Chapter 7

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               *What're friends for?*

(A/N):

Hi everyone 👋

Uhhhg I'm so exhausted 😩

It's hard to find a stable job
Part-time job is not easy

Anyway there's my beautiful Goddess pieck and my porky on the top⬆️

Enjoy😘
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It’s Monday evening, which means it’s time for Reiner’s weekly call to Bertolt.

He finds himself procrastinating as the evening wears on, finding little things to do to occupy his attention, tasks long delayed that need to be done right now so he doesn’t have to make this phone call. It’s not that Reiner doesn’t want to talk to his best friend; he cherishes his relationship with Bertolt and would never do anything to hurt him. It’s that he knows Bertolt will be able to tell something is wrong—he’ll know, he can ferret information out of Reiner like some kind of sad-eyed guardian angel—and he’ll want to know what, and how he can help fix it, and Reiner isn’t sure this can be fixed.

Saturday evening and all day Sunday had dragged on; Reiner had tried to work, but the firm is between cases at the moment and his workload is light, so he couldn’t even drown himself in the solace of work. He’d thought about going to the gym but it was too late in the day and he didn’t want to run into Galliard—he did, but he also didn’t, since half the time Galliard acts like he’s afraid of Reiner and the other half of the time he’s shoving his dick in Reiner’s mouth and Reiner had no idea which Galliard he’d have seen if he’d gone into the gym—so he’d gone on a long run in the park, circling the tree-lined running path again and again until he’d been trembling with exhaustion, his leg muscles aching and weak underneath him. Even that hadn’t silenced the yammering voices in his head, and Reiner had never been so happy for the arrival of Monday morning and a chance to escape to work.

It isn’t until Reiner has his head inside his refrigerator, scrubbing down the shelves inside, that he realizes he’s being ridiculous. He’s going to make Bertolt worry if he keeps this up, and Bertolt doesn’t deserve that. Reiner puts the food back in the fridge, jots down that he needs to buy more apples on his shopping list, and goes to collapse on the couch in the living room with his phone.

As the phone rings and he waits for Bertolt to pick up, Reiner ponders, not for the first time, if he shouldn’t have just moved out to Marley with Bertolt after law school. He’d have had to pass the Marley bar exam, but he’d passed the Trost one the first time out, and with no real difficulties. There had even been a professor in law school with connections in Marley, someone who had offered to help him with contacts, but Reiner had chosen to stay in Trost.

Maybe that had been a mistake. There are too many ghosts in Trost, too much unfinished business and lurking memories, and maybe Bertolt had the right idea with wanting to start fresh. Maybe Reiner should have sloughed off his Trost skin and followed his best friend to Marley’s sunny shores, given up on dirty old Trost and its long winters and blazing hot summers and tried again somewhere new, somewhere without memory and without expectation. Maybe he’d be happier there.

“Hello?” Bertolt’s soft voice interrupts Reiner’s pondering, and a little tremor runs through his body, the equivalent of a dog shaking water off its fur.

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