Chapter Text
It was that time of the year again, when the colors from Reiner’s kitchen exploded into the outside world. They glowed through the streets, hung from canopies, and wound up every pillar and tree in sight. The music and the scents followed along. Old, but beloved, jingles emanating from every house, every store; the smell of pine and warm spices greeting him at every turn.
It was the holidays: a busy time, a cheerful time, a wonderful time. Even if the assault of colors were starting to hurt his eyes.
This was why mornings were becoming Reiner's favorite time of the day, when the streets were still sparse and the sun was nothing but a teasing line in the horizon; the fairy lights of the neighboring stores, fast asleep. Being the first to arrive at the store meant a half hour of peace without his coworkers and before the shop finally opened to the bustle of visitors.
But today was different. Today, to his surprise, he walked in to the smell of coffee already lingering in the air along with the sweet scent of yeast. Small chatter echoed from the kitchen.
“Good morning,” he called out.
Colt was the first to turn around.
“Good morning, Reiner!”
Porco followed with a noncommittal grunt and a nod. Reiner put on his chef’s jacket, washed his hands.
“You’re early. You don’t have to be in for another half an hour.”
“Yeah, well, it’s a big order, isn’t it?” Porco said. His brow scrunched in concentration as he rolled out the dough, smoothing it over the countertop. “Big day.”
“Didn’t know you cared so much about the store.”
“Me, caring about the place that pays me? Never.”
Reiner laughed. “Alright. How are things going so far?’
“On track.” Porco gestured. “I’m starting the first batch.”
Reiner grabbed another bowl of prepped dough and took his position behind an empty countertop.
“Great. I’ll get started on the second one. Colt, how are you doing there?”
“Starting on the ganaches.” He had multiple saucepans going, thermometers poking out of them. “And the caramel.”
“Alright. Be careful.”
Reiner supposed it was a big day — possibly the biggest day for the store since it opened five years ago. It was definitely their biggest order to date: hundreds of their signature pastries, uniform and perfectly baked, to be delivered to the big holiday party in city hall by end of day.
If this worked out smoothly, it could mean much more business. Their name, out there. His name.
“I still can’t believe we get to bake for the mayor’s party,” Colt said. “Not that I’m surprised, Reiner. I told you these would blow up one day.”
Reiner smiled. “It’s too early to say.”
“Stop being modest,” Porco huffed. “You got picked up by the local paper. I may have my nose stuck in dough all the time, but I see how busy it is out there.”
Reiner supposed it was true. Things had been looking up. Or perhaps it was just the luck of the holiday season; the result of a month of cheer and generosity.
“Well, if things do go well, maybe we can throw ourselves a nicer celebration this year. What do you say?” Reiner looked, knowingly, at Colt. “We can get that whiskey you liked so much last year, Colt.”
Porco snickered. “I wouldn’t mind another show.”
Colt simply looked down onto his saucepans, embarrassed. “I can handle my alcohol better now, thank you very much.”
“Want to bet?”
Colt only blushed.
“Alright, enough harassing the apprentice.” Reiner scraped out his dough and rolled it out. “Any other plans for the holidays?”
Colt sounded relieved. “Not much. We might go out of the city, for a little bit. Take Falco skiing for the first time.”
“So that’s why Gabi’s been on me about skiing.”
“They’re inseparable, aren’t they?”
“Joined at the hip.”
“Maybe we can take them together?”
Reiner sighed. “Not this year. Who would keep the fort up and running, if we all run off during Christmas?”
“Well, if you’re going to be a grinch,” Porco chimed in. “At least let Gabi off the hook and run away with the Grices.”
“And let her terrorize them?”
“Oh, I’m sure Gabi won’t be a burden at all,” Colt said quickly. “She can come, if she wants.”
Reiner smiled, shook his head. “Thank you, Colt, but I think we’ll celebrate at home, like usual. Another time, maybe.”
A loud thwack followed as Porco beat a slab of butter into his dough. “Well, if anyone’s interested in my plans…” Reiner rolled his eyes, Colt only smiled. “I’ll be the cooking elf, as usual. And it looks like there will be another mouth to feed this year.”
“Oh? Marcel’s finally bringing Annie home?”
“Looks like it. Just my luck. I’ll cook everything and get my ear chewed off about when I’m going to bring someone home.” He glanced at Reiner. “You’re lucky you don’t have a sibling, Reiner. Although at this rate…” He gave him a shit-eating grin, cocked his head towards Colt. “Gabi will probably bring home her boyfriend first and then Karina will start giving you some pressure.”
“Oh, come on.” Was that heat, flushing to his face? “I’m not that bad.”
“Not that bad? You’ve spent the last five Christmases and Valentines alone.”
“Didn’t know you counted.”
“I didn’t,” Porco jeered. He folded the dough expertly over the butter, flipped it over. “You get emotional drunk over it every year and announce the count to the rest of us.”
Reiner looked at Colt hastily, seeking confirmation. Colt averted his eyes. So that was a yes.
“It’s the alcohol talking,” Reiner defended. “I don’t need to date just yet. I just want to—“
“Focus on my career,” all three of them said at once, then exploded into laughter.
Reiner groaned. “Have I really talked about it this much?”
“Only every holiday that’s meaningful enough to send your soul to crisis.”
“Fine,” Reiner conceded, sighing. “Maybe I sometimes do feel lonely, but—“ He waved his rolling pin at his coworkers. “I really am busy with the store. I don’t have time to look around, or be distracted.”
Porco whistled. “That’s always what someone says just before they meet someone.”
“And where did you get that idea, Porco? From the pile of romcoms you watch every Christmas?”
The flush that reached Porco’s ears was confirmation enough, and the conversation ended in a stalemate.
The day flew by in a blur. Somehow the shop also received higher traffic than usual, pastries and breads disappearing quickly from their window cases, a line forming out of the shop at some point. And at the height of it all, Reiner had to do the finishing touches on the mayor’s order.
This was Reiner’s favorite part. He may not seem the type, at first glance. Standing at six feet tall, burly, with thick fingers to match — he would not be anyone’s first guess or choice to be icing delicate pastries or molding brittle, temperamental candies. But here he stood, bowed over the countertop, systematically glazing each pastry and pushing neat, button-sized caramel candies onto them. Before long, many dozens of identically decorated pastries were packed into boxes and delivered, safely, to the city hall.
And with that, the day was over. What felt even better was finally being able to rest his feet, even if he was perched on an uncomfortable kitchen stool, pressed into the countertop with two other men. Porco popped open a cheap pint of whiskey and poured it into three mugs.
“Cheers,” he said. They clinked and drank it all in one go. Colt coughed. “To what will hopefully force Reiner to admit that he’s a pretty damn good baker.”
“But to also remember that I couldn’t have done it without you two.”
“That goes without saying.”
Colt smiled, sheepishly. “I’m just the apprentice. I should be thanking you for giving me a chance.”
“Please. You’re top of the class at your school, aren't you?” Colt managed an embarrassed nod. “So really, I’m lucky to be able to snag someone like you. You could’ve gone off to work at hotels. Big chains.”
“Yes, but—“ Colt shrugged. “I like your food.”
“He’s becoming a true chef,” Porco said, topping off their drinks. They swallowed it all in one go again. “His brain is migrating to his stomach.”
“Chef Colt,” Reiner teased. “To think that that would happen in a year or so…”
“Oh, enough about me.” Colt’s face was starting to redden, both from the alcohol and the attention.
Porco laughed. “Fair enough. I like it so much better when we’re bullying Reiner over his lack of luck in the amour department anyways.”
Reiner frowned. “Come on, you’re also still single.”
“But I’ve dated. I haven’t spent five consecutive Valentines or Christmases, all alone.”
Reiner groaned. “I’m not all alone.”
“Oh, because spending holidays with Karina and her rotation of boyfriends must be so fun for you?”
“There’s also Gabi.”
“At this point, Gabi will be invited to spend holidays with the Grices before you ever leave the nest.”
Reiner sighed. He supposed it was true. Ever since he opened the store five years ago, he had been propelled headfirst into a world full of administrative duties, logistics and baking — laboring over a hot oven, experimenting with new ingredients, practicing new techniques. But it had paid off. It had resulted in his signature menu item: buttery, doughnut-shaped pastries that flaked in the mouth and burst with a cream filling.
And the public had noticed. He had made the local paper. The mayor had asked his shop to cater for the party. He supposed, amidst it all, he hadn’t realized how absolutely buried in work he had been.
“Maybe trying to get myself out there will be my New Year’s resolution, then,” Reiner said, almost to himself. He supposed he couldn’t keep crashing on Karina’s dinners forever.
“That’s the spirit.” Porco gestured. “Now, let’s get another bottle.”
Reiner raised his eyebrow. “There’s still a little bit left in this one.”
Porco grabbed the bottle and chugged the rest of it. “Not anymore.”
“I worry for you.”
Porco flashed a smirk at that.
“Speak for yourself, spinster.”
“I’ll get it,” Colt said, standing up on his tiptoes and reaching up towards the cabinet. He did a little leap, grabbing the bottle.
Maybe it was the alcohol, or just a dash of bad luck. When Colt landed, his ankle gave way, and he teetered back against the stove, knocking against a saucepan handle. It wobbled over the precipice and tipped over, coming dangerously close to Colt’s arm.
Out of pure instinct, Reiner leaped forward and grabbed outwards, stopping the saucepan in its path and pushing it back onto the stovetop. But he wasn’t quick enough. He felt a sudden, searing pain over his forearm, forcing him to let go. The pan spilled all over the stove, hot caramel leaking into the crevices of the burners.
“Shit!”
Reiner didn’t even know who swore. It seemed to come out of his mouth, and Porco’s, and Colt’s — all at once. Someone grabbed at him and ushered him towards the sink, running cold water over the area.
“Someone needs to call for an ambulance—“
“Ambulance? It’s the city, it’s easier to just run him down to a clinic or something— It’s not like he lost his legs—“
“I’m so sorry, Reiner—“
“Oh my god. Why is the alcohol hitting me now—“
“Porco,” Reiner said, through gritted teeth. He glanced at the wound — a crater forming in his forearm. “Can you take me to the urgent care?” He tried to remember. “I’m pretty sure there’s one two blocks away. I walk by it every morning.”
“Right. Right. Okay.” Porco ran off, came back with their coats and belongings. “Colt. Can you clean up and lock up?”
“Yes! Yes, of course. I’m so sorry about everything—“
“It’s not your fault. Don’t worry—”
“Save the apologies for later,” Porco yelled, pushing Reiner out of the shop, into the cold. “We need to save his life, now!”
“I’m not dying—“
“Shut up, Reiner!”
For someone who believed his life to be in danger, Porco was not forgiving at all when it came to dragging him to the urgent care. They half-ran, half-jogged the whole way and by the time Reiner was in the waiting room, he was out of breath — both from the cold weather that seemed to suck the air out of his lungs and the unrelenting pain that still burned through his right arm. He was thankful that the waiting room was relatively empty.
“Sit,” Porco commanded. He ransacked through Reiner’s pockets, grabbed his wallet and ran towards reception. “Please. My friend’s been burned.” He flipped through the wallet and threw down what Reiner assumed was his ID card. “That’s his information.”
The receptionist blinked, peeked through at Reiner. “Alright. I’ll check him in. How bad is the burn?”
“Bad. Can someone see him soon?”
The receptionist opened her mouth, closed it again, and sighed. “Someone will call you right in.”
“How soon?”
“Soon, sir. Please, take a seat.”
Porco paced back towards Reiner. “I really hope they aren’t lying to us.” He blanched at Reiner’s arm. “God. Can you… cover it up?”
“Geez.” Reiner cupped one hand over the burn. “Didn’t you used to be pre-med?”
“Why do you think I dropped out?”
Reiner grumbled under his breath. He really should’ve brought Colt instead. He was thankful that they had a bit to drink before, if only to mask Porco’s whining and the pain in his arm.
“Reiner Braun,” someone called out. The owner of the voice — a man in scrubs — soon rounded the corner. His face was downturned towards a clipboard and Reiner noted how tall he was — taller than even him, perhaps. And when the man looked up, his olive green eyes sweeping over the waiting room, Reiner suddenly felt warm all over. Was it the alcohol, settling in with the adrenaline?
No. It was definitely something else.
Get it together, Reiner , he told himself. For god’s sake, the man was wearing a face mask, he couldn’t even see his full face! But what peeked out was already enough to pique his curiosity — dark strands of hair falling over tanned skin, and those eyes…. Those eyes. Was it possible to have a crush on someone over just half of their face?
Porco kicked at his shoe. “Reiner Braun. You need to go in.”
He jolted awake. “Right—” Reiner jumped up. “Here. It’s me. Reiner Braun, I mean.”
The green eyes crinkled; the man was smiling.
“Come with me, Reiner.” He nodded at Porco. “You can bring your friend in, if you want.”
“Oh. Yeah. Sure.”
The man led them to a small room, where Reiner sat down on the patient’s chair. Porco milled around in a corner.
“Are you a doctor?” Reiner blurted out, stupidly. Maybe the alcohol wasn’t an entirely good thing here.
The man blinked. “I’m a nurse practitioner.” His eyes crinkled again. “But don’t worry, I’ve seen my fair share of burns.”
“Oh—I’m sure—I was just, uh, curious.”
“That’s alright.” He settled next to Reiner. “Let’s take a look.”
At this proximity, his voice slid through Reiner’s ears like caramel, smooth and warm. Reiner could feel his heart beating faster. The nurse’s brow scrunched as he examined the wound.
“Oh, my. What happened?”
“Sugar burn,” Reiner said. Take off your mask. “Accident at work.” Take off your mask.
“Hmm.”
The nurse pulled down his mask. Reiner almost let out a graceless squeak.
“Did you do first aid?” He peered up, waiting for an answer.
Reiner swallowed. Any coherent sentence that should’ve occurred to his brain was knocked dead by the revelation. He had been right, after all. What hid behind the mask was a long, curved nose and a defined face. A face that looked at you with all the kindness in the world. Maybe Reiner should worry more about the throbbing pain on his arm, but at this moment, he was rather lost in the nurse’s eyes.
“We ran it under cold water,” Porco chimed in, from his corner. He sounded a little high-pitched.
“Ice water? Or just cold?”
“Cold. From the tap.”
“Good,” the nurse said, smiling. It was getting to be a little too much to look at him. Reiner peeked down at the name badge pinned to the front of his scrubs and tried his best to read the text, but when the nurse shifted, he lost track of the letters. All he got was a B-E-R-T. Bert?
“Alright, Reiner.” The voice brought him back to reality. “It looks like you have a second-degree burn here. I’m going to clean it, okay? It’ll sting, but we need to do it.” The nurse turned away and came back with a tray of freshly soaked gauzes. “It's good that you’re quick to run it under cold water. It could’ve been worse, especially with sugar burns.”
Reiner nodded. “I know. Job hazard, unfortunately.”
“Oh, right. You mentioned so.” The nurse smiled, almost sheepishly. “So I don't even need to tell you.”
Reiner suddenly felt embarrassed. “I-It’s fine. I appreciate it.”
He was starting to regret letting Porco in. He would never live it down if he knew that Reiner was losing words over a nurse he had only met five minutes ago, when he should’ve been more focused on the open wound on his arm. When he glanced at Porco, however, he found that his coworker had turned towards the wall, decidedly avoiding what was coming.
“Okay, Reiner. Ready?” Gloved hands touched his forearm, a gauze hovering over the wound.
Reiner swallowed. “Yeah.”
The nurse worked quickly, efficiently, swiping over the wound repeatedly. Gauze after gauze dropped into the tray, bloodied, and Reiner grimaced as the pain seared and exploded through his right arm, forcing his fist to curl into a tight ball.
“Just a little bit more,” the nurse soothed. “You’re doing great, Reiner.”
Heat rose up Reiner’s cheeks at the praise, a sensation which was quickly overridden by the next piece of gauze. He held back a flinch.
From the corner, Porco made a gagging sound.
And then it was finally over. Reiner released the breath that he had been holding. The nurse threw the gauzes into the trash can.
“I’m going to dress the wound now. You’ll have to do this too, daily, or it’ll get infected.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll prescribe you an antibiotic ointment…” The nurse slathered on a cool cream over Reiner’s wound and gave him a sympathetic smile when he winced. “It stings, I know. But you’ll have to do this every day, okay?” He grabbed a fresh roll of gauze and began dressing the wound. “And change the gauze too.”
“Okay.” Reiner sighed, as the wound slowly disappeared under the bandages. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” The nurse stepped back, and turned to Porco. “You can turn around now. I’m done.”
Porco slowly did so, his face pale.
“There’s a water dispenser in the hallway, if you want a drink.” He nodded towards Reiner. “Go up to the front desk and pick a pharmacy for the prescription. We’ll send it over there.”
“I will.”
“Alright then. Have a good night.”
He gave Reiner one last smile before beginning to turn away.
“Wait—“ Reiner called out, against his better judgement. He should probably stop. He was in pain, inebriated, and clearly not thinking straight. But he wanted to know. “What’s your name?”
The nurse blinked.
Reiner added, quickly, “So I know who I owe my livelihood to, when I retell this story to people.”
A laugh. “I think you’re overrating my service here, but…” The nurse clasped his hands together. “It’s Bertolt.”
“Bert—olt?”
Bertolt nodded. “Yes. Rare name, I know.” He cocked his head. “Anything else, Reiner?”
Reiner shook his head. “No. Just…” He paused. “Thank you, Bertolt.”
“Of course.” He nodded towards Reiner, then to Porco. “Good night.”
He felt a pang in his chest as Bertolt turned to leave the room. “Good night.”
“Holy shit,” Porco sighed, as they exited the urgent care. “That was disgusting.”
“You didn’t even see it.”
“Yes, but I can imagine it!” Porco gagged. “Drinking was a mistake. Why do you do this to me, Reiner?”
Reiner scowled. “Right, as if I got myself burned on purpose to torture you.”
“Are you still going to be able to work?”
Reiner sighed. The pain was subsiding, but he could tell that he wouldn’t have full agency of his right arm for a while. “Yes. Though I might need you and Colt to take on more of the duties.”
“Hey, as long as I get paid.” Porco stood across him. “You good now?”
Reiner nodded. “Yeah. Go home, Porco. You deserve it.” He gestured. “Thanks for keeping me company.”
Porco only gave him a rough pat on the back. “Sleep well.”
Reiner turned on his heel, back down the familiar street that would lead him to his small apartment. In the last eventful few hours, he had somehow forgotten that they were knee-deep in holiday season. The sight of fairy lights and families and laughing tourists jolted him back awake, to reality. The wound on his arm throbbed along to the faint chant of Christmas music.
He thought back to their conversation in the kitchen. Porco had been right, this would be the sixth Christmas he’d spend alone. Normally he wouldn’t mind. He had his family, after all. But the sight of the nurse, those olive green eyes, had thrown a wrench into his mind.
Reiner stopped in his tracks as a realization came upon him: He never got Bertolt’s number.
He thought about turning back, but decided against it. The man was just doing his job. He was probably kind to everyone. He told himself it was just the alcohol talking, exacerbating his curiosity. In the morning, he would wake up, rejuvenated, and he would no longer ruminate over that soothing voice, or the way Bertolt’s lips curled into a kind smile. They would fade away eventually, along with the pain in his arm.
So when he woke up the next day with a pulsing pain running through his wound, and a killer headache to boot, Reiner could only grit his teeth and think back to how Bertolt had soothed him. You’re doing great, Reiner .
Fuck. He needed to see those eyes again.