Chapter Text
Two letters. That was all he could manage before they started to find him out.
The first time, he’d been negligent; too absorbed in his own thoughts to spare a glance over his shoulder.
He stopped before the mailboxes, hidden away in the dark alcove, knitting his brows at the empty slot. If it were up to him, Bertholdt would need a wagon to wheel his daily load of cards and packages out of there. He sighed, looking over the single envelope in his hands. For now, it was the best he could do.
Reiner sighed, lost in the yellow paper, wondering if he’d made that one a bit too personal. He wasn’t sure Bertholdt knew enough people that could describe his sweet laugh in such painstaking detail.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
He flinched at the sound of the voice, snapping from his pink-tinted thoughts.
Porco stood at the end of the walkway, watching him with an appalled look on his face. Something told Reiner he’d been there for a while; long enough to see him slip the letter into Bertholdt’s mailbox.
“Porco, hold on—”
“Really, Reiner?” He came closer, shoving him out of the way. “I mean, I know you’re an ass, but this is too far.”
He didn’t give Reiner a chance to speak up, snatching the letter from its slot and waving it around as he continued. “Do you seriously think this is funny?”
“Porco—”
“I don’t know if this is your idea of a prank, but,” he scoffed, glaring. “You can’t mess with Bertholdt’s feelings like this. I thought you cared about him enough to realize that.”
“Porco!” He took the letter back, holding it to his chest. “I’m not pranking him!”
His venomous expression melted away, replaced with something far more puzzled. “What?”
“I meant what I said in those letters!” Reiner threw it back into the mailbox. “This one, too!”
Watching Porco blink in surprise, he sighed into his hand, realizing he’d been frustrated enough to let it slip.
“You—” he paused, putting all his effort into stifling a laugh. “You meant all that?”
Reiner crossed his arms and shifted his gaze, falling into a humiliated silence. That, evidently, was the last straw before Porco lost his fight and doubled over.
He pressed a hand to his forehead, bending backward as if he felt faint. “Oh, Bertholdt,” he leaned against Reiner’s shoulder, pitching his voice to sound higher. “Have I ever told you how your eyes sparkle?”
Reiner stepped back, making him stumble. “I did not write that.”
“Right, that’s true,” that grin he wore was enough to make Reiner shudder. “You wrote far worse. And you can’t spell for shit.”
“Yeah, okay,” he said flatly, looking Porco in the eyes. He raised an eyebrow, smile widening at Reiner’s defeated tone.
“Just— don’t tell anyone. Especially not your big-mouthed older brother.”
“Calm down, I won't tell,” he glanced at the letter, holding in another laugh at the sight. “I’ll leave that honor to you.”
“How generous,” Reiner muttered, hanging his head as Porco passed him by. He swore he heard the man snickering to himself all the way back to his dorm.
The second time, he’d merely been exhausted, folded over on a table in the meeting room.
He blinked against the low light, digging his head out from its spot against his arms. It was the rustling of pages that tore him from a much-needed nap.
“Morning.”
Reiner turned to the sound of the voice. Annie sat atop the table, legs crossed, flipping through the book he’d been reading.
“Can’t say I’m surprised. You could never come up with stuff like that on your own.”
Before he could question her, she slid the book over for his weary eyes to see; it was open to a page he’d dog-eared earlier.
“‘If I were an artist, the sight of you could inspire me for decades,’” she spoke it aloud as he gleaned the sentence for himself. It was a line directly from his second letter; the one he joyfully witnessed being read aloud at breakfast the other week. “Sound familiar to you?”
Reiner buried his face back into his arms, cursing the author of that damned book. Annie was right; he couldn’t write anything worthy of Bertholdt’s attention to save his life. So what if he needed to draw a little inspiration from somewhere?
She flipped the book closed and pushed off her perch on the table. “If you don’t tell him, I will.” The door creaked open, barely masking the laugh she let out. “Eventually.”
He groaned, sinking deeper against his sleeves. If this was the price he had to pay for plagiarizing, then so be it.
The third time, he’d only been trying to lend a helping hand.
He caught Pieck on her way out, stopping beside her as she wrapped a woolen scarf around her neck. From the window, he could see snow falling in heaps; it’d been like this for hours now.
“Where are you going?” He asked, watching her cast a wistful look at the wintery scape outside.
“Just down to the pharmacy. I need to pick up my dad’s medicine,” she tugged on the sleeves of her jacket, holding them in place over her palms. “I was gonna go earlier, but I got busy.”
He hummed as she reached for the doorknob. “Do you want some company?”
Pieck froze, hand suspended in midair, turning to meet him with a smile. “Yes, please. Thank you, sweetheart.”
With the wind fervently whipping them backward, it was colder than Reiner had expected. As they crunched through the freezing snow, Pieck hunched in on herself, pulling the scarf up to her eyes.
Reiner frowned at the sight, realizing his coat was definitely big enough to fit over hers.
“Here,” he squinted against a gust of air, slipping it off his shoulders. “Take mine.”
She gratefully accepted the coat, wrapping it over herself and sighing into the collar. They walked on in silence, faces obscured by wool, looking under their feet to avoid slipping.
As the pharmacy’s entry sign came into view, Pieck suddenly stopped behind him.
He turned to her, caught in the light of a glowing lamppost, watching her eyes widen at the envelope she’d pulled from the coat pocket. His coat pocket.
A cloud of steam poured from his mouth as he sighed, not bothering to come up with an excuse.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t see anything,” she slipped his letter back into the pocket, winking as she caught up to him. “Keep walking.”
The fourth time, he didn’t realize it until much later.
The letter Pieck discovered was clad in the last set of stationery he had. With his remaining free time that day, he hurried into town, bound for the craft supply store.
He held the paper bag in the crook of his arm, lost in the scenery at his sides. While passing through a familiar neighborhood, however, he spotted an equally familiar face and broke into a grin.
He waved, coming to an abrupt stop in the middle of the sidewalk. “Mister Hoover!”
The man looked up from his watering can, then dropped it off in the bushes as he realized who was calling to him.
“Reiner!” He staggered out of his flowerbeds, beckoning him over. “Come here, my boy. Let me see you!”
Reiner’s smile grew as he followed the paved path up through the grass. The story with his family was no secret; naturally, Bertholdt’s father knew of his situation. Though he never brought it up, ever since Reiner was young, the man treated him as his own son.
Always, Reiner was welcomed into their home. He’d taken the time to learn and perfect Reiner’s favorite foods, setting them on the table beside Bertholdt’s. He stood with Reiner in their bathroom mirror, showing him just how to lather his face and shave without nicking himself.
In all those years, nothing had changed. He stood with a warm smile, holding his arms out like he had before; like Reiner was still the little boy with scraped knees, not quite reaching past his waist.
Though he stood taller than Mister Hoover now, he still set his paper bag down on the doorstep and met his embrace. Reiner knew all the thanks in the world could never repay all he’d done for him.
“What’re you doing out here?” He pulled away, squeezing Reiner’s shoulder. “Looking for Bertholdt?”
“No, no, he should be back at the dorms. I was just doing some—”
He was interrupted by the sound of his bag smacking against the ground.
“You,” he sighed, watching his freshly bought stationery cascade onto the doorstep. “Always causing trouble, hm?” Crouching down, he began to stow it back in the bag.
“I thought you’d grown out of it, Butterbrot.” He ruffled the fur on the cat’s head, earning an irritated meow; out of all the Hoovers, he was easily the least fond of Reiner.
He abandoned his spot of sunlight beside the door and retreated inside. “Don’t get all mad,” Reiner called after him, watching his tail disappear around the corner. “You’re the one who knocked it over!” He laughed to himself, standing back up and cradling his paper bag anew.
Reiner turned to Mister Hoover, expecting him to click his tongue and chastise his cat for being such a troublemaker like always. Oddly enough, he stayed silent, eyes drawn to the doorstep. His arms were crossed and he wore a curious look on his face; eyebrows raised over a knowing smile.
“So, you’re headed back to HQ?” He asked finally, gaze flickering to the paper bag.
Reiner sighed, looking out at the setting sun. “Yeah, I should get going. It’s late.”
He merely hummed, patting Reiner on the shoulder. “Say ‘hi’ to Bertholdt for me, will you?”
“Of course,” Reiner called out as he headed back to the sidewalk, waving his farewell in blissful ignorance.
That night, just before he drifted off to sleep, his eyes shot open with realization. Mister Hoover’s unusual expression started making perfect sense; evidently, he’d seen those envelopes somewhere before.
It was all that damn cat’s fault.
The fifth time, however, he only had himself to blame.
He’d been in charge of overseeing training that day. After the final exercise ended, he lost a battle to four pairs of tired, pouting eyes. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the candidates and took on the responsibility of cleaning up on his own.
Porco had passed by at the wrong time, forced to grapple with his conscience and decide whether or not to lend a hand. It seemed he, too, lost his own battle, watching Reiner hunch over to pick up splintered wooden targets.
Despite helping without being asked, purely of his own volition, he managed to complain the entire time.
“I don’t remember anyone cleaning up after us when we were in training,” he griped, piling the chipped wood to the side. “You go way too easy on them.”
Reiner hummed, thinking back to the dozens of times Porco had done the very same thing. “Right. You try telling them ‘no’ next time.”
He earned a scoff in return, then the usual spiel regarding Porco’s bad back. Before reaching his favorite part about his suspected irreversible nerve damage, he was interrupted by a voice coming down the hill.
“Reiner! Just the man I wanted to see!”
They turned to see Marcel, waving with a grin on his face, not watching where he was going. He tripped over the pile of splintered targets Porco had so tirelessly collected, just barely catching his footing to avoid falling into the frosted grass.
“Who would put that there?” He muttered to himself, oblivious to his brother’s menacing glare at his side.
Reiner spoke up hurriedly, before Porco had a chance to unleash his wrath. “You were looking for me?”
“Oh, right,” he stepped closer, kicking the wood out of the way and scattering it further. “I’ve been doing some thinking.”
Behind him, Porco snatched up a piece of wood and tapped it against his head, making a hollow sound with his mouth. “That’s never a good sign.”
“No, you guys, seriously,” he ripped it from Porco’s hand and jabbed him in the chest. “I’ve made a striking discovery.”
“We’re listening,” Reiner insisted, shifting his attention away from Porco’s skeptical expression.
“Okay, stick with me,” he gestured with his hands, glancing between them as he paused.
“I think I’ve figured out who’s writing Bertholdt those letters.”
After exchanging a brief panic-stricken look with Porco, Reiner mustered up a response over his pounding heart. With the smirk plastered over his face and the fact that Reiner was ‘just the man he wanted to see,’ it wasn’t out of the question that Marcel had figured him out. “Um— what makes you say that?”
Marcel set a hand on his hip, taking in the surprise on their faces before continuing. “Remember that fundraiser last month?”
They nodded; this time, the look they exchanged hinged on confusion.
“And you know how Annie’s always making Bertholdt dance with her to scare other guys off from asking?”
They nodded again, wondering where this was headed.
“Well, I was standing at the buffet, eating my third piece of cake— you know, the one with the blackberries— and Annie was at it again.”
Growing impatient, Porco let out a sigh. “Would you get to the point?”
“I was, quit interrupting,” Marcel nudged him with his elbow, picking up again. “Anyway, while I’m standing there, this lady comes up to me out of nowhere,” he paused, holding a finger up. “And you’ll never guess what she asked me.”
“No, never,” Porco quipped, gesturing for him to get on with it.
He leaned in, whispering with a hand cupped around his mouth. “She asked if Bertholdt and Annie were a thing,” he stood back proudly. “I trust you two realize what that means.”
Taking pity on the grimace Reiner failed to hide, Porco spoke for him. “Why don’t you enlighten us?”
Marcel raised an eyebrow, puzzled by their lack of enthusiasm. “Come on, it means she likes him! She’s got to be the one sending him letters!”
“You don’t know that,” Porco quickly retorted; Reiner wasn’t sure if he was trying to keep the secret or just wanted to prove his brother wrong. “She could’ve been making small talk. Or maybe she asked because she was interested in Annie.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Pock,” he scoffed. “I know what I saw. It was definitely Bertholdt she was eyeing all night.”
Before Porco could get another word in, he continued.
“So, naturally, I did some digging. Turns out, she works in the capitol building.”
Porco met Reiner’s look of horror. “You found out where she works?”
“Well, yeah. I can’t let just anyone date our Bertholdt,” Marcel rolled his eyes as if he’d done the most sensible thing in the world. “Luckily, this one’s a total catch.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Porco ventured into his rebuttal. “Marcel, I really don’t think she’s—”
“Now, Reiner, here’s where you come in,” he interrupted, turning his attention. “You know Bertholdt better than anyone. If we were to, hypothetically, set up a first date, where would he want to go?”
“Oh— I’m not really sure,” his voice trailed off as he shifted his gaze to the ground, away from Marcel’s disappointed expression. Of course, the true answer was second nature; Bertholdt would want something planned in advance, at a familiar spot, no longer than two and a half hours, and starting no later than six o’clock at night.
“Marcel, it’s not her. Trust me,” Porco took a step toward him, speaking through gritted teeth to emphasize his certainty.
“How would you know?”
“I just know.”
“You ‘just know?’” He crossed his arms. “Well, forgive me for going off actual logic instead of your weird hunch.” Marcel nudged Reiner, snapping him back to their conversation. “Come on, think a little, man. This is Bertholdt’s happiness we’re talking about.”
“Would you lay off, already?” Not bothering to take offense, Porco jumped back in. “God, it’s like reasoning with a brick wall.”
“I’m the brick wall?”
Reiner could feel his patience wearing thin with each passing second, listening to the two bicker on and on. Eventually, true to his persistent nature, Marcel circled back to his theory about Bertholdt’s secret admirer. Clearly more determined to win the argument than defend Reiner’s honor, Porco continued to raise his voice over Marcel’s far-fetched ideas.
One step away from banging his head against the ground, Reiner felt something inside him snap as Marcel described, for the fourth time, why the woman he met was a perfect match for Bertholdt.
“For the love of God, enough already!”
His sudden outburst was plenty to rip them away from their heated debate.
“It’s not her, Marcel!” His mind spun, watching their matching expressions, overwhelmed with a sense of deja vu. “It’s me! I’m the one who wrote the letters!”
He could almost see the gears turning in Marcel’s brain, processing his confession. Porco merely sighed into his hand.
“Reiner, you—” he cut off, shaking his head. A disappointed look crossed his face.
“I don’t think that’s a very funny prank. I know you two are close, but something like this isn’t harmless.”
His sudden shift into a mature demeanor made Reiner’s eye twitch.
“Do you two idiots share a brain, or something?” He looked between them, in disbelief that he was having this conversation a second time. “I’m not pranking him! I’m in love with him!”
Once again, a few moments passed before Marcel’s mind caught up; in the meantime, Porco sunk deeper into the palm of his hand, realizing his efforts toward guarding Reiner’s secret had all gone to waste.
Finally, a grin worked its way onto Marcel’s face. He let out a sigh, as if reminiscing on a distant memory.
“I remember when you were only this big,” he said wistfully, gesturing a few feet off the ground. Before Reiner could get a word in, he reached up to pinch his cheek. “And you had such a round little face. Now, look at you—”
“Your face was just as round,” he swiped Marcel’s hand away. “We’re the same age!” That, clearly, didn’t stop him, and he continued to talk over Reiner.
“—all grown up, in love,” he cut off, watching Reiner rub his cheek with widening eyes.
“Oh my God! You’re in love with Bertholdt!”
Reiner cringed at the sudden increase in volume, hanging his head as Marcel continued to gush.
“Why don’t you say it a little louder?” Porco called out over him, nodding off toward the dorm building. “I don’t think Bertholdt could hear you.”
“Oh, would you quit your grumbling for five minutes?” Marcel slung an arm over his shoulders. “Reiner’s in love, and it’s—” he paused, taking in the indifference in his brother’s expression.
“Wait a minute, you already knew?” He stepped back, offended, glancing between Porco and Reiner. “And you didn’t tell me? Your own brother?”
As they started up again, Reiner decided to take his leave. Marcel surely didn’t notice him slipping by, too preoccupied with the injustice of never being told anything.
Finally, the sixth time, like all the other times, he’d just been a fool.
He’d been tucked away at his desk for hours, plowing through paperwork he’d neglected for weeks. Occasionally, as his eyelids began to droop, he snuck longing glances at the empty bed across the room. Then he’d return to his dwindling, overly-sugared coffee and force himself to get back on task.
Unpalatable as it was, he knew if he’d drink it all he’d have an excuse to get up and pour himself some more. When the fateful moment finally came, he gratefully snatched the empty mug and took his time meandering down the hallway.
He came to a stop at the window, feeling the steady cold seep through the glass. A smile grew over his tired expression, attention grabbed by a sudden shout from the lawn. He watched the four candidates trail up the hill from the field with Gabi as their eager leader, all waving with their arms outstretched.
Reiner could share in their enthusiasm, looking out to see who they ran to; finally, Bertholdt was back from his mission. He abandoned his mug on the windowsill without a second thought, resigning himself to finish his work later that night.
By the time he reached the porch on the second floor, Bertholdt’s arms were occupied by Gabi and Udo. Zofia stood off to the side, seemingly awaiting her turn. Falco, ever the sensible one, eyed them critically; like always, his suggestion that they let Bertholdt rest was falling on deaf ears. Again, Reiner could somehow sympathize with all four of them at once.
“Gabi,” Reiner called out, leaning against the railing. “Tone it down a little. You’re strangling him.”
“Am not!” She retorted, glaring as if he were unwelcome company. Still dangling off his neck, she turned back to Bertholdt’s ever-so-slightly purple face. “I’m not right?” Reiner couldn’t hold back a laugh, watching as he shook his head and hastily leaned forward to set her down.
As he came down the stairs to the lawn, Udo was giving an in-depth overview of his shooting progress since Bertholdt’s departure. He nodded between each sentence, pausing to voice his pride in the boy’s improved skill. By then, Zofia was hanging off his arm and Falco was still beaming over the pats he’d gotten on his head.
“Well, it’s about time,” Reiner sighed, cutting in the middle of Udo’s speech. “I swear, they delay those trains on purpose.”
Bertholdt rolled his shoulders and adjusted the strap of his bag. “Right. I think they do it just to spite you.” Reiner could feel his more of his strength leech away with each passing moment; the sight of Bertholdt rubbing his weary eyes was enough to drive his heart into a frenzy.
Unlike most of them, Bertholdt could usually manage to fall asleep on the train. Every time Reiner was lucky enough to travel alongside him, he’d insist on the window seat so Bertholdt would drift off on his shoulder. Then, he couldn’t care less where he was headed nor how long he would stay there. All that occupied his mind was a gentle cadence of breathing over the rumbling train.
Watching him stifle a yawn, Reiner shook the thought from his mind. Even if he’d gotten some rest on his trip home, it seemed he was already gearing up for round two.
“Come on, Bertl. You look like you’re about to fall asleep where you’re standing.” Reiner gave him a soft push toward the stairs, stepping between him and Gabi.
“No, not yet!” She tugged on his arm. “He’s taking us to get pastries first!”
Catching the puzzled look that flashed over Bertholdt’s face, Reiner wasn’t all that convinced.
“Does Bertholdt know he’s taking you to get pastries?”
“He does now,” Bertholdt spoke through a sigh, though he couldn’t help but smile at the pleading eyes looking up to him.
Reiner shook his head, knowing he was largely to blame for spoiling them. He couldn’t take all the blame, however; Bertholdt was just as guilty for molding them into four little monsters.
“I guess I’ll have to go too, then,” he crossed his arms, surveying his audience.
Gabi mirrored his pose, kicking the side of his leg. “No one invited you.”
“I don’t need your invitation,” he stepped away, dodging her second blow. “Besides, I don’t have a choice. Someone has to make sure you all don’t take advantage of Bertholdt’s kindness.”
“My hero,” Bertholdt covered his mouth, speaking monotonously through another yawn. He slipped his hands under the straps of his bag. “Let me just set this in our room. I’ll be right back.”
“Grab my wallet while you’re up there,” Reiner called after him, watching him turn. “It’s in the top drawer of my desk.”
“Reiner, it’s okay, I can—”
“Don’t you start. You paid last time.” He waved his hand, cutting Bertholdt off. “Let me treat you for once.”
The lengthy, defeated sigh he let out was enough to tell Reiner he’d won. He smiled to himself, following Bertholdt up the stairs with his eyes. Beside him, the candidates planned out their bakery orders and weighed each option with careful consideration.
They were quick to grow impatient, complaining as they kicked frozen chunks of old snow around the grass. Reiner couldn’t exactly blame them; Bertholdt was taking an awfully long time.
“Where in the world is he?” Gabi tapped her foot, eyeing the dorm’s entrance.
“Give him a second, will you?” Udo rushed to defend him, speaking in a critical tone. “Maybe he wants to change his clothes or something.”
Reiner tuned out their bickering until it came to a sudden end; at once, their debate was cut off by the sound of a door swinging open. Gabi forgot all about her troubles and beckoned Bertholdt over, reaching for his hand to pull him along.
Before he was tugged into oblivion, Reiner caught him by the shoulder. “Did you get my wallet?”
Bertholdt turned to him slowly. “Hm?” He hummed, eyeing Reiner’s hand with wide eyes; he seemed to shrink under the touch. Perhaps it was the evening sun tinting his cheeks pink.
“My wallet?” Reiner asked again, slower this time.
Wordlessly, Bertholdt dug it from his pocket and held it out. Reiner drew his brows together, noticing the way he quickly averted his gaze as their hands brushed over one another. His sleepy mood from earlier was all but gone; now, he almost seemed flustered by something.
Save for an absentminded remark in response to one of the candidates’ gloating, he stayed silent during their trip to the bakery. Without fail, when Reiner looked to him, his eyes were peeled forward, hiding whatever thoughts coursed through his mind. Though Reiner must’ve leaned in to ask if he was alright a dozen times, for whatever reason, it only seemed to make matters worse.
He trailed after them toward the back of the group, indifferent to the chiming entry bell and Gabi’s enthusiastic greeting. She rushed to take her place first in line, swiping Reiner’s wallet and insisting on ordering all by herself.
He hung back, watching them press their fingers to the glass display case, much to the clerk’s dismay. Rather than giving them a lecture on good manners, Reiner was too preoccupied by Bertholdt’s continued silence and far-off gaze.
When it was finally their turn to order, Reiner nudged him with an elbow. That finally got his attention; he straightened up, clasping his hands behind his back.
Deciding not to question it again, Reiner merely gestured to the pastries on display. “You want your usual pineapple bun?”
Bertholdt opened his mouth to say something, then opted for a simple nod instead. Like before, he couldn’t hold Reiner’s gaze for more than a few seconds.
By the time they shuffled over to the table Gabi reserved, all four of them had finished off their pastries; some even had the gall to ask for seconds. Reiner forked his wallet over without protest, overly concerned by the eerily blank expression sitting across from him. He mulled over everything he’d said and done in the past hour, wondering if he was somehow to blame for Bertholdt’s odd behavior. Reiner couldn’t chalk this up as him merely being tired; in fact, he looked more awake than ever.
After eating their fill, the candidates blocked off the exit doors and launched into a four way rock-paper-scissors tournament. The stakes were immensely high; the winner would earn a ticket to sit on Bertholdt’s back as they walked home. Half of Liberio must’ve heard of Udo’s victory, considering the shout he let out as he won the final match against Zofia.
The others eyed him with envy as Bertholdt caught him in midair; that, finally, brought a smile to his previously troubled face. As Udo drifted off against his shoulder, however, he seemed to retreat back into his thoughts.
Udo was the last to be dropped off at his persistent request, scraping up a grin as he waved the two of them goodbye. Unsurprisingly, Bertholdt continued his strike of silence all throughout their journey to headquarters. Sometimes, it almost seemed like he was getting ready to speak, deciding what words to use and the order to say them in; each time, he’d cut off before starting.
Reiner sighed to himself, pushing open the gate and holding it for him. The ‘thank you’ Bertholdt muttered was the first thing he’d said to him since they left.
The realization weighed heavily on him; It must’ve been something he did that offended Bertholdt. Otherwise, he would’ve spoken up instead of trying to spare Reiner’s feelings.
As they trailed into their room, Bertholdt stuck behind in the corner, fiddling with his coat before finally hanging it up. Reiner pushed past a heavy heart, hoping he’d feel comfortable enough to reveal what bothered him come morning. He wouldn’t make it worse by pressing Bertholdt to talk.
He fished his wallet from his pocket, reaching to stow it away in his drawer. “Are you going to use the shower?”
“Oh— yes,” Bertholdt shot him a look, then settled on the half-open desk drawer and fell back into silence.
“Alright, go ahead. I’ll just shower in the—”
The rest of his sentence died in his throat, wilting away with the rest of him.
After talking with Bertholdt about their shared disbelief in love at first sight, he decided he’d stop sending those letters. Bertholdt didn’t care for them, and besides, he’d said everything he needed to already; the rest was just fluff, half-stolen from a sappy romance novel.
Coincidentally, he’d been in the middle of his fifth letter that night. He merely shoved it away into his drawer and forgot all about it.
At least, until it reared its ugly head again, staring up at him from the top of his desk drawer. The very desk drawer Bertholdt had opened a few hours ago in search of his wallet. At his own foolish request, no less.
On the bright side, the mystery regarding Bertholdt’s sudden change of mood was solved.
“Okay,” Reiner took a deep breath, still lost in his sloppy cursive handwriting. “Well, I’m guessing you saw this.”
Bertholdt hummed affirmatively, rocking on his feet before coming up behind Reiner. Mercifully, he was wearing a smile when Reiner turned to face him.
“Thank you, Reiner. It was really nice of you to write them for me, but you can stop now,” his gaze turned downcast; he almost looked sad now, caught in the dim glow of a desk lamp.
“I know what you were trying to do.”
That, out of everything, was not the response he was expecting.
“What I was trying to do?” Reiner drew his brows together, taking a step closer. “What do you mean?”
Bertholdt looked over his shoulder, catching sight of the yellow paper still peeking out from the drawer. “You’re always talking about how I need to be more confident,” his voice quieted. “This was your way of helping with that, right?”
Reiner blinked, dumbfounded. Porco and Marcel were one thing, but Bertholdt didn’t get it, either?
Though this was the perfect opportunity to cover his tracks and take back all the ridiculous things he wrote in those letters, he knew Bertholdt deserved better than some cowardly lie. Whether he felt the same or not, Reiner needed him to understand, more than anything, that he was worthy of someone else’s love.
“No, Bertholdt. You’re wrong,” he took his hand on instinct, thanking his lucky stars Bertholdt didn’t pull away. “I meant all of it.”
“All of it?” He echoed, seemingly running through every stupid, lovesick line in his mind.
His disbelieving tone made Reiner’s chest tighten. It also told him he’d been right to send those letters.
“I only meant to write the one, but— I got carried away,” he laughed, squeezing their hands closer together. “I know they were a little over-the-top.”
“Not at all,” Bertholdt spoke through a smile, sarcastic as ever.
Reiner kept his eyes drawn fervently to the floor before he was reduced to a puddle at his feet; one look at that face would be plenty to send his already-racing heart flying out of his chest. He was relieved he hadn’t made Bertholdt uncomfortable, but he hadn’t exactly expected to be met with such a cheeky tone.
He needed to wrap this up quickly before one of two disasters happened. If he was lucky, his knees would give out from all the blood rushing to his head and that’d be the end of that. Or, much worse, he’d yank Bertholdt down by his loosely knotted tie, pulling him into the kiss he’d dreamed of for a humiliating length of time.
“Just— yeah, it was a lot, so—” his mouth went dry; he didn’t need to look up to know how those eyes studied him. “You don’t have to respond now. Or ever, if you don’t want to. I just wanted you to know.”
He started leaning toward the knees-giving-out option as Bertholdt started rubbing his knuckles absently. “Thank you, Reiner.”
“Right. Sure,” he swung their hands back and forth, still lost in the wooden planks. “So, now that you do know, we can just— um, forget this happened.”
“But I don’t want to forget,” Bertholdt laughed, presumably at his rushed, stumbling tone. “It made me happy.”
What the hell was he wearing a tie for, anyway? Hadn’t he been riding around on a train all day? Reiner buried his free hand deep into his pocket.
“Okay, then, we can acknowledge it happened, stay the best of friends, and never speak of it again. How’s that?”
He laughed again. “I can live with that.”
As the words left his mouth, Bertholdt craned his neck downward, aligning their eyes against Reiner’s will. The overwhelming sight of his dimpled, lopsided grin unlocked a secret third option Reiner hadn’t previously anticipated.
He stared forward, stunned into silence, neglecting to breathe as his face grew to superhuman temperatures; he could guess, by then, he’d turned every shade of pink and red imaginable to top it all off.
The feeling certainly didn’t subside as Bertholdt pulled their hands apart to graze his cheek, then leaned forward to press a soft kiss where his fingertips had been. He took his sweet time, reveling in Reiner’s gawking expression before tearing his gaze away at last.
Bertholdt settled on the open drawer over his shoulder. “Do you mind if I keep that one, too?”
If it weren’t for his pounding heart, he would’ve thought this was all a dream.
“It’s all yours.”
Bertholdt reached around him, looking over the sunny yellow stationery, smile widening as he read each line. Just when Reiner thought he’d gotten the chance to catch his breath and recover, Bertholdt met his eyes again.
“You sure you don’t want to finish it?”
Reiner wondered if he’d been a little too nice in those letters.
“Oh my God, Bertholdt,” he gave up, burying his burning face in his hands, melting over the sweet laughter playing out beside him. “Weren’t you going to take a shower?”
He was overwhelmingly relieved to hear footsteps walking away from him, peeking through his fingers as Bertholdt stowed the incomplete letter in his own desk.
Watching him shut the drawer, Reiner lowered his arms and crossed them over his chest. “What’re you even keeping it for? I thought you didn’t like them.”
Bertholdt turned away. His voice was soft, scarcely audible under his breath. “Only because I didn’t know who they were from.”
The bathroom door shut before Reiner could begin to consider what he meant. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, fingers pressed to his cheek.
In the end, he smiled to himself, listening to the song Bertholdt was humming, how he stopped and started again in search of the right note.
If nothing else, Reiner had accomplished his goal. Bertholdt was happy.
And, the kiss he’d gotten out of it wasn’t bad, either.