.
"You close?" Porco asked with a pang of insecurity, coming up to lean next to him on the tiles. Shit, he hoped Colt had enjoyed himself as much as he had.
But Colt groaned — "c-close" — and shivered like he was where Porco had been just moments ago.
"D’you want… me to take over?" Porco offered, breath bated, transfixed by the sight.
"Shit— Yes," Colt stammered, removing his hand and gasping when Porco touched him. "Ah— Porco…" His erection throbbed in Porco’s hand.
If Porco hadn’t been so spent, he’d be hard again instantly at it. The feeling, the sight. Of his hand on Colt this way. It was surreal to think something like this was actually happening. That Colt would let him. But he seemed totally given over; Colt was leaning his head back against the tiles, eyes closed and mouth open. Loving it. Moaning deeply, openly, like he wasn’t even afraid to be heard anymore. Probably too far given over to his own arousal to care. Finally.
"I love you," Porco huffed, hiding his face against Colt’s throat. He liked doing that. And he loved the newfound combination of planting sweet, loving kisses there — while beating the guy off. Sliding his hand up and down his rock hard dick. Knowing he was the one making Colt sound this way — shiver this way — was crazy.
Colt gave a guttural grunt, Porco saw his stomach spasm, and then the guy came. Warmth spilled over Porco’s fingers, it washed beneath the showerhead, and Colt went limp. He reached for Porco, grabbed him by the arm, and together they slid down on the floor, grasping at each other.
Their heaving breathes mingled with the drumming of water against the tiles, the metal drain. Otherwise, nothing was heard.
Holy shit.

*

They took their time coming back to their senses. Just sitting there, with the water pouring over them, felt good. Meditative. Porco was running through the event in his head over and over. Trying to make sense of it. Trying to grasp how it could actually have happened. After so long. After so much longing, hoping and aching. It felt like a lifetime of tug-of-war was finally over.
Two years apart… Maybe it really had done them good.
He stroked Colt’s hair gently. The guy’s head was resting on his shoulder. He hadn’t said anything yet, but Porco ventured to hope it was a good sign that he hadn’t taken off yet.
Porco swallowed. "So…" He felt Colt’s head lift a fraction. "You’re ok with this now…?"

Chapter Text

852

So… you’re ok with this now?
It had been a loaded question. One Colt hadn’t had the capacity to answered there and then. As the fading waves of ecstasy made their last laps around his trembling body, under the soothing shower drum. Lying there on the tiles, his cheek against Porco’s hot thigh, the guy’s fingers through his hair, Colt was lulled into an all-encapsulating feeling of just having had a physical revelation.
… No, the shower room wasn’t the right time and place to have a longer conversation about it. There were too many complicated layers to the question. Was he ok with ‘it’? Yes. And no.
What they had done, felt amazing. Even now, as they walked homeward together, the feeling lingered. Colt’s step was light — his smile easy to provoke. He knew now that this — this intimacy between them — wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. Because it was the single most freeing thing he’d ever experienced. A moment of total submission to his feelings. His wants.
And yet,… at the same time, he felt as though his actions had just brought him into the most high-risk part of his long-standing balancing act; he was a seasoned soldier now — battle worn and primed for an important position. He’d come one step closer to redeeming his family. And he was risking it all by giving in.
Because that’s what he was doing, wasn’t it? He was giving in.
All the things he’d done for good will. All the war he’d suffered for honor…
"What are you thinking about?" Porco’s fingers brushed against his palm, and Colt shoved both hands in his pockets like he hadn’t noticed.
"Feels like an eternity since I was last here," he mumbled, looking around at the store fronts. The lamps were lit along the sidewalk, casting long shadows in the post-sunset. They were nearing on the gate to the internment zone now. "Hey… what happened to Henrietta’s parlor?" The ice cream parlor on the corner — the one Porco had snuck into, pretending to be a Marleyan, to get Colt the ice cream he wanted so many years ago — was boarded up. A taped sign read: locale for rent.
"The war has closed off several of our major trade links, the economy is nosediving," Porco mumbled back. "People don’t have money for ice cream anymore."
"… Oh."
"…You’re not bowing your head."
"… What?" Colt looked at him. Porco was smiling so strangely back at him.
"You always used to bow your head out here."
"Oh!" Colt immediately hung his head. How could he have forgotten? After two years at sea, he’d gotten so used to a soldier’s straight posture and high chin as show of strength and respect in the presence of superiors — how could he have forgotten to show submission in the streets?
But Porco stopped him. "No, no." He reached out and tilted Colt’s chin back up. "I like it better this way. You’ve been out there risking your life for these people. You deserve to keep your head held high."
Their eyes met. Colt’s stomach tingled in a way that erased the heavy burden he’d carried out there, every day at sea. "I’ve missed you," he whispered.

As they neared on Colt’s doorstep, Colt heard Porco give a sigh. "I wish we could all have dinner together," he said.
Colt gave a small smile at that — before echoing the sigh and nodding in halfhearted agreement. Truth be told, he was more than glad to keep the two families separate. They were two different worlds, and if they mixed, he couldn’t seek refuge in the second, nor uphold honor in the first. "I’ll come see you as soon as breakfast’s over tomorrow" he promised, throwing loving glances at this boy of his — this man.
"You better."
He chuckled and leaned his head on Porco’s shoulder for a fleeting second, in the momentary safety of the darkness just outside the reach of light from either light post. He really had missed him.
I really did miss you.
Up ahead, he eyed the steps to the house he’d left behind so long ago. The house which steps Falco had stood waving him off from, that misty morning. Off to a living nightmare.
Now Colt was back. Back where he started. Alive. And honorable.
But was he honorable enough?
He felt his gut twist in an old familiar way and it halted him. He’d gone a long time without this. This harmless yet nerve-tweezing uncertainty. Of never knowing what to expect when he walked through that door. Of asking himself: Would his mother smile at him and tell him how well he’d done today — or would she be displeased with something?
"What’s wrong?" Porco asked. He sought Colt’s hand again, but Colt continue to hide it down his pocket.
"… Nothing," Colt whispered. Why was his heart beating so fast?
"They’re so proud of you, Colt" Porco said, leading him up the steps.
"You think so?"
"I know so. You saw them yourself, down by the dock. You’ve done everybody proud."
Colt faced him, swallowed. "Thank you…" He truly loved Porco. And he didn’t want to hurt him again, not for any amount of honor. But right now, it felt wrong speaking so softly to him — here, right outside the house. Colt had bled for this day. For the people inside this home. And then, after everything, the first thing he did — was to dishonor them by running off to do what he did? Where was his head at in all of this? What had he been thinking?
Down the street came a faded echo of cats yowling and from inside the house he thought he heard chairs moving. Otherwise, the night was silent. Colt looked around the street he knew so well, and it felt to him — all of a sudden — as though the night was holding its breath for something… The hair on neck began to stand and he thought surely… that he was waiting for a cannon to blast. He had to find appropriate cover. He—
Porco put his hands on Colt’s shoulders and Colt looked at him confused.
"This was nice," Porco said, and leaned in.
He snapped his head to the side and grit his teeth. "I’ll see you tomorrow. I should head in."
Really, even Porco had to understand this: They were an item now, but it had to stay between the two of them if it were to last. It couldn’t reach this far — to this place, here, where Colt needed to uphold his status. This was the line in the sand.
Porco let him go. Nodded. "Alright," he said. Colt couldn’t read him in the dark. This guy he’d known a lifetime, appeared to him as half a stranger. "Tomorrow, then."
No. Wait.
"Wait—" Colt caught him — his hand finally coming out of his pocket to do so. "I—… You understand, right?"
"Yeah. I understand." Porco kept nodding solmenly. "We’ll tell them later."
"Hah…" Colt couldn’t quite laugh at that joke, but he smiled. His fingers pressed against the pulse at Porco’s wrist. The warmth there, so intimate. They’d shared something today. That hot pulse, the free-flowing love. This something bound them in such a way that it was impossible to separate them again. "Tomorrow," he whispered, and pictured himself in Porco’s bed.
"Yeah…"
… Colt stayed on the step till Porco disappeared around the dark corner. Then he entered his home with a mix of guilt and excitement. He closed the door as silently as he could, leaned his head against the wood, and closed his eyes.
What had he done? Could he really keep this secret going unnoticed?
He couldn’t help smiling.

*

"Oh, Colt, you have no idea how nice it is to see you sitting in your seat again," his mother cooed, pushing the potatoes across the table. In the candle light, her eyes glistened with emotion. The pin in her hair sparkled like a jewel. "Please, help yourself to another serving, there’s no meat left on you, poor thing."
"Thanks," Colt chuckled, hot in the face from the unfamiliar warmth; on board the ship, the eating quarters had been cold and steely — but here, surrounded by loved ones and live flames, he was bubbling with warmth. Oh, and he wasn’t hard to persuade; he’d missed good cooking — good cooking, and his mother’s good cooking most of all.
"Well, I wouldn’t say that, honey" his father chimed in, watching his sons share the last of the steaks and carrots amongst themselves. "He’s just hit a growth spurt, same as Falco. When you stretch, you become naturally leaner."
"I got enough to eat," Colt assured them, chewing on protein. "But I’ve missed your home cooking, mom." He smiled at her through the candle flames and she smiled back.
"Don’t talk with food in your mouth, honey," she said, but in a soft way.
"Mom’s made pie for desert," Falco said, turning to Colt. The two of them shared a look of excitement… How much his little brother had grown. Colt felt the pride swell in him.
I missed you guys so much. I missed times like these.
"So… Um," Falco continued, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. "How was it seeing Porco again? Did you get to talk at all?"
Colt coughed and reached for his water.
"… Or was it just work?"
"Just — hckh — just work. Sorry."
"No worries."
Colt looked up from his drink to catch the last of what looked like darting glances in several directions, and he felt his gut drop. Did they know?
"Of course it was just work," his mother jumped in, taking his hand. "You’re such a dutiful worker, Colt. Such a brave man." Her smile trembled a little, her chest rose like there was more on its way out.
But he waited, and nothing. So he said: "Thanks, mom… I did my best out there, for you guys."
"We know," his mother said and stood. "We know, baby."
He watched her withdraw to the kitchen counter with the empty plates, the figure of her thin back gliding into the dark. "My good boy."
"A war hero", his father said, catching his attention by leaning over the table. "Everybody knows about your efforts at Needle Point. Your mother’s told all the neighbors."
Colt chuckled awkwardly. "I just did my job…"
"Like the honorable soldier you are," his mother cooed, coming up behind him, putting her hands on his shoulders. Her fingers inched into his hair, began running through the back of it. "And now everybody knows how honorable you are. My honorable, good boy."
Colt swallowed, not moving but looking down at the table. His gut began dropping slowly. Slowly, slowly it sank — with the knowledge that he’d compromised it all. All that they were so grateful for. He’d gambled with what was most important to them. By what he’d done.
What would they think of him if they knew how careless he’d been? If they knew how easily he’d put their lived on the line for his own wants?
All the honorable things, they were just a front. A lie to hide the truth: that he was a selfish, unwell person.
So… you’re ok with this now?
No. Not now. Not with his mother right above him, singing his praises. She was the second person to stroke his hair today, to claim his devotion — the second choice. And her hands were so close to that ugly truth. Could she read it in his roots? See where Porco’s fingers had been there first? What Porco had done with her son?
So… you’re ok with this now?
Colt felt a lump form in his throat. How long could he really lead this double life? And what would happen the day the bubble burst?
"Now they’ll regret treating me like an eyesore," his mother said, voice quivering.
… What? Colt’s thought spiral halted.
"Soon they’ll be the ones wanting to be seen with us!" His mother’s words reached a pitch, her hands disappeared off Colt’s neck — and he turned to look at her in confusion. Her eyes were red.
"Mom?"
"Honey," their father warned.
"Ah." Mrs. Grice pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and covered her mouth. Whatever had come over her seemed to ebb. "I’m—… Excuse me. I— I set the pie in the oven. Let me just… get something while we wait. Just— Excuse me." She turned away and disappeared quickly out of the room.
Colt looked after her, then around the table. Falco was looking uncomfortably down into his lap.
"… What was—…?"
But their father shook his head. "Don’t you two worry about mom, she’s just… a bit emotional about you returning, Colt. She’s so proud of what you’ve done for our family."
Colt swallowed against the lump. "… Alright, then. Well." He stood. "I’ll— I’ll clear the table."

Once the dishes were done, Colt took the opportunity to excuse himself upstairs. From the bathroom, he could hear Falco and dad setting the table for desert. Mom still wasn’t back.
He closed the door and leaned against it, facing off into the mirror above the sink. For once, the reflection wasn’t spotted and blurry, like in all the rusted mirrors on board. Finally, he saw himself, tall, drawn, grown. He could see why his mother thought he looked skinny. But he knew better.
He walked closer, unbuttoning his white uniform jacket and sliding it off his shoulders. He lifted his undershirt carefully and stared at his stomach. His toned, flexing abdominal muscles. The muscles Porco had ran his fingers over just hours earlier.
Porco’s fingers gliding over his skin…
Colt breathed deeply through his nose. The watch he’d been given as a gift before dinner, ticked loudly at his wrist. Filled the silent bathroom with a rhythm.
Porco’s lips on the nape of his neck…
He licked his lips and turned sideways in the mirror, pushing his shirt up further, revealing his toned chest. A small bruise was forming just around the nipple.
This thing they’d done… Downstairs, Colt had felt so bad. But in here, past a locked door, in the hidden-away memory of it… he felt proud. Of Porco inside of him. Hard and hot.
He licked his lips again and leaned in closer, breath fogging up the glass. "Harder," he whispered.
It didn’t matter at all that it hurt like a bitch to sit down after the fact; the pain was well worth it. They’d fucked.
… Chairs scraped over the floorboards below and he closed his eyes. Sighed. No, he shouldn’t think about this here. Not with them around.
He washed his face with cold water, put the uniform back on and headed into the hall, aiming for the stairs — when he stopped. From his parents’ bedroom, he heard the faintest sniffling.
Mom?
Quietly, he walked up to the cracked door at the other end of the hall. And through it, he saw his mother sitting on the bed. She was facing away, her shoulders shaking.
"Mom?" He nudged the door open and it creaked.
Startled, his mother pushed a shoebox out of her lap and stood. "Colt! I’m—"
"What’s the matter?"
"Oh, honey," she said. Her shoulders sank and she sighed. "I’m sorry, baby… It’s just your mother being silly."
"Don’t say that. You’re obviously upset… Is it something I did? I’m sorry I came home so late—"
"No, it’s not that," she assured him. "And I’m not upset." She wiped her cheeks, tilted her head and gave him a tearful smile. "Come." She held her arms out, and he reluctantly came in for a hug; he wasn’t sure she was truly alright.
"I’m just so happy, Colt. I knew you’d bring honor back to us… Finally."
"So happy you’re crying in the bedroom over it?"
"Oh, don’t give your mother such a hard time," she whispered and gave his shoulder a loving slap. "It’s just a bit overwhelming… After everything I’ve been through. You don’t know how much this means to me."
"…"
"I think… maybe you’re old enough to hear it now."
"To hear it?"
She pulled back and cupped his cheeks with her long, thin hands. "About the family you grandmother worked for. What happened to her and I there… Why I’ve been disgraced for so long."
"Oh." Colt cast a glance at the shoebox. In it, he saw a faded black and white photo of a well-to-do family, a couple of letters, some beautiful pearls and a silver hair brush.
Despite the inconspicuous nature of the items, there was something about the collection that settled like a heavy weight in his chest. As though he knew — that whatever he was about to learn, it would weigh heavy on him.
"Your grandmother," his mother whispered. She took his hands and sat them both down on the bed. "My mother… Clara." She swallowed. "She worked as nanny, for the wealthiest Eldian family in Liberio at the time. The Forsters. You remember I told you about the Forsters? The house on the hill?"
"Yeah," Colt muttered. "Grandma would nanny their kids? And came along with them on… trips?"
His mother nodded solemnly. "Trips outside the zone. To meet with wealthy Marleyan families."
Oh.
She gave him a look. "Exactly. The Forsters had powerful friends."
"But not anymore?"
She put a hand on his knee. "I’m getting there, Colt."
"Sorry."
"… My mother — Clara — she was such a dutiful worker. Like you, honey. And she could keep a secret… Oh, all the things she heard from behind closed doors. All the things I heard." She shook her head. "I was just a kid back then, but I remember well…" She looked at the box. "The Forster family cooperated with Marley during the old war. Half their family ran for the hills — to Paradis island — but the other half remained. They were clever: Every time they heard anything — about people planning to escape, groups mobilizing to attack — they’d tip off the Marleyan military instead.
And in return, the Forsters won good graces, wealth and exemption from post-war punishments. Their favor with Marley lasted generations…"
Colt tried to say something, but his mother continued: "At the time my mother got hired there, the Forsters were still regularly invited to dinner parties on the outside. Oh, they mingled with the likes of Marley generals! Though, of course, it couldn’t be publicly known — could you imagine, Eldians dining with Marleyans like equals? — so their acquaintances were kept secret. Disguised as contract work. Mr. Forster and his wife would dress in their prettiest clothes, get into their prettiest carriages — and leave the forbidden gates for ‘architectural work’… Now, somebody had to tend to the family’s two girls while the adults talked, so mom and I also got to go…"
Colt recalled the way his mother would talk about the ‘outside’; the beautiful, clean streets of Marley. A promised land she’d somehow been allowed to visit. Her stories had always excited him.
Now she sighed, picked up the pearls from the box and held them in her hands as her eyes slowly turned to glass. "Mom and I were also given such pretty dresses… Mr. And Mrs. Forster treated us like one of their own in that sense. After all, we lived under the same roof as them, ate the same food as them. Went on those extravagant trips with them." She paused. Something turned from joy to distant pain in her eyes. "I loved my life back then, Colt… While others struggled to keep warm, mom and I had the softest beds and food to roll in. I felt rich. Special. Just like those Forster girls. They were like my own older sisters." The pearls rolled out from between her fingers and she turned to him with tears in her eyes. "They were my older sisters."
His stomach hurt.
"…Then it all happened at once. A living nightmare, you couldn’t imagine. My mother—" His mother’s voice broke and she visibly struggled to force the next words out: "She was caught… stealing from a Marley general’s home."
"… Oh, no. Mom, I’m so sorry."
She shook her head. "Of course, it was a mistake. The general’s wife’s earrings had fallen into her purse on accident. My mother swore it up and down, and I knew she would never lie."
Colt frowned and put am arm around her but she twisted out of the hug.
"But it didn’t matter. My mother couldn’t even beg for mercy before the general had her and I bound on our hands and knees. I remember the way their carpet smelled of tobacco and dirt as we were held down… While my sisters — the girls my mother had raised like her own — stood over us, watching. And the Forsters? They did nothing to defend us. The people I’d looked at as my own family… They said nothing, as the general called my mom and I ‘living proof’ of the Eldian people’s rotten nature. As he said we’d pay with our lives for this dis—gh—" She choked to a halt and hid her face in her hands. And when Colt tried to hug her again, she let him. Her frail body trembled against his ribs as she continued in a whisper: "I would have died that day, honey. If my mother hadn’t begged Mrs. Forster for my mercy. She—… she said…"
Colt stroked her back and fought against crying. He’d never experienced his mother this vulnerable before, and it scared him. She felt small and breakable in his arms.
"She said Mr. Forster had to finally do right by me and save me. Because I was his! All that time! I’d lived under their roof and never known I was this man’s bastard!"
"… I’m so sorry, mom."
"And he did… Mr. Forster fell on his knees for me and pleaded for me. And the general spared me because of it… But ever since then, the Forsters were never welcome anywhere outside the internment zone again. And it was my fault — me and my mother’s. We brought the Forster family into disgrace."
"…"
"They drove my mother away that night and I never saw her again. And even though I was finally part of a wealthy family, it’s all been a nightmare since, Colt. Every day… My sister never let me forget whose fault it was that the lavish dinners stopped, and when their income dwindled, our father’s wrath landed on me…"
"I’m so sorry, mom," Colt whispered. He didn’t know what else to say; he was just so sorry.
His mother hid her nose against his neck and he stroked her hair.
"It only got worse, my dear… They found my mother’s diary some years later, and the truth came out. My father was the gardener, not Mr. Forster. Mom had lied to Mr. Forster for my benefit… But once the Forsters finally realized I wasn’t their burden to bare, they couldn’t get rid of me fast enough…"
"Oh no…"
"The shame is bottomless for some. I pray you never have to feel what I have felt… From being envied by my peers, to ridiculed. A bastard. A wealthy family’s ugly secret. A home wrecker. The daughter of a thief — and then of a liar as well. No longer the rotten seed of a wealthy family, but the demon child of a homeless man."
"A homeless—?"
"Mr. Forster ruined the gardener’s reputation so he never found work again… The dirty old bag wanted me to leave the orphanage to come live with him in a cardboard box! To let all my old friends see me bathe in my own filth, have me beg them for food — the very people who used to envy me my position. As if I would stoop to his level, after he ruined my life!"
Colt thought about the homeless man his mother used to spit after when he was younger, and his blood ran cold. Had that been his grandfather?
"… But everybody at the orphanage knew my fall from grace anyways. Most people did." His mother sniffled and sat up slowly. "It’s one thing to live at the bottom of a barrel all your life. But to have been somebody once… having flown too close to the sun…" She wiped her running cheeks. "It was a miracle your father even wanted me. The Grices weren’t the wealthiest, but they were good people. Respectable people. Or so I thought."
Colt’s heart sank.
"Can you imagine? Finally, I thought I’d found my way back to some semblance of dignity. And just days after I marry into the family, your father’s brother is caught working for the resistance."
"I’m so sorry, mom…"
"Like I said: a true nightmare. Everything crumbled around me again. And when Marley found out who I was, they were anything but keen to give me another chance. ’ Fool me once’, as they say. Your father’s entire family was about to be executed because of me. The bad seed, once more."
"… So you agreed to have me."
"To enroll you," she corrected, taking his hands in hers once more. "You saved me, Colt. You saved all of us, just by being born."
He tried to meet her eyes at that, but couldn’t. He wiped his cheek with a shoulder shrug, and cleared his throat. "I don’t know about that, mom…"
"No, it’s true. And look at you now. Not only did you save us, you’ve finally brought honor back to us. To me. For the first time since I was a little girl, I can walk with my head held high, Colt. I won’t be afraid of anyone from the past recognizing me anymore. Because I’m the mother of Colt Grice now. The mother of a war hero — Marley’s own warchief-to-be."
When he still couldn’t meet her eyes, she pulled him in for another hug. This time it felt the way it used to — her wings wrapping around him, a fierce mother bird reaching around her devoted hatchling.
"I know I can be strict on you. But know that it’s because I want the best for you. I don’t want you to fall like I did… To feel as bad about yourself as I have.”
He didn’t know what to say to that. He felt awful — for repeatedly disregarding his duty to his family for his own desires… If only he’d known what she’d been through.
“I love you so much, Colt. You’ve finally made me happy again."

Chapter Text

852

They shivered together, side by side, on the picnic blanket. In their soaked swimming briefs, the cold lake water glistening on their hunched shoulders. Their naked toes burrowed into the sand for warmth after an agonizing winter swim. Neither of them had said it, but it had been obvious: it was too late in the year to rejuvenate their lake-side escapades. Despite ice baths being good after training, their November-swim had been a bad idea and they were feeling the teeth chattering aftermath of it now. Porco fought with his backpack to pull out a blanket.
Still, waiting another year for summer to return, had just seemed too risky. Because nobody knew when the military could call them back for phase 3. The march on fort Slava didn’t have an official date; could be after next summer, could be tomorrow.
In other words: as cold as the lake was right now, it would have to do. Next summer, they could already be out there, fighting again. Or worse.
Besides, Porco had been sure the temperature wouldn’t matter — that them simply being together again, after what they shared yesterday, would warm them enough. And while he had maybe overestimated his own limits a little bit, being here with Colt was worth it.
It was just that… something else felt off. Colt’s eyes… something had changed in them over night.
Porco leaned forward with his chin on his knees to observe his boyfriend up closer, teeth chattering and fingers shivering as he kept fumbling with the backpack. "Hey…"
Colt’s eyes stared quietly out at the leafless branches across the lake. Thin, black silhouettes swaying beneath a grey blanket of clouds. He lifted his chin a little, the grey reflecting in his eyes. "… Do you smell smoke?"
Porco followed his gaze but wasn’t sure what he was so caught up on; they were just trees. "Don’t think so… You feeling alright, Colt?" He got the blanket free, wrapped it around their shoulders — and felt the guy’s muscles tense. It was almost like yesterday hadn’t happened. Yeah, that’s what it was; as though they hadn’t had that breakthrough — as though Colt hadn’t given himself over to what they had.
The guy did a long, slow inhale and then sighed. It still felt a little weird to see how big he’d grown. "I’m sorry, Porco. I don’t mean to—… I just… really hate water."
"…What?"
"Don’t get me wrong, I like this place. Our place. But I just… I’m just a little sick of water right now. Sorry. I didn’t realize how much, until we got here."
"Oh…" Porco got it. Colt had been stuck out there on the ocean for two years, after all. He copied Colt’s sigh and stroked his back until he felt the guy relax a little. "I get it… You still beat me, though. My natural swimmer."
"…"
They kept sitting like that for a bit, Porco’s arm warming Colt and Colt taking in the view. When a particularly sour gust of wind reached them, they huddled closer together and Colt mumbled: "… You know that homeless guy I told you about? The one my mom spit after when we were kids?"
The questions caught Porco off guard. What did that man have to do with anything? He was long dead — found frozen to death like five winters ago. "What about him?"
"That was my grandfather."
"Wait— Really?"
And then Colt told him the whole incredulous thing — about how Colt’s grandmother had worked for the Forsters, gotten herself pregnant and pretended it was Mr. Forster’s; how she’d stolen from the Marleyans and saved her daughter by begging the family to save her. About how the true father’s identity coming out marked Colt’s mother’s long fall from grace; how she’d been too wounded to acknowledge her real father since, and too ashamed to be seen by the Forsters till this day. The whole thing sounded like a crazy tale. It didn’t surprise Porco that influential families covered up their men’s bastards, but this… And to think all of this happened to Colt’s mom?
"Wow," was all Porco could say in in the end. "I’m so sorry… Shit."
"I know… I feel so bad for her."
Porco was a little surprised to realize he agreed. It must have been painful for her to run into her estranged father in the streets after the fact. Though, Porco didn’t understand why she blamed the gardener first and foremost, for the mess of so many… Maybe the homeless man was just the easiest scape goat. "All this time,… she didn’t tell you about him, because she was angry with him?"
Colt nodded. "Only, more like she was too ashamed."
"Oh. Of him?"
"Of everything… Mostly herself, I think."
"… Shit."
"Do you think—…." Colt chewed on his bottom lip. He wasn’t looking at the trees anymore; just down at his feet. "Do you think grandma did steal?"
"… Do you?"
Colt picked lint off the blanket across his knees and pulled his legs tighter to his chest. "I do. Mom doesn’t, so don’t tell her, but… earrings don’t just fall into bags, you know?"
"I’m sorry."
"I guess my family’s always been criminals."
"Hey, don’t say that. You’ve never done a criminal thing in your life."
Colt turned to Porco like he was about to say something. Then he just took his hand instead, and rested his head on his shoulder. "… Thanks."
Porco leaned into it, relieved to finally know what was weighing on his boyfriend’s mind.
"I’m just… She’s finally happy again, you know?" Colt whispered. "I used to think she was so strict, but all this time she’s been hurting. She’s been so ashamed, and I didn’t see it. Despite—…."
"Despite… what…?"
"Nothing…" Colt said. Then he added — and Porco could hear by the way his voice changed, that he began to smile: "But now she’s finally happy. For the first time, I’ve made her happy."
He squeezed Colt’s hand. "And so are we…"
"Mm…"
They watched in silence as a fox poked its snout out of the tall grass below the trees. Its fur was thick — ready for snow. Ugh, Porco shivered harder just by the thought of it. "Um… Colt? Since you’re not that into water, what about heading home? We could talk more there and I could ask mom to make us oat cakes." He nudged him carefully and the guy lifted his head.
"Yeah." Colt stretched and grabbed his clothes to dress. "That sounds nice." Despite having goosebumps up and down his arms and legs, he seemed so much more poised than Porco — at least in Porco’s eyes. He looked beautiful, actually. Even as he was a hardened soldier now, scars and all.
But, Porco figured, Colt must still be cold, even if he didn’t show it — because then the guy added: "Does she have something warm to drink, too?"
It made him chuckle; he could relate. "Absolutely." He stood and began beating the picnic blanket free of sand, before shoving it into his bag. "I think she’s got a few cubes of sugar left, actually. I’ll fix you the warmest, sweetest coffee you’ve had in years, baby."
He dressed quickly and waited for Colt to get ready, then took his hand and begin heading home. The thought of warm food and peaceful cuddles made him grin from ear to ear. Finally, this was the start of their new era; the era of them being unapologetically themselves — together! He turned to share his smile with Colt, but Colt didn’t give one back… It gave Porco pause.
Not that it wasn’t fine, of course! Porco understood that his boyfriend had a lot on his mind; he had just come home and he’d been through a lot! It just… gave him pause, was all.
"…But Colt?"
"Mm…?"
"When should we tell them?"
"…About what?"
The question gave Porco a sinking feeling. Colt knew damn well ‘what’: "About us, of course?"
His boyfriend responded with silence. Their steps crunched along the path beneath them for several seconds as Porco swallowed against this old familiar feeling. "Colt?"
"… I don’t want mom to have to go through any more shit just now. She’s finally happy."
Not this. Not again.
"…But you’ve gotten her honor back. The shit’s over, isn’t it?"
"Yes, only… this thing of ours—…"
Come on. Not again!
Porco felt his temperature rise. Still shivering on the outside, he began to slowly steam on the inside. "Colt," he said with strained calm. "Seriously, you promised—"
But Colt quickly squeezed his hand. "Me and you, we’re not over. I promise. I just… I’m just scared of telling her, alright?"
"But your mom said she didn’t want you to be ashamed of yourself like she’d been. You said so yourself!"
"Yeah but not like that, that’s not what she meant."
"How do you know that?"
"I just do, Porco…" Colt mumbled. "And I just came home. I’m so tired… So tired. I don’t think you—" He caught himself without finishing the sentence, and just shook his head down. His rigid back slouched and the air went out of him. "I just… finally gave her honor. I don’t want to take it away so soon… Give me some time."
Porco breathed in slowly, entrapped his bubbling annoyance deep in his chest. He didn’t want to blow up. Refused to. But dear heavens, wasn’t this the time for Colt to loosen up?
"…You understand, right?" Colt turned to him and they locked eyes.
"…" Porco groaned internally and exhaled. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I get it…"
Colt just needed to settle back into things for a bit. Probably need a couple of days to adjust. Then their era could begin.

*

853

Winter rolled in cold and fast. The two of them celebrated their first New Year’s together in three years and life felt better to Porco than it had in a long time. Things were by no means back to normal; after everything that had happened, life had changed too much: the economy was suffering, food was rationed and the newspapers were full of war. Most people would agree that life was rough inside the Liberio internment zone these days. But to Porco? Life had entered a new and exciting era: of little kisses between words, late night conversations, sex. He was in a relationship. One that finally lasted!
He felt good.
He felt happy.
…The only problem was how slow Colt was to come around about making it public. Five months had passed since he’d return now and he still wasn’t ready to come out — he would hardly even entertain the topic! To Porco, learning to give his boyfriend time was a process. Sometimes, he was close to losing patience. Well, not just close, if he was honest with himself.
But all in all, they were happy together, and that’s what was most important. The only other spoke in the wheel, was how heavy Colt’s mind sometimes seemed to get — much more so than it had been before phase 1. On good days, Porco liked to think he’d simply set out a boy and returned a man, but on worse days…
Porco awoke in the dark from a kick to the shin. The blinders were down against the snowy garden view outside his bedroom and only a slither of cold light lay across the duvet. The duvet rose and sank as the man next to him tossed and turned beneath it.
"Colt…?" Porco rubbed sleep out of his eyes and sat up to feel his shin. "Ugh. Did you kick me just now?" Given the sounds of pots and pans clanking downstairs, he guessed it was morning — soon breakfast time — despite how tired he felt. "Hey, are you awake?"
"To your station," Colt whispered, tossing again. His breath was quick and shallow; he sounded scared.
Porco sighed. Another change was how much more challenging sharing a bed had become. Not so much because they both had grown, but because of the nightmares Colt had brought back with him. This had to be the third one just this week.
"Colt, it’s a dream," Porco yawned.
"W-what? It blew off," the blonde whimpered. "Winter, I’m so sorry. I don’t under—"
"Colt."
"N-no, there’s no time—"
"Colt!"
"Stop!" Colt’s voice rose in panic and his arms began to thrash above the duvet like he was fending off something. Porco caught a strong whiff of sweat; the guy was probably drenched again. "I know it’s my fault! Just plea—"
"—Its’s a dream!" Porco grabbed his shoulder and was about to lean over to hug him, when the other opened his eyes and screamed. Porco got a slap on the ear and jolted back. "Ow!"
It got immediately quiet. Porco pinched his nose bridge and groaned. "Ugh… sorry, Colt. You had a bad dream again." No answer. He sighed and felt his sore earlobe. "I didn’t mean to scare you. You ok?" When there still was no answer, he looked over. In the dark, he saw Colt staring stiffly up at the ceiling — his chest rising and falling with effort. He looked like he was working hard on something in his head.
"… I’m sorry," Porco said again, a little softer this time. Realistically, he knew Colt couldn’t help it. "Should I leave you alone next time?"
Colt slowly shook his head.
Porco laid over on his side and inched closer, reaching out to stroke Colt’s cheek. "Hey… You know Winter wasn’t your fault, right?"
"…"
"None of it was."
"…"
"Colt?"
"It’s not that."
"What?"
Colt hid his face behind his hands. "I don’t—… I wish I could just—…" Then he reached further up to tug at his hair. Porco had to take his hands to make him stop; he hated when Colt did that.
"You wish you could just what?" He kissed his white knuckles and pulled him into a hug. "You did your be—"
"—I just wish I could forget!" Colt’s voice broke and Porco felt his body begin to quiver the way he did when he cried. "B-but I feel so bad for saying that! Because I’m the lucky one! I survived! H-how could I just—… just… Leave them behind… My unit—…." His voice died and he hid his face again. "… J-just forget it."
But Porco kissed his wrist and held him tighter. "You’re not leaving them behind by choosing to live. You live for them. And besides… Haywood’s not dead. You saved him. Maybe you could go visit him again? I know he makes you feel better."
"I know. B-but…" Colt wiped his tears. "… I just… don’t know if I can do all of this again."
"What do you mean?"
"Phase 3. It’s making me sick just to think about. That parachute plan? Dropping sick people from airplanes just to use them as titan bombs? Throwing their lives away like that? A-and then me— I have—… I have to send people to their deaths again, Porco… Watch them blow up… Did you know people’s mouths… can spasm after they die? Did you ever see that?"
A shiver ran through Porco and he pulled Colt closer, almost forcibly close. His otherwise so cold-blooded boyfriend was hot like a radiator. "I know it’s scary… And it’s scary not knowing when we’ll be sent out again, too…" When the blonde finally let his hands fall from his face, Porco took the opportunity to kiss him on the cheek. "But think about what comes after."
"… After?"
"Yes. Once all this war shit is over," Porco whispered, "we’ll be free." He lifted off the bed to hover over him. To catch Colt’s eyes. "Hey. Once all this Mid-East alliance shit is over with? And once Marley realizes the founding titan shit is at another centurial stalemate? We’ll have so much time to waste." He saw Colt smile weakly below him in the dark. "Exactly. Just picture it. War will be over with, we’ll come out, we’ll buy a house together… Live together. Do whatever we want together." He leaned in to kiss him on the lips. "Fuck as many times a day as we want together…"
Colt’s weak kiss back told him he wasn’t completely sold yet. Maybe he just didn’t believe it would happen?
"Colt, it’s going to happen. Mark my words. Me and you, our own house. In just… two or three years’ time? It’s happening." Porco kept hovered over him, one arm on either side of him. "Look at me. You believe me, right?"
"…"
"Say you believe me."
Colt’s throat bobbed. "… I believe you." He looked exhausted. Porco felt bad for him — though, honestly, wasn’t the only thing left in Colt’s way, Colt himself? Like, seriously? To Porco it seemed so obvious: The only thing stopping them both from living out their best lives right now instead of in several years’ time, was the fact that they had to keep fretting about keeping their relationship a secret.
Yes, yes: He knew it was a process, but damn it… How much longer did he have to wait? The sooner they got it out of the way, the sooner they could live!
He adjusted his weight to lean on one arm, while he touched Colt’s face with the other. Slowly, he pushed his boyfriend’s sweat drenched bangs back, trailed the guy’s temple, traced his incredible jaw… "You’re beautiful," he whispered, as his fingertips continued downward, tracing Colt’s Adams apple down to his collarbone, down to his clammy chest — to come to a rested there, over his steady heartbeat. "Let’s get some food in us before we head out."
"…Yeah."

He got dressed while Colt had a shower, then they met up at the top of the stairs. A delightful waft of warm milk and cinnamon was climbing up the steps and Porco’s mouth was watering. Today was going to be one of the good days — he had decided.
He took Colt’s hand as they entered the kitchen — secretly hoping his mother would see — and as his mother turned from the stove to greet them, he felt Colt shake his hand free. Immediately, Porco felt the heat rise to his head again. Dear Helos, he was so tired of this — always the same, over and over. No progress. If there was one person to not be afraid of, it was his mother. And Colt knew that! When was he going to man up?
Knowing so much better, Porco still couldn’t help but send Colt a death glare. "Good morning, mom," he said through his teeth, not taking his eyes off Colt. Colt looked back, and the soft look of distress shook Porco out of his malice. Ugh. Ok, so maybe this hadn’t been the ideal time. Colt had just been through one of those nightmares of his again and everything. But… at some point, he had to step out of his comfort zone, or nothing would change.
"I’m sorry," Porco mouthed as they found their places around the table.
"Good morning, sweethearts. You’re just in time. How does velvet porridge sound?"
"Sounds fantastic, Mrs. Galliard," Colt said, turning to smile at her like nothing had happened and his mind was carefree. "Your porridge’s the best!"
"Oh, you. Always too kind."
Porco’s father lowered the newspaper as his wife set bowls around the table. "Morning, boys. Did you hear? Our navy’s finally moving up the coast. Boarder’s Bay has been conquered."
"Oh, yes," Mrs. Galliard chimed in as she returned with a water pitcher and sat down. "According to your father, Liberio will most likely get fruit back in stock now — since the Alliance’s no longer blocking the trading route up there. Isn’t that wonderful?"
"That’s great, Mrs. Galliard," Colt said.
"Right? But come now, boys — eat, eat." She beckoned with her hands and waited till everyone else were eating, before having a bite herself. She scooped a mouthful and sighed with delight. "Soon it’s going to be like the old days, isn’t it. Oh, I’ll make apple pie again, people won’t have to fight for rations, kids will play in the streets, you two’ll be— well, maybe you won’t be playing as much in the garden anymore." She chuckled. "But a mother’s allowed to dream." She looked from one to the other with adoring eyes. "You grow so fast…"
"Mom."
"But you do." Mrs. Galliard nudged her son and chuckled.
"I’m looking forward to it, too" Colt said, giving Porco a deep stare. "I can’t wait till this war’s well and truly over and we can look to the future." He held Porco’s eyes in his, and Porco read the message loud and clear. He was talking about that house Porco had just promised him — and a future in which they were open. It made a warmth — a comfortable one this time — settle in Porco’s chest. Colt might be a frustrating piece of work sometimes, but at the end of the day, nobody could make Porco happier. And to know that even when Porco was short with him, Colt would be this sweet back…
Damn it, Porco loved this man, insecurities and all. "Yeah," he said, mirroring the knowing smile that was spreading across his boyfriend’s face. "Me too, Colt. I can’t wait for peace."
And the life peace will bring for us.

*

Yes, peace would bring them a better life. And Porco couldn’t wait. Because, apparently, Colt didn’t seem capable of starting that life for them prematurely. Porco tried loosening him up again later that day, and then the next — and then on the many days that followed, as winter turned to spring. But Colt continued to evade the topic as best he could. And despite the glimpses of light he saw, this continuous head-butting against a wall, was beginning to dishearten Porco. Anger him, even; he finally had the relationship he wanted, yet the only places he could live it out, were where nobody could see them. Would Colt ever be proud of them?
Or would he be ashamed forever?
Once again asking himself that, Porco caught up with Colt in the thick of the internment zone market square one green afternoon, panting as he did. Spring was here, but where were they? Exactly in the same place they’d been the day he returned. No. Actually, things were even shittier! "Colt…!" He was hot in the face from his strong piece of mind; had worked himself up all the way back from HQ. "Where were you?"
Colt was standing by a fruit stand, paper bag in hand, looking puzzled back at him — as if nothing was wrong. Wasn’t it funny — how at the same rate as food and trade had gotten better, Porco’s hopes had dwindled?
Colt held out the bag and gave a polite smile between the passersby, as Porco closed the distance. "I bought us something."
"Why didn’t you wait for me at the gate?" He came to a halt at his ‘boyfriend’s side, breathing hard. "You always wait."
"Sorry, I wanted to surprise you."
"Is it because of the new tower? You don’t want the lookouts seeing us?"
Colt frowned and cast a look over both shoulders.
"Stop that." Porco wiped his forehead and tried to tell himself this wasn’t the place to argue. But — ugh — today had just been such a shit day at training and the last thing he’d needed was showing up at the northern gate to no Colt. "Seriously," he said, hissing between his teeth. "At this rate, is peace even gonna make a difference to us? We’ll still be prisoners to this secret, won’t we. Is that what you want?"
"Porco…"
"No, don’t ‘Porco’ me." Porco reached for Colt’s hand and took it in a vice grip. And despite not being surprised in the slightest, his wounded heart stung as his boyfriend forcibly whipped free. "Is it that you don’t care about us anymore? No? What is it then?"
"Porco, not here—"
"—You’re not even trying! Seriously, I think you’re even getting worse!" He could tell a few heads were turning now, but Porco’s pot was stirring and he couldn’t stop. Months of disappointment were boiling to the surface—
Then Colt sat his bag down hard on a stack of potatoes and came in close, chest out and nostrils flaring. He was looking down his nose at Porco like he wanted to fight and the sight took Porco by such surprise it shut him up; Colt was a head taller than him, but that fact had never intimidated him, until now. And what was that look in his eyes? Rage?
"I’m trying my fucking best, actually," Colt said in a low, shivering voice. "It’s your problem if you can’t see that. I’m getting tired of never feeling like my efforts are good enough for you." The bag fell over and a pair of honeydews dropped to the ground at their feet. "Holding your hand outside? I do that. It makes me anxious, but I do it. I know you want me to do it when people are around already, but I’m just not there yet — but that does not mean I’m not pushing my boundaries! I don’t deny it when your mother makes suggestive comments either, despite really, really wanting to. I try to work on the guilt I feel after we — you know what — because I don’t want you to feel like I’m ashamed of you. I stay over a lot, even when my mom doesn’t want me to, just to make her understand you’re a priority she needs to respect. I— for fuck’s sake, I’m working on myself every day for you, Porco. Because you’re so impatient."
Porco listened with a racing heart. How could Colt think doing the bare minimum for a year was pushing himself? No, forget a year’; had Colt become any more tolerant since way back when he rejected Porco at the summer party? No!
Oh, but he wasn’t finished. "But do you do the same for me?" Colt went on. "No. When I told you mom’s story, it took you minutes to turn it into ‘oh, she must be ok with us coming out as — you know what — since she doesn’t want you to be ashamed of yourself’. Do you ever listen? To me — or to yourself? When I’m having an episode about phase 1 — or 3 — or anything that doesn’t have to do with this — with us — it’s like you think giving me a pat on the back is enough. Because you’ll be right back to being angry and disappointment if I don’t pull myself together a second later. I’m just— I’m not ok, Porco!"
"Obviously not," Porco hissed. He was about done listening to this. "I wasn’t going to chew you out in front of the square, but apparently, you didn’t want to give me the same curtesy—"
"—Oh, because forcibly taking my hand is so much nicer? I’m the only one meeting both our wishes half-way here. You always measure me against what your ideal is. I’ll always fall short to that. But guess what: Just because I’m not doing as good as you want me to, that doesn’t mean I’m not going outside of my comfort zone for you!"
"You act like I’m asking you to blow me in front of a crowd. Holding hands isn’t that big of a deal."
"It is to me!"
"If you cared, you’d do it for me."
"If you cared, you’d wait for me!"
They stood with their fists curled white — breath heavy, as they racked their brains for more. But it seemed that both their white-hot peace had been said. All that was left now was letting it sink in. Porco swallowed against the heat in his throat, as he mulled over how to make Colt understand. He was scared! At the bottom of this, he was scared!
Then Colt’s eyes welled. His defense fell and he bent to pick his fruits, before turning and sprinting off into the crowd.
"Hey—?… Shit." Porco groaned. What had he been thinking? "Colt, wait! I’m sorry!"
He chased his boyfriend till the edge of the market, where carts and horses stood parked in rows. There, he saw Colt lose his bag again, and instead of picking it up, sink down on a bench and hide his face.
The sight made Porco’s heart sink. Maybe… he’d been too harsh on him again. Colt had been right about one thing after all: he clearly wasn’t ok.
Panting, he reached the bench and dropped down next to him. He picked up the honeydews. "Colt… Hey. I’m sorry, alright?" He put a hand on Colt’s knee and shook it carefully. "I’m not going to lie and say I agree with you on all that, but yeah, starting this kind of discussion in public was a bad idea on my part, I’m sorry."
Colt’s shoulders shook. "I’m so tired, Porco," he whispered behind his hands. "I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. No matter what, somebody gets hurt. No matter what, I’m not good enough for any one of you. And this—… not knowing when they’ll call us back. All I can think about is ‘when?’. When? When will I be pulled back into that nightmare? And all you do is complain."
Porco frowned. He tried stroking Colt’s back and when the guy didn’t protest, he pulled him into a careful side-hug. "I don’t think I only complain… We have a lot of nice moments together, don’t we…?"
No answer.
"Remember the other day when I took you to the bathhouse after practice? Or last Sunday when we just stayed in bed all day? … Or how, whenever you tell an awful joke, I laugh just to be nice?" He tried a little laugh, but still he got no answer.
People came and went past their bench, paying them no mind. Carriage drivers fed their horses, vendors called out their prices, families carried their groceries. The birds sang from the rooftops. It was a pretty day, he supposed... He looked down. "Colt… I’m sorry." Porco held him tighter. Swallowed. "The truth is… I get really scared sometimes too. My term is—… you know. There’s not that much time left… And so, when you tell me to keep waiting and keep waiting, I get scared. And angry too, I guess. I start asking myself: will we ever get to live that life I wanted for us? Does he even really want to be with me?"
"… I do."
"I know. I just get scared."
"I’m really trying, Porco…"
"I know."
"I’m the one who’s being left behind."
"… I know."
They sighed, one after the other. It seemed their pent-up frustration was spent. Yet, were they any closer to a solution? Would Colt be any more inclined to break free of honor’s shackles now? Porco wondered.
If not, then what? What did it take?
A set of footsteps stopped in front of them, and Porco looked up.
"Colt?" Mrs. Grice stood before them, empty basket in hand. Her eyes moved from the two of them to the carriages behind them, and Porco hastened to let go of her son.
"Mom? Oh, hi!" Colt shot up to greet her, smiling with pink-rimmed eyes. It was uncanny how he’d snap into that dutiful persona so easily, Porco thought. But it was probably natural after two years of living on a ship full of superiors. "I thought you were doing your shopping tomorrow!"
Still sitting, Porco watched as Colt discretely wiped his palms on his thighs.
"Changed my mind…" Mrs. Grice replied. She bore an expression of apprehension, like something was stuck in her throat and couldn’t come out. Not here, anyways. "You’re just… sitting around here willy-nilly, instead of coming home?" Her eyes sought the carriages more than Colt, and when Porco looked over his shoulder, he thought he recognized one of them as the Forster family’s. Well, if the fading gilded F on the door was anything to go by.
"No, we were just… talking for a second. Are you buying a lot? Do you need any help?"
"Mm… That’s sweet of you." She reached out and began brushing off his perfectly white uniform. "Adjust your collar," she mumbled, before linking arms with him.
Strangely enough, Porco hadn’t realized how small this woman was, until he saw them arm in arm like this — just a thin older woman, in the company of a tall, handsome military man. How could this woman play such a dominating role in both he and Colt’s life?
As Mrs. Grice shot the Forster’s carriage another look, Porco understood what she was going for, and stood to give them some distance. He’d let her have her moment; it was as Colt had said, the first time in her life that she did not fear being seen by them. And although his feelings for her were mixed, there was no doubt that on some level, Porco cherished that Colt could give her this pride — this, the potential of being seen having made something of herself after being rejected. Now, the mother of Marley’s warchief to be — the hero of the battle at Needle Point. The Colt Grice.
"I’ll see you later, then, Colt?" Porco said and gave them both a courteous nod as he walked backwards away from them.
"Yeah."
"And we’re still flying kites this afternoon? Like we agreed?"
"… Yeah."
Porco wasn’t quite satisfied with the reluctance, but let it slide. They exchanged another set of airy farewells and broke off. And as he turned a nearby corner, Porco distinctly heard Colt’s mother say: "You ought to be more careful what you do in public. You don’t look quite well with a man’s arms around you, you know."

*

So maybe Porco didn’t understand. For one, his relationship to his mother was entirely different than that of Colt and Mrs. Grice’s. Not to mention, he hadn’t been born to pay back a debt, the way Colt had. But that day at the market had all the same marked a change in how he approached the issue. Porco wasn’t quite sure what had happened to cause such a shift him in. Perhaps it had been the relief of sharing his fear with Colt. Perhaps it had been the guilt he felt at the sight of those honeydews; because of course he knew Colt tried… Or perhaps it was the compassion he felt for his boyfriend, at overhearing Mrs. Grice’s manipulative language.
Maybe all of the above.
But regardless of why: After that day, they both seemed to try just a little harder to each other. And as summer rolled into its hottest month, the two of them entered the closest thing to an open relationship they’d ever had, and Porco was full of hope. Sure, Colt still held his mother in such fearful reverence that Porco was sure they were far from the finish line yet — but the other day, they’d held hands in front of Falco, and that had been a breakthrough for the ages! Not only had Colt not freaked out after the fact; he’d seemed lighter. Happy, even. And Porco had loved that.
Today, the feeling lingered between them. They stood shoulder to shoulder, chuckling like carefree teenagers, as they watched their kites circle each other in the breeze — and Porco thought that if this was all they got before his time was up, he’d be fine with it.
Though, the ball was surely rolling.
Back then — at the low point they shared at the market — Porco had asked himself what it would take to break Colt out of his stalemate. Today, he felt like they were close to cracking the code just by being together.
"You’re so upbeat," he said, admiring Colt’s smile.
"Pay attention, airhead." Colt replied, giving him a nudge and a laugh, as their lines narrowly escaped getting tangled. "Do you want me to kick your ass?"
"Oh, you can certainly try." He stepped off to the side and began making the infinity symbol with his kite — the only trick that ever really stuck. "I wouldn’t mind giving you a pounding right here on the grass." Yes, he was being cheeky.
"Stop," Colt laughed. "Falco can hear you."
Behind them, by the lawn chairs, Colt’s little brother piped up behind a glass of lemonade: "So? I know he won’t actually fight you."
Porco and Colt looked at each other, and fought to hold back the laughter. That kid was too innocent.
"No," Porco choked. "You’re right, it was an empty threat… Heh. Sorry."
"Maybe later," Colt leaned in and whispered — then jumped: "Oh, shit! Our lines!"
Looking back up, Porco saw the two kites whipping around each other, as their lines became a tangled mess. No stranger to this kind of disaster, he let go of the spool and stepped aside to let Colt reel them in. To Porco relief, though, his boyfriend’s smile didn’t leave his lips at all.
Yeah, they were definitely close to cracking the code.
"Boys…?" The front door thudded at the other end of the house, and Porco saw both Grice boys perk to listen.
"Outside, mom," Colt called, though his eyes didn’t leave the knot in his hands. The hard dip between his eyebrows told Porco he was focusing hard — probably on acting natural. Or maybe, on trying not to give over control of his agency.
Prior to bringing him over, Colt had warned Porco things might get awkward once his mother came home — but he’d promised him he’d not be made to leave. Porco really hoped his boyfriend would keep that promise. Looking at Colt’s face, the thought struck him that maybe Colt was hoping so, too.
The backdoor opened and the thin, sharp-nosed woman stepped out on the grass. She was about to say something, when she stopped at the sight of Porco. "… Oh. Galliard. Colt, you didn’t tell me we’d have company today?"
"Uh… I didn’t?" Colt was still staring at the knot, ever so focused on untangling it. His attempt at avoiding her attention, was painfully obvious, to the point where Porco wished he’d just cut the act already. "No, actually, I just… thought we could have him over for dinner at our house for once. Give Mrs. Galliard a rest, you know?"
"…And you didn’t think to ask the cook?"
"Sorry, mom. I’ll make it up to you."
"Mm…" Mrs. Grice didn’t seem too happy about his dismissive responses. Though — her annoyed grimace was far from as scary as Porco had expected. "Well… Yes, you can start by setting the table, then. You too, Galliard. I hope it’s not too much to ask."
Porco nodded, and was about to respond, when Colt’s mother added in a softer tone: "You know, it’s been a while since little Colt has brought his friends home for dinner, hasn’t it? I might not be up to par with your mother, Porco, but I’ll do my best. How does rabbit stew sound?"
He felt a little stunned; even Colt looked up. Colt’s mother had taken her scarf off and smiled at Porco as she said it… Had she caught herself for Colt’s sake just now?
Porco gave Colt a quick glance, before smiling. "It sounds delicious, Mrs. Grice. Let me know if you need a hand with anything else."
"Mm. I will."
And then she was gone.
Porco and Colt looked at each other again.
What did I tell you? She doesn’t mind.
Maybe Colt’s mother was the final code.

Chapter Text

854

Colt walked arm in arm with his mother around the market square for the sixth time this week. It was a particularly freezing February day, but "good butter doesn’t buy itself" so from stall to stall they went, in search of a batch meeting his mother’s standards.
"Mm, no, not soft enough," she’d mutter, then cast a glance over her shoulder before moving on to the next. "This one’s too yellow. Oh, Colt. Where does the military get theirs?"
"I don’t know, mom. Let’s try the next stall?"
Of course, Colt knew it wasn’t for the sake of butter they were actually here, but he obliged her these small parades more often than not, dressed in his best change of uniform. It was a small favor after all.
He watched as his mother cast another glance in the direction of the family they’d been showing off to. The same family they’d been parading for ever since he got home, more than a year ago now.
The Forsters still hadn’t offered up the admiration Colt’s mom so desperately wanted, though. Had barely even so much as looked their way, actually. If Colt hadn’t been so preoccupied with his own thoughts today, he’d be frustrated with them again by now. Why was it so hard to give his mom what she wanted? She didn’t ask for much.
"Look at them, playing hard to get," she muttered, finally breaking the guise as the two grown sisters lead their elderly parents back to the gilded carriage with their groceries. They no longer looked like the young girls in the photo in Colt’s mom’s shoebox, but their attire made them easy to pick out. "Dressed up oh, so fancy — as if they’re still above us. Their house is empty, you know. All the furniture is gone, Karina’s seen it. And yet, look at them. Hah! If anyone’s beneath anyone, they’re beneath you now. Empty shells."
Colt frowned. He patted his mother’s hand, looking at the golden pin on her head scarf. His mother had always done that, too; dressed to appear richer than she was. But he understood where her anger was coming from. It was shame. She’d belonged to that reputable family once, and then been stripped of the title. Revealed to the world as low-born after all. Maybe she hated the gardener just for that; for making her a commoner, like himself, by the virtue alone of simply being born one.
Colt didn’t know what it was like to fall from grace, but he knew all about shame and he knew the drive it gave you; to fight against your own lack of value. To strive tirelessly for something to validate your worth. Or for something to mask how unsightly you truly are.
Why couldn’t the Forsters just give her the acknowledgement, the peace? A simple "you did good for yourself", a "hello", or even just a smile. Anything, to show her they didn’t see her as beneath them anymore. Colt thought maybe then, his mother could finally let go. And then, maybe,… he could share with her his true self, too. Without it ruining everything. The contemplation made his stomach ache with uncertainty. Not that it was the thing preoccupying him most today…
His mother shuddered next to him. "Brrr, why does it have to be so cold, Colt?" She tugged his arm. "Let’s go home."
He nodded.
"It looks like we’ll have to make do with last week’s butter for your going-away pie tomorrow, honey. I’m sorry."
"That’s ok, mom."
He didn’t feel like celebrating his military callback, really. The day he was informed of phase 3’s initiation date, he’d been sick in the HQ bathroom. He didn’t want to go — and worse: didn’t want his little brother to experience the same horrors he had. But it couldn’t be helped; there was no use expressing dismay. The callback was always going to come. And at least, now, he could put it behind him.
Yes, in a strange way, it relieved him — despite the ever present nausea. Because now, he could stop walking around with that dread of wondering "when?". The answer was now. They were ending this war now. All Colt had to do was survive — again.
"Get the mail for me, will you? My hands are icicles," his mother said, letting go of him in front of their house. "Oh, look at it," she sighed, gazing up at the humble facade. "A war hero and his mother — we should have lived in a villa, Colt."
"I like it here," Colt answered, brushing snow off the mailbox before shoving his hand in.
"Of course you do, honey, you don’t know any better, do you. And whose fault is that?"
"…" He pulled out a couple of letters. One was addressed to him.
"Your grandfather is who. And still you want to find out where they buried his sorry bones?" She shook her head and huffed. Then sighed. "Well. Anyway. Let’s get you inside, come on. Before you catch something. Imagine sending you off with a stuffy nose." She opened the door and caught Falco on his way up the stairs. "Falco, put the kettle on, please."
"Aw, mom, can it wait a second?"
"No." She knocked snow off her shoes and stepped inside, Colt trailing behind her. "Ugh, Colt, your shoes! And get your eyes off the mail — what’s so important you can’t watch where you’re going?" She peered at the return address. "Jim Haywood again? Well, at least it wasn’t from Galliard. With the way he’s been glued to you since you came back, I’d half expect him to send you a love letter one of these days."
Colt turned his back on her to unbutton his jacket. "Mom, c’mon," he mumbled.
"Oh, I know, honey. It’s not his fault he wasn’t raised right, I know that; I’m not entirely unreasonable. All I’m saying is: at what point does it become ok to tell him it doesn’t look right the way he clings?" She shook her coat and hung it up to dry.
"It’s not that bad."
"Oh, it is. And frankly, it’s worrisome that you don’t think so too. Unless you’ve got something to tell me, I think it’s high time you set some boundaries with Gal—"
"—We’re not really talking at the moment, so it doesn’t matter."
"Again?" His mother huffed. "Why you endure that boy’s mood swings is beyond m— Falco! What are you standing around for? The kettle!"
Colt turned, finding Falco still staring at them from the doorway to the kitchen. Their eyes met, and Colt felt his cheeks heat. What was that look on his face?
Why can’t everyone just leave me alone about Porco?
He shoved the rest of the mail into his mother’s hands and legged it up the stairs. "Do as she says," he told his little brother in passing, not wanting to look at him again.

The scent of warm stew had overtaken his room some time later. He knew dinner had to be ready soon — yet he couldn’t move; didn’t want to go downstairs and let them see him like this.
With Hay’s letter clutched in one hand, Colt hid his weeping face with the other. He’d been trying so hard not to let the sobs come out loud, but he was failing miserably. All his emotions were swarming him at once. So it didn’t surprise him when eventually, he heard a soft knock at the door and somebody cracking it open.
"… Colt?" It was Falco.
Of course it was Falco.
"I’m fine," Colt rasped with his back to the door.
"… Can I come in?"
Was there any point refusing him? This was Falco, the most compassionate kid Colt knew. He didn’t dignify the question. Instead, he listened as his little brother took the silence as a yes and tiptoed over to the bed. The mattress dipping as he took a seat.
Then he leaned his head against Colt’s shoulder and put a hand on his back to console him. "… Don’t worry about what mom says, Colt. I don’t think it looks weird at all."
Colt slowly lifted his head. "… What?" In his all-consuming upset, he couldn’t understand what his little brother was talking about. All that was in his head, was the tragedy of life. Of what Hay had said… of what was going to happen, and how the poor guy didn’t even know — how only Colt did. And the other higher ups…
But then he recalled the look Falco had given him in the hallway earlier. It felt like days ago somehow, but he remembered. "Oh," he said, heart sinking. Denying his affinity was the last thing he wanted to deal with right now. "No. No, that’s— that’s not— There’s nothing between Porco and I. Seriously — if— if that’s what you think…" He sniffled and wiped some more tears with his sleeve. "We’re just good friends. You know that." Man, he was worn out. His heart felt ripped out of his chest.
But Falco just pursed his lips and swung his feet back and forth over the edge of the bed — like he was restless from keeping something in. Then he said: "Colt, I’ve seen you hold hands before."
Colt sighed. A part of him felt comforted by his brother’s supportive intentions, but he just didn’t have the nerves right now. "Falco, thank you, but… I’m not a freak."
"Hey! Don’t call it that. Don’t be like mom."
"… Sorry." He rubbed his forehead, staring down at his letter. "But you know what I mean." He wiped at the running tear streams again and sniffled. "I’m just… I got an upsetting letter and… actually—… If you could tell mom I went to Porco’s for an emergency, that would help me out a lot right now."
Falco pursed his lips even more and looked down at his kicking feet. "But you’re not together?"
"No. Not together."
Colt noticed him blush and felt his gut ache. What did it take to convince him?
"Colt, I…" His little brother did a big inhale and finished his sentence without making eye contact: "…know about your magazines."
It took a second for the words to register. But when they did, Colt’s head froze. "…You what?" His eyes went to the drawer poking out underneath his bed, and his stomach twisted so bad he shot to his feet.
No. Nonono, shit!
"Why’d—…Why’d you go digging through my stuff?!" His nostrils flared as he tried to keep calm.
Shit, shit, Shit!
Falco sat on his hands, his blush spreading. "I’m sorry, I just… thought maybe you had some spare parts for a kite. Mine broke and—… I didn’t look inside or anything." His legs stopped kicking. "I’m sorry… B-but seriously, Colt, it’s ok—"
"No, it’s not ok!" Colt’s head began to race. He began to pace. What had he been thinking keeping adult magazines at home?! He should never have stolen them off the store in the first place! What a sick, rotten person he was!
Shaking, he turned to face the window; he had to keep calm; he knew Falco meant well. But this was just… just too much right now. The shame on top of his aching heart. He had to leave. Had to go see Porco — despite them parting in a bad way last time. "I was keeping those magazines for a friend, Falco" he lied. "He was too embarrassed to keep them at home so I… did him a favor… Ok?" He reached sideways for a backpack and began stuffing clothes from his dresser into it, hands trembling. "And me and Porco are not together."
"But you want to be, don’t you?" He heard Falco get to his feet behind him. "Why don’t you just be yourself? Nobody will care the way you think… I just want you to be happy, big brother. And you look happy with Porco!"
"Yeah, because he makes me happy!" Colt said through his teeth. "As best friends do!"
Then he swung the backpack over his shoulder and headed for the door, stopping with his hand on the handle. "… Listen, I know you mean well. I’m just really not in the mood… But… if I were you know what. Then. Thank you. But… I’m not. Please tell mom I’m sorry for leaving before dinner, it was an emergency."
Then he snuck back down the stairs and out of the house.

*

He broke down again when Porco was the one who opened the door; the sight of him was too much.
The strawberry blonde seemed taken aback at his outburst; Colt assumed he’d been prepared to be lippy with him at first, but seemed to think better of it, then, because he stepped aside and beckoned Colt inside.
"What’s the matter?"
Colt just shook his head, wiping tears as he stepped inside and began undressing. He fought back sobs and shut his mouth tight — and didn’t speak another word till they were securely behind Porco’s locked bedroom door. Only then did he look him in the eyes and say it: "I know why they told Hay to expect a second drafting." The words hurt coming up. His throat was sore.
Porco raised both eyebrows at it — then quickly opened his arms as Colt fell into him for a hug. "H-hey! So—" The guys staggered back and sat them both down on his bed. "So, Haywood got recalled for phase 3, too?"
"They’re going to use him for that awful suicide plane!" Colt choked. "And he doesn’t even know…! I got a letter from him today… s-saying he’s been drafted for an aerial squad. There’s just the one!"
"Makes sense," Porco mumbled.
"What?" Colt’s words muffled against his boyfriend’s shoulder. He swiped at his eyes.
"No, sorry. I’m just saying… it makes sense, doesn’t it? I was wondering what use they saw in him, after…"
"How can you be so calm about this?" Colt whispered, though deep down he knew what Porco meant; his emotions were just raw.
"I don’t mean to come off that way. Sorry. It’s awful… I’m so sorry, Colt."
Colt closed his eyes and leaned into it as Porco stroked his back. "He’s worked so hard to come to grips with things, too," he muttered. "… Only for Marley to use him as a living bomb."
"… I’m sorry."
He pulled back and wiped his eyes a final time. They were dry now, albeit still hot and swollen. "It’s just… so unfair. You know?" He cleared his throat. Felt a little silly; Porco was taking this like a man, while he was a childish mess.
Porco sighed. "Is there anything you want me to do…?" He reached out to stroke Colt’s cheek and Colt shook his head down. There wasn’t anything.
"… You know what this means, Porco?"
"What does it mean?"
"That I didn’t save him after all… My entire unit… I failed them. Every single one of them."
"Hey…"
"It’s true. Hay was dead the moment his hands got blown off. A-and Winter—"
"No, Colt. Hey—" Porco pulled him back in and leaned them both down into the pillows. "Shh. Stop blaming yourself for all of that. I’ve told you."
"But it’s true."
"Everyone’s to blame for everything if we look at indirect causes. If it’s your fault the Mid-East blew up Winter and the others, it’s my fault Marcel died saving fucking Reiner."
"That doesn’t even make sense," Colt mumbled, resting his head on Porco’s chest.
"Exactly."
"No, I mean, it’s not comparable."
"Why not? If I’d only I’d gotten the armored instead of that shit-head, Marcel wouldn’t have died to save him."
"… That’s isn’t your fault, though."
"Exactly." Porco tangled their legs together and folded the duvet over them. Then he added: "So stop blaming yourself for everything all of the time, you hear? My roof, my rules. Instead, consider this: if Haywood was dead anyways, isn’t it a good thing that you could give him an extra three years with his family?"
"…" This was why Colt had needed to come here. This was why he had needed Porco. The guy could be difficult. He could be impatient. Angry. Hurtful.
But when his heart was in something, he had more heart than anyone. And Colt loved that about him. He stroked his palm over Porco’s chest, loving the drum of his steady heartbeat. "Thank you."
"Don’t mention it."
Then they fell silent for a while, just listening to the sounds of the house, Porco’s mother cooking in the kitchen, the walls creaking in the wind. The ticking of a clock. It stayed that way for a while, while the winter wind picked up outside and Colt’s emotions stilled. Maybe the re-draft had put him in more turmoil than he’d initially thought. Maybe this was why Porco always wanted him to talk more. To get stuff out The issue was it hurt.
The wind whipped louder and Porco wiggled to sit up against the headboard, moving Colt’s head into his lap so he could brush his hair the way they both liked — then said: "But Besides Haywood, how are you feeling now that phase 3 is here?"
Colt tilted his chin to look at him, and found him staring out the window. "…I’m scared that more people will die," he admitted.
"Mm…"
"And… I’m scared I’ll be the one sending them to die."
"…"
"I’m scared for Falco."
Porco’s fingers ran through Colt’s hair slowly, slowly. "Falco’s gonna be fine."
"You don’t know that…"
"…"
He sighed. Talking hurt. "But… at least it’s finally gonna be over with, right?"
"Yeah. And I’m going to be there to watch over you until it is… Unless you’re still worried about reports, that is."
"Nah." Colt had to tell himself not to take Porco’s words too personally sometimes. He knew him too well by now; knew when words were only said to bite. Or maybe it had been a misplaced joke this time. Either way, he let it slide and they fell silent again.
At some point, Colt’s thoughts trailed back to that conversation they’d shared a little over half a year ago now. At the plaza. The talk that had changed things for the better between them. Porco had admitted to him that he was scared of how little time he had left…
Colt had hardly considered it from that perspective before. At the end of the day, it felt worse in his mind to be the one left behind, more so than the one dying first. But still… Ever since that talk, Colt had tried a lot harder to push his comfort zone for Porco, and Porco seemed more appeased by his efforts. Sure, Porco still had his impatient moments — like the previous Monday, when he, once again, had tried to force a kiss on Colt in public. Their differing ideas of how speedy to take things continued to cause friction, even if less often.
Mm. No, actually. That wasn’t it.
Colt moved his hand up to trace Porco’s throat carefully. The guy’s Adams apple bobbed slowly below his fingertips.
The issue wasn’t that they were working at different speeds, Colt thought. The issue was that they didn’t understand why the other required the speed they required.
Porco — sweet, spearheaded Porco — had a clear goal in mind, and knew exactly how to get there. He’d promised Colt a house. A dream-like scenario of open love and no judgement. Maybe they’d have it. There was only one way to try.
… But him? Colt? He was trying to walk several paths at once. He was juggling several goals. And the issue was they were mutually exclusive. A step towards his personal joy, was a step away from family honor. He didn’t know how to get it all.
He had to choose. And that was hard. It pulled at him at every turn.
See, he wasn’t living this life for himself; he was here to pay back his family’s debt. It’s why he was born; he was the Grice’s working horse. Funny how his name meant "young horse"…
The question was: was throwing away nearly twenty years of hard work worth it, for just another nine of happiness? Not only would he be the one left behind by Porco nine years from now; he’d also be leaving behind a legacy of his own. He was set to inherit the beast titan next year — and then to die another thirteen years after that. Would he be leaving behind a failed project, just for… moments like these, that benefited the two of them? Could he really leave his family behind with yet more debt to pay, for the sake of the happiness of two dying men? And what if Falco would have to pick up his slack after he was gone? What then?
In Colt’s head — as complicated as it could get at times — the matter boiled down quite simply: What should he choose — himself or them?
That’s why it hurt, even when he was happy, unless he was distracted hard enough. Because every time he gave himself over to Porco, the thought lingered, that he was showing his family disloyalty, like he didn’t care. But he did! He cared so, so much. And that’s why it was so hard to take what he and Porco had in here, and bring it out there. In here, it was removed from reality, but out there… it stood in opposition to everything else.
…Falco said nobody would care, but what guarantee did Colt have that that were true? If any damage was caused, there was no taking it back. No repairing it.
What if the Forsters saw and didn’t like it? Mom would never be able to win their favor if Colt’s affinity was an issue to them.
So what, that maybe Marley wouldn’t care as long as he did his job well — honestly, he thought he could do it well, be it what it may that his head was screwed on a little crooked — but maybe that wasn’t the real issue if he was honest with himself. Maybe, deep down, he knew the issue of family honor was twofold, and that the aspect that preoccupied him more, was that of his family’s social accept. Of how high they could raise their heads in the street, not under the scrutiny of their keepers. What did it really matter if he convinced Marley his family was loyal — if all their fellow Eldians laughed at them for having an ill son and brother?
Porco had been right back then… Colt was scared of what his mother would think. That was it. That was the truth of it. He took his job of saving his family seriously, and the mere thought of failing them was nightmare-inducing. But deep down? He just wanted his family to love him. Failing his mission or not, he just wanted them to love him.
"Hey… you ok?" Porco brought him back out of his head by leaning down to plant a kiss on his forehead.
"… I’m sorry."
"For?"
Colt’s stomach hurt. The issue was he loved this man too, and this man loved him. He knew they belonged together, the indicators were clear.
And he deserved for Colt to try harder.
So he wrapped his arms around Porco’s waist and squeezed him tight. "I’m sorry I didn’t kiss you on the bench last Monday."
Porco pursed his lips a little and for a moment, Colt was afraid he’d sour at the topic. But then he said: "Whatever. You say your’re trying, so I’ll take your word for it," and that was good enough for Colt.
He gave his boyfriend another squeeze and then turned his face in to kiss his stomach. "Can I make it up to you now?"
"Now?"
"Yeah?"
"I told Falco I would be home tomorrow."
Looking up, he saw Porco crack a smile before quickly quelling it. "Oh,… like that, huh?"
The sight relieved Colt immensely; he was just about ready to forget the world again, and it looked like Porco was on board. After all, there was no better way to distract from painful realities. So, enough talking. He sat up and straddled Porco’s lap. "Yeah. Like that."
Thank Helos Porco was easy to persuade. The guy feigned ignorance, but the corners of his mouth were unmistakably turning up. "And you’re just assuming I’m willing to share my warm, cozy bed with you tonight, are you?"
Colt gave a raspy chuckle and leaned in to kiss him on the side of mouth — something he knew Porco viewed as a tease. "Yes. I’m assuming."
"Bold of you."
"Mm. Maybe. But of course, I’m prepated to provide ample payment…"
"My bed comes at a steep price."
"Name it."

*

"Blow me."
Colt gasped, reaching up over his head to grab the bed post to keep steady, as Porco’s erratic thrusting pushed him into the mattress over and over. "S-shit. Right now?!" His thighs ached from being spread apart so hard, yet he loved the sharp pain of it. And the sight of Porco towered between them, red and glistening with sweat, was hot as all fuck. …Now, of all times, Porco wanted a blowjob?
"Yes!"
Colt groaned, throwing his head back. "Se— seriously!" He was so close to coming — and could think of a hundred better ways to spend his climax than on his knees.
"That’s my price."
"Shit!"
"You told me—" Porco panted, "—to name it."
Colt gasped again and arched his back as an icy jolt shot through his body. "I thought—! N-never mind. Fine." He had to relent. He knew it.
The same way Porco knew Colt didn’t like giving him oral. It was the one thing that made him most self-conscious. The one thing that would cause him most shame after the fact.
But this was give and take. And he had his own agenda. If he did this, Porco might play along to his request later.
So he got up on his knees once Porco slid out of him, and waited while the other laid down. "Ugh. Don’t look so smug," Colt huffed, breathless and about to burst. He gave Porco a slap on the knee and they shared a dizzy smile. "Look at that self-satisfied grin." He leaned in to kiss Porco on the mouth, before reaching for a rag to clean him off and start going down on him. The guy was hard as steel; hot as a fired gun’s muzzle.
And it wasn’t bad. Colt didn’t not like it. Actually, wrapping his lips around another man’s shaft was fucking enticing, if he was honest. It was just the reality check of it; of knowing he was sucking a dick, that threw him for a loop.
But he closed his eyes and leaned into it, pulsing O’s with his lips and pushing his tongue up against the underside of the cock every time he slid his mouth back up. He was still figuring out how to work this, but the way Porco moaned told him he was getting better at it — and he loved that.
"Y-you’re a god," the strawberry blonde groaned and made a heated reach for Colt’s hair, though managed to stop himself in time.
Colt caught it and released him with a pop, wiping his mouth and saying with labored breath: "N—n-no. Do… it. Pull my… hair."
"You sure?" Porco huffed and grabbed a fistful with a reluctant look in his eyes. Yet, as Colt continued to suck him off, he began to pull, as told. Carefully at first, then — as his heated moans began rising in volume — he pulled harder, harder, and harder — until, finally, Colt’s roots felt like icy hot needle pricks against his scalp and he was all but fogging over from the sensation. Of pain consuming all but the present, blurring the world and setting a fire ablaze in him for more of this. This. It took his breath away. He had to come up for air — when Porco yelped, pulled him down by his hair and thrust into his throat to finish without warning.
"Ghk!" Colt shot up fast, roots tearing as he came free of Porco’s grip — coughing and spitting into his hand. "Por— co…! What the—…!"
"So…rry… shit…" Porco panted, looked about lost in ecstasy. "Sorry."
"You better be! I told you not to do that…!" Colt leaned his head back, breathing hard, swallowing harder. "… Shit…"
Carefully, Porco sat up to wrap his arms around his waist, and pulling him down on the bed again with him. "Want me to… do you… next?"
"No." Colt closed his eyes and brushed his frizzed hair back, slowly catching his breath.
"You sure?"
"Just… jerk me off." His crotch was aching. And he was miffed.
"Mm, ‘k." Porco rolled lazily over on his side and slid his hand down to grab at Colt’s — at this point — half-mast. "… Love you," he said, kissing Colt’s shoulder as he began to stroke him.
"Mhm?" Colt licked his lips and tried to focus on the slowly building of pressure between his legs now. "Mh… Good…"
"Good?"
"Mhm…" Continuing to keep his eyes closed, Colt slid his hands up to grabbed at the headboard like before; just more exhausted this time. Annoyed or not, he loved the simple act of being pleasured without the use of his own hands. "Mh…"
"I love you," Porco said again.
Colt sighed and leaned his head back more, parting his lips to let out a moan in reply. He was giving himself over.
Good… so good.
"Ah… Yes."
Encouraged, Porco began to move faster. He nuzzled his face against Colt’s neck and huffed — as his hand moved faster and faster.
"Hit me," Colt whispered.
"… What?"
"Hit me."
Porco’s hand slowed again. "… I’m not going to hit you, Colt."
"I want you to."
"Why?"
"Just do it."
Porco’s hand stopped completely, making Colt reach down to keep him going. "Don’t stop." He slid their hands up and down his erection awkwardly, as they exchanged a look. "Porco, I just sucked your dick."
"So? I’m not going to hurt you."
Colt groaned, tossing his head back against the headboard. He’d just gotten back into this again! "Fine. Choke me, then."
"Colt, seriousl—"
"Choke me!"
Porco took a moment, looked like he wanted to protest some more, then repositioned himself, fumbled with his grip, sat up, huffed — but then, with one hand on Colt’s dick, carefully placed his other around his neck, applying weak pressure. "Like this?"
"Harder."
Porco’s nostrils flared, but he did as he was told, and Colt’s eyes fluttered shut once more, as his head began to feel cotton-y and light. The pressure between his legs immediately began to build again. He was throbbing.
Yes.
The warm hand gliding up and down his cock — the overwhelming smell of sweat with every intake of air through his nose, the force against his throat, the half-panicked urgency for oxygen — the danger of this and the sensation of it all… Colt let out a gargled moan, as his hips began to thrust upwards against Porco’s hand. "Kh—… Ff—!" He was going to come. Any fucking… second… now.
— Porco let his throat go. Colt jolted upright, gasping for air. "P-Porco!"
"You were turning blue!"
"N-no! C’mon…!"
Porco frowned and reinstated the pressure around Colt’s windpipe once he laid back down.
Colt closed his eyes and began to move with him; in rhythm with Porco’s pumping hand. The cotton in his mind… Getting lost in physical sensation…
Shit, he was so close.
Barely conscious.
"Let’s tell them before we leave."
"Gh— Whu?" Colt could barely register. Tell whom what?
"Come out. Before we leave. Say you’ll do it"
"Kh—" Colt’s legs jerked. "F—ine?"
Porco gave a final squeeze, and Colt felt himself release.

*

Colt was buttoning up his shirt in silence. Only the bed was creaking underneath him where he sat — that, and he feel Porco’s eyes burning holes into the back of his head.
His stomach hurt.
He wanted to brush his teeth, wanted to go home and pretend he hadn’t just abandoned his family again, for… this.
But he inhaled deeply, and let out a slow, calm sigh. He knew the game by now. Knew how the aftermath always felt. Knew he had to ride the wave until it passed. So he’d stay. But the mood wasn’t great.
"That wasn’t fair, you know," he finally mumbled, standing up to look for wherever he’d thrown his pants.
"What wasn’t fair?" Porco asked, arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling.
"You know what."
"… Well, I wasn’t exactly ecstatic about choking you either, but I d—"
A knock at the door interrupted him. "Sweetheart, dinner’s getting cold. Do you think you two will be ready soon?"
"I told you, mom. We’ll be down in a second…!"
"…Alright, sweetheart."
Porco and Colt looked at each other, Porco sighed and sat up, grabbing a shirt. "Ok, maybe it was bad timing, but don’t you think it’s for the best?"
"No?"
Porco gave another deep sigh.
Colt found his pants in a corner and began stepping into them, one aching leg at a time.
"Colt, remember what you told me back at the infirmary? After Needle…?"
Colt’s heart stung at the mention. Of course he remembered. He remembered every awful minute of phase 1.
"You said you realized you didn’t want to die without having told me how you felt… And I’m just thinking… We’re heading out again the day after tomorrow, right? What if we die out there? Do you really want to die without ever having told them?"
"Yes."
"No, you don’t." Porco rubbed his face and stood up, pulling a pair of pajama pants on.
"No, really. If we die, there would be no reason at all to tell them. I’d upset them for nobody’s gain." Colt was too worn out to get riled up, but it upset him how Porco still didn’t get it — at all. He wanted to tell them — wanted to please Porco. Be good enough for him. Wanted to show him he was trying, damn it! It was just… not a good call to drop a bomb on his family right before leaving them.
"Colt. Look at me… You said you would."
"… I know. But—"
"—No. No buts. You promised."
"You’re forcing my hand."
"Because you’re forcing mine!"
Colt shook his head. Downstairs, Porco’s father called for the third time that dinner was ready.
"Colt. Please." Porco came in close, taking his hand. "Did you ever actually plan on telling them about us?"
Colt looked away, then thought better of it and faced his boyfriend’s eyes…
Do better. Do better, for him.
"I’ll do it." He swallowed against the bad taste in his mouth. Against his own better judgement. "I’ll tell them tomorrow."

Chapter Text

854

Porco saw Colt off the next morning with a kiss on the cheek and a tight hug. "Be brave," he said with gravity. "I’ll see you at the train station tomorrow." Pulling apart, he saw Colt’s lips draw tight. Poor guy; he’d had no sleep at all last night and it showed. "Hey. I know you can do this."
"…Thanks," was all Colt said in reply, before turning and heading down the steps on stiff legs; like his body was fighting against him — refusing to go do what he had to do.
And Porco watched him go. Sure, this was going to be hard for Colt — and for a moment Porco wondered if he should feel bad for spearheading this. After all, Colt’s mom was sure to give Colt a hard time. But then he thought better of it; this was always going to happen at some point — and the sooner Colt got over the hurdle, the sooner he and his mother could reconcile. Because his mother would accept him with time — Porco was sure of it!
… Well, almost sure of it.
… And if not, then at least Colt would have Porco. Which was what mattered most, right? The two of them?
Ugh.
Porco rubbed his forehead and gave a long exhale, watching white frost rise slowly in front of his view: the snowy street, modest homes in crooked rows, his boyfriend limping along their sidwalk like a kicked puppy.
Damn it.
Well, it would have to be — and Porco would have to worry about him later — because right now, he had his own conversation to get to. He wasn’t scared — not really. But the gravity was really rubbing off on him. This conversation with mom and dad… It was going to change the course of his life. Maybe even theirs. What if they’d be disappointed? What if they’d envisioned grandkids? … What if they’d look at him differently?
Standing there, facing off the frosty morning in nothing but his pajamas, as he was, he shuddered. Then shut the door. "Mom?" he called. "That you in the kitchen?"
No, he thought, I’m not scared.
He wasn’t worried what they would say at all. Not at all. Because, just like Colt, Porco couldn’t change who he was, no matter what his parents wanted. So… he wasn’t scared. Not at all.
Not at all.
From the kitchen, the sound of a boiling casserole popped and sizzled. And between the popping and sizzling, Porco’s mother called back: "In here, sweetheart." He knew — as much by the focus in her voice as the by the smell of sweet fruit — that she was making pie filling for his going-away party.
"Strange thing to celebrate, isn’t it", Colt had said. But Porco liked it. They were going to war either way; might as well do so with pie in your belly.
"Was that Colt I heard leaving just now?"
Pop. Sizzle.
"Yeah." Porco rolled his shoulders back and drew towards the kitchen with an unfamiliar lump in his throat. He stopped at the open door, where the smell of comforting childhood reached him in heavy wafts. The contrast of safety mixed with nerves gave him an instant headache.
He leaned against the frame — and watched his mother stir fruit with her trusty wooden spoon. Watched his father flip the newspaper with his usually furrowed brow. Everything the way it always had been. Except the empty chair Marcel had sat in once. Though, that had become more of a memory over time, and less of a norm.
This was it. This was the picture of life as it was… How different would things look afterwards? And was he ready to see this end?
Porco gathered himself. Wondered how to start.
…And then just kept standing there.
They probably already knew — had to know, right? — so he wasn’t scared. Because if there was one thing he wasn’t scared of it, was what people thought of him. As a matter of fact: Fuck anyone and everyone who disliked him. He didn’t owe them anything!
…It was just that this thing was so different. This thing between him and his best friend. It was different compared to a lot of people. Most people. Maybe all people. At least as far as Porco knew. He’d often refer to Colt’s own magazines when the other would have one of his nervous spells about it — would point and say: "Look, Colt, they make editorial after editorial about it. It can’t be that rare, when they make ‘top ten’ lists about how to turn on a same sex partner." — but in truth? Porco sometimes had to wonder, too. Because he didn’t know a single other person like them. Were there none? Or were they around, only secretly; as scared as Colt to make themselves known?
There had to be others… Right? So wouldn’t it be nice if the two of them — Porco and Colt — could blaze that trail for them? Open up for the others to come out too? And for the rest to learn to accept them?
… The thing about trail blazers, though…
He looked between his mother and his father. No, he wasn’t scared. But the nerves hammered behins his eyes.
They meet the most resistance.
Pop. Sizzle. His mother’s casserole spat small, colored drops across the stove, and Porco watched his mother move it aside and stir harder. He thought of Colt’s fencing arms at night — on the nights when he had his nightmares — and imagined them cutting down shrub with machetes, deep inside a forest. Imagined how his muffled whimpers came from thorns digging into his forearms as he made his way; blazing this trail for himself — and for Porco, and for everyone else.
… But no. Porco closed his eyes; rejected the image as soon as it came. Had to reject it. Because this wasn’t the start of a lifelong fight. They were already fighting. Especially Colt — and especially for everyone but himself.
This coming out would mark the start of the end of their fighting. This was the final hurdle, and then their parents would understand and support their love. Because that’s all it was, in the end. Love.
Just do it. Tell them.
Porco’s mother wiped her chin with her apron and turned to him. "Oh! But sweetheart, what’s the matter?"
He came out of his sunken state to look at her in confusion. "… Sorry?"
He saw his father put his paper down to watch him, too. Both his parents were looking at him now. His head hurt.
"Worried about tomorrow, son?"
"No!" He felt his face begin to heat. "Or… yes. But—" Damn it. How was it possible to get thrust — suddenly and ill prepared — into a conversation he’d taken half a day to work up to already? With the both of them staring, he felt rushed, regardless of the impossibility of it. "Actually— … Could I talk to you about something?"
"Of course, sweetheart. Always."
"I’ll give you two some privacy, then." Porco’s father put the paper under his arm and stood.
"No—" Porco pushed off the door frame. "No, actually, I wanted to talk to the both of you! If that’s… ok?"
"Oh."
"Oh."
His parents exchanged glances and his father sat back down. Porco’s mother also set her project aside and pulled out a chair.
Having them both staring up at him like this, made Porco feel like he was entering a hearing or something akin to one. All of a sudden, it was hard to act normal; he became aware of his breathing, the way he dragged his feet towards them. The way the chair scraped over the wooden floor as he pulled it back. Was he moving too slowly? Could they read his apprehension in the way he tried to smile? Seated, could they tell he was nervous by the way he couldn’t settle? He kept crossing and un-crossing his legs over each other. Adjusting the corners of the table cloth. Brushing his hair back. Avoiding their eyes.
His father broke the stalling with a clearing of his throat: "What’s wrong, son?"
"Nothing’s wrong," Porco mumbled.
"Come now, sweetheart. We can tell you’re bursting. Did you and Colt have another fight?"
"No!" His shoulders jerked. "It’s nothing bad, I promise!"
"…But it is something about Colt?"
He felt his temples beat faster, warmer. If they knew, couldn’t they just say so and spare him the uncertainty already? "Sort of. But not really. Or. Sort of."
"Sort of and sort of not?"
Ugh.
He leaned forward with his elbows on the table, cupping his forehead in his hands. "It’s about me."
He’d been looking forward to getting this out for years. So why were the right words stuck in his throat now? Why was he so scared, all of a sudden, about what his parents would think of this?
I thought this would be easy… I can’t imagine how hard this must be for Colt, then.
He peeked over at his big brother’s chair, feeling his head ache extra.
Marcel… what would you have thought of me? What would you have said?
The table fell silent. The casserole simmered quietly next to the stove. Sizzle… sizzle…
When he still didn’t move or say anything else, his mother was the one to speak; pulling her chair closer and reaching for his hand. "Sweetheart,… you know you can tell mom and dad anything, right?" She smelled of fruit and pastries baked with love.
"I know," Porco whispered down at his hand in hers now and felt stupid: Him, supposedly a big, strong warrior — afraid to look his own mother in the eyes?
Sizzle… pop.
"… Sweetheart. Please."
He felt his mother’s other hand stroking at his cheek, the way she used to when he was little. "Actually, it’s—um," he tried, mouth dry. "… It’s about the both of us."
"You and Colt?"
He nodded, face warm as pie. Just a few words and life would be different. His mother would support him…
He heard his father shift in his seat; the wood creaked.
Would he be seen as less of a man?
"You don’t have to be scared to tell us, my dear," his mother nudged him, softly. "You really think we’d mind that you have someone who makes you smile?"
He looked up at that. Couldn’t help but look up. And his temples drummed at the sight of his mother’s knowing smile. So they did know! And dad? Reluctantly, he looked — and found his father’s eyes just as gentle. And he, too, was smiling. Perhaps a bit more strained, but he was smiling.
Porco’s breath hitched. "You… know?"
"Of course we know, son."
"… And you really don’t?"
"Mind?"
"Yeah?"
"Not at all. We’re happy for you. Love is a wonderful thing."
Porco watched his father with a rapidly clouding mind.
"It is," he heard his mother say. "And we always want the best for you, sweetheart."
He huffed; too many thoughts were swarming his mental filter at once. He wriggled his hand free of his mother’s and swiped at his nose. By Helos, he didn’t want to crumble, yet his nose was prickling in that weepy way. "Y-you don’t mind that you’ll never have grandkids, either?"
He heard his mother draw a careful breath. "Sweetheart, come here," she said, and as she did, Porco felt a wall break in him. Emotions flanked him on all sides like a planned ambush — and he leaned into the hug she offered, with all his weight. "Thank you, mom! Thank you…"
"There, there," she cooed and stroked his back like he was still her little boy. "What are you thanking me for?"
For being so kind, Porco thought. For being supportive, even when he was lippy or difficult. For always treating him like a sweetheart, even when he felt like the nastiest guy in the world. When everyone else made him feel that way.
For seeing nothing wrong with him, unlike other mothers.
"Because you’re great, mom… A-and you really don’t mind it?"
"Of course not. We love you."
"We do, son."
Porco sniffled and swiped at his tears. "Thanks, dad… I love you guys," he said, feeling silly and raw. What had he been so afraid of? His mother was an angel for one, and his dad was kind — but most of all: what he had to say hadn’t even been news, clearly!
And he’d been wrong. Having it said hadn’t made everything change. The picture was still the same. Because nothing was new; they were all the same people as they’d been minutes ago… He wasn’t losing anything; just adding to the picture.
"… I should have known it wouldn’t be a big deal."
"Oh, but it is! Love is always a big deal. Thank you for finally sharing it with us." His mother continued to stroke his back. "How do you feel now that it’s said?" she asked, like they’d always just been waiting for him to be ready.
"… Happy?" He gave a quivering laugh and wiped his nose with his pajama sleeve. "And fucking stupid."
"Language," his mother cooed.
"Sorry. Colt’s telling his parents today, too," Porco muttered against her shoulder. "We didn’t want to leave without being honest about… us. You know?"
"I know."
They sighed in unison. Porco thought he heard his father do the same.
So… this was it. This was the starting point. Porco closed his eyes and let it sink in: Tomorrow, he and Colt weren’t just setting off to war; they’d be setting off into their future. And it would be as sweet as pie filling. As sweet as honeydews.

*

When tomorrow came, Porco had the strangest butterflies. Every snow-crunching step towards the train station — towards love — was a step towards war. He couldn’t wait to see Colt. Couldn’t wait to ask him how the coming out had gone. Who knew, maybe Mrs. Grice had taken it better than anyone could have expected!
… And yet there was also war. More vivid today than yesterday. Probably worse tomorrow than today.
Days of piercing into the neighboring land, of carving a non-hostile vein through enemy territory, to reach Mid-East’s home base and seize it. Fort Slava. Ending this war by capturing that place would be dangerous. People would depend on Porco to see it through. People would die. And he knew Colt would stand on the front line, either dying with them or getting emotionally ruined by how many else did.
"Looks like there’ll be hail," his mother said beside him.
Porco gripped his bag straps tighter. "There he is…"
While the dread of death and responsibility slowly hardened his head, his heart swelled with the whiplash of hope — as ahead, in the midst of military families saying their goodbyes, he saw his boyfriend and his family of blonds.
"Colt!" he called. Couldn’t help but pick up the pace. Couldn’t help but smile.
Colt looked his way, then away again. Porco saw him hug his mother and shake his father’s hand. Saw them talk quietly, muffled by the whistle of the train.
Time to board.
"Porco," Porco’s mother said, gripping him by the shoulder, reeling him back. She was teary-eyed. When had she started crying. "Please be careful out there, you hear?"
"Mom," he murmured. "C’mon, don’t cry. You know I’ll be fine."
"They said the same about your brother, you know… That I shouldn’t worry."
"Mom…" Porco said.
"Honey…" his father said.
The three of them looked at each other. Then — as like on cue — they opened their arms and performed a tight three-way hug that squeezed just right.
"You’re my boys," Porco heard his mother whisper.
"I love you, guys," he answered back. "Keep my seat warm for me, alright? I’ll be back in just a little bit."
The train gave another whistle and hissing steam rose from the iron giant, clouding the platform.
"I’ve got to go. I’ll write whenever I can," Porco said, kissing his mother on the cheek and nudging his father’s shoulder. Then he broke apart from them and set off. "I love you!"
He hurried along the tracks towards the soldier cart, scouting for the blonds he’d seen just a moment ago. He himself was granted seating in the Marleyan cart, but he had to talk to Colt first — just had to, oh, he didn’t know… give him a hug and a kiss right there, in front of his family? Just because he finally could?
His heart hammered.
There! Colt and Falco — teetering on the elevated edge of the soldier cart, staring down at their parents while Mrs. Grice ruffled their pant legs.
"Didn’t I tell you to iron these yesterday?" he heard her croak. Mothers sure were made different.
"Colt!"
All four of them looked his way and he saw Colt’s color drain.
"You made it," Colt called. His uniformed figure towered over Porco as Porco jogged into their midst.
He leaned forward to catch his breath. "Of course I did," he laughed. "Hah. Hah. You thought I’d miss the war?"
"I suppose not," Colt mumbled.
Porco straightened his back and felt his heart shimmy in his chest as he caught a subtle smile on Colt’s lips up above. Well, mostly, he looked worried sick — but that was definitely a smile, and man did it feel great.
"So," Porco said, tugging at that of Colt’s legs which wasn’t already in his mother’s grasp. "How are things?"
"Listen to him," Mrs. Grice chuckled then, stepping away and clutching her necklace. "‘How are things’. Like it’s a regular Friday…"
Porco wasn’t quite sure how to interpret that and look up at Colt for help.
"Really, mom… We’ll be alright," the guys muttered, and Porco wondered if maybe the woman’s bite was just her lashing out in worry for her war-bound sons.
…Then Colt hopped off the cart and went in to hug his chuckling mother once more. It looked heartwarming for a second, like a son reassuring his mother — until the woman stepped back to avoid it. "This isn’t the time to go soft, honey," she said, smiling sickly. "Isn’t that so, Galliard?"
Porco didn’t even know what to say. He felt awful for Colt; the guy looked clearly hurt, too. "Uh—" How to even respond?
Also, why wasn’t she addressing the news about the two of them? Was she pretending Colt never told her anything? Or maybe she was angry about it?
"I… think it’s nice to say a proper goodbye," he mumbled, looking between the mother and her son. "… Just in case?"
"Right…!"
Porco came in closer, put a hand on Colt’s back. Said: "Mrs. Grice—" Then was shortly cut off by the third and final whistle. Immediately, Colt pulled away and hopped back on board the cart. His parents steps backwards, as did the other spectators.
"Porco, get on board."
But Porco hesitated. "Mrs. Grice," he said, instead. His heart beat fast with the urgency to prod before they set off to war. "Thank you," he said.
"Porco, get on board."
"For what, Galliard?"
"For accepting us…"
"Porco…!"
"Accepting who?"
Porco’s heart was seized at the very same second as Colt’s hands grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him backwards. Porco snapped out of it and turned to climb up — just as the train began to snake out of the station.
‘Accepting who?’
… Now he understood: Mrs. Grice didn’t act like Colt hadn’t told her; Colt hadn’t told her!

*

"Get your hands off me!" Porco shoved Colt back. The train was garnering speed and the cart shuddered under their feet.
"Let me explain," Colt panted. Then he glanced sideways at his brother who was looking on with confused concern.
"You didn’t tell any of them?!"
"Porco—"
"I said don’t touch me!" Porco backed off, but Colt grabbed him by the arm and held on.
"Please, let me explain. I tried—" the blonde insisted. With his other hand, he opened the door behind them, leading into the small, enclosed passageway between the second and first cart. He squeezed them inside and the door smacked close behind them. Now, they stood chest to chest inside a space that was just wide enough for the both of them and the close proximity encouraged a sudden stare-off, as the metal flooring rattled with the loud grinding of accelerating machinery below them.
"‘Explain’? You promised," Porco seethed. Staring up at the pale face of his so-called ’boyfriend’, he could only feel himself boiling with rage. And what was that look on Colt’s face? What was with this suddenly oh so soldier-y way of carrying himself?! He was an entirely different person from yesterday! Porco had almost expected the guy to collapse today, under the weight of how scared he’d seemingly been about the call-back. And all those nightmares? But today — oh, today! Colt looked straight-backed and tight-jawed, like just any other run of the mill military man! Fucking asshole! If he could turn his emotions off so easily for war, could he do so about Porco too? "You’re one big fucking piece of work, you know that?!"
"You don’t know what happened," Colt replied, chest bumping into Porco with each long heave. His nostrils flared — so at least there was some emotion there, but it was no doubt only indignance at being called out for what he was.
"Here’s the thing, asshole: I don’t need to! I don’t need to know what happened. You promised and you lied! This wasn’t a ‘come out if you want to’ situation. It was a ‘we both come out today’! You promised!"
"And I told you, I tried! B-but, Porco, I couldn’t. If you’d been there, you’d have—"
"—Then you should have tried harder!"
"It’s not the same for me and you!" Colt raised his voice over the hissing train. "You wanted it to happen this way because the worst case scenario for you is dying without having told them. For me, worst case is dying right after dropping that bomb! And I told you I felt forced about this! But you don’t—"
"—I don’t give a shit, Colt!"
"Exactly! But I still tried! For you!"
It was becoming harder and harder to yell over the growing sounds of the galloping train now. Porco pressed a hand to his forehead to contain the hammering on the inside of his skull. It felt like his temples were competing with the wheels throwing themselves against the tracks. His pulse against his temples — over, and over, and over again. Hot steel against hard steel against his temples, against his broken fucking heart. "This was the last time, Colt," he said.
"What?"
"This was the last time! I’m not taking anymore shit from you while I wait for you to catch up. It’s over."
"Porco, please hear me o—"
"—I said it’s over!" He shoved Colt hard against the door, stepped in and felt his right arm raise like he was going to attack — but no. No, he couldn’t give this selfish asshole the satisfaction. Instead, he laid his hand against Colt’s throat and pressed him up against the door’s stained glass window ever so gently. Sure, he was sure Falco could see the back of his brother’s head being pinned from the other side of the door. But right now, Porco didn’t give a damn what it looked like from there. He just wanted to deliver one last message. He leaned in next to Colt, grit his teeth and said: "Don’t. Ever…. Talk to me again."
And with that, he left. Opened the door to the Marleyan cart, and left. Because this was it. This... was fucking it.
Then he swiftly located the bathroom and locked himself in. But not to cry.
No, not at all.

Chapter Text

854

An iron hard month followed, of Marley’s military train barreling into Mid-Eastern territory. Time was of the essence; they had to capture Fort Slava in time for their navy to get there. The port-side fort needed to be overtaken, so that the last of the enemy’s fleet would be free to pick off unprotected. If they could do that, then Marley would have officially won the war.
But an enemy land doesn’t so easily allow you to travel their train tracks. Marley had sent out a front line a month ahead of the train, to clear the area, but of course… Mid-East still found ways to get to- and block the path again, ambush and attack. What could have been a three-day travel, turned into several weeks. Of traveling — then stopping to exchange fire — traveling — then exchanging fire — traveling — fire — traveling — fire —… and so on and so forth… A never ending wheel of action and nerves.
As such, Colt couldn’t afford to think much about what had happened, nor about how to undo the wedge that separated him and Porco from the first day forward; he’d been thrust head-first back into his old ways of war. On-train, he was the warrior trainees’ main mentor, and whenever their train was halted, he was the squad leader for more men than he could keep track of at once. People he barely knew were dying at the drop of his orders — and then his kids were in the crossfire more often than not; sent out by one general or another to be ‘tested’ on their skills. The disregard for their lives was enfuriating and nervewrecking all at once. And yet, Colt had no time to feel it.
Yes — it was all just too similar to the life he’d lived alongside the navy. The generals were even the same. Calvi — that cold bastard — seemed as displeased at the sight of Colt as ever. Colt half expected to be let go any day, not for any reason but for how the man looked at him. Magath was reserved and kept eyeing him every time Colt happened to look in Porco’s direction. Not that they saw each other that often, what living in different carts and all. They only ever saw each other in meetings, really, where their silent staring competitions killed him softly inside. If only he’d felt it. But no. Because never could he show it; never could he slouch his back and hang his head. He couldn’t afford to feel. Not with all this responsibility on him.
Yes — it was just like back then. He was back in the two-year long nightmare, that seemed now to extend into a third, like the time off had been an infirmary fever dream.
At night he dreamt of drowning, and awake he felt the rumble of the moving carts as waves beneath his feet. He thought, sometimes, that he was going mad.
If for the fact that he didn’t feel. No, not at all.
Truth be told, the only thing keeping him together was his soldier persona. The lack of emotion — in the the straighness of his back, the lift of his chin. In the lack of intimate need. The lack of his own humanity.
He didn’t feel at all.
No, not at all.

"What is it, honey?" his mother had asked him that morning, a month ago now. He’d stilted his way home somehow, in the snow and the dread. He’d been sweating bullets, not ready for the coming out he’d promised. Still, he’d tried. "Mom, I need to tell you something." The words had been so hard to form. Like his mouth was stuffed with cotton.
His mother had frowned, though her eyes had sparkled like they did when they’d parade the market together, and she kept clutching at the scarf arond her neck. In hinsight, the memory of that, made Colt’s stomach curl in on itself. "Can’t it wait, honey? Our neighbours are here to wish you good luck tomorrow."
"Oh."
He’d tried again after the guests had left. Surrounded by his famly around the table. "Guys… I need to tell you something before I leave."
"Oh, don’t we all have our farewells to say," his mother had cooed. That sparkle in her eyes again, the hand at her scarf. Something glimmering underneath. "But Colt, you’ll do fine. Just like last time. You’re a veteran now. You’ll make us so proud. Both of you will, I know you will."
"It’s important."
"Not right now; I’ve worked hard for this dinner, won’t you pleace enjoy it and make your mommy happy."
… So, he’d tried again that night, before bed. All bags were packed, and his stomach was full of rocks. Only one thing left to do.
"Don’t sound so grim, Colt," his mother had said, lounging on the couch. One hand on that awful scarf again. "Surely you don’t think this is the last time we’ll talk, do you? You’re a veteran! We’ll see each other again soon as nothing, don’t be afraid."
"I’m not afraid." A baltant lie — but the urgency of this preceeded the dread of tomorrow. He had to do this, for Porco. Even if he knew his parents would need more time than just one evening to work through the shock with him. Of him being there to answer for their worries, to defend himself, to reassure them — that everything would be fine.
Saying ‘I like men’ and then turning his back and walking away, would leave them reeling with nobody there to catch them. The right thing to do would be to come out at a time where he’d have ample chance to stay by his mother side, to hold her hand as she worked through the stages of acceptance.
But he had to do this now. Porco had run out of patience. Made him promise… "No, really. No, please sit — Mom, sit! I need to tell you—"
But "—Let me go first, then," she’d said, interrupting him. "I wanted to wait till tomorrow to show you. But oh, I can’t wait." Her glimmering eyes. The wide, true smile — he’d made her smile! "Look how proud you’ve made mommy," she said. Then she finally let that scarf drop from her neck, and there it was — the necklace from her shoebox. The faded pears and polished locker she’d been too ashamed to wear since she was little. Now, carried over her collar bones with pride.
The sight had made Colt sick to his stomach. And he hadn’t tried again to spill his and Porco’s secret. Because he was certain now, that coming out right before he left his mother behind, would have been the most selfish choice he could make. It would be as good as ripping that pride off her neck and shoving it back into the shoebox where it came from. Her whiplash between shame, then pride, then shame again, would have surely made it so she’d never be able to begin to recover from her demons again.
Any other time, he’d thought. Any other time than right before he’d leave her behind.
…Why couldn’t he understand that…?
"I don’t need to know what happened. You promised and you lied! This wasn’t a ‘come out if you want to’ situation. It was a ‘we both come out today’!"
"And I told you, I tried! B-but, Porco, I couldn’t. I couldn’t do that to—"
"Then you should have tried harder!"
"It’s not the same for me and you! The worst-case scenario for you is dying without having told them. For me, worst case is dying right after dropping that bomb!"
"I don’t give a shit, Colt!"
"Colt!"
Boots thudded on metal, men barked orders up and down the carts — and doors whined on their hinges as they pulled back to let troops off the halted train. They were at the final platform now. This was it; a small trek up the hillside and they’d come upon the fort. Time to finish this, once and for all.
Kneeling, Colt stared up at his little brother. "Don’t worry," he said. "I hear you." He bowed his head again and continued tying Falco’s boots for him. Of course, the twelve-year-old was grown enough to tie his own boots by now, but he’d looked so lost sitting there atop the ammo crate that Colt had been unable not to offer the help — help, and a pep talk before they flung themselves at the task. Thankfully, Falco hadn’t seemed to mind. For once, he let his brother parent him, rather than play big and independent, and that in itself told Colt some part of him was scared.
No shame in being scared, he thought. This could be their last talk, after all; there was always that chance…
Colt himself was too trained by now to feel, but of course, there was no shame in being scared. "We stay low, yeah?" he said with militant cool down at Falco’s laces. "Like Magath told you at the briefing. We’re eight hundred men strong, but if we stay low, we’ll close in a lot before they see us. And then we strike. They can’t stop us all."
It was a wild plan. One designed to win by number. Designed to sacrifice for the win. Eldian footsoldiers running at their target like in medieval times. And once they’d overrun the pillbox and the cannons, they’d call in titans and aerial support for swift deal-closing.
Winning was a given. Individual survival wasn’t.
Falco knew that too; Colt could tell by the way his knees jumped.
"Hey. You’ll be fine. Just keep a low profile until it’s time to call in Jaw and Cart." He looked back up at his brother’s stony face. Oh, he knew that mask so well from the one in the mirror.
"The ‘jaw’?" Falco mumbled.
"Yeah? And Jaw and Cart."
Then something in Falco’s eyes softened, and it made Colt’s heart do the same.
I know, he thought. But I can’t think about him now. I’ve got people to keep alive.
"…When are you two going to make up?"
The question ached in him for just a moment. "… I don’t know, Falco. When we get home?"
His little brother nodded slowly — almost sullenly. "And then you’ll tell mom?"
Colt sighed and stood up tall. "One thing at a time, wingman. Besides, don’t you have your own love life to tend to?"
Falco’s cheeks turned a gentle pink and he hopped off the crate with a huff. "What? No?" For a moment, the boy in him was back. The awkward, uncalculated preteen who had yet to come into his own — the one who meant so well, always, who was such a sore loser, who giggled like a kid when he was nervous, and who… well, was just that: a kid. He rubbed his neck with a shaky hand and looked off to the side — and Colt couldn’t help but laugh for the first time since they’d left. It rang hollow in him, here, on the cusp of a massive battle, and yet it warmed him in a way he’d sorely needed.
"Gabi’s a nice girl," he said. "Let’s go out there and impress her today, ok?"
And with that, they hopped off the cart, and clouds of sand puffed up around their ankles. No snow here; just yellow sand, on sand, on sand.
There, Colt stared up the hillside to where the tip of the fort peeked menacingly back at them. He swallowed hard. Just one more battle… Then he glanced back down at his brother. They were both shaking.
"Falco," Colt said, with the leveled voice of a commander — and the hammering heart of a brother: "If there’s anything… Just call for me. No matter what." Their eyes met. "Ok? No matter what."

*

"Falco!!"
Shit! All Colt could hear was the ringing in his ears — and all he could see was whirling grey smoke. Sand crunched between his teeth as he grit them, yet all he tasted was blood, and he dug his nails into the scalding hot dirt and hoisted himself over the ledge of the crater the explosion had left in its wake. He coughed and shielded his face with a red stained sleeve. Where was Falco? He’d been standing somewhere over there when the bomb struck…
"Falco!"
This miserable storm-the-fort plan had rapidly turned into a disaster — just like Needle. Only, the enemy’s artillery had advanced excessively since last time they’d encountered them, and the strategy had missed the mark by a gross margin because of it. Twisted Eldian bodies lay strewn across the sand as proof — again reminiscent of that damned beach where everyone had died except, it seemed, Colt.
But Falco… Colt grit his bleeding teeth and pressed on. Falco couldn’t be—
There! Ahead of him — on the ground — one arm raised in the air!
"Falco!!"
His little brother didn’t respond, but he was surely alive. Colt threw himself down over him. "You’re alive!"
But the sooty kid just kept staring at the sky above his head, looking strangely calm in all this chaos. Under his breath, Colt could hear him mumble: "You’ve got a pair of wings…" Had he hit his head?
"Hey! Talk to me, are you injured?!"
"Big brother… What’s wrong? You’re acting weird…"
You’re surely was one to talk, Colt thought — but there was no time to lose; any second now, another barrage of bullets could pepper them if they didn’t get to cover. "A-alright… Hold on." He lifted Falco up by the shoulders and placed his own helmet on his head. It was much too big for him and slipped now to one side, now the other. But it would have to do.
"It can’t be that bad if you can still talk," Colt said, more to himself than to Falco, and then instructed the other to climb onto his back and to hold on tight.
Yeah; it couldn’t be too bad. No need to worry.
Just as Colt made to run for the nearest ditch, he heard the loud claps of more batteries firing their way, and without looking back, he gave his all and sprinted for the ditch like a madman. Somehow, he was still alive as he skidded over the edge and hunched down into safety, heart a galloping mess.
"Falco," a voice shouted to his left. It was Udo — Falco’s friend and Colt’s smartest protégée, yet perhaps the less suited for war, as the last month had shown him. The other two girls came in tow: "Show me your wounds!" Gabi barked.
Thank Helos they were all still here. As Colt began to lean forward for his breath, he thought to himself to remember to be more grateful the next time their constant shouting got to him.
But before he could draw a proper breath — or even turn to check to make sure his brother was in one piece, Magath grabbed him by the shoulder and barked: "Colt! Situation report!"
"Sir!" He shot back up. "The front company took a direct hit from heavy artillery and was blown to bits! It’s impossible to dig any further, we need to stop!"
"Impossible?" Magath glared at him with much too much haughty air and much too little urgency. "Is that an order, boy? An eldian giving me orders?" Gone was the care; here was the war ox Colt had come to know him as at sea. The version of Magath that would both scared him and place upon him an immense sense of admiration.
"Watch your mouth when you talk to your superior, eldian!" Another commander barked at his side. He possessed none of Magath’s natural authority — but the accusation struck into Colt all the same. He knew speaking up could come at a cost — and after all he’d given, it would destroy him — yet, he couldn’t let this slaughter continue. He turned to his true superior, Magath, and pleaded: "Sir, at this rate, we won’t have enough men to storm the fort even if its defenders lay down their weapons!"
"Then they need to start taking survival more seriously. Follow the orders. Keep pushing their line of defense."
"But why, sir? With the power of us footsoldiers alone, we can’t possibly destroy the rail tracks hiding behind those machine guns. The enemy’s trench is well-guarded, there’s not a single breach we could take advantage of on-foot…"
Another boom was heard and a wave of sand rolled over the top of the ditch they were in. People were moaning and crying out for help some meters away. Things would only get worse.
What could Colt possibly do to help these men? The only rational option was calling them back before they all fell for nothing — but Marley would never agree to that. All these men’s lives, snuffed out. Unless Colt could convince Magath to spare them somehow…
"Do you have another idea in mind?"
He did. A single other plan. A plan he’d never suggest, knowing the anti-titan guns were still up. He couldn’t risk Porco… And yet, he knew that precisely because his heart was in the way of this idea, he had to suggest it: "Let’s use the Jaw and the Cart."
At his words, Magath’s hostile frown let up, his shoulders rose and his eyebrows dipped with surprised concern.
Colt hurried to continue: "Galliard and Finger. I know the plan was for us to take out the anti-titan guns first, but clearly that’s impossible, and they’d be glad to help, I’m s—"
"—No can do."
"…?!"
"We need to play our cards right or we’ll lose."
…Colt was stumped. He’d done as Magath asked of him on the boat so long ago — put his position in front of his personal business — but there had been no recognition. No reward. Clearly, calling in the titans was the only right thing to do here. Wasn’t it?
"Commander Magath. It’s here," Magath’s right hand piped up behind his binoculars. He was propped up just atop the edge of the trench, eyes on the fort. "Looks like the rumors were true…"
The rumors?
"What’s that?" Colt peeked over the edge and saw a metal cart with a cannon mounted on top, roll out onto a track that seemed to circle the area.
"An armored train," Magath mumbled next to him, having pulled out his own pair of binoculars. "Both ends equipped with anti-titan cannons…"
Colt felt his heart sink. Not only did the enemy have anti-titan cannons; they had mobile ones. "The train itself looks very slow," he muttered. Sure, it made it scarier to send out the titans, but… they were still a better alternative than sending the footsoldiers again. Objectively speaking. Militantly speaking.
I don’t feel. I’m a military man.
But Magath didn’t seem to agree: "No matter. With 100mm caliber armor-piercing rounds, those cannons can kill our titans in one shot."
Another load of bullets flew across the sand from the pillbox up ahead, and Colt heard someone scream from down their own trench; probably someone hit as he was looking over the edge.
Colt sank down a little, so his head didn’t go over the edge anymore, but he couldn’t relent — people were dying! "Sir, again. The train is slow, and both the jaw and cart are very fast. It should be nearly impossible to hit them in the nape…"
Magath turned to him: "But what if they do? What then?" There was something else in his eyes now. A more human touch. A hint of his old familiar self. It seemed to say: ‘You’re talking about risking your friend here.’
The reminder forced Colt’s head down. "…Then we lose a titan power, and there’s no guarantee we get it back," he whispered. But for course, all he could think was: that he’d lose his best friend forever. Not just in spirit, but in actual life.
"That’s right." Magath rolled his shoulders. "It’d be a disaster, just like nine years ago when we lost two to Paradis."
Colt knew that all too well: "That disaster served as the trigger to this war… Helos knows what would be triggered if we lost yet another…"
"That’s right." Magath sighed. "So, Grice, we agree? We can’t afford to lose any more titans? Their power is absolute and we can’t triumph without them." His words hung in the air for a moment — then turned to Koslo and said: "Tell the footsoldiers to prepare their second attack."
The words shot through Colt like a bullet and his head snapped back up. No, wait, this wasn’t what he was advicating for! "But sir!! It’s su—"
Magath whipped back, shooting him a warning glare: "What is it, Eldian? You are all soldiers who swore loyalty to the marelyan cause, aren’t you? This is your change to gain honor and respect from the motherland. A golden chance for all 800 eldians on this frontline!"
Colt thought to himself that they were much less than 800 now… He looked behind him to see his kids — Falco, Gabi, Udo, Zofia — all hardened and ready, and yet… just kids. Were they all going to die today? Colt could only hope he’d trained them well enough not to…
"You cadets wait here for my orders", Magath continued, and Colt’s burden lightened a fraction. But: "The other 800 will attack and destroy those rail tracks using any means necessary." Of the 500 or so remaining, how many would survive?
At least Falco would be safe. He was all bandaged up, and looked like he wanted another try — but Helos he was just a kid. Who’d blushed at the mention of a girl just hours ago.
Magath turned to Colt. "We can’t call for help from the air ship until that train is dealt with."
Didn’t Colt know that all too well.
"But—"
"—Colt. You’re the one who’ll inherit the beast titan’s power. Your position is different now. You need to man up."
He reverted his eyes and bit back what was welling up. He knew what Magath said was true, he knew he had to man up. And he knew he’d lost the argument. But… how could this suicide plan be right? They’d already seen it fail once. All these men would be cannon fodder, because he failed to convince his superior.
All of them sacrificed, just to keep a few people out of danger, who Marely thought were more important than them.
A moment of silence dragged out, as the conversation sank in. Then a soldier barked so urgently, Colt jumped: "Commander Magath, the train is headed this way!"
All looked up to see the train changing tracks and heading directly at them.
"They got tired of waiting and decided to make a direct assault", Magath mumbled, binoculars out again. "No matter. That’s our chance to destroy it."
How? Their men would all be blown to bits. Just like Winter… Gaping mouths, mangled bodies.
Colt felt someone small brush past him and he looked down in alarm. — All he saw was a bundle of dynamite — and then Gabi. Her face shone with mischief as she presented them to Magath. "Let me do it," she said.

*

There was no age limit to awe inspiring deeds. If Colt had been uncertain of that before, today he knew better, as he watched Gabi pull the wool down over the eyes of every single Mid-Eastern on duty. Masquerading as an innocent civilian — though not technically in line with international law — she had pulled off the impossible: Not only destroying the track, toppling the train itself and destroyed the pillbox, but also saving the lives of some 500 death sentenced Eldian footsoldiers in the process.
The explosion and consequent crash was glorious, and Colt could only watch on in stunned gratitude as the miracle unfolded. Mentor her as he might have, he knew that this — Gabi’s power — was her own making. And he was in awe.
Oh, and the he relief! The relief was indescribable. Now they could call in the J—
"Galliard, hurry!!" It was Magath: by the sound of his voice, Colt knew there was something wrong he himself hadn’t noticed. Frantically, he searched the wreckage with his eyes… and then: one man inside the pillbox was still alive! In relief turned immediate horror, Colt could only watch as the enemy repositioned his gun and took aim at his child attacker—
No. No no no—
"Gabi!!" Falco flew past Colt’s shoulder before he could register the blur. His little brother was out of the trench in a split second — and rushed in Gabi’s direction.
Colt thought he might vomit. "Come back, Falco!!" Colt only had one knee over the edge, by the time Falco and Gabi were an arm’s length apart. They were headed for the crater to take over, but Colt could tell it was going to be too late. Too late. It was too late!!
Colt watched as his little brother grabbed Gabi mid-air — heard the shots — and then a massive shadow whipped through the air above him,… and landing in the crossfire between the bullet and the kids, was a titan.
The Jaw.
Porco.
Colt sank down on all fours, staring, trembling. As he realized his furious friend had just saved his little brother’s life.
The monstrous form swiftly then moved on, taking out the last man and ripping through the enemy trench. Accompanied by the Cart, he tore through the enemy like a knife through butter — all while Colt stared on, frozen. Behind him, he heard Magath bark, and then the full 500 men stormed out of their trench to accompany their titans — now, not in death, but in certain victory.

It didn’t take long for them to do all that could be done on-foot. Colt didn’t know how long it took him to stop shaking, but by the time he did, it was time to call in their final weapon.
Watching on from the trench, rifle in hand, he consolidated with Magath — posture and confidence back: "I think we’ve done enough damage to the enemy front line. We should withdraw our forces and block the enemy’s path of retreat. From here, the rest is up to the aerial squad."
"Yes, Exactly." Magath raised his flare gun, and pulled the trigger.
Whizzzzzzz…
Trying not to think about the bitter-sweetness of this squad, Colt laid his eyes on the Jaw once more. Watching Porco’s raging form jump around — now here, now there — trashing the place like he was taking his anger out on it, Colt knew he had to talk to break their stalemate first chance he got.
It was clear to him, that nobody had a heart of gold like Porco.
The airship came gliding over the hillside, then. Magath called their men back, and safe in their trench again, everyone except Colt stared to the sky… He already knew: the latch would opened and men in parachutes would begin to drop to their deaths.
Haywood, I’m so sorry, Colt thought.
He wondered when his friend had realized what he’d been recalled for. Had Marley done the right thing and told him, or had it slowly had to dawn on him as they strapped him like a lunatic? Oh, had he been scared? Had he fought back as they injected him with Zeke’s spinal fluid? Had he cried at the thought of never seeing his family again? All the things he’d never get to do?
Had he regretted surviving Operation Needle, only to live to know what it felt like to turn into a mindless monster? Maybe he’d been furious. With Marley? With Colt?
Or maybe he’d felt relief. At being of some use even now. Of aiding in winning this war… Colt could only hope it was the latter.
Alas, he’d never get to ask…
As the sky began to light up with orbs of white, Colt couldn’t help but look. Blinking away tears, he watched, as high above them, tiny figures explode into massive blobs and barreled to the ground with sickening smiles on their faces. He wondered which of those figures were his friend… Or if he was already squirming around inside the fort by now, eating away at the enemy.
As if from far away, Colt heard Magath’s right hand, Koslo, speak: "Devils…You deserve that name. Our ancestors were also devoured, just like that… By you Eldians."
No, Colt thought. Haywood was never a demon.

Who, then, were...?

Chapter Text

854

The monotonous thumping of Marley’s military cart was lulling Porco into a fragile calm. It had been two weeks since the capturing of Fort Slava, the enemy’s city overtaking and the Mid-East country waving its white flag in surrender. Final reports had been made and all necessary meetings had been held, at least for the time being.
Finally, they were going home.
In just a few days, they’d all be back in their regular beds, in their safe homes, with their families under the same roof to boot. That’s what Porco was thinking of when he heard the wheels so tirelessly throwing themselves against the tracks.
Or at least, that’s what he wanted to think of. But he was exhausted. And he felt like shit. And for every shudder of the cart — as it lulled him deeper into his padded leather seat — he thought of how he, too, had worked so tirelessly the last month and a half. Of endless pit stops along the road, of having to transform to fight off those pointless, idiotic ambushes — transforming so often he’d nearly wiped himself out by it. And then there was the final battle. Man, had it frayed his nerves. But not only that, it had taken the rest of his strengths too, moving so fast and clawing so hard. His body still felt like he’d been running a marathon, even now. Two weeks later.
Ah, but, he was satisfied, he supposed. What else would he say? With his own performance, with the outcome, with his comfy leather seat… He just wasn’t so sure there was much to look forward to once he got home and the dust had settled. The last argument he’d had with Colt, still lingered in his mind. Always.
It hurt.
The thought of things between them being over, hurt.
And the thought of daring to let himself get disappointed again hurt even more.
But now… what was there even to look forward to at home, besides his mother’s warm pies?
What came after that? Nothing?
That’s what he was thinking — tired out of his wits — as he listened to the metal wheels flinging themselves against the tracks just below his feet, taking him home.
The cheering and yelling and other such drunken merriment going on in the next-door soldier cart, was seeping into this cart’s sophisticated silence, but it felt such a long ways away.
Taking his eyes off the window for a second, Porco met Pieck’s eyes across the table, but said nothing. It didn’t need to be said. They both heard him in there — apparently having the celebration of a lifetime.

"I feel awful," Pieck had told back then, pulling him aside after practice. Porco still remembered the look of earnest pain on her face as she cornered him outside the lockers. Even now, after, four years? The two of them had gotten off the boat a week ago then, and Porco still hadn’t been able to look her in the eyes since the party. Even as they worked together on transformation-practice, he avoided talking at every opportunity.
"You know how you said you two didn’t have ‘a thing’?"
"… Yeah. We don’t."
"Uh-huh. Well… Colt kissed me."
"… What?"
"I didn’t know he was gonna do it. But he just sort of… did it."
"…"
"I told him he’s not my type. But you were right, he is pretty good."
Even though she said she wouldn’t have done it if she’d seen it coming, the fact that it had happened, had cut Porco to the core back then. Though, by the look on Pieck’s face, it cut her too. Maybe that’s why he didn’t want to look.
"Please believe me," she’d said, panting from having chased him from the beach. "I shouldn’t have taken your words at face value. I’ve been so stupid, Porco."
Porco remembered feeling his shifter marks and making a face like he hurt, just to seem preoccupied while he searched the horizon for a response. What could he tell her? That he was furious? That he hoped she felt every bit as bad as he did?
… That’d he’d cried himself to sleep that night?
"You’re not stupid," he eventually said, and turned for the door.
"No, really. I am. Or I have been… I know you better than to think what you say is what you mean."
At that, Porco’s anger had flared. He’d turned back to slap away her outstretched hand and hissed: "I’m not the one saying one thing and doing another! That’s Colt!"
Zeke’s advice to listen to Colt’s actions over his words, had only amounted to shit. The guy was a walking contradiction in all lanes — Kissing one person one second, another the next. How dared Pieck accuse Porco of being in any way similar to that?
… But she’d taken his outburst so calmly. "Porco," she’d said, and tilted her head to the side. Aside from Colt, she had always been the only friend who’d had any sort of patience with him, and her demeanor slowly helped his shoulders sink along with his temperature.
"Sorry," he mumbled.
"It’s ok. I didn’t mean it to come out that way, Porco… What I meant is I know you don’t like talking about the things that hurt you… Or to the people who did."
He shrugged, and mumbled, one hand still on the handle: "Isn’t that normal? You think it’s easy? You kissed him even though you know—… You knew how—… you know."
"I know… And I promise you, words can’t express how bad I feel. So please… Let’s talk?"
He hadn’t wanted to at all.
"Please. Look me in the eyes? How can we move past this if you can’t face what upsets you?"
Porco couldn’t remember exactly how they’d made up since then, but he knew it hadn’t taken long. After all, the fault was Colt’s, not Pieck’s. And Porco couldn’t turn down Pieck’s delicious post-workout sandwiches for long, not even when they were priced at a conversation a piece.
So, Porco didn’t remember how or when they’d fallen back into their old, solid ways… But he remembered her words that day. Even now.
"How can we move past this if you can’t face what upsets you?"

The door leading into the small compartment between the Marleyan cart and the foot soldier cart, opened, and the panzer squad shuffled in, earning them a few begruntled stared from the higher ups; the open door was amplifying the unruly ruckus.
"Colt’s asking if you want to share a bottle with him," Carols said, stopping at Porco and Pieck’s booth.
Porco looked up. He wanted to accept, he did. A part of him hoped Colt had noticed what he’d done for him out there — saved his little brother — and that this was him coming crawling back to thank him.
Oh, Porco had been so terrified back there — for a split second he’d thought he wouldn’t make it — and the fear of how shattered Colt would be if he couldn’t save Falco, was probably what gave Porco ten times the speed… He’d made with not a second to spare. And saved the little brother of the man he loved.
He would have died for Falco if so need be. Because deep down, he knew he couldn’t stop loving Colt. Not even now.
And maybe this invite was Colt’s way of trying to thank him. Maybe they’d make up in drunken stupor.
… But could Porco take that? Did he have the strength in him to endure the ups and downs anymore? Would this celebration really leave them off anywhere different? And could it really have changed how cowardly Colt was about coming out?
Porco doubted it.
And then he doubted he’d even have anything other than heartache in there. Sharing smiles and drinks and maybe more in there — wouldn’t it only hurt?
His pulse sank. He saw Pieck try to smile at him, but he quickly shook his head. "Why should I?" he muttered and turned again to face the window.
He’d be a fool to believe this could change anything. And yes, he knew he was doing it again — he was avoiding what hurt him.
"How can we move past this if you can’t face what upsets you?"
But he just… didn’t want to get his hopes up.
"Suit yourself," Carlos said, lingering. Porco sensed him sharing some sort of look with Pieck, but before it became noteworthy, he closed the door on the cheering crowd and then the panzer unit shuffled down the cart for somewhere else to sit. Maybe they picked up on the dampened mood, Porco didn’t know. But either way, their talk turned to hushes, and then silence fell over the cart once more — aside from the ever-pitching volume of the celebrations the next cart over, of course. In fact, the yells seemed to be mounting to a crescendo not long after — with Colt’s voice loudest of them all.
"Gabi!" they heard him chant. "Gabi, Gabi, Gabi!"
Ugh. Colt really was making a fool of himself, wasn’t he…? Porco could picture him clearly. Pink-faced and sweaty, his hair messed up at the front and his shirt open at the chest. Maybe Porco should have joined him after all, just to keep watch over that dumbass?
You’re hopeless, Colt…
In the booth across the aisle, Koslo cleared his throat. "Commander," he said, "you know, we could shut them up…"
Porco wondered if Colt would be in trouble later. He didn’t hope so…
From several booths up, Porco heard that clown of a man, Calvi, begin to say something: "Ye—"
—But then Magath interrupted him, loudly, calmly: "It’s just for tonight… Let’s turn a blind eye."
Wait. Porco turned to meet Pieck’s eyes. Had she just heard Magath stand up to Calvi, too?
But Pieck just smiled back at Porco — soft and sad, as Colt’s voice all but quivered the walls: "Gabi, Gabi, Gabi!"
Not knowing how to read her smile, Porco frowned: "He will be a wreck tomorrow, won’t he…"
"Yes," Pieck sighed. "Since he’d drinking the whole bottle alone, he will be…"

Chapter Text

854

Ugh… What happened last night…?
At some point his memories all turned to a messy, black confusion. A void of sound and feeling with no direction.
"She did it to save all of you…!"
Cheering soldiers with arms in the air.
"I don’t think Porco’s coming."
The bottle in his hand.
"Gabi, Gabi, Gabi!"
Feeling invincible.
Feeling empty.
Staggering, falling.
… Vomiting behind a crate?
The last time Colt remembered looking at a watch, was ten past nine p.m. Where had the rest of the night gone? "Ugh…" He clutched his head with two shivering hands. Between his fingers, he saw a room filled head to toe with crates. He was slouched against one, too… He didn’t recognize the cart he was in — an ammo cart, probably. Looked like it, though why he was here, he didn’t know.
His mouth felt like ash.
Outside, he heard people walking and talking and a platform clock chiming once for half past something. Were they home already?
He groaned into his hands. His stomach bubbled dangerously. Should he even dare to get up?
Then he heard footsteps somewhere behind him. They snuck slowly around him and stopped at his feet. Colt got the unmistakable feeling of being watched, but didn’t dare to look now.
Then, after a moment of heavy silence, the person kicked his boot gently and said: "How long were you planning on staying on board?"
Colt’s heart sank. It was Porco. "Till you came and got me," he mumbled, letting his hands fall. His head felt heavy, chin lulling to his chest instantly. "…Obviously."
Why didn’t you show last night?
Why was he here? To kick him while he was down?
"Everyone’s already disembarked. Falco’s looking for you on the platform… Colt, look at me. Did you get any sleep at all?"
"Plenty… Well, that, or I’ve been blacked out for hours." He gave an empty laugh and leaned his head back against the wood to look up at the guy. His sweet, angry, strawberry blonde.
It was nice to hear his voice again, after no talking for so long. But still… why was he here?
"…Your eyes are red," Porco said.
Colt shrugged. "New fashion?"
Porco’s mouth drew taught, expression blank. "…Here." He leaned down and offered a hand.
Colt looked at it, then at him. If he hadn’t known better — known that Porco was furious with him — he would have thought his hand was offered sort of gently.
So he took it. Though, Colt supposed choosers couldn’t be beggars either way. Plus, he was too exhausted right now to care about their strained relationship. Or, rather, how their relationship had ended. Whatever the reason for Porco’s offer to help, Colt needed it.
With a few grunts and some muttered curse words, he staggered to his feet. Porco wrapped Colt’s arms around his shoulders to keep him on his feet. With their height difference, it felt somewhat like leaning on a shortened crutch, but Colt was grateful either way.
"You know," Porco said, placing a hand on Colt’s hip and leading him towards the exit. "… I’m the one who had to mop up after you."
"Ugh. Really? Shit, I’m sorry…"
"Yeah? You better be."
Then, under his breath, Colt thought he heard Porco whisper "drunken idiot" ever so softly.
Something about it warmed him. Though, truth be told, Porco could have said anything and Colt would have been happy; he’d missed his voice so painfully, and this felt like a healing grace.
Was he a fool for taking it as a good sign that Porco came looking for him?

Outside, the sunlight was way too bright. Colt groaned and shut his eyes to no avail. The incessant glowing shone right through his eyelids and he felt himself break a sweat with how hard he wished he was back in his bedroom already — with the blinds down and his face in a pillow.
So bright and noisy…
"Told you I’d find him," he heard Porco say, and then Falco replying ahead of them: "Thank you so much!"
A shadow slid over them as they walked underneath the platform awning, and Colt opened his eyes to see his brother waiting by some crates with concern on his face. He was about to say something, when, from the next cart over, a screeching voice cut through the bustle: "Liberio, we’re hooooome!"
It could have shattered glass, Colt could have sworn. He winced and reached for his head with a groan. "Uugh, Gabi… please, don’t yell," he lamented, nursing his hammering head. "Ow…" He sank in on himself, and Porco began to grunt under his weight.
"I’ve told you not to drink so much, lightweight," he huffed, hugging him closer to his side and practically carrying him the last few steps to the crate ahead — where he slid him off his shoulders.
Before Colt slouched forward, he saw Porco crossing his arms like a disapproving mother. Oh well. Colt took deep breaths to manage his stomach. It was hard enough just to remain seated and not sink down into fetal position, honestly.
"Who let you have liquor, Colt?" Falco asked.
Should he say?
Colt wondered if she’d get in trouble if he did, when Pieck approached the trio and chose for him: "…Colt looked like he wanted some."
That seemed to defuse what could have been the start of a longer lament about his drinking habits, Colt was sure. Coasting on Pieck’s good graces with Porco…
Ugh… So much noise. Did people always make this much noise just getting to and from a platform? It sounded like a tidal wave of mutters. And it all reverberated in his bubbling gut. Did he have it in him to manage the walk from the station through town into the internment zone?
"Unbelievable," he heard Zeke say in passing; he didn’t want to look up. "How dare you spew Pieck’s kindness all over the train?" It sounded humorous but then again, Colt never really could read his mentor right.
And then Magath: "… we really should have shut them up last night."
Colt sighed.
I see how it is… I’m the butt of the joke today. I guess I deserve it…
He managed a weak chuckle into his hands, and was relieved to hear the others begin talking amongst themselves instead.
"I heard they kept hoisting you up last night." Even without looking up, Colt could hear in Porco’s voice that he was smiling now. Funny how he knew this man so well; he could picture the way his lips moved just by the sound of his voice.
What would I be without you?
"I think it’s fine. You deserved a bit of fun. What you did was impressive."
"Aw, Pieck. Shucks…"
The train whistled, signaling all pass angered disembarked, and slowly it began to pull into an enclosure for maintenance, steam rising slow and hot across the platform. People began thinning, and Colt’s stomach slowly settled.
He wondered how his parents would react when they both came back alive. He wanted to tell them Porco was the one to thank for that. He wondered what they’d say then…
Maybe they’d like him better. Colt hoped so.
… Too bad it was too late. Damn it, he still couldn’t get used to the fact that they weren’t together anymore. Because it still felt like they were.
But… this time it was final, wasn’t it? Porco really deserved the world, and Colt didn’t know how to give it to him without bringing down his own.
And even if he came out now, he’d be too late. He had already severed their bond… He’d never seen that combination of hate and hurt in Porco’s eyes before that day at the platform.
And even now: things felt so safe and familiar with him — and yet, there was this wall between them. A wall of something bad, that made it hurt to look directly at him. That made it hard to talk past the short words. The empty banter.
What could he do at this point to deserve Porco’s kindness again?
… Porco’s feet shifted in front of him, came closer. "Time to head home, don’t you think?" he said. And when Colt looked up, he saw that everyone else had begun to head out. The only one still standing here, was Porco. "Let’s not lag behind," he said, and nodded towards the cobble stone road — where Colt could see Falco walking alongside Gabi, pink faced and childlike again.
"Oh," he said. "… Yeah."
"Just don’t be so heavy this time," Porco said, and offered his hand once more.

*

They fell in step with the rest of the soldiers eventually. Several hundred battle worn eldians dragging therf feet along the Marleyan streets. Colt didn’t know why he’d expected anything other than what they got: disgruntled stares, hateful hisses. Marleyans closing their doors as they passed. Like they — the eldians — were flee riddled horses with leaky backsides, mucking up their home streets. Instead of the saviors they were.
Without us, Mid-East would have infiltrated these very streets and taken you all prisoner…
But oh, it didn’t help to tell them off in his mind. Colt knew that. He knew his place would always be below them. And he was sure his pale, sweaty face and his sore, red eyes — and the way he was leaning over another man for help to walk upright — was all contributing to how poorly he appeared to these people. They’d never see him as their hero.
Oh well…
If only it didn’t sting to be stared at like this.
"The gate," he heard Falco mutter ahead, and his heart beat double.
Yes, the gate. Just past Henrietta’s closed down ice cream parlor, there it was: the internment zone, their home. Even from here, Colt could see a mass of people on the other side, gathered to welcome them. Parents and friends.
He leaned a little heavier on Porco, his head gracing the other’s ear. "Hey," he mumbled. "Thank you, by the way…"
Porco grunted. "No problem."
"No, about—" Colt shifted, lifted his head, felt his stomach twist miserably. "About earlier. You shielded Falco from fire. On the battlefield, I saw you."
"Oh, that…You don’t need to thank me for that. I was just doing my job,… as a warrior of Marley."
"… Ok." Colt didn’t know what more to say to that. It hurt, but it was hard to place why. As the people in front stopped to wait for the gate to open, he, too, stopped, and reluctantly he released himself from Porco’s support. It had felt so good to lean on him, to smell his musk again and imagine that they hadn’t ended things. But they had.
"I see dad!" Falco said, standing on his topes to see over the heads in front. "Over there!"
"Ah… mom’s there," Colt heard Porco mumble. And following his eyes, he saw Mrs. Galliard off to the right of his own parents. So he turned to his friend. His dear friend. "Porco—…"
And his dear friend looked back at him, an eyebrow raised as if to say ‘yes?’.
"… I’ll… I’ll see you later?"
"… Yeah." Porco spoke low under the metallic creaking of the gate pulling aside. "See you later…"
"Colt! Falco!"
People filed into the open area and voices rose as families reunited. Colt’s mother came running up as soon as there was room to pass, her necklace bouncing at her chest, tears welled in her eyes. Did she look older? After just two months, did she look older? "Both of you… I’m so glad you’re safe," she cried.
Colt was stunned — till their father barked. "Colt?! What’s wrong, son? You’re pale as a sheet! Are you hurt?"
He winced in pain. "Arg, my head… Dad."
As arms embraced him and he hunched down to shield against all this noise and hungover misery, he looked over his father’s shoulder, and caught just a glimpse of Porco looking his was. Their eyes met.
They weren’t over.
They’d never be over.
By the way Colt felt the string between them lengthen with distance, as the undertow of the crowd pulled them in opposite directions, roping them home to opposite houses, … he realized then, he didn’t have to give up.
There’d always be that perpetual last chance. Deserved or not. As long as they were alive. And for the time they were.
The war was over — but ‘they’ weren’t.
Yeah, I’ll see you later.

*

The crowd split in two at the market square. Colt’s mother lead their family’s pack towards the left, while Colt thought he saw the back of Porco’s head disappearing behind the shops to the right.
The whole market was flooding with homeward bound soldiers and their families — and the poor, unsuspecting people who’d just taken the trip to get their groceries, were suddenly forced to cram themselves against the stands, lest they get carried away with the uniform flow.
But still, the mood was entirely different here than outside the zone: people were smiling. Nodding. Even saluting. There were cheers and shouts of gratitude. Here, Colt and his comrades were heroes.
"Listen, isn’t it grand," his mother chirped. Her chest was raised like she’d taken a deep breath in and never let it back out. Like the pride was literally swelling in her. She was older, perhaps, but all the prouder. "All for you."
Then she stopped.
"Oh," she said. She reached for the pearls at her neck and turned to Colt. But she didn’t have to tell him; he saw the cart, too. Up ahead — with the golden letters and the elderly couple accompanied by their two grown daughters: The Forsters. They were parked at the side of a shop and stood outside their vehicle, saluting the returning soldiers; tipping their heads, smiling and cheering along. Just a few families ahead of Colt’s.
Colt looked at his mother. It didn’t have to be said: they were going to pass by the Forsters — and soon.
So he straightened his back and raised his chin. His mouth drew taught and his face sobered with self-importance. He reached for his mother’s arm and linked elbows with her — she didn’t have to ask. And then he began to lead her, like a stout military man. The fresh air had sobered him just enough to pull it off, he hoped. And he prayed that some color was back in his face — despite his miserable hangover.
Please let me pass
Pass for his mother’s flawless pride.
They’d practiced this so many times. And now came their moment. His mother’s moment. He knew it. And he knew she knew it.
The Forsters couldn’t ignore her this time.
He marched — all the while imagining his and his mother’s hearts hammering in rapid unison. They approached. Came upon the family that had caused them so much grief. Saw them up close, saw the way old Mr. Forster’s eyes drooped with age, how his greying mustache smudged with hair die. How his grown daughters’ clothes wrinkled from lack of ironing, saw the splits in their nails that they’d tried to paint over. Saw that they were no more lawless than Colt — or anyone.
No, up close, there was no more glam. Just an air of something; a belief of theirs that they deserved the status — and maybe that’s the reason they never really lost it for the people not in the know. Just with the Marleyans and just for that little while. Long enough to grow bitter at a little girl who temporarily toppled them, and ignore her ever since.
It was as tough all other voices stilled. Colt held his breath in front of these strangers he knew by name.
The Forsters nodded.
Colt and his mother nodded.
"Thank you for your service, young man," the droopy-eyed man said, smiling, turning his attention for a moment to the next soldier in line. When Colt heard his mother inhale. And she stopped right in front of him. Right in front of these four open wounds of hers. And she said: "This is my son, Mr. Forster. Colt Grice. Our motherland’s future war chief. You’ve heard of him?"
A long, long second of wait. Colt was proud of his mother for standing tall under the man’s confused stare.
Then Mrs. Forster said: "Ah, Colt Girce. Yes." He was looking at Colt again. "Most impressive." He nodded. And nodded again. Looked at his daughters. They nodded too.
Colt’s mouth was dry like cotton.
His mother said: "Colt was recognized for his outstanding efforts at Operation Needle four years ago."
"Most impressive."
"It was in the papers." His mother was digging; Colt could tell. For… something. The right response? Whatever it was she’d imagined they’d say after all these years.
Colt could also tell this wasn’t it. There was no rock breaking loose; no untying of a decades old knot.
"Oh, yes. The first operation. Four years ago." Mr. Forster still looked at Colt. Looked unsure of what was expected of him.
"Thank you for your service," one of his daughters — Mrs. Grice’s childhood ‘sisters’ — supplied again.
Behind Colt, people began to push for the queue to keep moving. Some people shouted.
"Hey! Get going!"
But Colt waned; didn’t want to break this moment till his mother got what she came here for. Stood tall, swaying with the pushes.
Then his mother clutched her necklace and her face changed. Her voice changed. She stared at the man like she was a child now; Colt had never seen her shrink before. Into something so weak. Her chest quivered, and she burst: "Are you proud of me now?"
The old man turned his face to her. Looked at her. "Yes," he said. "You must be very proud, ma’am." There was no recognition in his eyes.
It struck Colt just as it seemed to strike his mother. Her face fell, his heart stung. The realization laid waste to decades of belief: The Forsters didn’t know who she was.
They didn’t remember her.
When had they forgotten?
How long had it taken for the memory of the little girl who became their ruin, to fade into a faceless demon of the past?
All this time, Colt’s mother had thought they were ignoring her, holding themselves too good for her and her never ending efforts to raise her worth — to be worthy again — and it was just because they’d forgotten her!
All this pain they’d caused her, and they hadn’t even known.
All this time she’d fought, and it had been pointless.
There were no expectations to reach, nor fail.
Colt didn’t know what to say. And clearly, the old man still didn’t know either. That miserable old fool and his selfish maiden daughters. With their fake hair colors and their polished imperfections. Nothing about them justified holding the power they did over his mother.
No more.
The crowd pushed and Colt was nudged a step forward. He caught his balance, saved face and said: "Come, mother." He nudged her and she followed. Didn’t say anything, didn’t protest. She just turned back towards the crow and walked. Arm in arm with him still, yet far away. Walked in silence, staring straight ahead. Both of them now — just letting the undertow pull at them — till it washed them ashore at the gate to their charming little home some intangible time later. The home that had always been good enough for Colt, and never for his mother… Because she thought it wasn’t good enough for the Forsters.
‘Good enough.’ That was it, wasn’t it. They were all just trying to be good enough for somebody else. Colt remembered Zeke’s words at the last meeting they’d had in the captures city — with Calvi and the others. ‘I’m unsure if Colt will be useful as the beast. Will he inherit my abilities?’ Everyone had mumbled in agreement at that. They were unsure if he’d be good enough to walk in Zeke’s special footsteps. Even now, after everything Colt had done.
To certain people, he thought… maybe he would never be good enough? And if so, when did the pursuit stop? How far would he push himself to gain unattainable approval? Would he spend the better part of a lifetime, like his mother? Just to find out it was all for nothing? All a waste?
He looked at his mother’s back as she broke away from him and walked up the path, took out her keys. She looked so small. Smaller, even, than when she’d asked her past personified for his approval.
Something had punctured her. Perhaps the realization that somewhere along the way, the Forsters stopped being a factor and it had been herself — for so long — who’d been pushing herself down?
How many years had she been perpetuating her own misery?
Colt wouldn’t have wished this for her — just as he realized he didn’t want this for himself. He wondered… If he stopped asking himself what he needed to do to be good enough to others, what, then, was needed in order to be good enough for himself?
He followed his mother inside. It was odd: he already knew the answer; it simply fell into his head like a gentle snow, and he stepped over the threshold, to the homely smell of heated pear jam wafting from the kitchen: he just needed to do what felt right — do right by himself and the ones he cared about. That’s all he needed to do, to be good enough for himself. It was that easy.
Do what feels right.
Falco jogged past him, backpack left in the hall. "Oh, boy! Is that pie, mom?" he said, smiling like a light.
Colt saw his mother slowly take off her pearls and leave them in the bowl with the house keys. It could have been any old necklace now. "Ah. Yes," he heard her mumbled. "Yes, it is. I thought you might… you know." She looked defeated. That’s what it was, Colt realized.
And as he hung his jacket and brushed off a strawberry blonde hair, he realized another thing, too: to Porco, he had always been good enough. All Porco had ever required of him, was for Colt to be himself.
It was that easy.
It had always been that easy.
Colt felt something bubble in his chest. Not the hangover, not pain. A word: "Mom." It just slipped out of him. "Mom,… I need to talk to you."
He turned and saw her lingering by the kitchen entrance. She looked at him. Looked at her husband who came up to put a hand on her shoulder.
The two of them looked at each other, and Colt’s father said: "I’ll go set the table."
Colt’s mother let him, and approached Colt once more.
He took her cold, thin hands in his. They appeared to him like two baby birds who’d fallen out of their nest too soon and never got back up.
He took a deep breath.
"There’s something I should have told you a long time ago. I just didn’t know how…"
"Right now, honey…?"
"Right now."

*

"And it really can’t wait?"
His mother staggered over the spring-green grass of their modest backyard. This yard in which Colt had flown kites since boyhood. Where he’d taught Falco, Porco, himself. The yard in which he’d flown so far away with his worries — escaped into the air about the problems that were rooted right here, in the very foundation of this home of his. While he reached hopelessly for the sky like the grass and the trees and all things rooted.
He knew this was why he’d always loved kites. The way they coasted on the roll of the wind; free and untethered, but for this weightless string. This string leading down into the spool in Colt’s own hands, his only connection to up there. The way he felt freedom tug and quiver down the line, into his fingertips.
He liked to imagine he was in control when it came to the kites. He could snip that string whenever, and let it fly.
"No," he said. "It can’t wait any more."
He watched his mother lean on a garden chair. The breeze tugging at the hem of her skirt. Her coat dancing at her calves.
How alike they were, Colt thought. Weren’t they? Both of them held down b their own inability to fly. Held down — by their self-grown roots.
He saw it now.
The air was warm, but the wind was cold. And he inhaled the ice into his lungs, and imagined that’s how fresh it was up there; in the free. It didn’t matter what his mother would say anymore. If he hadn’t made her proud at this point, he never would. He would be weighing himself down for a lifetime, trying to please someone who weren’t able to please.
It was time to fly.
"Well…?" his mother said. She was shaking, pulling her coat tighter around herself. Looking at him. She looked ready to cry.
"… All I’ve ever wanted was to please you, mom."
"… I know that, Colt."
"… Sometimes I feel like it’s easy. But other times, it feels impossible. Like… I can’t be the son you want me to be. Like it’s just not who I am."
"Col—"
"—But then I’d tell myself: no, it doesn’t matter who I am. I can become him. The son you want. I can become him. If I just try hard enough."
"… Colt."
He swallowed against a lump in his throat and took a step closer. The grass felt like springs. Like he was made of air now, not roots, and the only thing that still kept him from soaring, was a single string.
"But who is he? I’ve never really known. Who is this Colt you want me to be? Is he the son who doesn’t have a mind of his own? Who doesn’t feel and just does? Who follows orders and risks his life without anything to lose? Because all he cares about is status?"
His mother shook her head. "What is this, Colt?"
"Don’t you know already? Haven’t you always known?"
"… No?"
He came closer. She took a step back. Shook her head again.
"Don’t you want me to feel? I can’t love you if I don’t feel."
"I—"
"—Or maybe you never needed me to love you."
"Of course I want you to love me. Colt, please, tell me what this is about. Is everything alright?" Her voice was weak. She reached for her neck; a ghost-reflex. But the necklace was gone. What was left was just her bare throat. Her reddening, bobbing throat.
The faintest "oh" escaped her lips, and her hand fell.
"At this point, I’ve given you all I have to give," Colt said.
"… You don’t love me either?"
His heart stung. As it beat in his ears, it stung. "No—" he said. "No-no, I do love you, mom. I always will. Always. You’re my mom." He took her hand. He was quicker than her, and he took her cold, lost bird-like hand before she could thrash away. "But I’m done chasing approval. You know now, don’t you. You know what a dead end it is."
She looked away. "You can’t quit the military, Colt. They’d kill—"
"—I know. And I won’t quit. I’ll fulfil my term. I’ll do everything that’s required of me… Even die. In fourteen year’s time." He took one final, deep breath, and said: "But I’ll do it as my own person. And all the things I’ve pushed aside, I’ll make part of me now. I love."
She looked up. "… You love?"
"Fiercely." He squeezed her hand. "You. Dad. Falco… and Porco."
She tugged her hand back but he caught it — didn’t let it go — and she relented; let it go limp in his grip again. Let him hold her there.
"Mom, I love him," he said, and he felt himself choke. It was all he could push out now; this choked, desperate attempt at flying free. "Porco and I have been through a lifetime already. He’s my comfort when it hurts, he’s the wind when I soar. He understands me and he cares about me. He always has, even when I’ve done him wrong and let him down."
His mother’s mouth opened, and he paused to let her speak, but there was nothing.
The lump in his throat grew and he caught a hitch on the way up; he looked down, closed his throat and fought those damn tears that laid him so bare. "For so long," he whispered. "I’ve— I’ve been too scared to let him love me. Because… I know how you feel. About people like me… But… I can’t change who I am. I know that now. All I can do is make the best of it. And… I think I can learn to love who I am… Even if you can’t."
He stopped. Waited for her to protest. To say she loved him — that of course she loved him. No matter what.
… But the wind only tugged at their feet and the smell of cut grass whispering in the silence about childhood — about a time when things were easier. When a kite was relief enough. "I don’t need you to love me for who I am anymore. But I… really want you to."
"Why haven’t you told me before…?"
He looked at her. Met her eyes and bit down his emotion at the sight of her tears.
"You thought I’d hate you…?" she asked. Her voice quivered. "Just because you’re—… different?"
He swallowed. Did a half-shake, half-shrug. "Yes?…Because I’m unwell?"
She let out a gargled laugh that died in her throat. "After all you’ve accomplished? You’re not unwell."
The wind pick up around their feet.
"… Colt, all my life I’ve been different."
"… I know. B-but—"
"—You don’t think I’ve known about you and Galliard? It doesn’t matter to me. I just—… You’ve accomplished more than I ever thought you would."
He broke eye contact. Cleared his throat and blinked away tears.
"Back then,… with that gun to my head… I didn’t think. You weren’t real to me then. You were just a bargaining chip… But you’re more than that now… I— … I know you have your own life to live… Colt."
"…"
"All I ask is that you keep things professional… that you don’t… you know. Squander your work…"
He let her hand go. "I won’t squander it," he said. He took a step back. Something stung now, in a bad way. She really didn’t care, did she? His work was good, but he was a shame?
"Colt." His mother shifted on her feet, reached for her head scarf as the wind caught it, then seemed to change her mind — because she let it go in favor of stepping out, catching Colt as he was moving away. She took him by the sleeve, pulled him back in. Her head scarf fluttered aside and her hair came free of her pony tail, dancing unruly as her cheeks. "Wait."
He did.
"I’m sorry," she stammered. "What I mean to say is… I trust you. I know by now there’s nobody as professional as you… I’m proud of you. And if Galliard makes you happy. Then… I don’t want you to push him away for our sake. I’m glad you have someone who… is your wind? Was that it? Whatever it was you said…" She broke a thin smile. "Of course I want you to feel. I’ve seen… how you change around him. You’re lucky that way."
Colt searched her face. Yes — there was honesty in there. Past the discomfort: a genuine wish for his well being. For him to break free if so be it. He tried to speak. But all that came up was a choke, a sob. And as he sprang on her a hug, he felt no gravity beneath his feet.

Chapter Text

854

Porco was curled up on the couch after the feast of a lifetime. His mother had fed him like he was a long lost firstborn — and even though he’d insisted his war efforts were nothing special, he was secretly comforted by the recognition. After he’d been sufficiently stuffed, his mother had wasted no time offering him the couch in front of the fireplace, and lit a fire of coal for him, even though the winter nights had given way to tempered spring since he’d last been home.
It felt good to be coddled every now and then — especially when his body hurt with exhaustion like now. And as the coals crackled and glowed, warming his face and his knees poking out under the blanket, he felt almost happy again: war on Mid-East was over and won, and he was fed and warm in this loving home of his.
Even Magath’s new errand boy knocking on the door half an hour ago to deliver an issue for Porco to come join a Paradis-themed meeting first thing tomorrow — "yes, tomorrow already" — hadn’t taken the comfort out of him.
The only thing was Colt.
It had felt alarmingly nice just to talk to him again. Even if the guy had been hungover as all that and hadn’t said much. Even if Porco had been intentionally cold with the sole purpose not to let himself feel what he was feeling none the less…
He missed Colt. So much.
"… I’ll… I’ll see you later?"
"… Yeah."
Would he? Did he want to?
Yes. Staring into the flames but seeing only memories of lakes and kisses and laughs and kites doing the infinity symbol, he recognized that he did. He wasn’t as angry as he’d been two months ago. Now, more than anything, he just ached to go back. Even if it meant running around in secret. Waiting to be affectionate till they were behind locked doors. At least they’d be affectionate.
… And Porco only had nine more years, after all. Would he really prefer sticking to his principles and spend the rest of his life alone because of it? Maybe a compromise was in order. Even… fair?
Knock knock.
"Oh! I’ll get it." His mother stood from her armchair, setting aside her yarn. "Maybe that young military man forgot to say something…"
Porco sat up slowly, rubbing at his eyes. He hoped his mother was wrong. He really didn’t want to think about more military stuff now, for the rest of the night. His motherland was important to him, but he’d really liked a longer cool-down before getting back on the horse.
Oh well.
He yawned and turned his head to lend an ear to the conversation down the hallway.
"Why, good evening, sweetheart! What brings you here so late?"
Porco’s heart halted. Who was this ‘sweetheart’? It couldn’t be…
"Is Porco still awake…?"
His heart beat double to make up for the pause it had given — and he got to his feet, blanket falling to the floor. What was Colt doing here so late? Porco jogged — then realized what he was doing — and slowed down to a controlled pace as the door came into view. "I’m here," he said with restrained enthusiasm.
"Yes, he’s— Oh, yes, here he is." His mother chuckled and turned to him. "Colt’s here to see you. I’ll give you two some privacy." She winked at him in passing, and Porco rolled his eyes.
At the door, Colt’s cheeks were blooming. "Is it a good time…?" What was that strange smile?
"Depends…" Porco mumbled. He crossed his arms over his heart and leaned against the door frame for extra cool. "What do you want?"
"Just to talk. Can I—… Could we talk in your room?"
"I guess." He stepped aside to let him in, while his curiosity was getting exceedingly hard to choke back. "Is everything alright? What’s that stupid grin about?"
He watched Colt’s strong back as the guy hung his jacket and step out of his shoes. When he turned back to Porco, that strange, rosy smile was even bigger than before. "I told her…!"
… What?
Porco stared at him with an oddly tingly sensation in his gut. "Told whom what?"
"My mom…! About us…!"
He gaped. He heard his parents fuzzing in the next room over — were they listening in?
"My room," Porco said, and took Colt by the upper arm. Was this a dream? A joke? A— a miracle?!

The door lock clicked and Porco rounded on him. "What do you mean you told your mom about us?"
"I came out…!" Colt stretched his arms out, shining with joy.
"No way!"
"Yes way!"
Porco wanted to run at him; embrace him and kiss him and laugh and cry. But— "I’m sorry, I just… find it a little hard to believe. Why now?"
Prove to me I won’t get hurt again, and I’m yours.
Colt’s arms sank to his sides and his smile went crooked. "I just… finally realized what matters? I’m tired of chasing approval. I’m tired of feeling awful about myself because I’m not what others want me to be… But you. You only ever wanted me to be myself, didn’t you?"
"… Yeah?"
Colt bounced on his heels and took a step closer, but despite his beating heart, Porco leaned back against the locked door and tilted his head back. "I still don’t understand what changed your mind."
Colt’s smile ebbed — and it hurt to watch — but he took Porco’s hand and Porco let him. His touch felt electric.
Fuck, I miss you.
"On the way back from the station," Colt said, "we met the Forsters. You know, mom’s—"
"—I remember, yeah. And?"
Colt took a deep breath. "Well, turns out they don’t even recognize mom anymore."
Porco raised an eyebrow.
"And I just realized… You know what? I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to waste my life worrying about others’ opinion, like mom has. Because where does it end?"
"It doesn’t."
"Exactly." Colt came in closer, lifted Porco’s hand and kissed it. "Well, no, actually, it does. Today. Because I told her."
Porco blinked to try and keep tears back. He wanted to let go and embrace this miracle so bad.
"…You really don’t believe me?" Colt whispered.
"…I do." Porco felt his patience drop and he pulled Colt into a hard, hard hug. "Fuck it, I do. Shit!" he was sure Colt could tell he was crying by the break of his voice, despite having his face now buried deep in Colt’s shoulder. "Fuck, I love you."
"I’m sorry I didn’t tell her before, though."
"Doesn’t matter. Fuck! I can’t believe you told her!"
"Honestly, me neither."
"Weren’t you scared?"
"Terrified… But… the idea of trying to please people for the rest of my life was scarier."
Porco wiped hos tears against Colt’s sweater. "Was she mad?" he asked, muffled.
"Not really. Or, well, I think she’s a little weirded out — but it could have been worse. And I think she’ll come around. The Forsters must have really shaken her up."
"Maybe I was right. She doesn’t want you to go through what she did."
"Yeah… Maybe you were right. This once."
"Hah…"
They came apart only to close the distance again, lips soft and warm. How did it always feel like no time had passed at all, every time they kissed? It was like this — this thing they shared — was timeless. Removed from life; its own entity, a universal constant.
The door rattled as they bounced against it, leaned into each other, melted together, felt each other with everything they had — smelling of grass and fire and pie and pear jam; always with the pear jam. Porco didn’t know anyone else who smelled like that. Only him; this person of his. Porco’s own, strange, wonderful, uptight yet brave, pear jam-smelling person. With his cold hands and his hot mouth.
They came apart again when they were out of breath — finding each other only more red-eyed and wet-cheeked. They had to laugh at their own tears. Because what were they crying for? This was it. This was finally, finally it: Their beginning — together.
"You saved my brother," Colt whispered, "for me."
Porco kissed him on the cheek. "Of course I did."
Of course I did it for you.
"Thank you."

That night they made love the way Porco had always pictured it: with no haste, no hard shower tiles, no punches or pleas for him to choke his lover blue. No anger. No: just the two of them under the covers. Skin on skin, mouths with time to explore. Shivers under each other’s fingertips. Colt’s moans in his ear, soft and gentle, as Porco topped — not to dominate, but to give of himself.
Not a single time did Colt ask him to be rougher, not a single time was there a taste of bitterness or desperation.
Just love.
The way Porco had always pictured it.
The stars were out when they laid down to breathe. Staring out the window with one arm around Colt’s broad shoulders, Porco hummed. He didn’t know the melody; it just came to him.
Maybe his heart was singing.

Chapter Text

854

His mother was reaching for her neck again. But again, her thin fingers caught only air; her necklace was back at home — in the bowl with the keys since a few hours ago. The dinner was over with and Colt hadn’t expected her to ask him to accompany her anywhere, but she had. It had been important, she’d said. And he’d obliged.
"…Ah," she said, and her hand fell.
He’d understood where they were going half-way there. Now, in the orange of the setting sun, Colt watched his mother grasp for her pearls again and realize — again — that she was free of them. Or maybe they were lost? He wasn’t sure. Either way, he took her hand and followed her gaze down, to the moss-covered stone in the ground. So small and crooked, yet its shadow was so long, it reached all the way to the tips of their shoes where they stood.
"It took some asking around," his mother said. "But I still remember his name… That helped."
D. Vogel
A stranger’s name. Colt felt no resonance at the sight of the engraved letters. And yet… something seemed to fall into place inside of him. Here, at the furthermost spot of the cemetery, reserved for the homeless and forgotten:
D. Vogel
His grandfather.
"He would be happy to know you learned about him in the end."
"Mm…"
"He had such a great singing voice. Did I tell you that? I’d hear him when he trimmed the rose bushes at my window…"
"…"
"… You got your singing voice from him."
Colt squeezed her cold hand. This hand that had stroked his hair so gently as a child — and felt for a fever — and cooled his cheeks after tears. This hand that was so dear to him. And so frail now. "Thank you for taking me here," he said. He wished he’d known, all those times he passed the man outside the shop. That old, homeless man with his lifeless eyes and slumped over shoulders like life had come down on him too hard.
"I shouldn’t have taken so long," his mother whispered. "I wonder,…." Her voice dwindled. She took a long, long breath as the wind played with her hair, as she seemed to re-direct in her mind: "… At the very least, I hope they didn’t show him the door as unceremoniously as they did me."
"Oh?" Colt looked at her. She looked so sunken; the sunset shadows drew dark lines across her face; made her look decades older than she was. Or maybe he just saw her for the first time, for the old, breakable woman she was — and not the domineering judge he’d seen up until today.
"… They used to make me sweep the floors, you know. To ‘atone’ for my mother’s sins, they said. A ‘good girl’ would oblige without moping, they said… The broom was so big and heavy, my arms would ache so bad."
Colt wrapped his arm around her small frame, and she reached up to squeeze the hand at her shoulder.
"…The day they found mom’s diary, they chased me out with that very broom. Whacked me till I was well outside their gates."
"I’m sorry, mom."
"… You know I’d never do that do you, right?"
He frowned. "Of course not, mom."
"Even if I don’t understand your choices, I’d never chase you out like that… We can work things through. Figure out how to work around it…"
"…Around what?"
"This — you and Galliard."
"… I’ll do everything that’s asked of me. You don’t have to worry."
"No… No, I know. You’re right."
Colt kissed the top of her head; didn’t want to challenge her meek acceptance at this moment. It was big enough that she was trying. "Let’s put the flowers down?" He reached for the home-grown tulips in her hands, and together they knelt at the grave of his grandfather — her father — to place them in the moss.
How strange, how finally visiting a grave could feel like letting go.
"Colt…?"
"Hm?"
"Thank you."
"You too, mom…"
On their way back home for the night, Colt felt as light as he’d felt that whole afternoon. It felt like he was finally looking to the future with hope, not dread. He was a war hero, he was honorable, he had the best years ahead of him — he was open to love the man he loved — and nothing could bring him down to earth. Not even a stressed-out errand boy with an issue to meet at HQ first thing tomorrow morning.
All that lacked now, to make the night whole, was a knock at a special man’s door…

*

The first thing that woke him the next morning, was a warm streak of early sun shining through the blinders. The light warmed his forehead till he rose from his sleep, and he opened his eyes to the sight of his beloved strawberry blonde just across the pillow.
Last night had been a wonderful, waking dream. Maybe the sex had been a tad tame, but it had been wonderfully loving. Colt had rarely experiencing Porco so tender; it was precious to get to experience that side of him — this rough, mean man of his, who was truly a teddy, if anything. You just had to get to know him and love him, and he’d show you.
"Morning, sunshine," he whispered, as he watched Porco’s eyelids flutter. He blew on them softly, and they opened.
"What…?"
"Morning."
He watched Porco’s expression go from sleepy confusion, to joy: his eyes warmed and his lips stretch into a smile. "Morning yourself."
They rose on the bed, just looked at each other and laughed. It was the joy in their bellies that tickled them.
"What time is it?"
"Looks like ten past seven," Porco said, looking at the watch at his night stand. He fell back on the bed with a sigh. "Ugh. Let’s sleep another hour."
"I can’t. Zeke wants me in early to deliver my report."
"You and your rigidity."
"It’s important. Also, apparently we’re getting ready to host a special family…?"
"Hm?"
Colt laid down again next to him, chuckled. "I don’t know. Whatever. Hey…"
"Hm?"
He reached out and ran a finger along Porco’s beautiful, angled face. "I don’t know if I’m ready to come out at work yet. Soon, just not yet. Is that ok?"
"Mm."
"I was thinking… When you join the meeting, let’s pretend it’s the first time we see each other today?"
Porco snorted. "Fine." He reached out, too. The both of them caressing each other’s faces gently.
"Something’s different."
"What?" Colt looked at him, watched his hard brows, his intense eyes, his cute button nose. This perfect amalgamation of hard and soft. Oh, how he wished he could stay here in bed with him — this perfect man.
"Can’t you feel it?"
"… Your dick?"
Porco laughed. Truly laughed. He rolled over on top of Colt and leaned down to kiss him. "No, you horny bastard. Luck. I swear, it’s finally looking up for us."
"Luck?"
"Yes!"
Colt huffed under his boyfriend’s weight. "Well, in that case, remember that house you promised me?"
"Do I!" Porco grabbed his sides and Colt felt his touch like electricity. It spread through him like a white hot tree of illuminated branches. Oh, was this luck?
"As soon as this Paradis shenanigans is over with, let’s go house shopping," Porco all but sang.
"… Seriously?"
"Why not? Your mom knows now. My parents do too. Let’s go for it." He peppered Colt’s cheeks with kisses. "We go in, we get the founding titan, we get home, we find a house, we live like kings, baby… Let’s make these last nine years the best!"
These last nine years…
Colt thought about it. Nine. This war had lasted four. A life-time, and still just four. Nine years ago, Porco’s brotherand the others set out to Paradis — and Colt and Porco’s shared solitude had begun a romance like no other.
How long ago nine years was.
How long till nine years from now.
Colt smiled. His stomach tingled. "Yes," he said. "Let’s make the next nine years amazing."
Surely, the best was yet to come...

Chapter Text

White-hot flashes. Pulsing… pulsing…
Crunch—
Branches of light in every direction.
Crunch—

"I can feel it, Colt, it’s truly gone." He was cleansed — that was it. The word for it: cleansed.
He took his lover’s hand in his. Wanted to show him — truly share. "Feel my heart," he whispered, with tears in his eyes. And Colt let him press both their palms to his chest. One on top of the other.
Tha-thump,… tha-thump,… tha-thump…
"Can you feel it, too?"
"Yes."
The room they were in had windows that arched all the way at the top, like a shop’s. No curtain’s yet, but they’d get some soon. It was third floor, after all; no rush.
He wasn’t sure whose smile was wider.
This was all he’d ev—

—Vibrations shook him awake. Looking through what appeared like a slowly expanding keyhole, he saw buildings explode into light above him. Roofs, light, sky. And orange tiles cutting through the air in all directions. Where was he? What was he doing here? Oh, he felt so tired…
Hadn’t he… heard Colt just now?
‘Don’t… scream’?
Oh, ‘don’t scream’!
Paradis!
Zeke!
In an instant, his body was back — but he couldn’t move. All he could do was stare out through the windows of this prison — this sizzling, steaming heap of flesh he was in but couldn’t heal anymore — and try to make sense of everything.
Was Colt ok?
Oh, it hurt…
As the keyhole broadened more and his eyes began to move, he saw titans… No, not just Reiner, the founder and Zeke, but mindless titans.
No…
Oh, no… no no, please… no.
Was he too late? He couldn’t— he couldn’t have been too late?!
‘Let go!! Big brother!!’
‘It’s okay, Falco! Your big brother will never leave your side!!’
He’d heard them, hadn’t he … Like a shout through water, for a second. He didn’t want to put the pieces together, and yet… somehow… he already knew… Like he could feel it, physically. Like a void that didn’t used to be there before, was suddenly there.
It sank in him. Through the sluggishness, into somewhere in his core. Extinguished something there that had always been aflame. Now it was smoke.
Gone…
He couldn’t be… They had so much more life to live.
That house they’d wanted to get?
The nine more years they were supposed to have?
That memory…? The one he’d never seen before…? It had felt so vivid. So real. What was that? That room… With the arched windows and no curtains… And the feeling of being cleansed…
Tha-thump,… tha-thump,… tha-thump…
"Can you feel it, too?"
He wanted that. Why couldn’t they have that? Maybe… if he just… closed his eyes again… he’d wake back up in a bed like that…
… With Colt safe right next to him…
Tha-thump,… tha-thump,… tha-thump…

…Why had it all gone wrong?