Chapter Text
“You should totally dump this guy’s ass,” Annie says, taking the last sip of her beer. Setting the bottle down onto the table with a bang after, she immediately beckons the cute waitress over whom Porco has been staring at the whole time to serve them more.
“He’s a fucking wanker,” the man in question—still ogling the rather cute blond young woman—says. “A fucking psycho.”
“Hey, hey, now,” Bertolt chastises softly, a nervous smile on his lips, “calm down guys. Eren’s not that bad...”
Annie tuts, glaring at the waitress who hasn’t come over yet, her thirst for beer, as always, unquenchable. Then, she’s glaring at Reiner, who flinches under this piercing stare of those cold blue eyes he’s known all his life, finally looking up from his phone, finally stopping to stare at the messages Eren’s sent him.
“Reiner,” she says, her tone as powerful and as flat as always; and Reiner’s asking himself how Annie is able to sound bored and menacing at the same time. She’s good-natured, he knows, but also ever-so intimidating. “Don’t answer him. He’s being a dick, and you know it.”
Reiner sighs, his gaze inevitably shifting back to his phone on the table, vibrating shortly, and the new message Eren’s just sent him.
“Are you ignoring me now?” Marcel, suddenly appearing behind Reiner to look over his shoulder, reads the text out loud.
Porco rolls his eyes at this, as his brother moves to sit down beside Reiner.
“So, Reiner. Why are you ignoring him?” Marcel asks, not even teasing.
“He’s not ignoring him,” Annie butts in nonchalantly, “but he should be. Don’t text back, Reiner.”
“And why’s that?” Marcel inquires, looking Reiner in the eyes. And before the tall, blond man in the middle of his 20s can answer, Porco is speaking for him.
“That fucker’s throwing a raging fit because of that pic you posted of you and Reiner on Instagram. It’s cos Eren’s a jealous bitch.”
“Porco,” Bertolt scolds him softly, “don’t call Eren a bitch.”
“I agree,” says Annie, eyes glinting as the waitress finally walks over with the new beers, “he’s more of an asshat anyways.”
Bertolt rolls his eyes, and Reiner feels… uncomfortable. And sad. But mostly, uncomfortable. Because he’s being backed into a corner he can’t escape from. But he must.
“Guys…” he mumbles, once the waitress is gone and Porco is still staring after her. But then he has no idea what to say. Because how could he possibly explain to them why Eren’s acting the way he’s acting, writing the things he’s writing?
Without uncovering the whole truth.
“He’s jealous?” Marcel picks up the topic softly, unable to stop himself from chuckling. “Because of me? He knows I’m straight, right? And that he should be more worried about Porco, huh?” Marcel adds in gentle amusement.
Porco scoffs, grinning, taking a sip of his beer.
“If you ever tell Eren about this, that fucking idiot will lock Reiner up and we’ll never see him again,” Annie states matter-of-factly. And while Bertolt protests faintly, telling Annie she’s exaggerating, Reiner’s actually not so sure about it.
It’s hard for Reiner to explain Eren’s nature to his old friends, whom he doesn’t see on a daily basis anymore due to real life responsibilities. Especially Marcel, who has moved 500 kilometres away for his studies at the university he had always wanted to attend. Which is a curse and a blessing at once. And while Reiner is able to meet up with Bertolt, Annie and Porco at least every two or three months, to have a few beers and talk, the times Marcel comes to town to actually join them are scarce. And thus, Reiner hasn’t seen him for seven months straight. This is why Marcel is the only one who hasn’t met Eren yet; for Reiner and the dark-haired man his age started going out merely six months ago.
“So… He’s the jealous type?” Marcel asks, once again not teasing. Just curious. Because Reiner hasn’t told him much about Eren yet, to be fair. He’s never been the very talkative kind, never could be. And, well… It’s so hard to talk about Eren with his friends.
Because...
Annie and Porco both start laughing in a very nasty way. “He’s fucking beyond jealous,” Annie spits out, making Reiner feel even more uncomfortable. Because Annie just doesn’t… She just doesn’t understand. None of them do. How could they?
“You should have seen the first time Eren saw Bertolt drunk-dancing with Reiner,” Porco spits out and Bertolt blushes. And Reiner feels even more uncomfortable. And tense. Staring at his phone that is vibrating again, another text from Eren appearing on the screen.
“Call me.”
Reiner sighs. “He’s not that jealous,” he then responds to Marcel, knowing he’s telling a blatant lie. Because Eren is the epitome of jealousy. But… for reasons. Reasons his friends definitely wouldn’t comprehend.
Because they just don’t know better.
Because they’re different.
“Oh come on, man!” Porco spits. “Who the fuck are you kidding? One day, just a couple of days after Reiner got together with that asshole, I turned up at his place with Colt and Pieck unannounced because they wanted to see Reiner’s new flatscreen, and fuck me: You should have fucking seen Eren’s face. Like, yeah, he’s good-looking and probably fucks like a beast, am I right, Reiner? You must have some reasons for dating that prick. But the way he was staring daggers at us: I swear he wanted to stomp right all over Colt whenever he got a little closer to Reiner. And he sure as hell wanted to break my jaw for bringing Colt and Pieck up there and interrupting their lovey-dovey time or whatever. Probably still wants to kill me.”
“I changed my mind,” Annie snorts in amusement, tuning to Marcel. “You should totally tell Eren about your brother’s teenage crush on Reiner. Could be quite funny to see the guy flip out and try to fight Porco.”
Porco cackles. Reiner does not.
“I definitely will not,” Marcel responds calmly, clapping Reiner’s shoulder in a friendly and supportive way, “but do tell: When will I finally get to meet Eren? Why isn’t he here today?”
Reiner feels a certain kind of cold seep into his stomach. “He has to work tonight,” he responds; leaving out the part about that fact that Eren having to work is actually the reason he suggested tonight for all of them to meet up. Because… Because Eren’s a bit difficult around his friends. Because his friends are difficult around him, too. And Reiner doesn’t like difficult. Because it’s already hard enough as it is.
Reiner’s phone vibrates again.
“Call me!”
“I… I’ll be right back,” he says, reaching for his phone—and that’s the moment Annie leans over the table and grabs the device in one swift motion, snatching it right out of Reiner’s grasp easily.
“Annie!”
The blond young woman begins to snicker.
“Annie, give it back to Reiner,” Bertolt pleads, ever so gently. “This is immature.”
“I will give this back to Reiner,” Annie says, holding the device up before shoving it into the pocket of her jacket. “But only after Reiner chugs his beer in one go.”
“Annie…” Reiner protests, his heart dropping to his stomach, while he calls on every fibre of his being to make his mouth stretch into a grin.
“Shut up,” Porco teases, sneering at Reiner, “I haven’t seen Reiner drunk in a long time. I miss drunk Reiner.”
“Oh, I miss drunk Reiner too,” Marcel says, laughing. “Why don’t we all chug our beers, as a sign of support?”
“Aye!” Annie agrees, raising her bottle, and Reiner sighs.
“And here I thought you were the responsible one of our group,” he comments weakly, while Marcel’s just laughing. And Reiner wishes he could laugh too. But instead of amusement, all that he feels is tension.
“Sometimes you need to be a little irresponsible too, you know,” Marcel then tells Reiner, reaching for his beverage. “Now come on, drink up. This is supposed to be a party.”
And thus, Reiner drinks, chugs the beer down just like it is being asked of him, and his friends are laughing and it’s a supposedly relaxed and cheerful atmosphere. But a queasy feeling in the pit of Reiner’s stomach remains. And that’s not because of the alcohol he’s consumed, but because Eren’s waiting for him to call him, and Annie still has his phone, and Eren’s probably going crazy with worry by now.
And anger.
Going mad with raw frustration.
“Come on,” Reiner says, his beer bottle empty, his head slightly dizzy, still forcing himself to grin. “Give it back to me now, Annie.”
He doesn’t like that cheeky look on his friend’s face.
“You promised,” Bertolt reminds the blond, but Annie’s grin doesn’t falter.
“I said ‘when Reiner chugs his beer’. I didn’t say ‘this beer’. So, big guy: One more and I’ll give it back. Maybe.”
Reiner groans. “Annie,” he complains, grimacing. Because chugging down a whole beer is actually pretty hard work and he already feels the alcohol making him feel slightly woozy. And he’s tense. So fucking tense, and she doesn’t understand because Reiner cannot tell her. “Just give it back to me.”
“No.”
Porco is already ordering another round.
“Annie, you’re mean,” Bertolt complains, and the blond laughs.
“How can I be mean when I just want Reiner to finally have a good time again?”
“Does that mean Reiner hasn’t been having a good time lately?” Marcel asks, looking at the big, trained, blond man in question. And it’s making Reiner feel uncomfortable.
Reiner’s always been prone to depressive episodes. Not wanting to burden his friends, he never openly speaks about it, avoids conversations altogether sometimes; when the mere thought of having to say ‘good morning’ to his friends makes him almost faint out of exhaustion, feels like having to climb Mount Everest, makes him feel anxious and angry, all at once. But, of course, even if Reiner avoids talking about his feelings, about anything actually, during those extremely harsh times, when he’s not able to pretend anymore that he’s fine, the others notice it. And that has happened quite often during the past year.
Eren helped—and helps—to make him feel better; which neither Porco, nor Annie, nor Bertolt understand. And Reiner is sure Marcel won’t also. How could he? How could any of them?
Their relationship is complex, while Reiner’s friends keep wanting to apply a black-and-white grid onto their bond, focussing mainly on those parts that are black, bad, according to them. It‘s… difficult. All of it. And Reiner doesn’t like difficult. That’s why separating his friends from Eren is his best option.
It’s easy.
Amongst all the difficulties Reiner’s has to endure when being around his friends, this is easy.
And yet, his plan still seems to be backfiring today despite its easy nature.
“Annie,” Reiner sighs, trying to change the topic immediately. Like he always does. “Give me back my phone.”
“No.”
“Come on. Don’t be like that.”
A certain kind of deeper nervousness starts to grip Reiner’s throat, the mere thought of Eren staring at his phone, waiting for his boyfriend to finally call him, making him feel as if somebody was clawing at his insides.
“Chug another beer, then we’ll talk again.”
“Annie…” Reiner rolls his eyes. But he cannot fight Annie. Nobody goes against Annie. No one of a sane mind, at least. She has them all in the palm of her hand, has always had them there. But Reiner especially.
Sometimes, he’s simply scared of her, even though he knows she’d never harm him. She would, however, most definitely, harm people who hurt Reiner; actually has done that before, at the playground for instance, beating up some boys who were beating up Reiner after school. That incident was actually what caused Reiner to focus on becoming strong. Physically. As well as some other shit in his life. Like his own failure when he was trying so hard to become the heir his father wanted and needed him to be. An heir to a legacy Reiner wasn’t able to handle.
But he doesn’t want to be thinking about that right now.
“Annie,” he groans, his desperation almost audible, “give me back my phone. Please.”
“Nope.”
Reiner sighs deeply, watching the waitress serve them another round of beers.
“Annie,” he tries again, once the woman is gone, but the blond just shakes her head, and his pulse is almost skyrocketing.
“Chug this one and we’ll talk.”
“All right,” Marcel finally speaks up, determined, his gaze locked with Annie’s. His tone somewhat authoritative. “That’s enough. Give it back to him. Now. It’s not funny anymore, Annie.”
Everyone is silent after that. After Marcel, who has always been some kind of leader of the group, talking to Annie like that. And Reiner has to correct himself: Because it’s not true that nobody goes against Annie—only Marcel does. Can. It’s only Marcel to whom Annie actually listens. And so, rolling her eyes, she fishes Reiner’s phone out of her pocket and slides it to him across the hard wood.
“Thank you,” the blond, tall man mutters, snatching it from the table, “I’ll be right back,” he adds, already on his feet, unlocking his device, staring at the screen revealing no new messages from Eren.
A few seconds later, he’s outside, walking a few steps down the main street, away from the bar they are currently drinking at, dialling Eren’s number with his heart drumming in his chest—but he doesn’t reach him. His call goes straight to voicemail. Over and over again, and Reiner figures that Eren was forced to switch his phone off because work got too busy. Or because he got caught by his boss texting. And so, he sends him a voice message, finally responding to the very first question his boyfriend sent him after seeing that picture Marcel tagged Reiner in.
“Why didn’t you tell me Marcel was going to be there??? Are you keeping secrets now???”
“Hey… I’m sorry I couldn’t answer you before, I, uh, I didn’t have signal. And I was sure I mentioned it. That uh, Marcel was gonna be there too,” Rainer says. It’s a lie. It’s a bunch of lies, and he feels horrible about lying to Eren, but… But often it’s less difficult than telling him the truth. The truth which would make him worry, make him obsess over nothing. Because even though Reiner has always been particularly fond of Marcel, he’s never had any romantic feelings for him. And it would have all worked out well—Reiner meeting Marcel without his boyfriend knowing about it, with Eren having to work the night shift. But Marcel just freaking had to post the picture on Instagram and tag Reiner for his boyfriend to immediately notice, hadn’t he? And since when did Marcel even have an Instagram account? “I’m sorry, Eren… Are you okay?”
Reiner’s heart skips a cold beat when he sees Eren’s status on the messenger appearing as ‘online’, when he witnesses the two check marks turning blue, indicating that his voice message has been delivered and activated, listened to; and he waits. He waits for Eren to respond, watches that one word—‘online’—for what feels like forever. A time span definitely enabling Eren to play Reiner’s voice message at least three times. Until it—he— suddenly disappears again.
Eren’s offline. And Reiner feels as if someone slapped him across the face, as he’s beginning to ask himself if Eren’s seriously just busy at work—or whether he’s actually so angry with Reiner that he’s showing him the cold shoulder now.
Angry with Reiner for answering so late.
Angry with him for lying to him also.
Because probably Eren’s already figured him out.
Shit.
Reiner tries to call him again, his stomach doing funny things, his pulse quickening as he hears the ringing tone—but then it goes straight to voicemail again. And again. And Reiner knows that Eren truly is angry and is ignoring him on purpose.
And he doesn’t like it one bit.
“Shit.”
If only Annie had given him the phone back quicker. If only Reiner had called Eren earlier. Maybe he could have saved himself somehow, could have mended things. And now they’re in the middle of an emotional fallout. And he won’t be able to speak to Eren the whole night, won’t probably see him until late in the afternoon the next day, considering the man has to sleep after his night shift.
“Shit…”
“Hey,” Marcel's voice coming from behind him startles Reiner and he instinctively twirls around, looking into his friend’s face. The dark-blond man is smiling at him. “Are you okay, Reiner?” Marcel is offering him a cigarette, and Reiner sighs, declining. Marcel shrugs, lighting his one, waiting for Reiner to answer his question. But Reiner doesn’t know whether he is okay, and he sure as hell doesn’t want to tell Marcel that. Anything, actually. “Did you reach Eren?” the latter asks him, after a while of silence.
Reiner shakes his head.
“No. He’s… He’s probably just super busy now,” he says. Another lie. Reiner feels uncomfortable, even though he should be used to this.
“He works at the steel mill, right?” Marcel asks.
“Y-Yeah…”
There’s a moment of silence between them. Awkward silence.
“You know,” Reiner’s friend then says, looking the tall blond into the eyes, “you haven’t actually told me anything about Eren. All I know about him is from what Annie, Bert and my brother tell me; and from the info I gathered stalking his Insta just now. And, well, you know the others aren’t really fond of him and not afraid to say so, and I’m sorry about that, and I thought about whether I should confront you about it tonight or not, but… Ah, man, this shit is awkward, but…” Marcel releases a nervous laughter, taking another drag from his cigarette. “Are you okay, Reiner?” he asks again, sounding way more serious than just now. Gentle, too. “I mean, I’ll be super, brutally honest with you now, okay? From what the others told me he sounds like a freaking asshole. And since you’re not telling me anything about him that might say otherwise, I’m inclined to believe what the others are saying. So… Is he an asshole, Reiner?”
Reiner swallows. He’s in the middle of the exact type of conversation he’s so diligently trying to escape. Because he’s aware that Eren might come across as an asshole to so many people, to his friends, might come across as a bad guy. But he isn’t a bad guy. He’s not an asshole either. Not to Reiner. But…
But his friends won’t understand.
Because they haven’t been through all the shit Reiner’s been through.
Because they haven’t been through all the shit Eren’s been through.
Because they aren’t broken—damaged—like Reiner and Eren are.
Because they have no freaking clue, even if they do pick up on Reiner’s super dark times.
But they still don’t understand.
“He’s been through some very tough stuff with family,” Reiner explains, leaning against the wall, actually changing his mind about the cigarette. Because even if he doesn’t smoke regularly anymore, he needs the tobacco’s calming effects right now. Especially, when he’s talking about family.
“Tough family stuff?” Marcel picks up softly, after lighting his friend’s cigarette, leaning against the wall too, looking up into the night sky, just like Reiner is.
“Yeah.”
Reiner inhales, the smoke burning his lungs slightly, as his thoughts wander to Eren. And he asks himself how he could possibly describe the trauma Eren went through to Marcel. How he could possibly find the words to capture and convey the betrayal and agony his boyfriend experienced. How finding out that his brother Zeke was only his half-brother had impacted Eren. How uncovering more of the Jäger family’s secrets had destroyed his trust in humanity.
How Eren felt after finding out that his supposed mother Dina had not given birth to him, but a woman who used to be his father’s assistant in the clinic. How Eren strived to find her, pushing through and digging up more of the dirt all the uncomfortable truths were hidden under, discovering that he had only been fed more lies by Grisha after the first revelations. Grisha, who had claimed that Carla—Eren’s true biological mother—had abandoned him to maintain her freedom when, in fact, it had been Dina, the betrayed and deceived wife, who had threatened and terrorised her, all of it finally leading to her suicide when Eren was not even one year of age.
How Eren came to know that Grisha had covered his affair up, had covered Eren’s birth up, disguising it as Dina’s; how he had covered Carla’s death up, claiming she’d suffered from various mental illnesses for years that had led to her suicide. How the man, a leading neurosurgeon, well-respected in the community, the son of a well-known doctor—who had been the son of a well-known doctor too—could not permit his name and reputation to be tainted by an illegitimate son.
How Eren had to cope when he felt the alleged, unbreakable bond between him and his brother become something fragile, how Zeke did not protect him from Dina’s coldness and constant attacks anymore, how his father turned away from him when Eren fought back against all the atrocities done to him, disowned him when he threatened to expose the Jäger secrets, kicked him out of the home that had never been a home to focus all his parental energies on Zeke, his successor.
How Eren’s friends distanced themselves after the trauma changed him; just like emotional trauma had changed Reiner. And since Marcel doesn’t even know about that—how should he ever understand that Reiner and Eren are… the same?
That Reiner feels close to Eren because he understands his pain and rage. Because Eren understands his pains and rage. Because Eren was the first one Reiner has been able to open up to completely, those green, mesmerising eyes enchanting him; those eyes looking right through him. No: Right into him. Staring deep into his soul, piercing through all the layers, the barriers, the walls Reiner erected around himself; a façade.
Eren saw it for what it was—for he had built those walls around himself too.
So how can Reiner make Marcel understand?
Marcel, who doesn’t see Reiner for what he truly is: A failure. A disgrace. A disappointment.
A weakling.
Reiner isn’t like them. Like Annie and Bertolt, like Marcel and Porco, like Pieck and Colt. He’s different, and he’s sure that if his friends knew the extent of his failure, all the truths covered up swiftly by the Braun family—just like the Jägers had done with all their secrets—if they knew who he really was, they wouldn’t want to be his friends anymore.
Their families have been tied together for generations, the Brauns, the Fingers, the Grices and the Galliards. Doing business, helping each other build their companies and secure deals. Somewhat like an affiliated dynasty, spreading all around the world thanks to globalisation and the fixation upon capitalism, each generation making sure to advance what their predecessors had started.
Only Reiner wouldn’t be able to do it.
Because, while all of his friends would take over the business of their parent’s, Reiner would not.
While Annie, Bertolt, Pieck, Colt, Porco and Marcel were being trained to become the CEOs of those companies, prepared for doing business together in the future, doing business with others too, Reiner would only be allowed to watch from afar—the Braun legacy carried on not by him, the only son of the eldest Braun, but by his younger cousin Gabi.
Because Reiner wasn’t fit for inheriting the legacy. Because Reiner wasn’t smart enough to take over. Because Reiner wasn’t strong enough to follow in his father’s footsteps. Because he was…
A failure.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Marcel asks, sounding kind and gentle, encouraging.
Reiner sighs. “No, I’m fine,” he then answers, looking Marcel in the eyes, putting on his own smile that is not as charismatic as Marcel’s, never was, never will be; for Reiner’s smile is not genuine. It’s a farce. It’s fake. Another lie, another façade. Because that’s the only thing Reiner is good at: Lying.
Because it’s what his father taught him to do, the least that he expected Reiner to do after the blond had failed him.
Lying. Hiding. Deceiving.
“You sure?” Marcel asks, still smiling softly.
“Yeah,” Reiner says, inhaling some more of the smoke, doing what he also knows best to do: Distracting. It’s part of all the lies. “How are your studies going? You’re going abroad soon, aren’t you?”
Marcel sighs. “Yeah, I’m kind of looking forward to go to the USA, I won’t lie about that, but…” Marcel sighs again, flipping the rest of his cigarette bud to the ground, stomping it out with his foot. “But I fear my uncle is going to work me to the bone,” he adds, laughing, referring to the purpose of his trip: An apprenticeship required for his university degree, completed at the US branch in the Gallliard’s hands. “I won’t have time to do much sight-seeing. Even less to party,” he says, snickering.
“I’m sure you’ll enjoy it anyhow,” Reiner answers, ignoring how his chest is constricting. Ignoring how queasy his stomach is starting to feel. Ignoring the unpleasant shivers running up and down his arms, as he’s talking with Marcel about the life he envies him for.
“Sometimes I wish I was more like you, Reiner,” Marcel suddenly says, and Reiner freezes, his heartbeat picking up. “You know, it really takes balls to go against your father like that. Porco and I have been speaking about it quite a lot lately during all of our fucking exams, imagining how our old man would freak out, if we told him we won’t be taking over the company. God, just try to imagine his face…” Marcel speaks out, laughing, shaking his head. “Sometimes, I wish I also had the guts to do that, just like you did. To quit and do something completely different than all of my freaking ancestors have done.”
Marcel’s words are like arrows piercing Reiner’s flesh and bones, breaking through the armour of the lies Reiner has wrapped himself in; a costume worn for so long, a role played for what feels like eternity that sometimes it’s hard for him to discern illusion from reality. Sever the imposter from his true self. But not now. Not in this moment. For the alcohol, the sleepless night that lies behind him, the terrible rift between him and Eren right now—when is he going to finally answer?!—and the fact that Marcel is referring to that huge construct of lies, is ungrateful for what he is allowed to have—a denied legacy Reiner would kill for—it’s too much. For it brings all the memories back. Memories Reiner tries to subdue each day. But he can’t. Not right now. The hairs on the back of his neck rising up, as unpleasant shivers run down his back, pain and anger mixing into something… dangerous.
Marcel has to shut up.
Reiner doesn’t want to hear this.
Can’t stand to hear this.
Won’t hear this.
Marcel has no idea what it’s really like to be like him. Marcel has no idea Reiner has never had the balls to do anything that wasn’t according to his father’s wishes. Marcel has no idea that Reiner doesn’t have the guts to… He’s not strong, despite all his muscles. He’s not courageous, despite the determined expression he’s able to put on. Reiner’s not bold, adventurous or gallant in any way.
He’s a coward. A coward and a loser.
But Marcel may never know about that. Has to be kept in the dark. Like Reiner and his family have been keeping all of them in the dark about this. About Reiner.
And Reiner remembers, even if he doesn’t want to, he remembers how he used to fall behind in class, had troubles focussing during lessons. How he panicked whenever a test a came up. How he failed big exams. How his father made him stay at home after school, secretly hiring a whole armada of tutors to get Reiner back on track; how he bribed the teachers in the end not to let Reiner fail his A levels.
How he scolded Reiner, how with every bad grade he brought home his father’s mood grew worse, how the older Braun grew desperate, grabbing Reiner’s shoulders to shake him, cementing into his brain from the start that he may never ever openly admit to his educational troubles, his everyday struggles; not permitting him to taint the Braun-name in any way, making sure Reiner understood how important it was in the world of business families to maintain their image, their reputation, their heritage, their legacy, promising him that it would all work out, that he was the next in line and would claim his place like he was supposed to and nobody would ever know about his struggles. And that was what had kept Reiner going, what helped him in lying to his friends, keeping his worries to himself, pretending he was just as successful as them, just as happy and carefree as them. As Annie, Bertolt, Pieck, Colt, Porco and Marcel.
But he wasn’t.
And in the end, it all didn’t work out.
For even with his bribed A levels and his father’s connections enabling him to enroll at university, with all the tutors and Reiner’s constant attempts to make it right, to push through, to understand and comprehend, to be successful, he was not.
He was unable to understand.
He was unable to cope.
He was unable to succeed.
He was just… He was lacking. Everything.
He wasn’t smart like his father, he wasn’t clever, he simply wasn’t made for business like his family was, like his friends were.
And the most tragic thing was probably the fact that Reiner’s father hadn’t even pressured Reiner into wanting to become his successor, had forced him to walk down this path, making Reiner “rebel” against him, as the “official” story went that Marcel was just now referring to, with the eldest Braun making Reiner tell everyone he had quit university because working in the family business had never been his dream—when, in fact, Reiner had never wanted anything else.
Growing up, Reiner felt like a prince, dreaming about inheriting a kingdom. It’s all he ever desired. To fulfill his purpose as a Braun, to follow in his father’s footsteps, to make the man proud, make his mother proud, make the rest of the family proud, make himself proud. He wanted to be part of the group, on one level with Annie, Marcel and the others. He wanted to take over the company. He strived so very hard to achieve it, remembering how his father used to call him “little warrior” when he was a child, so full of ambitions.
But Reiner wasn’t a warrior. And his father stopped calling him that.
Because Reiner was worthless. A nobody. Not overly intelligent, not talented in any particular way—hell, instead of becoming a CEO Reiner was a plumbing and heating installer, his father making him lie about why he had chosen this apprenticeship after leaving university, making Reiner claim he had always strived for honest and good, down-to-earth physical labour. When, in fact, the truth was that Reiner had had no idea what he wanted to achieve in life after his big dream burst like a bubble and he was made to watch Gabi take his place.
She replaced him and he couldn’t even be angry at her about it.
But it hurt.
It hurt to see his father treat her like his own daughter—as if he didn’t have a child on his own. Focussing all his energies, all his affections on her, looking at Reiner as if he was…
Invisible.
A disgrace.
A disappointment.
Because that’s what he is.
And when his father secured him the apprenticeship at the company of an old friend—how could Reiner deny?
“Sometimes I wish I could just drop it all and run away to Africa or something,” Marcel states, laughing.
And Reiner can’t take it anymore. Can’t take the ungratefulness seeping through every word spoken out by his friend, can’t believe Marcel would kick his own legacy with his feet, like it was something bothersome—like it was dirt. He can’t take it how he can treat it all so lightly, how it all came to him so easily, naturally; how he can be this neglectful when he has everything Reiner and any other normal person can only dream of.
And something inside of Reiner snaps, as if a bolt of golden lightning was shooting through his body, awakening something dormant within himself.
His body moves on his own, acts on his own, and before he knows it, he’s grabbing Marcel by the young man’s shoulders, hauling him against the wall, Reiner’s eyes wide open, his whole body trembling as he’s literally shouting at his friend.
“Don’t ever say that again! Don’t ever treat your legacy so lightly! You should be fucking ecstatic because you’r so lucky and you shuold giving it your all! How can you say stuff like that?! Don’t ever say shit like that again! Others would kill to be in your position, don’t you fucking understand?!”
Only after the words are out, reality catches up to Reiner. And he freezes, only now realizing what he has done: Letting some parts of his true self out. Letting some of the despicable truth seep out. And it’s horrifying. It’s so horrifying to see that look of bewilderment on Marcel’s face, that is so closer to Reiner’s, to look into those wide eyes, his friend’s head pressed against the wall, his arms hanging out to either side, the shock of Reiner’s sudden outburst seeming to render him immobile.
Marcel’s never looked at him like that.
Never.
And the unpleasant shivers running up and down Reiner’s back become even colder. Instantly, he lets go of Marcel, taking a step back, his heartbeat as fast as the beat of a pumping dance song, his throat constricting; fear and shock fueling Reiner’s own body, mixing with his ever-present shame, his embarrassment, his guilt.
“I-I-I’m…”
He doesn’t get to finish his apology. A voice coming from behind him cuts him off, shooting right into Reiner’s core, rendering him absolutely useless in this second.
“Reiner.”
It’s a dark voice. A dark, manly and low voice. Soothing, while at the same time menacing.
It’s Eren’s voice.
Instinctively, Reiner turns around, the emotions twisting and turning inside of his chest like a pit of wicked and agitated snakes when he looks into those big, emerald eyes, focusing on him; and an artic shiver runs down the whole of his spine.
Eren’s standing not even a metre away from him, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his black black jeans, his lean and muscled arms—full of tattoos, of mystical and satanic symbols, tribals and horrific, giant monsters—exposed to the pleasant summer night air. He’s wearing an equally pitch black shirt with the almost idecipherable logo of his own death metal band GENOCIDE stretched over his hard and trained chest, an inverted cross dangling around his neck, his ears full of studs and other piercings, his long, deep-brown hair styled into a man bun, some of the strands hanging loosely around his perfect face, his jawline strong, cheekbones high, his skin sun-kissed.
He’s handsome.
A handsome rebel by the book, and his attractiveness strikes Reiner almost every time he looks at Eren.
But the man’s expression is grim. Cold. His eyes like a snakepit, drawing Reiner in because they are equally fascinating and terrifying, Eren’s piercing gaze sending chills down Reiner’s spine.
“E-Eren…” he manages to breathe out, his heartbeat a steady rhythm in his ears. That’s when his boyfriend’s eyes move to settle on Marcel, who is still leaning with his back against the wall, still shaken by Reiner’s sudden outburst.
And Reiner’s scared.
Nervous.
Horrified.
Confused.
He…
He doesn’t know what to do. Why is Eren even here? Wasn’t he supposed to work the nightshift? Did he lie to him too?! And if so, why?
And what the hell is he going to do to Marcel, what-
“Uh, hey, um, Eren,” the latter mumbles, straightening himself up, taking step closer towards Reiner’s boyfriend, holding out his hand in a friendly greeting with an equally friendly smile on his face, like nothing happened just now, “nice to finally meet you. I’m Marcel.”
It’s like time’s slowing down. Freezing, actually. And Reiner swears his heartbeat is so loud it’s blocking out any other sound right this minute. The rustling of the few trees planted alongside the street, the cars and motorcycles passing by, the mumbling of people from the outside tables of the bar, the faint music drifting over from the venue. All Reiner hears is his heart, pumping hot blood through his veins. And despite this, despite the warm summer night, Reiner feels absolutely cold.
As cold as Eren’s gaze, frozen in place in time, his eyes not moving as they remain stuck on Marcel, piercing him, making the man stop, his smile faltering, Marcel’s outstretched hand remaining untouched.
And then, Eren’s arm finally moves—but not to shake Marcel’s hands, not to introduce himself. Instead, he grabs Reiner’s upper arm. Hard.
“We need to talk,” Eren says, his tone clear, and as chilled as his gaze, still looking at Marcel, but clearly speaking to Reiner, whom he’s pulling along, as he suddenly turns to the side and starts walking away from the bar, dragging Reiner into a little sidestreet; and there’s nothing Reiner can do about it. There’s nothing he can say. For his lips are sealed and his limbs do not obey him. He lets himself be steered away by Eren, swept away by Eren, like always, his eyes focusing on the concrete beneath his own feet.
Because he cannot bear the mere thought of Marcel looking at him right now. Looking at them right now. Looking at Eren right now, who flatout refused to say hello to one of Reiner’s closest friends. And while Reiner understands how this comes across to Marcel, how a part of himself feels not okay with this, another part of his being can totally relate to Eren. It comprehends. Reiner comprehends. The fear of losing someone to somebody else. The fear of being left all on your own. But Marcel and the others will never.
How could they?
“Ugh!”
Eren hauls Reiner with his back against the wall, slamming both of his palms against the brick-construction, each hand planted on either side of Reiner’s face, caging him, as he takes a step forward, bringing their bodies together, the slightly shorter, dark-haired man glaring at his boyfriend, making Reiner knees quiver.
“E-Eren…”
That’s as far as Reiner gets, for Eren pushes forwards, pressing his lips onto Reiner’s lips.
It’s far from gentle. It’s far from romantic. And yet…
And yet Reiner has no words for the relief that floods his body when Eren kisses him like that.
When this man’s lips move against his, when this man’s hands finally touch him, wandering down his side to wind around Reiner’s waist, pulling the taller blond tightly against his body, as Eren’s tongue slips inside Reiner’s mouth, sliding over Reiner’s, deepening the kiss, as Reiner’s hands finally begin to move too, like on autopilot, not following their owner’s commands, but the blond man’s deep desires, coiling around Eren’s body, Reiner’s fingers digging into his boyfriend’s shirt, inhaling his manly, musky scent with a faint hint of cardamom; earthy-sweet and spicy.
Eren feels like home. Reiner’s real home. And witnessing the man not bursting with anger, but giving Reiner all of his affection, makes the blond feel elevated. So fucking relieved. The accumulated tension of the evening, the sharade he had to play in front of his friends, their jabs at Eren, his relationship with this man, Marcel’s abhorrent words about a Reiner that doesn’t exist, about choices he hasn’t made, finally flowing out of his body, out of his mind; and Reiner feels like his whole organism is deflating, the only reason stopping him from collapsing being Eren’s strong arms.
A big sigh escapes Reiner’s throat when Eren breaks their kiss and they both gasp for air, and Reiner rests his head against Eren’s shoulder, slightly bending down, the dark-haired man holding him firmly, as Reiner’s fingers dig into his shirt, his back, further, his eyes closed shut, just breathing in Eren’s scent, his perfume, pressing himself against Eren as much as he can to blend out reality just for these few seconds; a short time span in which only the two of them exist and Reiner can forget about everything that happened today.
But it’s just that: a short time span. And reality catches up with them quickly.
“Reiner,” Eren murmurs into the blond man’s ear, his deep, voice causing goosebumps to erupt all over Reiner’s skin, “you’re gonna tell Marcel to delete that fucking photo from Instagram.”
And Reiner feels cold again.
“Wh-What?” he mumbles—and Eren instantly lets go of him, taking a step back, staring up at him, almost like Annie. With bold, arctic eyes. But Eren’s gaze is so much more intimidating than Annie’s. It’s taking Reiner’s breath away, like someone was clutching down on his throat.
“You heard me,” Eren states, his voice almost void of emotion, “you’re going to make Marcel delete the pic. If not, I’m going to fuck him up. And after that, I’m going to fuck you up.”
And instantly Reiner’s scared again.
Fucking terrified.