#literally shat myself when i got pretty-eyes-jaeger

[freckledskittles]

Reibert Secret Santa 2018: One And The Same

Here is a wonderfully fluffy (and overly dramatic) Reibert fic, for @pretty-eyes-jaeger <3 Surprise! I was so excited to write this for you, and I really hope you enjoy it! 

For a little bit of reference: both Reiner and Bertholdt are in their junior year of college

Bertholdt peeked outside his bedroom door to see where his roommates were located. He heard their voices, and he knew they were staying in, but he didn’t want to grab their attention. If he could have any superpower, he would wish for chameleon-like skin in order to blend in with his surroundings. His prominent nose and extreme height didn’t make it easy for him.

He double-checked, triple-checked, his pockets, he read over his texts for the time and place of the date—well, maybe he should call it a meeting, he didn’t know if it could be classified as a date—or if the person joining him wanted it to be called a date—and he gave himself a once-over one more time. He would be as ready as he could possibly be. Now to sneak out.

Bertholdt opened the door once more, slowly and hoping the door wouldn’t creak. He slipped through the slim crack and closed his door slowly. Marco and Ymir were talking in the kitchen and had no possible way of seeing him. Their attention was clearly on something away from the front door. He had a way out.

“I have to go out for something,” he said as he passed the kitchen. “I’ll be back later.”

Before he could even reach the front door, he was stopped by a wolf whistle and silent awes. Oh no. “You’re looking good for someone just going out!” Ymir exclaimed.

“They’re just clothes.” They couldn’t buy into it. They would never.

“Are you going on a date?!” Marco asked.

Bertholdt let out a long sigh. If he didn’t tell them now, they would only find out from someone else—namely, his “date’s” roommates. “Yes. I’m going out with Reiner.” He tried to open the door and leave, but the stampede of feet scared him away from the door.

Ymir slammed her hand on the door to stop him from escaping. Marco had a coy smirk on his face, but Ymir had a more knowing look on her face. There was no way she could have known about their plans—she had a sort of friendly rivalry with his “date,” but not enough to warrant a pry into their affairs.

“Jean told me you and Reiner had something planned,” Marco teased. “I didn’t think it would be a date.”

Bertholdt shrugged. His hand gripped the doorknob and tugged on it, but Ymir’s hand didn’t budge. “He asked me out when we were studying the other day, and I said yes.”

“That’s how dates work, Bertl,” Ymir pointed out. “I’m concerned, though, because you said yourself that you were just friends.”

Marco nodded eagerly. “I remember that! You were very adamant that you guys were friends.”

“We are,” Bertholdt insisted. “We’re not doing anything crazy.”

“No, of course not,” Ymir shook her head. She nudged Marco, who giggled behind his hand. “Why would you? You’re pretty square.”

Bertholdt tugged on the knob once more, and Marco lifted Ymir’s hand off of the door. “Have fun on your date!” Marco called after him. “Stay safe!” Ymir’s cackle was the last he heard from his apartment as the door closed.

Heading down the stairs of his building and to his car, Bertholdt wondered how he had gotten here. Ymir and Marco were more excited that he was going on a “date” with Reiner than they were that he was interested in Reiner. Which he was, a little bit. But they were completely different people, and he questioned how they had found an interest in each other in the first place and why no one—or, rather, the ones who saw their relationship first-hand—wasn’t questioning it.

Bertholdt texted Reiner to let him know that he was on his way and put in his address despite knowing the route to take. He wanted to be safe; he didn’t know what could go wrong on his way there. There was so much to think about—how to get to Reiner’s, if he was dressed appropriately, what Reiner’s roommates would say—he had to be sure something would ensure he made it in one piece.

And there it was. In a matter of minutes, Bertholdt’s phone alerted him of the apartment he was looking for. The lights were on, and he noted Jean’s and Armin’s cars parked in the back. He pulled up to the side of the building and turned off the ignition. Was it polite to escort his date-slash-hangout-partner to his car? He couldn’t remember the last time he had been on a date. Reiner probably had enough experience, but Bertholdt refused to put that much pressure on him.

He knocked as lightly as he could, but the two excited barks from Reiner’s dog were still unavoidable. Bertholdt hoped that Reiner would open the door and help avoid some awkward waiting, but he was met with Jean instead. In retrospect, it wasn’t surprising. Just upsetting.

“Hey, Bert,” Jean greeted him with a smirk. Behind him, a big black nose nudged his way to the front and smiled. “You here to pick up Reiner?”

“Yes, I am,” Bertholdt responded, stepping over the threshold. Reiner’s dog, now that he was able to see him, hopped in place. His thin tail wagged back and forth in unmatched enthusiasm. “How’s it going, Barnaby?”

Barnaby kissed his face and nudged his nose against his jaw. Jean’s amused laugh was cut off by an alarmed cry as he dove to catch a cup from shattering as carnage from Barnaby’s tail, but he regained his composure. “So, Reiner finally asked you on a date, huh?”

“It’s not a date!” Reiner called from upstairs. “We’re getting drinks and hanging out!”

“That counts as a date,” Armin remarked. He poked his head out from the kitchen and waved, clearly in the middle of cooking for himself and Jean judging by the smell wafting from the kitchen. “Hi, Bertholdt. Barnaby was very excited to hear you were coming over.”

“I wish he could come with us,” Bertholdt said, scratching a spot behind Barnaby’s ear that made him roll over and demand the same attention on his belly. “Too bad dogs aren’t allowed in my car.”

“Marco risks his allergies all the time to pet Barnaby,” Jean scoffed. “You’re telling me he’d be offended of finding dog hair in your car?”

Reiner finally came down the stairs, and Bertholdt found himself looking away shyly. There was nothing overtly fancy about the place they were going, but he was still shocked by the amount of effort put into his appearance. It was incredible what a nice pair of jeans and a nice polo, complemented by a navy blue flannel, could do. Bertholdt immediately felt overdressed in a forest green sweater.

“Wow,” Reiner whispered when Bertholdt stood up. Barnaby trotted over to his human’s side. “You look amazing.”

“Thanks,” Bertholdt smiled. His face was instantly burning with embarrassment. Aside from the sweater, he had messed with his hair for what felt like an hour to style it in the right way: relaxed, for the setting, but still nice. “You, uh, and you also look good.”

“You think so? It’s not too casual?” Reiner turned around. “I don’t wanna look like shit on our first outing.”

“I mean, we’re not going to a five-star restaurant. I don’t really…” Bertholdt shrugged, resisting the urge to scuff his feet, “I don’t mind what you look like. As long as we have fun.”

A large grin split on Reiner’s face. Bertholdt heard the soft snickers from behind him, but he was too focused on the look of pure glee that he was being faced with. It was nearly overwhelming; no one could ever share that much emotion, let alone aim it towards him.

Reiner escorted them out of the apartment, giving Barnaby one last goodbye and promise to return, before he opened the front door and waved him forward. Bertholdt heard Jean say something along the lines of “the Art and the Science are a perfect match,” but the phrase was muffled by the front door. And Reiner didn’t seem distracted or bothered by it, so he put it aside for now.

“Thanks for hanging out with me tonight,” Reiner said when they got in the car and headed toward the cafe. He didn’t have a car and apologized profusely for being unable to drive for himself, but Bertholdt saw no problem in it.

“I’m happy to go out with you,” Bertholdt answered and immediately bit his tongue. Beside him, Reiner shifted slightly. “I-I mean, like, how we’re going out to hang out as, uh, friends—”

“Yeah, exactly.” Reiner, thankfully, seemed just as eager to drive the attention away from the mistake. “We’re one hundred percent going as friends.”

“Have you…” He didn’t finish his question, mostly out of self-sabotage. If being an extrovert was a profession, Reiner would get hired in an instant. He thrived in conversation, using words in ways that he could not possibly recreate. He shined surrounded by people, and yet despite the supposed athletic legacy he had in high school, his time in university had allowed him to embrace his intellect and who he was.

“Have I what?”

A bit too intelligent. He was diligently observant. “Have you ever gone on a date before?”

Reiner was silent. Bertholdt gave him the time to answer, and when one didn’t come, he looked over at his companion to see why. There was a critical draw to his brow, but he was staring out the window. His jaw was clenched, his fist pressed against his lips. Something told Bertholdt that the answer was not as obvious as he initially thought. If that was the case, they had more in common than he initially thought.

“I can’t remember the last time I went on a date,” Bertholdt offered. He knew better than anyone that having someone address a crisis he was going through only rubbed salt on the wound, but he didn’t know any other way he could help. The only thing he could think of was to offer some sort of solace for Reiner—who, as it might look, was not as experienced with certain social outings. “I mean, I’m not, like, tracking them. I just never really connected with people I dated before. Oh god, that sounded bad, I don’t include you in that—”

“No, it’s okay, don’t worry.” Reiner shifted, looking forward again but not facing Bertholdt. It was almost as if he was scared to face him. “I get what you’re trying to say. I sorta have the same problem.”

“Oh. Really?”

Reiner nodded. “I’ve dated a few people, way back in freshman year of college, but I never… We didn’t click.” His eyes darted to a couple walking their dog, who was wagging his tail with every bush he passed. “Every date felt like I was doing it for someone else’s happiness and not my own.”

There could be a million reasons why he had said it like that. Bertholdt didn’t want to inject on something that was most likely private, so he didn’t push for an answer. “Yeah. I can only remember one or two people I went out with who weren’t suggested by someone I know. You don’t realize how much your friends can influence you until they suggest someone to date and you go along with it because you don’t see any reason not to.”

“But you also like girls. That’s the only difference.”

Oh. Well. That was certainly a chord struck.

They had a talk about sexualities a while back, when they first started talking casually. Bertholdt didn’t see a reason to label himself, but for simplicity’s sake, he fell somewhere in the umbrella of bisexuality. Probably pansexual, if he critically thought about it, but it wasn’t something he wanted to worry himself over. If someone interested him, he would think about why they did and not worry about their identity. It wasn’t a major interest for him.

Reiner, on the other hand, made his opinion on labeling loud and clear from the start.

“I think the queer community needs labels,” he had said one afternoon. Marco and Jean had organized a get-together with a few friends, although Bertholdt suspected it was more for each other than anything else. “There’s so much uncertainty surrounding us. You don’t know who’s okay with you being gay and who’s not, or whether or not someone at work is gonna find out and kick you out. If we can at least know who we are, it’ll ease the pain of the other things.”

Bertholdt saw the benefit in it, even if he didn’t fall under it himself. If it made other people happy, he wasn’t going to stop them. And when he said that to Reiner, he was met with a look that made his heart clench. Eyes laden with admiration, with a touch of appreciation, sparkling into the swirl of bitter green that made up his eyes. If he were to guess, that was the moment Reiner caught interest in him.

“So,” Bertholdt said, hesitating to focus on the road, “you’ve only dated, um…”

“I’ve never dated a guy,” Reiner admitted for him. His gaze was equally focused on the road and cars in front of them, but for a different reason. “You’re the first one I’ve…felt brave enough to ask out. To hang out,” he added at the last second.

He couldn’t help but smile. Bertholdt was the one saying that sort of thing to others, not the other way around. His hands clenched the steering wheel, and he could feel his palms start to sweat; there was so much to be expected from him. If this went wrong, he could possibly screw it up for the rest of Reiner’s dating life. But, Bertholdt countered internally as he pulled up to the cafe, there was no way he could. Reiner was understanding, did not stomp over his feelings, and always checked to make sure he was comfortable. There would have to be a large and unknown disturbance to destroy the night. And Bertholdt quelled the anxiety before it overcame him: there was no rational solution to it, which meant there was nothing to worry about.

The duo made their way into the cafe, which was pleasantly spare, with a few patrons littering the seating area and two in line. Bertholdt knew what he was getting before he was even in line—a vanilla bean, something that wouldn’t upset his stomach, with a caramel drizzle—but Reiner critically eyed the menu.

“There’s a lot of coffee,” he mumbled softly.

“It’s a cafe,” Bertholdt simply said.

“Yeah, but you think there’d be some variety.” Reiner waved absentmindedly at the menu. “It’s just the same thing with more crap in it than the one before it.”

He couldn’t help but smile at that. There was something endearing about Reiner’s logic behind certain things. “Are you not a fan of coffee?”

“By the time you finish making coffee, it’s not even coffee anymore. There’s milk, cream, sugar, sweetener, creamer, which is different from cream—”

“You’ve thought about this a lot.”

Reiner’s eyes narrowed. “Are you saying I’m wrong?”

“I’m just saying you’re very knowledgeable, for someone who doesn’t like coffee.”

“Hey,” he nudged him, “I do my research. I know what I like.”

“You picked this place and didn’t know it was made up entirely of coffee, so how good is your research?”

Reiner scowled at that and turned back to the menu with a huff. Bertholdt stifled a laugh and eyed the display of treats next to the register. Maybe a croissant or danish would do.

It was their turn at the register, and Reiner approached it with a large smile. He put in his order of Earl Gray without hesitation, and the way he turned to Bertholdt to ask for his order was soft and gentle. It was appreciated, because Bertholdt was rarely vocal of his social anxiety. He supposed it was obvious in terms of physicality and his interaction with others, but still. It was nice that Reiner didn’t put him in an uncomfortable place.

Bertholdt started to pull out money to pay, but Reiner had already handed over his card. He didn’t even look up at him to acknowledge the shady move. Instead, he pointed to a picture of a dog taped to a plastic box on the counter. “That’s a cute dog.”

“Thanks,” the barista grinned, “she’s our manager’s. We found her abandoned behind the dumpster out back. She has glaucoma and is completely blind in both eyes, but she’s so kind and energetic. We converted our tip jar into a donation jar so that she can have surgery to ease some pain in her eyes.”

“Aww, I bet she’s the best. What kind of dog is she?”

“We know she’s half-labrador, but we think she has some hound in her.”

“No way! I have a lab-hound mix!” Reiner instantly dug for his phone and showed his wallpaper, which was a candid photo of Barnaby smiling up at the camera. The barista cooed softly at the picture and complimented on how beautiful he was, to which Reiner laughed and told his pup’s gotcha story. Bertholdt, while the two were distracted, put the money he wanted to use for the drinks into the box. He took their snacks from the other barista, but there was already a line of two other people behind them. They eyed the chatters with disdain, which Bertholdt saw as his chance to slip away. He waited for their drinks instead, and the worry in his chest from the unwanted attention died down.

Reiner rejoined him a minute later, still smiling from his conversation about dogs and how great they were. He bumped his hip with Bertholdt’s. “You doing okay?”

Bertholdt nodded and smiled reassuringly. Separated from the people and the commotion of conversation had eased his nerves. “I’m good, thank you,” he replied. “That dog was cute.”

Reiner sighed and rested his head briefly on Bertholdt’s shoulder before pulling back as quick as it had landed. “I know, isn’t she?! Barnaby would love her.”

“To be fair, Barnaby is friends with everyone he meets.”

“True, true.” They paused, Reiner retrieving their drinks from the barista, and they decided on a table in the corner for their hangout. “Do you think he’d get along with Florence?”

Bertholdt shrugged, tearing off a piece of his danish. “I think so. She doesn’t really mind animals that are bigger than her, but I think Barnaby’s size might intimidate her.”

Reiner, steeping his tea, pouted. “Aww, he’s not that big.”

“He’s taller than regular dogs. But she might be okay after a while.”

When he looked back up at his date friend, his friend, he was taken aback by the teasing smirk. “So is that a plan in the future?”

Bertholdt gulped at the suggestion of a possible “next time.” He hadn’t considered it with Reiner, despite how well things seemed to have gone so far, but he assumed it wouldn’t be bad. He felt good, he liked Reiner, but that wasn’t any guarantee of a next time happening.

A dog walked by outside, which Reiner eagerly pointed out with a bright beam, but he took a sip of his tea and turned back to Bertholdt again. He didn’t dwell on the new presence, staying focused on the boy across from him who was suddenly enraptured with the action. Reiner was giving him his full attention, without hesitation, and without overwhelming the amount he threw at him, as if he knew the exact measurements of how much resulted in a social overload.

“How’s your drink?” Reiner asked after a beat of silence.

“It’s good.” Bertholdt thought about offering him a sip, just a brief musing thought, but decided against it.

“Cool, cool. You a big coffee drinker?”

“I try not to drink it past a certain time. It doesn’t always agree with me.”

“Oh, I get that.” Reiner sat back in his chair, almost pouting. “I can’t have anything spicy before bed. I’m like a gremlin, only worse.”

Bertholdt chuckled at the reference. Reiner smiled into his tea. “I didn’t think there was someone with tastes as picky as me.”

“I wish it wasn’t like that. I love spicy foods.”

“I can do without them, but a little spice isn’t too bad. I like Mexican hot chocolate, but that may just be because I grew up with it.”

“You’re Mexican?”

“On my mom’s side. ‘Bertholdt’ is just a ruse.”

Reiner laughed—boisterous and disruptive of the surrounding tables. The patrons sitting by themselves turned at the loud sound. “The ultimate trick. You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Bertholdt practically caved in on himself. He didn’t much care for surprises—too much anticipation, which led to anxiety, which steered right into a panic, which he didn’t need in his life. But thinking of himself as one? That was the ultimate surprise. “I, uh, never really thought of myself as that. I always thought I was pretty predictable.”

Reiner shook his head, looking unimpressed, to say the least. “I beg to differ. You’re so tall, but you’re so quiet.”

“That’s the only thing that’s surprising about me.”

“Have you tried a jalapeño?”

“No, it tastes weird—”

“But you’re Mexican!”

Bertholdt rolled his eyes—rather uncharacteristic, but there was something familiar about Reiner that made him feel safe in letting his guard down. “As opposed to you, who is very predictable.”

Reiner’s jaw dropped. “How am I predictable? I’m full of surprises!” He sat back again, this time waving to his body. “Come on, guess something about me. Predict something, Hoover.”

“Fine.” He took one glance, up and down, and remembered something he had overheard. Talk about high school wasn’t common for college students once they trudged through college. However, there was something unique about his experience that Jean had pointed out, something related to how they met. “Well, your muscles are huge—”

“I’m glad you noticed.” Reiner didn’t wink—which was a surprise, considering of the times anyone commented on his size, he did exactly that—but there was a twitch in his biceps that made his sleeves just a tad tighter.

“So you played a sport in high school. Football’s the most obvious, but it could have been wrestling.”

Reiner thought on it for a moment and shrugged. “I’ll give it to you. I played football for two years and then quit.”

“How come?”

“I didn’t wanna play anymore. At that point in my life, it was either get a scholarship for sports or a scholarship for my grades, and I had to decide which one was more important.”

“Oh.” Maybe he had been wrong. Perhaps Reiner was equally surprising. “And you chose your grades.”

“I wanna dig for artifacts, not tackle guys. And even now, it’s easier for people to accept me as Reiner than if I had to play a sport.”

The way he had said his name—as if there were quotation marks around it—had the same emphasis if he had declared his sexuality. Reiner had an identity that many would not, and did not, approve of. To be a football player dealing with that, he could not begin to relate or understand. He could, however, comprehend the struggle of learning to love himself. And Bertholdt didn’t need words to tell him that Reiner had had problems with that.

“It’s hard to decide what you want versus what others want,” Bertholdt said in a low voice. Reiner smiled, visibly comforted by the words. “Eventually, you lose who you are and don’t really understand yourself.”

“Exactly.” His expression was gentle, unlike the brass nature he constantly presented. He reached across the table and turned his hand up and fingers outstretched. Bertholdt met his fingers in a soft embrace, tangling together in warmth. Reiner felt like a bonfire, hot waves bouncing off his hand and against Bertholdt’s palm. “The hardest thing I’ve had to do was accept myself on my own terms and no one else’s.”

“Because the only thing you’re certain of is what other people think of you.”

“Yep.” Reiner smiled, and he removed his hand. “Looks like we’re not too surprising after all, huh?”

Bertholdt shook his head gently, though his lips turned upward at the indication. “I guess we aren’t.”

The rest of the date continued in soft conversation; eventually, Reiner moved closer to Bertholdt, under the pretense that he was getting cold. Bertholdt pointed out that it wasn’t that chilly, only sixty degrees, but Reiner was adamant that the temperature was a lie. Bertholdt took it as a confirmation that science was lying to him, which Reiner had not appreciated and swore his revenge.

They left the cafe a while later, Reiner cozied up to Bertholdt’s side. He liked the irony of he, the introvert, supporting the extrovert, always warm and beaming, in his search for heat. Thankfully, Bertholdt’s body always seemed to run in a constant state of warmth, so his body was the perfect solution.

“It could snow,” Reiner pointed out. He had yet to get into the car, opting instead to stand and look up at the sky. “There’s a ring around the moon.”

“You are very dramatic,” Bertholdt remarked as he started the car. He put the air on nice and warm for his apparently light-skinned companion. “I feel bad for Barnaby.”

“He’s worse than me! If I have to take a piss, and he doesn’t see me leave, he’s beside himself. The world is ending, and nothing will cure him.”

“I can understand that.”

“Why, because of my desirably devilish looks?”

“No, but we can talk about lying another time.”

“Ooh, that hurt, Bert.” Reiner gripped his chest and fell back against his seat. “I’m unable to recover.”

Bertholdt let out a long sigh despite Reiner’s amused laughs. “I’m desensitized to your acts. Ymir and Marco might as well be theater majors.”

“Why, because they long for love they can get if they just ask?” Reiner paused, then backtracked. “Or anyone could, really. Jean says Marco will never look at him like that, even though he literally does every time they’re together.”

“It’s getting tiring. We should do something about it.”

“What, as thanks for getting us together? Wait, uh—” Reiner scrambled for the right words. “I don’t—that wasn’t to say that we’re—I mean, yeah, I like you, but, like, I don’t wanna force you—”

“That would work,” Bertholdt cut him off. Reiner stayed deathly silent, his hands digging into his thighs. “We can thank them for introducing us because I don’t think we would have met up like this if it weren’t for them. And,” he added, because that look of fear needed a good dose of reassurance, “there wouldn’t be a next time.”

It took a second for the words to sink in. Reiner was still ramrod straight in the passenger seat, but he relaxed and let out a long sigh as if he had been holding his breath. Bertholdt glanced at him for a brief moment and saw the thankful glance. He met it with a smile of his own and offered a hand. Reiner patted it gently.

“Focus on driving. I’m okay.” He did, however, give a quick squeeze to his palm before setting his hands back in his lap. “Thank you.”

His heart melted into a puddle and pooled at his feet, overwhelmed with this blond boy who could break the sound barrier with his laugh and offer soft condolences in the next breath. He had the body of a linebacker but the interests of an archaeologist. Reiner was as different in his ways as Bertholdt was in his. The similarity made for a nice pair, if he did say so himself.

Bertholdt pulled up to Reiner’s apartment and got out to walk him to the door. Under the porch light, he noticed how scared Reiner actually was: his hands wrung together, his feet scuffed, his eyes darted from Bertholdt’s face to the ground to the door. Bertholdt felt equally uneasy, if only because the end of the night would decide how the rest of their relationship would play out.

“We should do this again,” he decided. Reiner, still withdrawn, gave a trance-like nod. Bertholdt nudged his foot gently. “As an actual date. With dinner. If you want.”

Reiner gulped and nodded, this one more confident but still hesitant. “Um, yeah, for sure. A…date.” He wasn’t fully understanding what this was—what they were—and Bertholdt didn’t see much to worry about. He could be with Reiner, and they could do things together, and it would be nice. Tonight proved that much. But Reiner needed a bit more confirmation into what they were going to be.

Bertholdt offered his arms, inviting him for a hug, and Reiner accepted. The embrace was tight, definitely longer than expected, and shrouded in an air of intimacy that smelled of high expectations. Bertholdt found himself wanting to stay in it longer, but Reiner was still cold, and he didn’t want to keep him from that warmth or his dog.

“I’ll see you tom—”

Reiner grabbed his hand and pecked the top. He clutched long fingers as if they could provide an answer for what he was feeling. There was no answer, Bertholdt feared, at least in the spot he was looking. And there never would be.

Bertholdt gave his answer in a kiss on the cheek. A gentle brush, quick enough to miss, soft and sweet. It reminded Bertholdt of the type of shenanigans that little kindergarteners pulled off on the playground. It was small, it was quick, and it was the first thing he could think of that would give them an answer on what he was.

Which, when he thought about it, did not sound very promising. Or good. Should he have asked before kissing him? He should have asked. Although the redness that Reiner suddenly had on his face was not there a second ago. And Bertholdt could feel his own cheeks blazing—

Oh.

“I’m going now!” He declared and zipped off to his car. He left Reiner standing on the doorstep, but the laughter that followed after him told him that he had done something good. Or at least he thought.

(He did—when he returned to his apartment, he found a text from Reiner saying how eager he was to return the kiss at their next date. There couldn’t be a sign greater than that.)

x-x-x

“Barnaby, no!”

The eager pooch stole a giant lick from his glass, and Bertholdt resigned himself with a sigh and let Barnaby lap up the rest of it. Reiner only gave him a teasing smirk. “You shouldn’t have insulted him earlier.”

“I did not insult him,” Bertholdt frowned. “He was going to jump over the puddle, and I knew he wasn’t going to make it.”

“You didn’t believe in him. That’s insulting.”

Bertholdt rolled his eyes and shoved Reiner’s shoulder, who only scooted closer, resting his head on his shoulder. Bertholdt returned the gesture, pressing a small kiss atop Reiner’s head. He hummed in response. “He’s a terrible third wheel.”

“I see him more of a wingman than a third wheel.”

“That’s because you’re biased.”

In protest, Reiner moved into Bertholdt’s lap despite the resigned protests of the taller. “I’m biased about a lot of things. Want me to list them?”

“Mm, start with Indiana Jones, and we’ll see where you land.”

“That was cold.”

Among kisses and soft laughs shared, surrounded by reminders of how different they were, it was nice to be with a like-minded companion—who just so happened to give great kisses. Reiner liked to add the last part, and Bertholdt, though confused as to how it fit, was not one to protest its truth.