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Farlan barely hears the dull voice droning through the dome of aggressors, kicking into him relentlessly.
“Leave him alone!”
Covering his face with his hands, Farlan cowers on his side on the ground in the schoolyard, making himself as small as possible, yet the kicks breach his tucked up shins somehow. They reach past his arms and legs, past his skin and bones, and dent his soul. Shaking to his core, he cries and pleads for them to stop but it only seems to encourage them to kick harder.
The tears streaming over his face cool his heated cheeks in the freezing November air. His breath is ragged and short. He can’t get airflow through his nose either. He might pass out, and almost wishes for that to happen.
“Faggot,” the bullies whisper from bitter lips, “you dirty, filthy faggot,” until a part of Farlan believes that they are right. Who would have thought that painted black fingernails were enough to attract the homophobic rage of kids with broken homes.
There’s grunting and shuffling, several people yelling all at once and the sounds of fists and screams. Farlan doesn’t know what’s going on but he doesn’t dare move. Even as the kicking eventually ceases and there’s sounds of people running off, Farlan can still feel the phantom soles on his ribs and spine, continuing to beat the gay out of him.
“Hey,” a soft voice addresses him and he listens closely for signs of animosity. This isn’t over yet, it can’t be. There’s no way they are done with him, with this filthy scum they see when they look at him. When Farlan feels a soft touch on his shoulder, he winces and the hand draws back instantly.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—” the voice of the stranger sounds shaky. It doesn’t make sense. Farlan is the one on the ground, defenseless and terrified, limbs aching and his whole body trembling. Why does the other voice sound scared?
“They’re gone now. You’re safe.”
Lies , Farlan thinks. I am not safe. His first instinct is to make himself even smaller, maybe if he tries hard enough, he will shrink away into nothingness.
The ground gets colder but he hasn’t shrunken one bit.
With every passing minute, Farlan’s tears start to slow and his breathing starts to even out. He slowly starts accounting for his body parts, making mental notes of which hurt the most this time.
He hasn’t dared to look up yet. Doesn’t even want to.
He knows the other person is still there because he hasn’t heard him walk away. As long as he isn’t alone, he isn’t safe.
“I know you’re scared,” the soft voice says hesitantly, “but I’m not leaving until I know you’re alright.”
Alright. Farlan is not sure if he knows what that’s like. Alright sounds like a word applicable to other people, not him.
His back hurts like it’s bent out of shape. His stomach aches with every breath he takes, and something thick and sticky coats the back of his teeth. He isn’t sure if it came from the hits to his stomach or from the way one of them pulled his hair and smashed his face into the ground. He considers the metallic taste in his mouth and weighs his pain against the stranger’s words. Alright.
Slowly, he retracts his arms from his face. “Hn,” he grunts at the pain shooting through his temples and his joints. Rolling onto his back elicits even worse sounds from Farlan’s mouth as he feels every single hit all over again at the contact with the harsh ground.
He still hasn’t opened his eyes or spoken.
The other person doesn’t say anything as Farlan lays there and lives, somehow survives another beating, and endures the certainty that tomorrow, the tape will rewind and play the same thing all over again.
Through his closed eyelids, he can sense it’s a lot darker now than it was before. The sun is setting and he has to hurry to get home, or he’ll risk making his mother cry again, like last time. He doesn’t want to worry her, so he needs to leave. Now .
He opens his eyes.
When wide, mossy green irises look down on him, his mind screams Isabel.
It’s not her.
That would be impossible.
The last time he saw her, she died, and it was all his fault. He had failed to save her in their last life and it haunts him every time he closes his eyes.
In this life, there isn’t anyone to save. Fifteen long years in this modern era remembering, and it’s been just him. No Isabel, no Levi. Just Farlan. And as he tries to sit up grunting in pain, he knows it’s for the better.
So the eyes belong to someone else, a boy he hasn’t seen before. One with a long, oval face, a slender nose and short brown hair. His brows are drawn together in worry and there’s something else in his face that Farlan can’t quite decipher. Something too complex to name.
As he is staring back into those gentle eyes, he knows he doesn’t need to be afraid. “Who are you?” Farlan hears himself ask coarsely, while he strains to wipe the tears and snot from his face, suddenly self-conscious from being stared at.
“Berthold,” the boy says. “What’s your name?” he asks in return.
Farlan doesn’t understand what Berthold’s deal is that he’s still standing there. He’s probably waiting for Farlan to say the magic words ‘ I’m alright ’ so he can appease his conscience and walk away.
“Farlan,” he answers regardless and decides it’s time for Berthold to start minding his own business. “I’m okay. You can go.”
“You don’t look okay,” Berhold scrutinizes him. “There’s blood on your face and your shirt.”
“Crap! I can’t go home like this.” Farlan scrambles to his feet, but they give out beneath him. Berthold is quick to grip Farlan at the elbows until he is steady enough to stand, then he lets go immediately.
“Here,” Berthold says as he fishes out something neatly folded from his pocket, a blue checkered handkerchief. “Can I…?” he asks, lifting his hand to Farlan’s face tentatively. His eyes seek out permission, and Farlan grants it with a subtle nod, averting his gaze.
Berthold steps closer, making Farlan uneasy. He doesn’t know where to look as Berthold’s hand rises to gently cup Farlan’s chin and hold his face, while the other wipes away the blood and snot from his lips, nose, and cheek.
The gentle touch feels foreign to Farlan. He is not used to getting touched this way, with such care. He risks a glance to Berthold’s face, which is focused on his eyebrow at the moment, hand following to wipe away more blood with care and precision. With how close he’s standing, his body heat radiates over him, and Farlan barely notices that his own body finally stops trembling.
“They got you good,” Berthold almost whispers as he tilts Farlan’s face the other way, scrunches up his handkerchief and wipes away at his temple. It stings a bit and Farlan can’t help but wince. The other boy freezes as his concerned eyes seek out Farlan’s. “Sorry,” he says and lightens his touch even further.
Farlan is transfixed. Berthold is the opposite of everyone he has met in this life. He is slow, calm and careful. But he’s also burning brightly, like the way Isabel’s fiery hair glowed the first time they stepped under the sun. There is something to him, a depth of sorts. Farlan can’t put his finger on it, but Berthold seems like he’s been through things. Seen things.
Maybe he’s not so different from Farlan, aside from the fact that Farlan remembers a whole other lifetime of trauma to add on top of this one, and everyone he has attempted to tell about it looked at him like he was crazy.
Eventually, Berthold stops wiping. His hands let go of Farlan’s face and he folds the bloodied handkerchief together, stashing it in his jeans pocket. Farlan bites his lip hard, feeling ashamed to have sullied a perfectly good piece of fabric with his filthy bodily fluids. Berthold’s eyes catch the movement, but he withdraws his stare within the second.
“Now, about your shirt… wait, I know.” The tall boy steps back and drops his backpack on the floor. He takes off his jacket as well, then grabs the ends of his red t-shirt, pulling it over his head. He is left wearing a black long sleeve, before he puts his jacket back on. “Here, have mine.”
Farlan regards the shirt being held out to him with great wonder. With a gesture as simple as this, it hits him how much Berthold has done for him. Something in his belly is warm and fuzzy, and it feels entirely wrong. Farlan pushes the feelings away and frowns. “I can’t take your t-shirt, too.”
“Just give it back next week,” Berthold insists and keeps holding it out to Farlan.
Tentatively, Farlan takes it, his fingers tingly in the split-second they accidentally brush Berthold’s. He feels his face flush red. “Th- Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Berthold replies with a softness to his tone, “it’s the least I can do.”
No it’s not, Farlan thinks but doesn’t comment. Berthold’s truly done way more than what anyone else would have done. Farlan realizes this as he peels out of his cardigan, huffing at the pain the movements are causing him and pulls the red t-shirt over his gray, sullied sweater. The scent of laundry detergent and lavender hits him and Farlan can't help but draw in a deep breath.
He pulls the cardigan back on with equal effort and grabs his own backpack, smeared with soil from being crushed to the earth.
Berthold is still standing there, waiting, as if there’s no place he’d rather be. Farlan nods to the gate. “I have to go.”
“Are you sure you’ll be okay? I can walk with you,” Berthold offers but Farlan shakes his head.
“I’m sure. Thanks again. See you around.” Farlan swears he can see an urgency of unspoken things in those big green eyes before he turns around and leaves, not giving Berthold a chance to respond. He doesn’t look back as he puts one foot in front of the other until he reaches the safety of home.
The bullies don’t attack him the next day. Nor the next month. And not in the next year either. Farlan keeps the t-shirt. He doesn’t go to talk to Berthold when he sees him around the school grounds. Berthold doesn’t approach Farlan either. They keep to themselves. When Farlan can’t sleep because Isabel’s fearful green eyes bore into him, he calms himself down by remembering the gentle way in which Berthold wiped the tears from his face. He imagines his eyes instead.
A couple of times their eyes meet across the schoolyard, but Farlan is the first to look away.
Until graduation day, he always feels a pair of mossy green eyes on his back, watching over him.
So sorry, I’m running late! I’ll be there in five!
Farlan texts Levi as he finally finds a place to park his car. He still can’t believe he is casually going to the very first ever Paradis reunion.
It’s only been a couple of months that he has been in contact with Levi, who he found by sheer coincidence in a TV report on a tea shop. It only took one email to contact him, and Farlan didn’t know what to expect.
What if Levi didn’t remember? What if he did? Farlan didn’t know which one of those two options was scarier. If Levi did remember, how would he feel about Farlan reaching out? Did he blame him for things that happened in the past?
Despite his fears, Farlan reached out. A couple of mails and phone calls later it was clear that yes, not only did Levi remember everything, he wanted to see Farlan as soon as possible. Not only that, Levi had also found Isabel, and connected the two.
They came to visit that very weekend, and those two and a half days made Farlan feel whole for the first time since he was reborn. A gaping hole that Farlan didn’t know he had in his heart had been filled by being reunited with his family from his past life.
A universe of feelings had been shared, an ocean of reassurances and forgivenesses spoken. They’d gotten a second chance at life and they found each other. What more was there to mull over? It was a fresh start. Worries and pains from a thousand sleepless nights fell from him like he shed an armor of leaden skin.
Apparently Levi and Isabel met other members from the Survey Corps in the last couple of years. Still, this was the first ever official reunion. So most of the people meeting up today will see each other for the very first time in this life. Farlan is sure it’s going to be a melting pot of emotions.
He is particularly nervous because he only knows a handful of people from the squad. Most of the cadets who are invited joined the corps after he died. He’s heard names and a few stories from Levi and Isabel, but those people are strangers. He’s looking forward to seeing Hanji, Erwin, Moblit and a few others. And he is curious to meet someone Levi has been mentioning a lot: Eren Jaeger, humanity’s hope. In this life though, just Eren.
Stepping through the doors of Café Rose, he is hit by a wall of sound, voices mingling together in laughter and chatter. Isabel's eyes are on him the second he turns the corner. “Farlan!”
She hurries over and throws her arms around him in a tight embrace. “I’ve missed you so much!” Farlan melts into these arms that have meant family in the past, and do in the present. Even with a dozen people here who are mostly strangers, he feels warm and safe and— home .
As they part, he feels a hand on his bicep. “Farlan,” Levi says and gives his shoulder a tight squeeze. “Good to see you.” He is in a good mood today, his face seems relaxed and unburdened, although most people wouldn’t know how to tell the difference from his usual bored expression.
“How are you two?” He asks them as he lets his eyes wander over the people there. He recognizes Erwin immediately, sitting tall and calm in the center of the room, giving him a small nod and a smile. That’s when Farlan realizes how odd he feels not seeing him as commander in his uniform but in casual street clothes.
Hanji waves excitedly and Farlan chuckles because their facial expression hasn’t changed one bit. They are still looking at everyone with a sense of curiosity and unparalleled enthusiasm.
Most of the other people who are present joined the Survey Corps when Farlan wasn’t around anymore. He recognizes Armin from Levi’s descriptions, a young man with straw blond hair and eyes as blue as the sky. With him sits a young woman with long black hair and another man with unruly brown hair, tied back in a bun. Those must be Mikasa and Eren, Farlan thinks.
Levi mentioned them coming to the reunion, and Farlan knew he had been nervous about it. A lot had happened after his passing in their last life, and Levi and Eren’s relationship had been tumultuous, from the little he’s been told. Now, though, as Levi stands before Farlan and is asking how the traffic was, Eren turns around and fixes his eyes on Levi. There’s a warmth there in his gaze, and something that lingers. Farlan knows the look from the way his father used to look at his mother when he was still alive.
Eren realizes he’s been caught looking, and his face turns a lovely shade of pink complimenting his sun kissed skin. But then his mouth curls up into an unapologetic smile, as if to say “Yeah, you caught me. Sorry not sorry.” Farlan decides he likes him already.
“Let’s introduce you to the gang,” Isabel says excitedly and pulls on Farlan’s sleeve.
“Easy,” Levi placates and touches her forearm. “Let him take off his jacket first.”
“Sorry, of course,” Isabel concedes and then turns to Farlan, “I am just so excited for everyone to meet you!”
And he is, too. Even though Farlan doesn’t know most of the people present, they warmly welcome him, saying they’d heard so much about him from Levi and Isabel’s tales. It feels odd getting to know the squad that lived through the end of it. They are connected in a way Farlan and Isabel will never know, having been through so many years of battle and having to fathom so much loss.
Part of Farlan wishes he’d been there to fight alongside them in the end. Part of him is grateful he hadn’t.
One thing was for sure, though. They all shared the same destiny, having been reborn into a privileged life that - despite having its own challenges - allowed them to live.
“So I tell her, you gotta wait until the potatoes cool down. But this one doesn’t know the meaning of the word restraint,” a guy named Niccolo jokes and lovingly pets the knee of his fiancé Sascha. Apparently he’d hidden the engagement ring in a hot potato. Sascha had pretty much swallowed the potato whole and gulped down the engagement ring with it.
“We spent all night in the ER,” she beams and squeezes the hand of the man next to her, who looks at her with the utmost admiration.
“I always like to say I spent more money on the CT scan than on Sasha’s ring,” Niccolo’s laugh fills the whole room, and a couple amused chuckles chime in.
“We got it framed,” Sasha adds and snickers.
“So, how’d you retrieve it?” A guy with a curly blue mohawk inquires. If Farlan remembers correctly, his name is Connie and it was discussed earlier that in his previous life he’d always just shaved his head clean, because there was no stopping the rapid growth of his unruly ash blond curls. To make up for it, he’d become a hair stylist in this life. “I just wanted to do something fun and creative, you know?” He’d said.
“Well, we had to wait a couple of days until it came out… the natural way ,” Niccolo explains and raises his fiancé’s hand to his mouth to give her knuckles a soft kiss.
Farlan looks over to Levi and chuckles as the corners of his friend’s mouth predictably curl into disgust. He watches as Eren, who conveniently sits next to Levi, gives his upper thigh a reassuring squeeze, and Levi turns his head to him in surprise. Farlan swears he can see the tips of Levi’s ears turning red.
“Fascinating,” Hanji notes and inquires further, “how’d you get it clean?”
“It didn’t take much more than a good pressure clean and some essential oils to help with the smell. Now it’s a nice scent.” Sasha stretches her hand with her engagement ring across the table. “Wanna smell?”
Everybody answers with a collective “NO!” at the same time as Hanji yells “Yes!”, leans across and gives the ring a good sniff. “Mhhh. Citrusy!”
“Babe, I think it’s time to tone it down a notch,” Moblit says and pulls his partner back to his side, giving Hanji a kiss on the head. “We don’t want our friends to vomit up their food again. Especially since I’m paying tonight.”
“But this time I didn’t even bring the preserved human eye!”
“And I am very proud of you for that,” Moblit muses and smiles.
Just as Farlan is about to ask what they are referring to, the door opens with a bang and a tall man steps through, hurriedly taking off his coat and scarf.
The first thing Farlan sees are mossy green eyes.
“Berthold!” Reiner exclaims and waves. “Over here!”
“Sorry for being so late! We had an emergency at the clinic. I left as soon as I could,” he says and it only takes him three strides with his long legs to reach the table. “Hello everybody,” he smiles and lets his gaze dance from person to person, who each greet him back cheerfully, Historia getting up to hug him but he tells her there’s no need to get up and they’ll hug it out later. As soon as his eyes reach Farlan, he freezes, his gaze widening in surprise.
Farlan guesses he doesn’t look much better himself, having expected anyone but him to be here. “Hi, Berthold,” he finally says and the other opens his mouth to speak, but seems lost for words.
“You two know each other?” Reiner asks and looks back and forth between them in great wonder. The rest of the squad are silent as a mouse as they watch this unfold.
“You could say that,” Berthold utters as he takes a seat next to Sasha, opposite Farlan and addresses him directly. “Nice to see you again.”
“Likewise,” Farlan says and he can’t help it as heat pools in his cheeks and his mouth pulls up into a shy smile.
With Berthold’s presence, the atmosphere of the room shifts. There is an invisible thread in the air, connecting them to each other. Suddenly, the afternoon in the school yard feels like yesterday and a million years ago all at once. Even now, Berthold’s inquisitive eyes always find their way back to Farlan.
They say goodbye to the group at 11pm as many have an early flight home the next day. Others live nearby or stay overnight and make plans to have breakfast together the next morning.
As the group collectively leaves the restaurant, Berthold nudges Farlan with his elbow, and asks him if he wants to go stretch his legs for a bit. The reunion hasn’t really given them a chance to have a word in private, so Farlan gladly takes him up on the offer. He wants to know so many things.
The wind makes the trees chuckle as the two enter a nearby park. Walking alongside each other in a tranquil silence, Farlan isn’t sure when Berthold is going to initiate conversation. So he takes a deep breath and breaks the silence.
“Did you know?”
Despite the occasional street lamp, it’s hard to make out what the other is thinking. But Farlan sees Berthold’s eyebrows drawn up, looking unsure. “That you’re reincarnated?” He waits for Farlan’s reaction until he nods. “No, I didn’t. Did you?”
“No. I can barely recall now who’s who and what role they played in the war.” Farlan kicks a pebble as he ambles along the path through the greenery. “A lot happened after I died.”
Berthold acknowledges this in a slow nod, and it looks as if he is trying to put together pieces of a puzzle. “How did you…?”
“Die?” Farlan asks.
“You don’t have to answer.”
“I want to,” Farlan shrugs because he’s made his peace with it. What happened happened. He can’t change the way he died in his last life, and there’s no point in making a secret out of it, either. He’s trying not to picture the titan’s blunt teeth crashing down as he says, “Got eaten on my first expedition outside the walls, trying to save Isabel.”
He hears Berthold swallow and tries to read his expression. He looks sad, and Farlan thinks there’s a trace of guilt in his eyes as well. It doesn’t take much to put two and two together. “You were one of them, weren’t you?”
“Yeah,” Berthold presses out and abruptly stops in front of a bench. “Can we sit down for a bit?”
Farlan would much rather keep walking to stay busy, but something tells him Berthold isn’t all too steady on his feet right now, so he agrees and they sit down. Berthold slumps into himself, looking like his head is too heavy to keep himself upright. Farlan can feel that something is bothering him. “Is something wrong?”
“Nothing. It’s just—” It’s obvious in his pained expression that he’s warring with himself over something. “I can’t escape my past. What happened— It’s haunting me.”
“I know what you mean. It’s taken me many years to forgive myself for not being able to save Isabel.”
“You don’t understand,” Berthold says, and his eyes fill with tears. “You died trying to save your friend. I’d been given so much power in my past life. I could have used it to do good. Yet all I did was cause death.”
“What do you mean?” Farlan turns to Berthold as he sees him fidget with his trembling fingers. His face is painted yellow by the sickly glow of the street light next to the bench.
“I— I am the Colossal titan.” Berthold keeps his eyes locked on his hands, starting to pick at his cuticles. “I mean, I was.”
The pain that statement brings draws his face into a bitter scowl. It feels a lot like a confession, with Berthold ducking his head even lower, looking like he’s about to receive a death sentence. He’s too nervous to even look Farlan in the eye, his hands smoothing out the fabric of his pants.
Farlan isn’t exactly sure how much damage the Colossal titan has done. All he knows is what Levi has told him. Eren and Zeke easily take the cake of how many lives their actions have cost. And if people found a way to forgive those two, anyone can be forgiven for their actions of the past.
“It doesn’t matter,” Farlan says. Berthold shakes his head no, either not wanting to hear it or not believing it, but Farlan insists. “It doesn’t.”
Berthold’s voice is a mere whisper as his tear-filled eyes settle on Farlan. He asks, “How can you say that?”
“Because we’ve been given a second chance at life. A fresh start.” Farlan speaks softly, carefully, wanting his words to reach.
There’s quiet for a moment, only the sound of the moths hitting the glass of the street light like magnets. Berthold speaks slowly, his voice breaking at the end. “Maybe, if we were free from the burden of remembering.”
Farlan understands. How many times has he replayed the moment of Isabel getting grabbed by this monster, how many sleepless nights have gone past as he heard her screams ring through his ears. Even now, he presses his hands over his ears as if to shield himself from the sound. He looks at the ground.
“Remembering hurts. We all suffocate from our memories sometimes. But—” Farlan allows himself a moment to find the right words. “—remembering is not just a bad thing.”
Berthold is so quiet Farlan can’t even hear him breathe. He looks over and he looks like he’s being hit by a train in the face in surprise at what he is hearing. Farlan doesn’t hesitate to emphasize his point. “Remembering is what makes us strive to be better people now .”
A hand shoots up as Berthold massages his temple and closes his eyes, like he’s fighting a headache. “I don’t know. What great things have I done to make a positive impact?”
The answer comes easily. “You fought like an ox to fend off the bullies for me.”
“Anyone would have done that,” Berthold says and looks at Farlan like that much is obvious. It isn’t.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Farlan says and fights the urge to reach out and place his hand on Berthold’s arm because he wants him to get this. “These kids would beat me up after school every other day for months and no one bat an eye. It’s not like people didn’t see. They just didn’t bother.”
Even though well over a decade has passed since then, Farlan feels the tears swell up in his eyes. “Boys will be boys, right?”
One breaks free and runs down his cheek.
Traitor.
His face heats up at the unwanted display of emotions, and Farlan looks away. Being so vulnerable in front of another person is hard for him. Ironically, the last time he spoke to Berthold, the day he’d helped him, he was vulnerable all the same.
“Hey.” Berthold’s voice is soft again, just like all those years ago in the school yard. Farlan momentarily stiffens as he feels a warm hand wrap around his own, and something else is pressed into his palm. He blinks and looks at his lap. The blue checkered handkerchief.
“All this time? You’ve kept it?”
“Yeah. It’s… sentimental.” Berthold doesn’t smile but somehow, his eyes do. Another tear escapes the prison of Farlan’s eye and runs runs runs until it falls. Berthold, still gripping Farland's hand, raises both of them and helps him dry his feverishly warm cheeks with carefully directed touches. It’s exactly like back then, yet it’s different. There is no fear.
Their hands sink down again and Berthold lets go. No , Farlan thinks. Don’t let go.
There is an intimacy there, something he felt from the second he lost himself in the endless green of Berthold’s eyes the first time. Maybe even from the second he heard his deep, gentle voice. There is no distance between them now, maybe there never was. Farlan isn’t scared to look anymore.
Berthold gulps as something comes to the forefront of his mind. He seems uncomfortable, like he’d rather not talk about it. Farlan wants to know what he’s thinking, needs to know. He extends a hand and cups Berthold’s much larger hand. It’s long, delicate fingers welcome Farlan’s tentative touch. Berthold looks up, his eyes glittery from the reflection of the stars in the night sky.
“I was a coward. If you’d known me then… you’d— you wouldn’t—”
“You’re not a coward now,” Farlan says and squeezes his hand. “The only thing we share with our past selves are our memories. You—” Farlan raises his other hand to Berthold’s cheek and cups it, just as his tears breach the confines of his lashes. Farlan’s thumb catches it and wipes it away. “You are just Bert. Bert, who has done everything in his power to protect the people who needed protecting.”
A second tear breaks free on his other cheek. Farlan leans in and catches it with his lips, feeling the skin grow hot under his touch. Berthold closes his eyes, his lashes brushing against Farlan’s nose. “And that is all I need to know,” he breathes against the warm cheek.
Farlan adjusts his angle and leans his forehead on Berthold’s, taking in his scent. Lavender . Farlan feels warm and safe as he and Berthold breathe in the same air and hold each other with the same urgency.
“I am so thankful our paths crossed a second time.” He shifts and presses a soft kiss to Berthold’s forehead, who sighs at the touch. His hands find their way around Farlan’s neck, burying themselves in his blonde curls as he strokes his neck. The hair on Farlan’s arms stand up when Berthold’s fingernails brush against a particularly sensitive area of his neck, and Farlan struggles to suppress a moan. Instead, he hums contentedly and wishes this moment would never end.
Farlan’s voice is a mere whisper against Berthold’s lips. “I always wanted a chance to tell you… show you how much it meant that you stood up for me. I couldn’t back then. But now...”
Farlan feels him shudder under the implication of his words.
He runs his thumb over Berthold’s upper lip. So soft . As he reaches the lower lip, Berthold kisses it gently.
Once, twice, three times.
“Can I kiss you?” Farlan almost doesn’t wait for Berthold whimpering “yes” before he closes the gap and does what he should have been doing over a decade ago.
Kissing Berthold feels so right, it’s almost scary. Like all the stars have aligned for this moment to happen, for their lips to slot together so perfectly. Farlan sighs in relief, his little hums caught by Berthold’s lips. Their kiss is slow and deep, and weary from all the years that passed them by.
All this time they needed to grow into this life, the one where Berthold is allowed to just be Berthold and Farlan is allowed to just be Farlan.
Neither one is moving back far when they part to catch their breath. Berthold kisses Farlan’s jaw, his nose, the spot below his ear. He pulls him into his arms and holds him strong and steady. Farlan lets himself fall into a field of lavender, burying his nose in Berthold’s sun kissed skin.
They spend the night at Berthold’s hotel room, lazily kissing their worries away, trying to trump each other with stories of the most boring thing they have ever done, and touch each other in the places that hurt the most.
The Berthold Farlan knows is gentle and witty. He’s surprisingly old-fashioned, annoyingly slow, loyal, and protective. He has a heart of gold that sparkles through the green of his eyes sometimes. He wears red button-downs, even though the color doesn’t suit him very well. His laugh is silent and his eyes always smile more than his lips.
He carries a blue checkered handkerchief in his pocket.