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Honestly, homecoming was the ultimate expression of how underfunded high-schools were. Reiner sat by a table that, at the start of the party, had been loaded with food but now looked like someone had been tackled into it WWE-style. Not that he cared much about the food. His eyes were locked on Bertholdt. The guy was tall enough to be spotted easily, especially when the spinning party lights caught his hair every few seconds, making it simple for Reiner to track him through the crowd of sweaty teenagers.
The music was blaring — some generic pop song that sounded just like the last five — not that Reiner noticed. He’d been staring at Bertholdt for so long that the noise and the beat had started to blur together. He was sure he looked a bit ridiculous — the homecoming king, slumped in his seat, not eating, not drinking, legs spread out, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he glared at his best friend.
Reiner’s stomach twisted. Bertholdt looked annoyingly good tonight. Well, okay, Bertholdt was gorgeous all the time, but tonight he’d really gone for it, or at least as much as someone who was already stupidly attractive could go for it: green eyes — not Eren’s “maybe blue, maybe green depending on the lighting” eyes, but real forest green — paired with his hooked nose (cute in a way Reiner had no business noticing) and his smile—... his beautiful smile was not meant for him.
Reiner’s jaw tightened every time Bertholdt’s tall frame was obscured, even slightly, by Annie’s petite frame. Because, of course, he was dancing with Annie.
“If looks could kill, she’d be long gone, wouldn’t she?”
Reiner turned to glare at Ymir, who’d materialized next to him.
“Don’t you have Historia to slobber on or something?” he said, realizing how mean he sounded only when the words were already out.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Ymir smirked. “But no, all my attention is on you right now.” She glanced at the crowd, tilting her head, trying her best to sound sincere, “It’s just… you look pathetic like this.”
“Thanks, Ymir. Next time I’m feeling remotely okay about myself, I’ll be sure to let you know so you can fix that.”
“You should. I’m great at it.” Ymir grinned. She’d been a lot friendlier to him ever since figuring out that his fake thing with Historia was all show. But being friends with Ymir meant no filter and zero mercy.
“I’m just saying,” she continued, “this is it, big guy. We’re graduating soon. Confess to him now, and if it goes south, you’re off to different colleges. Clean slate. If it goes well? Congrats, you got yourself a boyfriend. Either way, I get to make fun of you.”
“I’m so glad you’re putting my happiness first here.”
“I do what I can.”
They lapsed into silence. Annie’s laugh cut through the music like a stab to Reiner’s chest.
“Yeah,” Reiner groaned, looking down at the floor. “Great plan. Let me just pour my heart out to Bertholdt right after he’s finally worked up the nerve to ask Annie to homecoming.” Reiner crossed his arms.
“And who talked him into that?” Ymir said, accusingly.
Reiner groaned internally. Me . Because he was a good friend. Bertholdt’s best friend. The kind of friend who gives his crush a gentle nudge toward someone else because that’s what a self-sabotaging idiot does. Because he wanted Bertholdt to be happy, even if it killed him.
Ymir leaned back in her chair, smug. “Don’t overthink it. She’s not into him.”
Reiner snapped his head toward her. “What?!”
“Yeah. Historia told me that Sasha told her that Mikasa told her that Annie’s planning to reject him if he tries anything.”
“What the hell is this, some kind of gossip daisy chain?”
“ Which ends here, because you won’t tell anyone I told you.” Ymir passed a finger across her throat, making the threat clear.
Reiner looked back at Bertholdt, still grinning at Annie like an idiot. Annie, who was going to break his soft heart into a million pieces.
“That’s—”
“That’s life,” Ymir interrupted, rolling her eyes. “Annie’s been into Armin for years. If Bertholdt didn’t pick up on that, that’s his problem. But you? You’re even dumber. At least Bertholdt’s trying.”
Reiner bristled. “Armin? What the hell does Armin have that Bertholdt doesn’t?”
Ymir shrugged. “I mean, Annie’s into what she’s into. Armin doesn’t even know she likes him, so maybe everyone’s just hopeless and we’re watching a love tetrangle going to hell.”
“Square.”
“What?”
“What the hell is a tetrangle? It’s a square,” Reiner tried to distract himself with the banter or by searching for something specific on his red pants, but his attention inevitably snapped back to the crowd. If Annie wasn’t even interested in Bertholdt, then why was she smiling like that? Why did she accept his invitation for homecoming?
“What’s her deal?” Reiner muttered, watching the scene unfold. Annie was blushing now, hiding her face with her hair the way she always did when she was nervous. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Bertholdt’s dramatic hand gestures told him everything he needed to know.
The moment arrived. He was telling her.
Reiner’s stomach twisted. “I… I need some air,” he mumbled, not waiting for Ymir’s response. He bolted out of the nearest door, trying to suck in some air, but his lungs were heaving like the world had run out of oxygen. Floch, Marlo, and Hitch were smoking nearby, shooting him weird looks as he staggered toward the bleachers.
By the time he collapsed onto one of the hard, cold chairs, the tears had already started. It wasn’t the kind of simple and elegant sobbing he’d seen in movies with one tear running down his cheek, no. He choked, trying to keep as silent as possible, helpless streams of tears going down his chin.
Of course. Of fucking course. He gritted his teeth and covered his face because Reiner hid even when no one was watching. He had always known — then why did it hurt so much?
His mom always said, One day, you’ll meet a girl who makes your heart flutter, Reiner. She’ll be your everything. Yeah, sure. Except the "girl" in that story was Bertholdt. Always Bertholdt.
He had been so excited for homecoming — the party, the food, his friends, the attention — anything to distract him from the fact that the only person he wanted was with someone else. Yet, he still had watched them dance, like witnessing an inevitable horror scene with morbid curiosity.
And now? Now he was hurting, of course. Sitting there in his stupid homecoming suit, wiping away his tears like some lovesick idiot. His throat burned, his nose stuffy. He imagined how others would react, his mind ringing with the sound of fingers pointing at him and laughter: Hear ye, hear ye, the king, from the height of his god-given throne, helplessly in love with one of his subjects, the crown and his pride at his feet... He couldn’t escape other people’s opinions, not even when he was all alone.
He sighed, trying to calm down. He breathed in, breathed out. He couldn’t even get mad at Bertholdt — because Bertholdt didn’t know. He’d never know. And maybe that was for the best, because unrequited love already hurt enough. Actually hearing Bertholdt say, ‘Sorry, man, I don’t feel the same,’ would probably rip him apart and finish him off for good.
What had he expected? That, by some miracle, Bertholdt would tell him he liked him? The same Bertholdt who was calm, shy, tall, and handsome? The same guy who had no idea how many necks he turned? He knew Bertholdt didn’t like him that way — he had always known — but seeing him smile at someone else had made it so much more real and painful.
“Reiner?”
His heart jumped straight to his throat. He looked up, and of course, there was Bertholdt, radiant, all soft smiles and wide eyes.
Until he saw Reiner’s face.
“Reiner, hey. What happened?”
Reiner shook his head. What happened, what happened, he was asking. I love you, that's what happened.
Bertholdt's brows furrowed, concern etched into every perfect feature as he approached Reiner, who only realized how much his jaw hurt from gritting his teeth when Bertholdt placed a hand on his shoulder and sat beside him. "Come on, Reiner," Bertholdt said gently, "you can't cry on me during homecoming. Was it your mom?"
Reiner almost laughed. Something like that, he thought bitterly, because his mom was always talking about Reiner's future girlfriends and eventual wife, never entertaining the idea that Reiner might not swing that way. Another thing he couldn't talk about to add to the already pretty big pile. He shook his head instead, wiping at his face like it would somehow erase the evidence, as Bertholdt — calm, beautiful Bertholdt — sat beside him. Reiner might be hurting, but that didn’t have to ruin Bertholdt’s apparently successful night. “Let’s not talk about it,” he croaked, voice hoarse. He cleared his throat and forced himself to sound normal. “How’d it go?”
“Huh?”
“You told her, didn’t you?” Reiner pressed, hating the way the words twisted his insides. “Did it… did it go well? She said yes, right? You’re smiling, so she must’ve.”
For a second, Bertholdt just blinked at him, then — he laughed. A quiet, quick chuckle as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Yes and no,” he admitted, smiling faintly. “I told her I had a crush on her. That I don’t anymore. That I just… wanted her to know.”
Reiner blinked. “...What?”
“Yeah,” Bertholdt said with a shrug. “She told me she already knew. Can you believe that? She just let me figure it out on my own. Apparently, she didn’t think I’d actually say it to her face.” He snorted, shaking his head. “We’re still friends, though. It’s cool.”
Reiner felt like his entire skull had just imploded. “...What?”
Bertholdt turned to him, looking amused now. “What?”
“You liked her.”
“I did .” Bertholdt shrugged again, like he hadn’t just provided earth-shattering information. “But I’m over it.”
“When — how —...” Reiner’s voice cracked, and Bertholdt just laughed again, that soft, embarrassed laugh that made Reiner’s chest ache.
“God, you, Connie, and Jean. The three of you are obsessed with me and Annie, man. Just because I looked at her a little too long? Sure, she’s cute, but…” Bertholdt trailed off, his cheeks turning pink.
Reiner stared at him, his heart hammering in his chest. “But?”
Bertholdt fidgeted. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “We’re in high school. These things come and go. It came, and... it went.”
Reiner stared at Bertholdt, his heart doing some weird mix of somersaults and nosedives. The ache that had been choking him moments ago shifted — was it hope? Relief? He couldn’t even tell. All he knew was Bertholdt looked… soft. His flushed cheeks, his tousled hair, the way he shrugged like he hadn’t just casually thrown Reiner into an emotional rollercoaster.
“You’re over her?” Reiner repeated, voice barely above a whisper, his brain still trying to process the words.
Bertholdt raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, Reiner. It happens. I liked her, now I don’t. Why do you look like I just said I was moving to Mars or something?”
Reiner blinked rapidly, his throat dry. “I — I just… you never said anything. And then you asked her to homecoming, so I thought —”
“Oh, that.” Bertholdt scratched the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed. “Yeah, well. I figured it’d be good closure, you know? She’s my friend. I didn’t want things to get weird between us... and you guys were pushing me to do it anyway, so...”
Reiner wanted to yell something similar to, You thought inviting her to dance at the most romantic high school event of the year was a normal way to get closure? Instead, he just stared dumbly at Bertholdt, the guy he’d been quietly pining after for years, who was now casually telling him he wasn’t into Annie anymore like it was no big deal.
“You’re insane,” Reiner muttered, leaning back on the bleachers and wiping his face one more time, even though the tears were gone now. He glanced at Bertholdt, who looked so at ease, cheeks flushed and hair sticking up like he’d been dragging his hands through it all night. Nervous energy radiated off him, and Reiner wondered if he’d been like that the entire time he was talking to Annie.
“Sorry, do I look weird?” Bertholdt asked suddenly, catching Reiner staring.
You look perfect.
“No, you look…” Reiner scrambled for a no-homo answer. “You look fine.”
Bertholdt chuckled, oblivious. “I’m still riding the high of telling her. She said I’m cute enough to find someone else.”
“Annie.” Reiner blinked, trying to process. “Annie told you you’re cute?”
“Crazy, right? Yeah.”
“Not at all. I agree with her,” Reiner muttered before he could stop himself.
If Bertholdt thought the comment was odd, he didn’t let it show. Instead, he grinned. “Said the guy who didn’t bring anyone to homecoming but still managed to dance with half the gym.”
“ They came to me,” Reiner huffed, crossing his arms.
“Of course they did. Who wouldn’t want to dance with the homecoming king?”
Reiner managed a small smile at the title, though it felt hollow. He and Historia had won together, the perfect couple on paper — except neither of them was interested in the other, for obvious reasons. But before Reiner could get lost in the irony, Bertholdt leaned into him, resting his head on Reiner’s shoulder with a sigh.
Reiner froze. He tried to mirror Bertholdt’s casual posture, forcing himself to relax as Bertholdt settled in.
Reiner noticed how close their hands were. Reiner’s left hand sat stiffly on his thigh, trying to dry the sweaty palm, while Bertholdt’s hand rested casually beside it, fingers splayed out. Close. Too close. Within reach.
God , he thought, Bertholdt was single , radiant, and beside him.
Reiner clenched his jaw, Ymir’s teasing voice echoing in his head. You’ll die an idiot if you don’t tell him.
“Can you believe we won’t play here anymore?” Bertholdt said suddenly, breaking the silence. “I’m going to miss Coach Ackerman screaming at you.”
Reiner was registering the words but not truly listening. Hesitantly, he placed a fingertip on Bertholdt's open palm. Bertholdt didn’t shy away.
“Have you ever noticed how different our hands look?” Reiner asked instead.
Reiner could feel Bertholdt’s cheek twist on his shoulder, a sign that he was smiling. “We’re different people. I’d hope so.”
Reiner's hand hovered over Bertholdt's, as if testing for Bertholdt's next move. Bertholdt responded by welcoming his touch, pressing his whole open hand against Reiner's. His fingertips extended just past Reiner’s, his hands slightly longer, thinner, and tanner.
Not wanting to intertwine their fingers, feeling it was too risky, Reiner caressed Bertholdt’s palm with his thumb, then curled his fingers to hold his hand. Bertholdt mirrored the action, holding Reiner’s hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. Reiner’s breath hitched, his chest tight.
Reiner adjusted slightly, letting Bertholdt rest more comfortably against him. With Bertholdt’s head half on his shoulder, half on his chest, Reiner was certain he could feel his heart pounding, loud and erratic.
Reiner let out a soft sigh, the same one a bored dog would let out. Maybe it was the cold air on his flushed cheeks, maybe it was the fact that they were holding hands, or maybe someone spiked his drink, but before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out: “I’m in love with you.”
Bertholdt tensed, but his hand didn’t move. Reiner held his breath, his head spinning, his chest tightening, but his face didn’t betray him. His forehead wrinkled, his default expression when deep in thought. It was easier to say the words while he didn’t look Bertholdt in the eyes.
Bertholdt didn’t speak right away, his weight still heavy against Reiner. Finally, his voice broke the silence, quiet but steady, “For how long?”
Reiner blinked. “I… I don’t know,” he admitted. That wasn’t the question he’d expected. He had no answer prepared. His eyes drifted back to the football field, the place where they’d collided countless times in practice, tackling and tumbling in the grass. Nothing about those moments had felt as intimate — or as terrifying — as holding hands. “I guess…” Reiner swallowed hard. “Maybe… since forever.”
It had always been them — Reiner and Bertholdt — from kindergarten to high school. Now that they were going towards different worlds, what was going to happen to them?
Bertholdt didn’t laugh or pull away. Instead, he simply sat there, quiet and thoughtful, their hands still clasped together.
“Forever’s a long time,” Bertholdt finally said, his voice soft.
“Yeah,” Reiner muttered, his throat tight. “Sorry,” he added quickly, his voice wavering. “I just… I got scared. I wanted you to know before it’s too late. You’re right, we won’t play on this field again, and… I just needed you to know. You can tell me you don’t feel the same now.”
Please, he begged silently. Just tell me you don’t feel the same so I can let this go.
But their hands were still tied together, warm and steady. When Bertholdt finally spoke, his voice was as soft and beautiful as always. “Why would I want to do that?”
Reiner blinked, his breath hitching in his throat. “Because —” he started, turning to look at Bertholdt, but the words died in his mouth.
Beautiful didn’t even begin to cover it. Bertholdt was gorgeous, his smile soft, his cheeks and ears flushed red. Reiner could only stare, helpless against the way his heart seemed to swell painfully in his chest.
Bertholdt broke eye contact, his gaze dropping to the worn chairs beneath them. It was his turn to look away, his turn to avoid the intensity of Reiner’s eyes. He smiled to himself, a quiet, almost bashful expression that melted into a chuckle.
“Me too,” Bertholdt murmured. “Since forever, too. Well… maybe since the start of high school, but ‘forever’ works.”
“Since we were freshmen?” Reiner repeated, his voice tinged with disbelief. “Why? How? What did I do? No — wait. You liked Annie. I know for a fact you liked Annie at the end of sophomore year.”
Bertholdt laughed softly, shaking his head. “Like I said, some crushes come and go. But you… you never left.”
Reiner glanced down at their hands. Sometime during their conversation, they had fully intertwined their fingers, their palms pressed together like it had always been that way.
He tightened his grip slightly, testing. Bertholdt didn’t pull away. Instead, his thumb began to softly caress Reiner's skin.
Reiner’s frown deepened. “You’re serious?”
Bertholdt finally looked at him then, his soft green eyes meeting Reiner’s, steady and unguarded. “Yeah,” he said simply, a small smile pulling at his lips. “I mean, did you think I’d just let you hold my hand if I didn’t feel the same?”
Reiner made a sound, low and nervous, but Bertholdt’s teasing eased the tension in his chest. “I don’t know,” Reiner admitted, his grin widening slightly. “You’re too nice. You’d probably let anyone hold your hand if they asked.”
Bertholdt laughed softly, shaking his head. He settled back on Reiner’s shoulders, and Reiner welcomed it like Bertholdt had made home there.
Reiner exhaled shakily, letting his head fall back. He stared up at the night sky, the stars blurring slightly. “You’re impossible.”
“Thanks, I try.”
Reiner sighed. Bertholdt liked him back. For years they had liked each other. All the time wasted… “We’re both pretty bad at this.”
“ In my defense, I wasn’t going to confess twice tonight. I’m glad you made the first move.”
Reiner rolled his eyes. Naturally, Bertholdt expected him to make the first move. “Ymir pushed me to do it. And now she’s never going to let me forget about this.”
Bertholdt chuckled. “To her credit, she was the one who told me you ran out.”
“Oh, great, now I have to thank her too.”
Bertholdt smiled. “And Hitch as well. She was the one who told me you were here.” Bertholdt sighed, “Is that why you were crying? Because of us?”
Embarrassed, Reiner looked away. Then, he gave a soft nod.
Bertholdt huffed. He didn’t want to push his luck too much, so he changed the subject. “Since we’re both idiots, and we come in pairs,” Bertholdt teased lightly, “does that mean we’re a couple now?”
“Yes,” Reiner said immediately. There was something primal about his answer, like the possessive jealousy he’d only seen in movies had overtaken him.
“That was fast,” Bertholdt said with a chuckle, and Reiner’s face flushed.
“We’re holding hands. You’re my boyfriend. We’re a couple.”
“Yeah,” Bertholdt managed between soft laughter, enjoying Reiner’s sudden certainty. He was his — all his. He leaned closer, his nose brushing gently against Reiner’s cheek. “That sums it up, yeah.”
After a pause, Reiner’s voice softened, teasing but sincere. “Does this mean I can steal you away for a slow dance, or are we too cool for that now?”
Bertholdt’s grin widened. “Considering I’m your boyfriend, I think one slow dance won’t be too risqué.”
But Reiner didn’t want to move. Not yet. Everything about that moment was too perfect — the cold air brushing against his right side, and Bertholdt’s warmth steady against his left.
“I don’t want to go back in, though,” he murmured.
Bertholdt huffed dramatically. “How dare you, inviting me to dance and then leaving me hanging…”
Reiner still didn’t want to go back into the loud, sweaty gym, so he had another idea. He slowly rose to his feet, adjusting his jacket, never losing the grip on Bertholdt's hand. He gave a slight bow and kissed his knuckles. “Alright then. Will you do me the honor?”
Bertholdt didn’t hesitate. He got up, letting Reiner’s large and steady hand guide him towards the quiet openness of the football field.
Reiner turned to face him with surprising precision. He took Bertholdt’s hand, placing it gently on his shoulder. His other hand rested lightly at Bertholdt’s hip. He intertwined his other free hand with Bertholdt’s.
Bertholdt stammered, his cheeks flaring. “Are you serious? You know how to dance?”
“Of course I do,” Reiner replied, deadpan.
Bertholdt blinked, incredulous. “ Of course, ” he repeated, laughing. “Because every normal high school guy knows how to slow dance like a Victorian gentleman.”
“Mom forced me to take lessons so I’d, and I quote, ‘learn to sweep a lady.’ ”
Bertholdt smirked despite himself. “Well, you’ve definitely swept me up.”
Reiner grinned, his gaze soft and warm. “Then I guess the lessons paid off.”
Sorry I’m not the lady she imagined, Bertholdt wanted to say but decided against saying it. That was a problem for another time. He didn’t want to ruin the moment. Instead, he glanced down at their feet, suddenly hyper-aware of how out of his depth he felt.
Reiner seemed to notice right away. “It’s not that complicated, Bertholdt. Relax.” His hand pressed gently against Bertholdt’s back, pulling him just a little closer. “Trust me. I won’t let you trip over your own feet.”
“Oh, that’s reassuring,” Bertholdt muttered, his breath catching as their chests brushed.
“Here.” Reiner began moving, a simple sway at first. “Step when I step. Right, left. Just like that.”
Bertholdt was stiff at first, his limbs awkward and uncertain. But Reiner’s steady hands anchored him, guiding him effortlessly.
“See? You’re doing fine.”
“I feel like I’m doing the exact opposite of fine,” Bertholdt mumbled, though a quiet laugh escaped him despite himself.
“Don’t overthink it” Reiner murmured, his voice low and almost tender. He tilted his head slightly, their foreheads brushing together. “It’s just me. No one’s watching.”
He was right. At that moment, it was just them. At that moment, there was no responsibility, no questions about the future, no homophobic parents. Bertholdt tried to laugh again, but it came out as more of a shaky exhale. The closeness was overwhelming. Slowly, he let himself fall into Reiner’s rhythm, their movements smoothing into something unhurried and natural. The cold night seemed to melt away, leaving only the warmth between them.
“Quarterback. Most popular guy in school. Homecoming king. Dancer. Gentleman. Blond hair, amber eyes…” Bertholdt shook his head, his voice quieter now. “You really know how to ruin a guy.”
Reiner chuckled, his hand tightening slightly at Bertholdt’s waist. “You’re doing a pretty good job of ruining me, too.”
The night buzzed softly with the hum of crickets and the occasional cheer from distant partygoers. Music floated faintly in the background as Bertholdt and Reiner swayed under the dimmed moonlight. Their feet barely dragged, making it feel like they were truly dancing.
Reiner couldn’t help but marvel at how beautiful life could be. Just minutes ago, he had been a teary mess, convinced his love for Bertholdt was doomed to remain unspoken. Now, here he was, holding Bertholdt with his permission, touching him, holding him… maybe more…
Reiner had thought about kissing Bertholdt many times, but now that his fantasies were within the realm of possibility he was scared of messing up. He wanted to ask — if it was okay, if he was going too fast — but before he could work up the courage, their peace was broken by a loud bang.
The sky lit up with fireworks, bursting in brilliant colors above the bleachers. The flashes illuminated the darkness, and the two of them froze, their heads snapping upward at the sudden spectacle.
“SPRINGER!” bellowed Professor Shadis in the distance, his voice cutting through the night air.
Reiner and Bertholdt froze for a moment, then burst into laughter. Bertholdt tilted his head back to look at Reiner, half worried, he wheezed out, “Think Connie’s okay?”
“He’s fine. Shadis can’t kill anyone on school grounds.”
Reiner smiled at the boy in his arms. But as Bertholdt gazed at Reiner, his eyes caught movement in the background. Squinting, he noticed figures peeking out from behind the bleachers.
It was Ymir, Historia, and Jean, looking like a trio of mischievous meerkats.
Ymir chuckled. “Damn, they’re lucky my phone’s dead. If I could take a picture, this would’ve been a sticker by now.”
“I knew they liked each other!” Historia whispered triumphantly, ignoring her girlfriend’s stalker behavior. She nudged Jean. “See? I told you.”
Jean nodded, though his skepticism lingered. “I thought Bertholdt was into Annie.”
Ymir snorted. “Jean, your observational skills are garbage.”
Historia shrugged. “Maybe Bertholdt just likes blondes.”
“Don’t we all?” Ymir replied dreamily.
Meanwhile, Bertholdt had stiffened against Reiner, uncomfortable with being watched. “It seems the show we’re putting on is more interesting than the fireworks.”
“Huh?” Reiner followed Bertholdt’s gaze. When he spotted their audience, jealousy flared in his chest. How dare they watch Bertholdt under the perfect moonlight — his Bertholdt? He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “We’re having a moment here!”
Instead of running away, Ymir strolled forward shamelessly, shrugging. “Relax, lovebirds. We just wanted to make sure the confession didn’t turn into a tragedy.” She fanned herself dramatically, “Thank God it ended well. The sexual tension was killing us.”
Historia followed, dragging along a blanket she’d mysteriously acquired. “Hungry? We told the others to bring something!”
Bertholdt and Reiner watched as Ymir helped Historia bend a few broken bleacher chairs into a makeshift table. Meanwhile, Jean peeked over the edge of the bleachers, scanning the area below. A grin spread across his face. “They’re coming,” he said. “They’ve got snacks, booze… and Sasha’s got meat.” He waved them over.
Moments later, Sasha proudly held up sizzling pieces of cooked meat. “Ta-da! Freshly roasted. Don’t ask where the grill is.”
Marco and Eren followed close behind, both casually holding up bottles of alcohol. Mikasa, Armin and Annie carried food as well.
“What’s all this for?” Reiner asked, bewildered.
Annie shrugged. “I don’t understand how schools can call the stuff on those tables ‘food.’ So we created our homecoming dinner on the spot. You guys in?”
“Of course,” Reiner answered without hesitation. Annie glanced at Bertholdt, her gaze searching. Wordlessly, Bertholdt smiled and lifted his hand, still holding Reiner’s.
Annie returned his smile with a quick, simple one before joining the circle that had formed. Mikasa, wearing her scarf even with such a classy outfit, sat next to Eren. Beside Eren was Armin, and next to him, Annie took her seat. Bertholdt followed, pulling Reiner along with him. Next to Reiner sat Historia, then Ymir, while Jean struggled to open a bottle of alcohol. Marco and Sasha were already cutting into the meat.
“Armin’s plan worked like a charm,” Jean commented.
Blushing, Armin adjusted his glasses. “It was a simple plan. It’s only thanks to Connie and you guys that we actually managed to pull it off.”
Ah, so Connie’s fireworks weren’t just for fun — they’d been a distraction to sneak in alcohol and food. Sasha chimed in with a proud nod. “We’re saving him the second-biggest piece of meat.”
“The biggest is yours, I suppose?” Mikasa asked dryly.
“Yep! And—” Sasha added, raising an open bottle of alcohol, “if Shadis catches us, we can bribe him with half a bottle.”
“Half a bottle?” Mikasa repeated, unimpressed.
“Yep!” Sasha said confidently.
“Generous,” Marco added, and the whole group snickered.
When Connie finally arrived, panting but triumphant, he took the spot left for him between Mikasa and Sasha. Bertholdt rested his head on Reiner’s shoulder, their fingers now laced together more confidently. As the others talked, laughed, and passed around food and drinks, Reiner couldn’t stop smiling, the tears of earlier long forgotten.
A quiet contentment filled Bertholdt as the warmth of the night and the buzz of laughter wrapped around him, bringing him peace. He had experienced so many emotions that evening, it was overwhelming. His eyelids began to droop, the steady presence of Reiner and the calm of the night lulling him into a drowsy haze.
Noticing Bertholdt's state and feeling bold, Reiner pressed a soft kiss to the top of his boyfriend’s head.
Ymir, noticing the affectionate display, raised an eyebrow. “Thank god you two waited until we’re about to graduate. Any sooner, and we’d have been stuck watching you make out in the hallways.”
Marco arched a brow, deadpan. “You’re literally on Historia’s lap half the time.”
Eren cackled, “Ooh, get her ass!”
Reiner smirked, quick to fire back. “Ymir, you promised to tease us relentlessly, so fair’s fair — I’m going to be absolutely insufferable about this.”
Connie squinted, his confusion evident. “Hold on. I thought Bertholdt liked Annie?”
Bertholdt stiffened, the question hanging awkwardly in the air. Reiner braced for Jean to deliver his usual shut up, Connie, but instead, Mikasa stepped in with calm authority, “Wrong blond, Connie. You’re out of the loop.”
The group burst into laughter, instantly diffusing the tension. Bertholdt’s shoulders relaxed, and Reiner shot Mikasa a grateful look.
“Wait, wait, hold on,” Sasha said after the laughter subsided. “What does that make Bertholdt now? Second homecoming king or something?”
Armin's lenses glinted. “Technically, he’s the Prince Consort. Ymir is Princess Consort, and I guess Historia and Reiner are co-rulers.”
Sasha, her mouth full, mumbled, “You’re so smart, Armin!”
Eren groaned, rolling his eyes. “Thank god. I wouldn’t want Ymir as queen, ever.”
Ymir narrowed her eyes at him, mock-offended. “Got a problem with me, Jaeger?”
“You’d send people to the guillotine for looking at you wrong,” Eren shot back without hesitation.
“Fair point.” Ymir nodded slightly. “But for the record, I wouldn’t want you as king either. You’d commit genocide the moment the crown touches your head…”
Bertholdt’s head grew heavier on Reiner’s shoulder, his eyelids fluttering closed as the familiar voices of his friends surrounded him. He gently caressed Reiner’s knuckles and smiled when he felt the warmth of Reiner’s lips on the top of his head again. The night wasn’t over yet, but Bertholdt already found himself wishing he could stay in that moment forever.