*You have a dog!?*
A/N:
Hi everyone 👋
Hmm I'm not really a dog person so i take advice to my grandma who have 4 BIG dogs (OMG😰)
I'm a cat person 😂
Anyway stay safe and always wear your mask😷
Enjoy
Vote and comment 😘
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Reiner is just settling in to watch a soccer game when someone starts pounding on his door.
The sound jolts him to attention, and he sits up abruptly, nearly knocking his bowl of popcorn onto the floor. What the hell? There are only so many people that could be, and Historia would call first and Ymir would be yelling his name from out there. Since neither of those things have happened, it’s not either of them, and that narrows it right down. A repair man of some kind, maybe?
Reiner grunts as he gets to his feet. He could use the distraction, honestly; the game that’s playing was supposed to serve that purpose, but it wasn’t working too well. He’s procrastinating, and he knows it; he needs to call the gym and cancel his appointment for tomorrow, but something is holding him back. Reiner doesn’t want to cancel it, but he also doesn’t think he can stand being around Galliard if he’s going to be nervous and edgy around him. He doesn’t know where they stand, but he does know that things can’t continue the way they are, and he’s going to have to be the one to break them off.
The pounding on his door continues, and Reiner shuffles towards it. He’s wearing sweatpants and an old t-shirt, not the classiest things on earth, but if he’s going to open the door to a delivery man, it doesn’t really matter.
Reiner unlocks the door and opens it, and as soon as he does, a little flurry of red hair and leather jacket pushes his way inside. Reiner steps aside, shocked, as Galliard lets himself in.
“It’s about time you got to the door, it’s freezing out there!”
“I… what are you doing here?” Galliard has brought the scent of cold air in with him, and Reiner glances out the window. No snow, but it looks windy out there. Spring in Trost is always unpredictable.
Just like the guy kicking off his boots and striding towards Reiner’s kitchen table.
“You’re smart, right?” Galliard plops down on one of Reiner’s chairs and starts rooting through his backpack.
“Uh… yes?” Reiner follows, dazed, and sits down across from him. “Why?”
“Good.” Galliard pulls a brick of a textbook out of his bag and thunks it down on the table. Economics is printed across the top, along with a used book sticker. Galliard pulls some printed pages out of the book and slides them across the table to Reiner. “My teacher is shit and I can’t fail this class. Explain what I’m doing wrong.”
“I didn’t really study economics…” Even as he says it, Reiner is reaching for the papers and looking them over. He winces when he sees the score at the top: forty seven percent. Galliard got so close to passing, but not quite there.
“It’s a requirement.” Galliard has his arms crossed over his chest and his chin thrust out, looking both angry and desperate at the same time. “So even if I fail it, I have to take it again. And I can’t fail it.”
“It’s too late to switch to another professor?”
“Yes. And there aren’t any other classes at times I can make.” Galliard leans forward, looking with distaste at the test Reiner has in his hands. “So can you help me with this or not?”
“I think so.” Reiner sees the way Galliard’s mouth twitches at the corner, and changes his assessment. “Yes, I can. Give me a few minutes to look this over and see what the class is doing.”
“Okay.” Galliard gets up and leaves for a moment, returning with the bowl of popcorn from the couch. He starts cramming it in his mouth, eating with a hunger that Reiner remembers from high school, when he’d been going to class, playing soccer, and working a part-time job after school. Carefully, he pushes the bowl of fruit he has on the table in Galliard’s direction, making sure to make it look like he’s just moving it out of the way. Once the fruit is in reach, Galliard grabs an apple and crunches down on it, and Reiner turns his attention to the book.
It doesn’t take him long to figure out the problem; it’s an Economics 101 textbook, basic microeconomics, and even though he hasn’t taken the class in almost ten years, it all comes flooding back. “You keep switching your numbers around.” He points at a spot on the test. “See? You switched a seven and a three here. And then it happened again over here. You’re setting up the equations right, but then you’re making math mistakes that give you the wrong result.”
“Fuck.” Galliard swallows a mouthful of fruit and popcorn before leaning forward to scowl at the paper. “I hate math.”
Reiner smiles a little. “It was never my favorite, either.”
They go through the test together, and by the time they’re done, Reiner is fairly confident Galliard recognizes his mistakes, and should be able to fix them by himself in the future. He’s also managed to eat all of Reiner’s popcorn, along with two apples and a banana from the fruit bowl.
“Do you understand it now?”
“Yeah.” Galliard flips through a few pages in the book, snorting at what he sees in the next chapter. “Some of these problems are bullshit.”
Reiner sits back, grabbing an apple of his own out of the fruit bowl. “What are you studying?”
For a moment, he’s worried that Galliard won’t answer, but he responds readily enough, his attention still snared by the textbook. “Physical therapy.”
“You want to be a physical therapist?” Reiner is charmed, both by picturing Galliard as a physical therapist and the relative ease with which he got this information.
“Yeah.” Galliard glances up, his gaze skating across Reiner’s cheekbones, before looking back at the book. “It’s like being a personal trainer, but with more science. And people who got hurt instead of just being lazy.”
Reiner bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. “Is that how you view your clients at the gym?”
“Most of them.” Another glance at Reiner, this one more appreciative, lingering on his chest. “Not all.”
Is that a compliment? Reiner will take it.
“What kind of lawyer are you?”
“Intellectual property rights and copyright infringement.”
Galliard’s eyes widen. “Shit.”
Reiner shrugs, a little embarrassed. “It’s okay. We mostly work with pharmaceutical companies.”
“How’d you get that job?”
“I minored in Chemistry when I was in college.” That, and his mother insisted that Reiner go for the type of law with the most prestige, and the highest paycheck, withholding her pride and approval until he did.
Galliard is actively studying him now, the textbook forgotten and open on the table. “Do you like it?”
Good question. Reiner likes parts of it, certainly; it’s a relief to be financially comfortable, and able to afford nice things. The work isn’t terribly taxing, not with his Chemistry background; he usually does the same thing, day in and day out, searching chemical formulas for similarities that could be under copyright. It’s been months since he’s been in a courtroom, and even then, the cases usually aren’t very dramatic or interesting. Most of the companies know when they’re stealing each other’s ideas, and tend to settle out of court.
No, it’s not a bad job, but it’s not a particularly good one either. It’s not what Reiner thought he’d be doing when he got accepted into law school.
“I like the opportunities it’s opened for me.” His answer comes slowly, thoughtfully. “And I like arguing cases. But the work isn’t the most stimulating.”
“So no.” Galliard nods; he clearly understands having jobs you don’t like. “What kind of law did you want to do?”
That answer comes much easier, and instantly. “Family law.”
Galliard blinks. “Like custody cases and stuff?”
“That kind of stuff exactly.”
Galliard considers that for a moment. He looks like he’s about to say something, but then he lets loose an enormous, jaw-splitting yawn. For the first time, Reiner notices the bags under Galliard’s eyes, so heavy and dark that he almost looks bruised, and the way his hands are shaking faintly on top of his book.
“Long night last night.” Abruptly, Galliard pushes his chair back and stands up, and Reiner rises to follow him into the living room. Galliard glances at the tv, and the game still playing there, before flopping onto the couch and laying down, stretching out. He looks defiantly at Reiner, like he’s expecting to be told to move, but when Reiner says nothing, Galliard pulls his legs up and gestures towards the end of the couch. Reiner sits down, and jumps when Galliard stretches his legs out again, resting them in Reiner’s lap.
“Wake me up in forty five minutes?”
“Uh… sure. Okay.” The weight of Galliard’s legs across his lap is heavier than Reiner expected, and he has no idea where to put his hands, eventually settling for putting one on the arm rest and draping the other behind the back of the couch. He privately thinks that Galliard looks like he could use a lot longer than forty five minutes, but he’ll recognize this gift for what it is and take it without complaint.
“Okay.” And just like that, Galliard is asleep, his arms crossed defensively over his chest and his face tilted towards the back of the couch. Reiner is honestly a little impressed; he can’t remember the last time he dropped off that quickly, going from being awake to being sound asleep in literally about three seconds. He hasn’t been that exhausted and sleep-deprived since law school.
Reiner lets his gaze linger over Galliard’s face for a moment, then turns his attention back to the game on the tv. Or he tries to, at least; he finds that he keeps glancing back over, looking at the heavily sleeping Galliard on his couch. It’s a rare show of trust, he realizes, for Galliard to sleep around him; Reiner has no idea if Galliard actually fell asleep the last time he was here, or if he just laid next to Reiner, awake and cautious the entire time. It’s even rarer for Galliard to touch him so casually, even if it’s just his legs draped across Reiner’s lap, and after a few minutes, when Reiner is sure Galliard is deeply asleep and he won’t get kicked, he carefully lowers one hand and rests it lightly on Galliard’s ankle. Galliard doesn’t even twitch, just keeps sleeping.
Galliard’s ankle is narrower than Reiner thought it would be, the bones of it knobby and prominent under Reiner’s hand. His sock feels thin and wore, a few bare threads away from wearing through in places, and Reiner wishes he could mend it for him without that being super, super weird. It might be spring, but that just means it’s going to get wet around the city, and he’s going to go out on a limb and guess that Galliard’s boots aren’t watertight anymore.
Reiner realizes he’s being a creeper, and even if no one knows about it, a creeper is still a creeper. He gives Galliard’s ankle a gentle squeeze and then tries to watch the game; he really, genuinely tries to watch the game. He can’t, though, not with Galliard asleep on the couch beside him and the skin of his leg warm and pliant under his hand. His gaze keeps skittering over, and while he tries to be a gentleman and look away, he eventually gives in and just watches Galliard sleep. Even in sleep, Galliard’s brow is still drawn down, and he keeps his arms crossed tightly, defensively across his chest. Reiner wonders who hurt him, who made him so closed off and afraid of showing emotion, and then realizes he’s not much better off himself. Here he is, gawking at a sleeping guy and practically caressing his ankle, and yet he doesn’t even know Galliard’s first name.
Reiner manages to watch the game for a whole three minutes after that realization before he gives up completely and shifts, turning his torso so he’s facing Galliard. Galliard has relaxed a little, his arms no longer so tight across his chest, and Reiner wonders why he didn’t go and take the bed. He could have, Reiner would have let him! He could spend the night if he wanted to; they wouldn’t even have to have sex, although Reiner would certainly be willing to put out if asked. It’s been so long since Reiner has shared a bed with anyone…
Reiner’s mind drifts into a pleasant little daydream as he watches Galliard’s sleeping face, his eyes going soft and unfocused: he imagines waking up on a Saturday morning, and rolling over to find Galliard beside him. He’d put out his hand and touch Galliard’s shoulder, and Galliard would turn around, his face scrunched with sleep and cranky, and mutter something about five more minutes. Reiner would laugh, and then scoot closer on the bed, wrapping his arms around Galliard and drawing him close to his chest. Galliard would protest at first, his words adorably mush-mouthed with sleep, but then he’d curl into Reiner’s chest, tucking his head under Reiner’s chin and using his chest as a pillow. Reiner would just hold him then, and let him sleep, doing nothing to disturb him except petting his hair and smoothing out its sleepy cowlicks, and feel Galliard’s breath across his chest muscles. Eventually, thirty minutes or so later, Galliard would start to wake up, and he’d kiss Reiner’s chest, his arms coming up to wrap around Reiner’s neck, and Reiner would roll over onto his back, pulling Galliard with him and up onto his chest. And then they’d laugh together, and Galliard would smile at him, and there’d be nothing false or bitter or angry about it, and he’d stretch forward to run his lips along the underside of Reiner’s jaw, getting closer and closer to his mouth, and…
And Reiner realizes he’s looking at Galliard’s slack, slightly open mouth, and that Galliard is starting to drool a little in his sleep, and Reiner chuckles to himself and shakes his head. If this were Jean, there’d be a puddle of drool all over the couch by now, but with Galliard it’s just a little bit.
It’s also been about forty five minutes, and, not realizing that he’d just thought of Jean and the memory hadn’t felt like being vivisected with rusty razorblades, Reiner gives Galliard’s ankle a gentle shake. “Galliard. Galliard, wake up.”
Galliard grunts, his arms tightening over his chest again, and he rolls over so his face is towards the back of the couch, making Reiner scramble to avoid getting kicked in the groin. Thank god he was already holding Galliard’s ankle, or he would have gotten kicked. “Come on, you told me to wake you up.”
“Five more minutes,” Galliard mumbles, and it’s so close to Reiner’s fantasy that he lets him sleep another ten minutes. Besides, from this angle he gets to admire Galliard’s butt, and how the fabric of his jeans have pulled tight across it.
It’s a very nice butt. Someone never skips Leg Day.
“Galliard. Galliard, come on, wake up.” Reiner is met with more grunts and Galliard trying to curl into a ball. “You can stay if you want to, but you should go to the bedroom. You’re going to fall off the couch if you keep doing that.”
“Uuuuuugh!” Finally, with what seems like a mighty effort, Galliard throws his legs off the couch and uses the momentum to pull the rest of himself into a seated position. He wipes off his chin with the palm of his hand and squints at Reiner through sleep-puffed eyes. “What time’s it?”
Reiner checks his watch. “Around six o’clock.”
“Dammit.” Galliard pushes himself up and starts staggering towards the door, and Reiner gets up to hurry after him.
“You can stay if you want to.” It bears repeating; maybe Galliard didn’t hear him the first time? “If you don’t have to do anything else tonight, I mean.”
Galliard has paused at the kitchen table, and he grunts as he grabs a couple of apples out of the fruit bowl and stuff them in his backpack alongside his economics textbook. “Can’t.”
Reiner assumes Galliard is just going to leave it at that, but then he glances up and looks Reiner in the eye, and his disappointment must be writ large across his face, because Galliard huffs a little and explains as he’s zipping up his bag. “I have a dog. I need to go home and take him outside.”
“You have a dog?” All is instantly forgiven. “What kind is he? How long have you had him? What’s his name?”
Galliard looks startled, then snickers under his breath. “You like dogs, huh?”
“I love dogs.” It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that Reiner has wanted a dog his entire life. He’d been planning to get one several months ago, but then that idea had faded away like so many other things from that time, and his apartment remains sterile and dogless.
“He’s a yellow lab and his name is Sarge.”
Reiner is in love already. “Do you want to bring him here sometime? I don’t mind.”
Galliard’s brows lower, like he’s questioning if he wants to come back, and Reiner worries that he’s pushed too far. Then Galliard pulls his bag onto one shoulder and shrugs. “I’ll see you at the gym tomorrow.”
“Okay.” That’s the best he’s going to get, and Reiner is going to be happy for it. He follows Galliard to the door to close it behind him, and gestures to his bag with one hand. “Let me know how your next test goes, will you? And I can answer any other questions you have.”
“If I fail it, I’m blaming you.” It takes Reiner a moment to realize Galliard is almost joking, and he feels the corner of his mouth quirk up. Galliard must notice it too, because his own mouth twitches at the edges. He doesn’t smile, but he doesn’t look as stressed as he did when he came in either, and Reiner is going to count that as a win.
“Later.” Before he leaves, Galliard reaches out and squeezes Reiner’s bicep, and then he’s out the door and gone, and it isn’t until much later that Reiner wonders how he talked his way past the doorman in the first place.
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Hi again
Guys come on don't be a ninja reader,you just read and gone forever joke hahaha
You're vote and comments are giving me strength and motivation to write this freaking story!😞
Sana all!!!😭
Anyways this highschool picture of historia and reiner is so cute (I found it in Facebook)
So yeah
. . . . . . .
Yeah that all😆