Chapter Text
It seemed that, in every facet of life, Porco Galliard had one leg up over Reiner. The most recent instance being him openly flirting with the receptionist that Reiner had been crushing on from afar since the start of the year. It was as if two decades of destroying Reiner in every single athletic and academic competition wasn’t enough — he had to one-up Reiner’s love life as well.
He doesn’t even work here, Reiner thought bitterly, shifting uncomfortably on one foot. Porco had come to pick him up from work (Reiner’s car was in repair), and only rushed up to the office for a short bathroom break.
Those five minutes proved fatal.
As they were on their way out, Porco had stopped in his steps when Bertholdt looked up from the reception desk — one hand tucked under his chin — and bade them a good night.
Reiner blamed himself, really. He had made the mistake of telling Porco about the gay situation in his office. He dubbed it a “situation”, because just a few months ago, a rumor had spread like wildfire through the office that the new receptionist was seen in the only gay club in town.
“It’s true,” Connie had whispered. “He was drinking with a guy.”
Mina tutted. “Why is it always the cute ones?”
“And why are you even in a gay club, Connie?” Thomas jeered, slapping the boy upside the head.
Connie had looked up sheepishly, rubbing his head. “I was on a night out with Sasha and Mina, okay? They insisted.”
Reiner had cleared his throat and chuckled nervously. “I don’t think this is any of our business, guys.”
His words, of course, were completely ignored. Reiner had always known he worked for a toxic waste of a company, with a bunch of juvenile fools, in a dying industry (who the hell still buys office supplies from salesmen when there’s online giants?). But the stability of the job had kept him hunched in his tiny cubicle for the past 2 years. Well — stable, until the day his clients figured out how to use a damn website.
The whispers about Bertholdt had continued until, like a game of telephone, the news morphed into something entirely different for the person at the far end of the line. That poor soul was Jean Kirschstein, who heard that Bertholdt came out to the office on the day that Jean was out sick, and that Jean had to say something to Bertholdt as a gesture of empathy.
It was a cringeworthy, painful sight. Jean had held up his fist for Bertholdt to bump while saying: “I think it’s really cool that you’re gay, man.” He nodded unsurely, fist left hanging in the air. “Like really, really cool.”
Reiner suspected Eren had something to do with this development. He had to pull Jean aside from further embarrassing himself (“It was just a rumor, idiot.”), and immediately after, he had to stop Jean from literally attempting to throttle Eren. His suspicions were confirmed.
Of course, HR caught wind of it, and they deservedly received a two-hour meeting about diversity inclusion that concluded with their regional manager screaming some sense into them. It was the only time that Reiner approved of Shadis’s long, military-like rants.
Bertholdt was reportedly given a generous time off and some undisclosed settlement. Reiner thought he would quit and never come back, seeing as there must be a hundred other small offices out there that needed receptionists, even in a small town like this. But Bertholdt had taken a few days off (during which Jean begrudgingly took over reception duty), and came back to the office on Monday without so much as a scowl.
In fact, he had accepted the office’s mass apology with a slight blush, which warmed Reiner’s heart to the core.
“It’s alright,” Bertholdt had said — in that warm, polite tone he always used to greet visitors. “I don’t imagine coming out this way, but I am out.” He gave a glance that was a small glint of warning. “As long as you all have learned your lesson.”
The office mumbled their assent, and later that day Bertholdt actually caught Reiner alone in the break room and thanked him for his role in diffusing the situation. Reiner thought that would’ve been the perfect time for himself to come out, to let Bertholdt know that he understands, that he thought Bertholdt has the most gorgeous green eyes — and that he really didn’t need to fax so many documents in one day, he just wanted to go behind the reception counter where the machine was and see Bertholdt better —
Well. They always say hindsight is 20/20.
In reality, Reiner had laughed a throaty “No problem!”, slapped Bertholdt on the back, and cringed at himself afterwards. He wanted to put his head in the microwave.
Now, he realized that telling Porco about the incident was definitely a mistake, because his friend had easily identified the receptionist as the openly gay receptionist, and therefore possibly receptive to his flirtations. Then again, Porco was the kind of guy who would unabashedly hit on anything — it had won his family’s business a lot of clients.
“Bertholdt, right?” Porco said, leaning against the reception counter.
Bertholdt had blinked, clearly not expecting this. But he smiled, as always, and tapped his desk name plate. “Guilty.”
Porco laughed — a fake one, Reiner could tell, but otherwise unnoticeable and charming to strangers. “Reiner’s told me about you.”
For a split second, Bertholdt looked nervous. His mossy green eyes caught Reiner’s. “Did he?” He added, quickly: “Good things, I hope?”
“Very good things,” Porco said. “But he didn’t tell me how good you look.”
The blush was unmistakable, even on Bertholdt’s olive-toned skin. Somewhere in Accounting, a woman audibly gasped. Porco continued, undeterred: “No wonder you’re the face of the office. I would’ve visited a lot more often.” Porco had the gall to throw Reiner a cheeky grin. “I hope your car never gets fixed.”
“Ha ha,” Reiner said, grimly. His brain suddenly whirred back into functionality after the inital shock at Porco’s brazenness. Somehow he never got used to it. “Come on, we can’t keep Marcel and Pieck waiting. And I’m sure Bertholdt wants to get back to work.” He nodded amiably, signaling that this was Bertholdt’s way out.
The receptionist blinked, and jumped into action: gathering stray papers on his desk and stacking them absently. “Uh. Yes — I have some calls to return, and…” His voice faltered.
That was, unfortunately, the perfect segue to Porco’s final move. Without missing a beat, he plucked a pen from Bertholdt’s desk and the post-it note stickied to the reception phone. It was a neat, bulleted list of to-dos. Porco scrawled his number at the bottom, and plastered the note back onto the phone, pressing along the glued edge with one finger. He smirked. “Looks like you do have at least one more call to make.”
Reiner could swear he heard Mina exclaim in a muted scream: “Oh. My. God!”
“Porco,” Reiner warned. Thankfully; this time, his friend obeyed and stepped back from the desk. Bertholdt was starting to break sweat.
Reiner pushed him out the front door, but it didn’t stop Porco from turning around and giving Bertholdt one final wink. There was definitely an uproar of cheers the moment the door closed behind them, and he could imagine how many questions Bertholdt would get from the girls.
“What were you thinking?” Reiner hissed, stabbing his finger at the elevator button. “That’s my coworker!”
Porco shrugged. “So? It’s not like you’re the one who flirted with him.”
“What if you two don’t work out? You know your track record,” Reiner grumbled.
Porco laughed raucously - his real laugh. “Relax. He probably won’t even call me.”
That was surprising — coming from confident, abrasive, downright cocky Porco Galliard. He decided to say just that: “That kind of humility is shocking, coming from you.”
“Oh Reiner. You don’t get to be a gay man in his 20s, living in a town of buttfuck nowhere, without a few rejections.” They were out of the elevator now, and walking across the parking lot. “Something you probably don’t know of, since you were still decidedly straight up until two years ago.”
Reiner gritted his teeth, remembering his catastrophe of a relationship with Christa, his high school sweetheart. They had turned out to be each other’s beards without realizing it. Porco, on the other hand, had spent a few years after high school in the city — a mere 1-hour drive from them — and had come back “enlightened”, as he put it. He had called out Reiner’s relationship as fake, and Reiner had to begrudgingly give it to Porco for seeing through him.
“Regardless,” Reiner said, back on the topic of Bertholdt. “If he does call you, and you do, err, date—“ He slammed his car door a little too hard, and Porco audibly hissed at the sound of his car being potentially damaged. Reiner thought he deserved it. “It’ll be awkward for me, because I still have to see him.”
Porco started up the car. “Then quit and get another job. You’re always bitching about that place anyways.”
“So your booty call is more important than my livelihood?”
“Stop being dramatic. You know you’re always welcome to work with Marcel and me.” The car peeled out of the parking lot with a lurch, and Reiner found himself gripping at the roof handle. Porco had always been a haphazard driver. “Didn’t you match up Franz from your office with Hannah? How is that different from this?”
Reiner gritted his teeth. “This is different, because you’ve made a spectacle out of it. After all I told you have happened.”
“Hey, all I get from that story is that he’s out.” Porco grinned. “Plus, looks like your coworkers were enjoying the show.”
Reiner stared out of the window sullenly, at a loss for words. He knew, that this was different from when he connected Franz with Hannah, because he wouldn’t have cared too much if his friendship with Franz fizzled had the match not work out. But he would care, a lot, if Bertholdt looked at him in a different light because he was associated with a guy like Porco, a guy who would likely leave Bertholdt in the dust after a couple of nights of fun. And above all that — he couldn’t stand the idea of his friend snagging his crush just like that.
“Don’t tell me,” Porco started. “That you also like this guy?”
Reiner whipped his head around. “I—“
He didn’t even get a word out before Porco erupted into a barking laugh, much rougher than what he had used on Bertholdt. Reiner grimaced. “Is the hot receptionist your gay sexual awakening, Reiner? Have I stepped on your poor toes?”
“Shut up, Porco,” Reiner said sullenly, looking out the window.
“So you’ve just been staring at him this whole time? Never even made a move?” Porco whistled. “You always need me to motivate you, huh?”
“Motivate me? That’s rich,” Reiner scoffed. “All you do is beat me at everything.”
“And that motivates you to be better!” He waved one hand dramatically. “So how about it? A bet? Like the old days?”
Reiner stiffened. Back when he and Porco were younger, they would always bet on who would score better in certain tests, who would run faster in races, who would be first to get the next belt in karate. Porco won most of them, even if only by a hair’s breadth. The bets had come at the cost of Reiner’s toys, lunch money, and even hair once. Porco had shaved his head bald himself, bark-laughing the entire time, while Reiner grimaced. The bets had led to a few heated scuffles between them too. Marcel would begrudgingly separate them every time, until the older boy finally sat them down and barked an ultimatum that the bets had to stop right then and there.
It was a complicated friendship.
While the idea of going back to their long-winded rivalry lit up a dormant competitive spirit within Reiner, somehow he didn’t feel right doing it. Of all the bets, Bertholdt was something he felt like he couldn’t afford to lose. It was awfully dramatic, of course, for someone who had merely stolen glances at the man from afar, and had short (yet pleasant) chats with in the office. But he would never want to see Bertholdt upset or heartbroken, even if he could only be his friend.
“It’s not right to bet on people,” Reiner finally said, gruffly.
Porco shrugged. “Suit yourself. But I’m not holding myself back.” Reiner glared at him, to no effect. He continued: “Tell you what. How long is your car going to be out of commission?”
Reiner blinked at the sudden change in topic, but relented. “Two weeks or so. It’s pretty busted. Pieck agreed to give me a huge discount, but she said she’ll have to prioritize her other clients.”
“Well then,” Porco nodded. “You’ll have two weeks to ask the receptionist out, or one of these days—“ He flashed a toothy grin, and pointed at himself with his thumb. “—He’ll fall for one of my lines.”
Reiner groaned, and massaged his brow. It was going to be a long two weeks.