Work Text:
Folie à deux (lit. madness of two) - defined as an identifical or similar mental disorder appearing in two or more individuals - usually lovers or members of the same family.
Reiner could have sworn he saw Eren at the village market.
It’s a cold day in April, and Reiner’s searching for cigarettes. For a while, they were difficult to come by in Paradis, especially after the Rumbling; the few you could get hands on during the war were brought by the volunteers to Marley, although they were overpriced and stale from the journey. Soon after that, they began manufacturing more and more tobacco for an increasingly stressed population.
Now, a man sells them loose on a tiny stall on the edge of Shiganshina.
It still feels wrong living here, knowing what happened, knowing what Reiner did. Not that he has much choice. He’ll study the faces of passers by and wonder how many of their relatives and friends were crushed, fifteen years ago. What they’d do if they knew who he was. He imagines them congregating outside his cottage with pitchforks, demanding his head on a stick. Would the soldiers intervene? Unlikely. They prefer sitting with their feet up on makeshift tables, rifles under their arms, passing cigars back and forth while they play cards, getting fat and drunk on their wages. Plus the healthy bribes the locals slipped them to look the other way, whenever convenient.
People spend a lot of time drinking and smoking in Paradis, nowadays. Perhaps, they can’t quite believe they’re still alive, against all odds, and are trying to finish the job Eren started.
Look how little you’ve achieved, Reiner says to Eren. Eren doesn’t respond, on account of being dead.
The man at the cigarette stand, Ivan, flashes Reiner a toothless smile.
“How many?”
“I’ll take five.”
Ivan rolls him five cigarettes, and Reiner places them in his case. He tosses a coin in Ivan’s direction, telling him to keep the change. Then he moves to the pastry stand, picking up a slice of white fruitcake for his mother, who always had a sweet tooth.
Oh, yeah. Reiner’s back living with his mother.
Time really has got backwards.
In the corner of the square, a man stands on an empty cargo box, exclaiming that God will smite the inhabitants of Paradis, if they don’t repent for the sins of the Shiganshina devil. The locals pay him no mind. Nor do the soldiers. Sometimes they’ll even engage him, just for laughs, the barrels of their guns glinting in the chilly spring light. Should you start organising behind closed doors, or handing out pamphlets, that’s when the soldiers would coming knocking on doors in the middle of the night. People disappear, but nobody seems bothered by it; perhaps they have seen enough people disappear already.
It’s next to the preacher, that Reiner sees Eren. His hair is long and unkempt as it had been in Liberio, and he leans heavily into a wooden crutch. The bottoms of his trousers are stained with blood. He raises his head in concentration, pewter eyes furrowing in the morning light.
Reiner pushes through the crowd, towards where Eren stands. He feels someone grabbing his hand, dragging him unceremoniously around.
It’s a whore, thin lips painted garishly red. Her face has been hollowed out by something, likely opium—although Reiner can still tell she’s young. Maybe fourteen or fifteen. He feels vaguely sick.
He imagines what Eren would say. Probably something about how they were already deep in their military training by that age, risking their lives beyond the walls.
“You alright, honey?”
Reiner cringes. “I’m not interested.”
“You sure I can’t change your mind?” She straightens her dress, cinched tight around her waist. The smell of her perfume is overpowering. She pulls his hand further, towards her breast. Reiner rips it immediately away. “C’mon. Have a drink with me, baby.”
“I said,” he murmurs, “I’m not interested.”
“I’ll show you a good time.”
“How old are you, anyway?”
“However old you want me to be.”
Reiner snorts, pulling away from her.
“What?” The woman says, hands on her hips. “You a faggot or something?” She shrieks with laughter. Reiner’s eyes return to the preacher, roaming his surroundings for Eren.
There’s no one there.
Reiner accepts his imagination is getting carried away, once again.
The first time he fucked Eren had been in the stable. Classy.
Beforehand had been some awkward, adolescent fumbling. Reiner had been surprised at the ease with which he continued to lie; although, like any language, it was only be spoken fluently through immersion. Reiner had asked whether Eren liked any of the girls in the class. Eren replied that he hadn’t thought about it.
Typical.
Reiner had joked that Eren was too busy focusing on training. Maybe, Eren had said. But he never said he didn’t like anyone in the class.
They’d gone quiet after that.
Next thing he knew, his mouth was on Eren’s, both of them awkwardly trying to move his face in order to accommodate the other.
In Marley, Reiner had heard stories about men who had sex with other men, like they were women. The authorities locked them up, or gave them drugs that reduced their libido, killing their motivation to live along with it. Killing them slowly, as all the worst poisons did.
For all the ways Paradis was backward and conservative, they appeared more laissez-faire in that regard.
Reiner could tell Eren was inexperienced, but he was still a decent kisser. Not that Reiner had much to compare it too. His hand found Eren’s neck, tracing over the tendons and veins pulsing beneath his fingertips.
In that moment, he was not Reiner Braun, warrior, Eldian devil and butcher of Shiganshina; he was Reiner Braun, resident of the walls. Afraid of what the future might bring, of the omnipresent threat of titans, who also happened to be peeling the clothes off his extremely attractive, albeit male, classmate.
Eren had been slim but lean. His skin was darker than Reiner’s, a rich olive rather than pallid, pinkish white. Reiner’s hands roamed his chest, relishing the shiver of the boy under him.
It hadn’t lasted long, but he’d still made Eren cum with a few tugs on his dick. When he’d first pushed inside, it had been so tight he’d seen stars. They’d probably been hasty, there had been blood, although Eren said the pain hadn’t been too bad.
Then again, Eren had a bizarrely high pain tolerance.
After they were done, there was no time for cuddling, or any of the stuff Reiner supposes they’d do to show they fancied each other. There had just been the rattle of buckles pulled tight and quickly, and Eren’s ragged pants as he stepped back into his uniform.
Reiner misses that Eren. The Eren who always forgot to bring his notes to theory lessons, no matter how many times he got told off, the Eren who got into fights every other day, the Eren who’d been able to feel.
Eren was the oppressive heat on a summer’s day.
The drunken night out that ended with bloody knuckles.
He was the boiled sweet, left forgotten in a pocket. Sour, then sweet.
Reiner missed him so bad he thought he would die.
When Reiner arrives home, he puts his feet up on the table, lighting one of the cigarettes he brought from Ivan. It glows amber in the half dark, while Reiner pours himself a stiff whisky and soda. He reaches into the drawer under the table, withdrawing a small, china jar with golden edging. Its surface is covered in illustrations of flowers. He flips it open, revealing the layer of white powder inside.
He sprinkles a little into his pipe, lighting up and blowing smoke above his head. The smell is chemical and acrid. Gradually, he is eased under a warm blanket. His thoughts slow down, numbed by euphoria. The walls around him appear to be pulsating. Unthinkingly, Reiner puts the kettle on, nearly stumbling as he does so. The kettle begins to shriek. Beneath the noise, Reiner can make out a knock on the door.
He’s unsurprised, somehow, when it’s Eren.
He looks different to how he did at the market. He’s shaved properly, and his long hair is tied haphazardly up. He looks Reiner up and down. In the darkness, Reiner can’t tell whether or not he’s smiling.
“You came.” Reiner breathes.
“Of course I did.” He steps inside, sniffing the air. “What’s that smell?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“I see you’ve barely changed.”
“Neither have you.”Eren laughs humourlessly. “Yeah, well. I’m still nineteen. I will be forever. How old are you, now?”
“I’m twenty-six.”
“You look older.”
“Being dead has done nothing to improve your manners.”
“Yeah, well. I’m out of practise. Dead people aren’t a chatty bunch.”
Reiner follows Eren back to the kitchen. Eren surveys the kitchen, eyes raking over the forgotten dishes, the old photographs lining the walls. Reiner feels self-conscious for reasons he can’t describe.
“I missed you.”
“Why? We were mortal enemies.”
“We weren’t always.”
“Maybe not in my eyes. But you always knew I was your enemy.” Eren examines the pipe abandoned on the table with disdain.
“Are you here to make me feel guilty?” Reiner says, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“I’m the last person in any position to make someone feel guilty.”
That was true enough.
“I did terrible things too. But here I am, alive, when you’re dead.”
“I killed more people than you ever could.”
“It’s not a competition.”
“But if it was, I’d win.” Eren drifts over to one of the photographs by the windowsill, picking it up.
“That’s me and my mom, if you're wondering.” Reiner mutters.
“You look similar.” Eren places the frame back down with surprising care.
“I’ve been told.”
“How about your dad?”
“Never met him. Well, I did once. But he wanted nothing to do with me.” Reiner occupies his restless hands by lighting another cigarette. “He was Marleyan.”
Eren’s eyes glimmer under the dim light. “I see.”
“Why are you here, Eren?” Reiner’s voice is ragged. He is tired, so fucking tired, and will continue to be no matter how much rest he gets.
“You said it earlier.” Eren’s voice has dropped. It’s small, almost childish, in that characteristic way of his. “I missed you.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t think you love anyone, really. You don’t—” Reiner corrects himself. “You didn’t understand the human heart.”
Eren blinks once more at the photo of Reiner and Karina. “I suppose you’re right.” His lips curl. “You understand me so well, it kinda blows my mind, sometimes.”
Outside, rain begins to hammer against the windows, the fat droplets sliding downwards, distorting the night sky like a funhouse mirror.
“I wish you had died, too. Then I’d have company.” Eren’s standing over him now, leaning downwards until a strand of dark hair brushes against Reiner’s neck. Reiner has to remind himself that he is dreaming.
“Not Mikasa?”
“I wouldn’t ever want Mikasa to die.”
“But you’re alright with me dying?”
Eren brushes a finger against the fine hairs on the back of Reiner’s neck, making him shudder.
“It feels more fitting, somehow. Doesn’t it?”
Slowly, the ghost leans further forward, pressing a kiss into Reiner’s hair. The hand doesn’t move from his neck. Reiner imagines Eren reaching upwards and crushing his skull as he kisses him.
“Yeah.” He says breathily. The opium is hitting its peak now, and Reiner feels like he’s floating outside his body. “I guess it does.”