Ah, good, his ploy was successful. Bertolt winces a little as unfamiliar straps, broken in in the wrong places, adjusted for someone else's body, cut into his chest and sides as they yank on them, but it doesn't last long. He lets his head loll against Reiner's shoulder, and now that he's given in to his exhaustion, it's hard to imagine a time when he wasn't this tired. He nods, faintly, and slings one arm around Reiner's neck. They've done this before; he knows how to hold on.

Seems like all he ever does is hold on to Reiner.