freckledskittles:

At my death, bury me with this second prompt

x-x-x

Age 10, first day of fifth grade.

Reiner had noticed the height difference at his birthday party. He was a bit taller than Bertolt. To be specific, as long as Bert stood flat on the ground, there was no way he could be taller. This was important information, especially for a fifth grader. Reiner had two older brothers, a sister, and four cousins who were older than him. Their closeness in age resulted in many a fight, none of which was fiercer than the battle for height. He had to be taller.

x-x-x

Age 12, seventh grade.

“Wow, Reiner, you’re really tall.”

The joke was made before the punch line hit. Reiner kept his head down and continued eating his peanut-dipped apple slices, waiting for it to happen and wishing she would get over it.

Annie suddenly popped into his line of vision and flicked his nose. “April Fools.”

“Good one,” Reiner huffed. As soon as her growth spurt was discovered, Annie made it her personal mission to remind him of his lack of height. He knew that his own growth spurt had yet to take effect, but the teasing still stung.

“Don’t worry. Bertolt’s still short.”

Bertolt looked up from his crustless turkey and cheese sandwich, but looked away just as quickly. “My mom said that girls always hit growth spurts before boys do, so it’s okay if we’re not tall yet.”

Reiner nearly shot out of his seat. He hadn’t heard that before! And Bertolt’s mom was super smart; she would never lead any of them on.

Annie shrugged. “My dad said the same thing, but we won’t know until it happens.” Her eyes, previously glinting with mischief, suddenly became steely cold. “Which it won’t.”

“Are you gonna beat him up?” Bertolt asked in a whisper.

Reiner packed his food away angrily; this fight was getting tired. “Don’t worry, Bert. She won’t hit you.”

“You can say that,” Annie said.

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen! Even as a joke, you’re not gonna threaten him.” Reiner tugged on the back of Bertolt’s sweater. “C’mon, Bert, let’s go be short somewhere else.”

Later, at the end of the day, Reiner would find a thank-you note on his locker. On the back was a doodle of Bert and Reiner, taller than the skyscrapers downtown. He liked to think their hands were so close because they were holding hands. But he didn’t understand what it meant.

x-x-x

Age 19, second year of college, fall midterms.

Reiner was dumbfounded. He had promised Armin that he would help Jean and Eren study while simultaneously keeping their fighting to a minimum, but the dryer in his apartment had decided to do half a job on his clothes. Nearly fifteen minutes of digging through the laundry led to a borrow from a roommate he could not thank enough, but his gasless car met him in the parking lot. He had already had to go back home to grab his backpack, and that was after his dog Barnaby demanded belly rubs, and who was he to deny a good boy of love and affection?

Seeing Bertolt, his childhood friend, who had moved before high school, in person, was a shock to his morning that he was not prepared for.

“Bertolt.”

He must have been just as startled to see him, let alone hear his voice and the rich baritone it had become. Remembering their childhood, Reiner remembered how often Bertolt’s mind raced with anxiety when he was expected to speak. He wasn’t going to rush him.

“Reiner. It’s great to see you.”

Bertolt was a surprise. He was going to school to become a vet; his hair was ruffled in a taming-attempt-after-a-night-of-tossing-and-turning way; his eyes brought an urge within Reiner to write sappy poetry on freshly-cut parchment, in calligraphy, with smooth moves to match the fresh spring green. His nose was still long, like he remembered, a familiar fact of solidarity that still eased the churn of worry in Reiner’s stomach. It had been years since they had talked, and the years had changed them, but maybe they could salvage something.

Bertolt was taller than Reiner.

They shared numbers and scheduled a day to make up for loss time. They took Barnaby out for a walk; he loved Bertolt instantly and wormed his way into his lap, a shocking development from a shelter dog. They shared pics of their families: Bertolt’s brother’s bar mitzvah that was filled with the joyous facades of familiar faces, Reiner’s cousin’s elementary school graduation that was reminiscent of fond times long past. Memories that could not be shared together, but balanced with the promises made that they could make up for the loss time.

For dinner, Reiner took Bertolt out to a pizza joint. Reiner fought him for the parmesan, and Bertolt beat him in paying for their meal. Reiner got him back by paying for their frozen yogurt. They spent hours talking in the car: Reiner attentive and explosive with the various conversations he wanted to start, Bertolt patient and calm that radiated off him softly. Bertolt still talked with his hands; Reiner still laughed with his head thrown back.

They split at Bertolt’s apartment, where a black cat mewled at seeing her human’s return. Reiner thought about kissing him—imagined pulling him close, holding his hips, rubbing his thumb along his jaw and nuzzling into the neck, reveling in the returned nudge that could only come from their height differences.

Bertolt was tall. It was something that felt natural, something meant to happen, something Reiner found no anger in. As a kid, he always made a show of being the tallest kid in the class, to the point of getting annoyed when someone shot past him in height. He had grown up since those years, but if he was still offended by trivial things like that, he would find no problem in this new fact about Bertolt.

A week later, Reiner didn’t miss his chance.

x-x-x

Age 27, one year wedding anniversary.

“Hey Bert, have you ever thought about parallel universes?”

Reiner caught the eyeroll past Bertolt’s glasses as he sliced off another bite of the previously frozen top tier of their wedding cake. “Sometimes. In one of them, you never bring up stupid questions.”

Reiner kicked him under the table. “Hey. There’s no such thing as a stupid question.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Are you gonna let me ask my question or not?”

Bertolt stared at him over the rim of his glasses. “What’s your question, Reiner?”

“Do you think there’s a parallel universe where I’m taller than you?”

The icing from their wedding cake found itself smeared across Reiner’s face, accompanied by endless giggles and an intertwining pair of hands.