Work Text:
✧
“Oh my God. Oh my God.”
“Bert, Jesus, scream it to the world, won’t you?”
Reiner is stressed. Well, technically, he’s more flustered nerves than bitter stress that sticks like tar to the roof of his mouth and lathers his bones with thick goopy mud. His current stress is not the gut-coiling type that ambushes him during midterms. He’s not folding on himself to put off the wasps nipping at his insides, and his hands rest unclenched on his desk. He’s not dying, he thinks, so that’s good. One less thing to worry about. Bertholdt looking on the verge of having a stroke sobers him like cold water sprinkled with chunky ice cubes. There’s no fucking way they’ll survive till midnight. At least one of them is kicking the bucket at the end of this, rest in peace.
“You’re really, really confessing? You’re actually sure? Like, you didn’t hit your head against the wall or the bathroom door and you’re a hundred percent sure about the decisions you’re making in your life and this is not a prank you’re pulling on me for whatever reason–”
“Bertholdt, breathe man.” Reiner uncaps his water bottle and contemplates dumping it on his good friend to resuscitate his soul. But one, it’s break time and they’re at school sitting in their desks, and two, there’s one more class to go before the day wraps up and they’re released from their cage. He’s starting to regret his poor choice of divulging his life-bending (embarrassing) secret before the last period ends, when his actual demise will take place, because whichever way it goes, acceptance or rejection, the grave will be awaiting his arrival 12 a.m sharp.
“Oh my God,” Bertholdt recites again, clutching his necklace like some sort of protection in the face of a supernatural intervention.
Reiner is growing concerned. “Don’t make me take you to the hospital,” he says, praying to the clouds that Bertholdt will get it together. He’s the one supposed to be losing it for fuck’s sake, he’s perishing in (checks watch) two hours. “Do you need Annie? She can help you dislodge whatever is stuck in your chest.”
That does the trick. Bless Annie’s soul, but more importantly, bless Annie’s fists of gold.
“No no, I’m fine, I’m breathing fine.” Bertholdt inhales sharply, which invites some curious looks from their classmates. Reiner is tempted to fall to his knees and plead innocence. This is not his doing, or at least it was not deliberate. Bertholdt’s current state is unpremeditated, and there’s no way he would’ve anticipated this reaction from his dear friend, otherwise he would’ve zipped his lips shut forever and trudges by his lonesome to the guillotine to confess his crush on the boy he’s known since middle school.
“Here, have some water.”
“Porco won’t stay quiet about this,” Bertholdt decides to say after his resurrection. He chugs half the bottle, secures the cap, then slams it back down on Reiner’s desk, the water swishing around. Again, more stares, and Reiner feels the slow ascend of a blush up his neck.
He decides to throw a careless shrug Bert’s way. “This has nothing to do with him.”
“He’s overprotective. He’ll make your life hell.”
“He’s always been a demon to me, I don’t expect anything less.”
“You really like Marcel, huh?”
It reaches his cheeks in no time. Reiner flushes red as a strawberry lollipop and hides his face in his hands. He’s not bashful, or shy, he’s just really fucking embarrassed at himself for still entertaining a childhood crush at his big age. He just turned seventeen, too, what on earth is he doing.
“You’re too young to be mourning like that,” he hears Bert say. “Lighten up, come on, give me a smile, show me teeth.”
Reiner peeks at Bertholdt through his parting hands. He’s regaining color in his face, and his olive eyes shine humanely again. It’s a colossal relief, and it has Reiner settle better in his frayed skin. “What am I mourning?”
“I don’t know, your life? Every decision that got you here?” Bertholdt wraps fingers that could be subject of worship for many pianists around his right hand and pulls it down from his face, to rest it on the wooden surface, clinging to it like a thread of hope. “I’ve already figured that you like Marcel, but I never expected you to do anything about it. Reiner, you stare a lot.”
“Oh.” Reiner wants to hide his face again but Bertholdt traps his hand in a grip worthy of praise. He struggles half-heartedly because something’s about explode behind his chest.
“I’ll hold back Porco somehow and you go confess your heart out,” Bertholdt declares, low enough to only include the both of them. More students are streaming in, regaining their seats noisily. Perfect camouflage for Bert’s words. “Try not to blow this friendship, I beg.”
“That’s a lot of pressure you’re putting on my shoulders.”
“That’s a lot of love you’re holding for someone.”
Reiner splutters, obviously. What the fuck. “It’s a crush.”
“Right.” Bertholdt presses his lips together, and he’s pushing down a smile because his eyes are starting to crinkle. And he looks so smug about it, too. Like Reiner’s current predicament is a theme park and he’s rejoicing in the provided entertainment.
“Right,” Bert says again, to be an ass, filling the weekly quota. A rare sight indeed.
Reiner opens his mouth to say something intelligent, but the bell beats him to it, resounding loud and clear throughout the school building. What remains of the students rush in and Bertholdt turns around in his seat not before giving him a wink of encouragement, of I’m here for you man , of don’t make a joke of yourself my image’s on the line too I love you.
He catches Bert’s next whispers seconds before their philosophy teacher walks in. “Whatever the outcome, never forget that Marcel cares about you. A lot.”
Reiner doesn’t take a single note in the two hours that follow.
✦✧
bert [5:36 pm]
i did the thing
the fish has been caught
we’re in the library, roping him into re-explaining a formula
i expect five minutes before he figures out I’m bullshitting
hurry it up
reiner [5:38 pm]
beeeeeeeerrrttttttyy boiiiii
iloveyoumimkeench
i owe you my life
bert [5:38 pm]
no need
(^ω^)
reiner [5:39 pm]
you want that plushie
the one that’s like 50 bucks
dont you
bert [5:39 pm]
the things i do for you smh
don’t forget the posters
they’re five each
reiner [5:39 pm]
my
my wallet
bert [5:40 pm]
thoughts and prayers 🙏
loveyoutoo mwaah
✧✦
Okay, holy shit, it’s happening. He’s here, Reiner’s alive, and it’s happening.
Except, nothing is truly happening.
“...I hurt my shoulder pretty badly my last training session. It went on for three hours, I think. The coach was constantly dissatisfied with my form and my timing. Something’s amiss, he says, but my shoulder’s about to dislocate from how hard I hit my strokes and he won’t grant mercy, not even ten seconds of downtime...”
Reiner, body and soul, does not exist on this place of earth. The one walking beside Marcel, currently, is his doppelganger, and he’s witnessing the scene from far up in space, in full void near celestial rocks, floating in stardust.
“But at least he thinks my freestyle is decent and can be polished into something greater and...hey, are you— listening? Am I boring you?”
“No!” the doppelgänger screeches like a choking frenzied goose. It startles Marcel and some passers-by, and Space Reiner looks on with great sympathy. “No, you’re not boring me, not at all,” he insists in a softer tone. His earthen counterpart, that is.
“Oh. Okay,” Marcel says, his steps breaking pace and slowing down on the bridge that overlooks the gentle moving river. It flows over pebbles and smooth-faced rocks, the burbles making for a soothing, rhythmic sound. So slow and soothing, in fact, that Reiner snaps out of his reverie and lands safely back on concrete, regaining his spot by Marcel’s side and kicking his doppelgänger over the bridge.
“You’re not always this quiet,” he hears Marcel say, and this time he’s here to experience it, Marcel’s body warmth in close proximity, his easy smile that’s dredged with worry. And it’s all directed at him. And Reiner wants to cry, because what if he fucks this up? What if his fire-licked tongue is responsible for eviscerating a friendship that’s half a decade old because he can’t put a tight leash on his overflowing feelings? Bertholdt is right, this is not just a crush, otherwise Reiner wouldn’t be morphing into a walking stove, and his heart wouldn’t be disintegrating at the mere thought of never speaking to Marcel again. Of never connecting with him again.
Reiner’s tongue twists in a knot, and drops useless behind closed lips. After much musing, in the serene cradle of the murmuring river, Reiner makes a choice: he’ll be lamenting the crush that was never just a crush for the remainder of his life (he feels a twinge of pity for bert’s ears. Someone has got to tolerate his tirades for two eternities. Surely not Annie, dear fuck).
He won’t be risking something as precious. Not even an apocalypse could trigger a confession out of him. Marcel means too much.
A brush against his knuckles startles him two strides out of his skin. Reiner looks to the only person that could turn him into this twitchy mess, and his lungs practically abandon him at the fond look on Marcel’s face. The kind of face he’s seen him make at tiny Gabi and her friends whenever they turn the Braun household into a playground and Reiner’s mother loses five years off her lifespan.
“So you’re finally doing this, hmm?” His voice is easy and kind, so kind and forgiving that the shock is not malicious when it hits. Like a pillow filled with silky-soft feathers. It drags against his face and leaves no blisters.
The slowly dawning realization is much more damning; it stuffs the lung-shaped void with cotton and robs him of breath. He hopes his grave is kept nice and tidy for him. Rendez- vous at midnight.
“What,” is all he wheezes out, his tone flat.
Marcel smiles. The sun ignites the embers laying in the deep of his honey eyes and gives them this spark of passion that strings him around enchanted-sailor style. “I understand, now, what this means,” he says, leaning over the handrail, gaze constantly on him, the lifebuoy that’s keeping him afloat. “Okay, three things here. One, both Bertholdt and Porco stayed behind at school. Two, you’re not acting like yourself, and three,” he pauses, to assess him thoroughly, and Reiner could strip naked right in the middle of the road and not feel this vulnerable and exposed. “You look so red like, you’re really really flushed, and I’m starting to worry.”
“I’m sorry?” he says on instinct, as in yes, he’s apologetic, but he can’t figure out the exact reason that would warrant an apology in the first place, and Marcel is stepping closer, tall enough for Reiner to plant a kiss on the tip of his nose if he wasn’t so much of a chickenshit and if Marcel’s hand on his cheek wasn’t freezing him up, rooting him to his spot.
“I can’t believe this is just you being shy and flustered.” His touch is gentle, caring. “I’d think you have the flu if I didn’t know you so well.”
The hand on his cheek slips down to his neck, the heel of a palm pressing light on his collarbone. Reiner inhales shakily. “Marcel, you’re not –you’re not helping, actually.”
Marcel’s face softens into another smile, and Reiner suddenly gets struck with mortification so deep it makes him want to crawl out of his skin and never assume the name Reiner Braun ever again. The literal embodiment of embarrassment. Not even a pact with Hell’s lord could lend to his cause.
“Walk with me,” Marcel says, trickling his fingers down Reiner’s arm and tugging at the crook of his elbow. He pulls him forward, guiding him down the slope of the bridge and into the grassy meadow.
Reiner stumbles on a rock and Marcel catches him just in time to avoid drilling a hole the size of his head into the ground. It’s typical everyday scenario wherein Reiner’s clumsiness almost always costs him some body part but he gets spared the tragedy thanks to Marcel’s attentiveness and sharp reflex. The time he got pulled from falling down a sewer hole still haunts his dreams.
Marcel urges him into a sitting position where the grass isn’t damp from yesterday’s blessing rain. The air feels cold, almost sobering.
“So you knew? All this time?”
Marcel nods. “I’m not sure if you ever bothered to be sneaky, but I did catch you staring.”
Oh no. what the hell has he been doing with his life.
“It’s not creepy or anything,” Marcel continues, slamming his knee into Reiner’s left leg to shake him back. “It’s just— cute? Can I use that word? And I’m always like, why am I finding this six-feet-something guy so damn endearing, like to the point I could fall in love and— wow, you’re still not cooling down.”
“Mercy, please,” he squeaks like the birds that holler in early mornings. The kind that could wake up a volcano from its slumber.
“I like you, Reiner.”
Okay. He is okay. Life is beautiful.
“No wait, maybe it’s more than that. Maybe I’m already passed that point. I could never find the courage to do anything about it because I still wasn’t sure about your feelings and I didn’t want— I didn’t want this friendship broken. I didn’t want to jeopardize what we have.”
“But I do like you, Marcel,” Reiner says, wincing internally. It’s such an understatement. Reiner knows it. The river knows it. The rock that was almost responsible for a fresh scar on his face knows it. The dog that’s been growling and barking at a tree with its owner tugging at its collar since they made it down from the bridge knows it.
Marcel knows it.
So Reiner takes air into his lungs and tries again. “Actually, I think I’m— I think I’m in lo— in lof— f— fuck.”
He genuinely can’t do it. He’s stumbling on his words like a toddler learning to emulate sounds for the first time, his voice shaky as a flickering candle, fainter than a waning moon on a dark night. And it’s not the only thing working against him. The sudden press of lips against his own is another unforeseen obstacle that Reiner never thought he’d have to counter so soon. He doesn’t dare move as life gets drained out of him, limbs burdened by gravity, muscles rendered useless.
Marcel pushes the kiss deeper for five seconds timed then shifts back to his original position, and his blush is so bright that the season could be mistaken for summer.
“Huh,” Reiner gets out, dumbly.
“Don’t push yourself, we’ll figure things out with time, together.”
Honestly, this must be Reiner’s good karma paying the deed for that time he almost broke his back carrying on his own a heavy wooden desk for an elderly woman up three flights of stairs. And for that time he dived in the cold river to save a waddling kitten from drowning. And for all those times he helped prune the plants Marcel's mother couldn’t reach outside the garage door, struggling through the thorns that always end up pricking his gloved fingers, drawing bits of blood-
Marcel hugs him. It’s warm and tight, and he smells of fruity shampoo, and his arms are so sure and steady it easily confirms to him that he is, in fact, not dreaming.
Reiner opens his mouth—
“BRAUN, YOU’RE FUCKING DEAD MEAT.”
—then snaps it shut on his tongue.
What.
“What.”
It’s...Porco. There’s Porco (if he stares any longer at the dark expression on his face, he’s sure to get sucked into the abyss), and there’s a stressed Bertoldt, seemingly fighting for Reiner’s life by holding back an incredibly furious looking Porco, a legitimate infernal apparition, the stuff of nightmares.
“MOTHERFUCKE— LET GO OF ME I SWEAR TO GOD.”
This is his cue that his good karma has been exhausted to the last drop, and from now on he’s to fend for himself. Chucked out to the jungle, all on his own.
No, not on his own.
“Reiner, maybe you should...”
He presses another hasty kiss on Marcel’s lips and he, honest to God, feels a surge of strength (adrenaline, whatever) course through his veins like it’s some action sequence in a shōnen anime and he’ll get obliterated if he doesn’t haul his ass from the ground this very instant and start running.
Marcel looks at him, smiling and a bit terrified, cluster of stars splayed over the honey in his irises. Reiner wants to hug him again, wants to hold his hand and kiss his handsome face, wants to feel the soft pulse of his neck beat against the seam of his lips.
But first: to survive.
He shares one last look with Marcel, reassuring and good, then takes off with the birds by the lake.
“DON’T YOU DARE RUN AWAY, REINERR!”
.
.
.
marcel [8:14 pm]
you’re home?
made it safe??
reiner [8:21 pm]
barely
he chased me for like 20 minutes
my heart still feels like it’s about to give out
a demon i’ve been saying
marcel [8:24 pm]
oh good
porco’s home and he won’t talk to me
he’s still complaining to mom in the kitchen
she says she’s happy for us
reiner [8:25 pm]
whaaaaaattt you can’t no wya
I am
not well, unwell, undoing well
marcel [8:25 pm]
hold on to your seven lives I still want you around baby
reiner [8:26 pm]
marcel
no
too soon
marcel [8:27 pm]
aww sorry sorry
honey
reiner [8:27 pm]
noooooooooooooo
ooo
do not do this to me
marcel [8:28 pm]
mom was like
‘reiner?’
‘that sweetheart of a boy?’
‘he’s very sweet mar, take care of each other’
i think porco is about to disown this family
can’t wait to take you out somewhere nice
reiner [8:29 pm]
i’m so happy marcel
marcel [8:30 pm]
<3