JAWS (Complete)

Chapter 1

                      * LAP+DANCE *

"I don’t want to go.”

 "Doesn't matter.” Ymir, never the most subtle of individuals, even at the best of times, drapes herself over the back of Reiner’s chair, crossing her arms and resting her pointed chin on them. They’re covered with ratty, unraveling sweater sleeves at the moment, but Reiner knows that underneath the slowly dying stitches she’s covered with ink, her tattoos winding and crawling up and down both arms. Some of the work is her own, of which she’s very proud. “You’ve been cooped up here for months, it’s time for you to get out there and shake your tail feathers again.”

Reiner grimaces. “I’m not wearing that peacock outfit again.” He’d found glitter all over his house and in his ass cracks for weeks after that Pride parade.

Ymir glowers at him. “First of all, that peacock outfit is a work of art, and you better not talk shit about it again. And secondly, that was metaphorical, not literal.”

The peacock outfit is a work of art, but that really isn’t the point here. Reiner glowers right back, refusing to be bullied in his own home, and shakes his head. “I’m not going to a strip club.”

“But we’re worried about you.” Historia emerges from the bathroom, where she’d been fixing a hairstyle that hadn’t needed fixing, and Reiner can feel his resistance start to wilt. He and Ymir frequently get along like oil and water, but they can both agree on one thing: they’d do anything for Historia, especially when she widens her eyes and deliberately, purposefully, makes herself look as cute and sad as she can.

Which is quite a bit.

“You haven’t gone out in such a long time.” Historia settles herself right next to Reiner, pressing up against the side of his arm, and Reiner has to bite his cheek to keep from grinning when Ymir bristles. He and Historia had tried to have something together, back in the dark and long forgotten days of high school, but it had ended in a flurry of self-discovery and teenaged drama. If Reiner was in the market for a beard, Historia would be an excellent, parent-pleasing choice, but he isn’t, and neither is she. They’re long past the point of pretending to be something they aren’t for the sake of parental approval. “You just spend all your time cooped up in here, watching ESPN.”

“Sometimes I watch HBO.” Reiner particularly likes Game of Thrones, even if he does find it rather fan-servicey for the straight male.

Ymir guffaws rudely. “Not the point, bro.”

Historia frowns, putting a line in the skin of her porcelain forehead, and leans harder against Reiner’s arm. He knows she’s trying to get him to put his arm around her, and damn if he’s not tempted. He’s always had a weakness for wanting to protect people, and Historia knows how to push all his buttons. He deliberately keeps his arm clamped tight to his side. “No, that’s not the point. We’re worried about you.”

Damn it, there it is. Reiner hates making people worry about him; there are so many other, more important things to worry over. “I’m fine. You know that. I’m fine.”

What’s there to worry over? He has a good job, a nice apartment, and he sends money home every month. His mother says she’s proud of him, and he gets to see Gabi a couple of times a month. Sure, he’d like to get a dog, but who has time for that, these days? The last living thing besides himself to reside in his apartment was a plant, and it slowly strangled to death from lack of water before he remembered it was there.