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Crumpled tissues cover his surroundings, along with hard, dried up socks. You couldn’t tell at first glance, if it weren’t for Eren’s monitor weakly lighting up his room. No man could convince him that he doesn’t make good use of his father’s money; not when his room is decked with a flurry of photographs; screenshots from various streams and posts taken from social media—of his one and only, his dearest.
“You are one of a kind, Eren,” his father would tell him.
The humming of his computer and the sounds from the stream are accompanied by rough breaths exiting Eren’s mouth; those are the only things that can be heard in his empty, cold room. (Yet despite this, Eren’s body burns.) He curses himself for being so loud, his huffing muffling a certain blond individual on screen, but he can’t help himself.
“You’re special, simply for the fact that you exist.”
His body is still, yet his hand shakes furiously at the sight of the person on his monitor. Pale skin over sculpted muscles for the whole world to see, Reiner is particularly bare this day, an attempt to combat the summer heat. If Eren wasn’t so occupied, so distracted, he would’ve made a bigger stink about how revealing he looks today.
“I know you’ll achieve great things.”
And great things he does achieve. He’s got a knack for it, if he does say so himself, messy fingers working fast on his keyboard as Reiner Braun wraps up today’s stream. Soon enough, a little notification can be heard from the other side of his computer, and the older’s face lights up at the sight of the large donation.
“You guys really are something, I don’t know how to thank you all!” Reiner says with a toothy smile, so, very handsome. (If only Eren’s was there; in front of him; on top of him. He’d lick at each tooth, cherishing them one by one. Maybe pluck one, and keep it for himself.)
“Well, actually,” Reiner starts, “I was thinking. I should really come up with a way to show my gratitude…”
Yes. He should, especially with how good Eren’s been to him.
“Maybe private calls with my top donors?”
The huffing stops, Eren’s heart skipping a beat. Or more. He doesn’t know how long it lasts, with how all sounds fade out, nothing reaching his ears. Reiner says something along the lines of feeling rather embarrassed, not wanting to come off as too conceited, but Eren isn’t listening; all his focus pools into his fingers as they rush to type out words on his filthy keyboard, pleading for Reiner’s idea to come to fruition.
the4ttack donated $100: pelase id do anything to talk to yoy
This erupts a giggle from Reiner (absolute music to his ears), “Don’t worry 'attack', I’ll definitely keep you in mind.”
He nearly vibrates in his swivel chair, heart pounding, reading his ears as Reiner brings the stream to a close. Sure, the idea of others getting the chance to speak to the microcelebrity leaves a bitter aftertaste in Eren’s dry mouth, but he doesn’t let that deter him. He knows Reiner doesn’t care for them, they don’t have what they do. Eren’s right hand reaches back down to finish what he started before the video finally ends.
Armin: Hey, Eren. How have you been? Hope you’re doing okay. Shadas has been a pain to deal with, that man seriously has no mercy on his students lollllllll.
Armin: Anyway, Mikasa and I haven’t seen you around campus recently. We’re rather worried, but no pressure! Just leave us a message when you can :-)
“Sorry if I’m being awkward, I’m a total mess, aren’t I?”
“What? Nah, dude, you’re all good.” Eren offers a reassuring smile. He’s dressed in fresh clothes, having finally done his laundry after a while. With his hair decently styled and the corner of his room (the one his camera shows) being tidied up, he hopes he appears presentable to the blond. He put effort into this call—-this much is evident by the couple of large trash bags full of junk that sit off-camera.
“I’m like, your biggest fan probably. You couldn’t do anything to disappoint.”
“Wow,” Reiner raises his brows, an impressed look on his face as he leans back onto his chair. (He looks good, and Eren yearns to touch.) “What’s so great about me?”
The brunet would be lying if he wasn’t taken aback, heartbeat picking up which he attempts to conceal with a shrug of his shoulders. “Dunno. You’re funny, cool…” He feels like a dunce, not knowing how to verbalise his admiration for the other. “You’re kind and actually really fun to watch.”
“Go on…”
Cheekily, Eren responds, “Don’t push it.”
“Sorry,” Reiner matches the pleasant look on Eren’s face, “Just find it hard to believe. I’m really not that great. I suck at gaming too.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“So you agree, I suck?”
The more they talk, the more ecstatic he feels. He curses the monitors that separate them for not allowing him to get a closer look, yet thanks them as he’d rather not have Reiner take notice of how sweaty he’s gotten, sweat pooling at his palms. It doesn’t matter anyway—-he loses track of it all: of time; the ache of his spine from his crooked posture; the stinging of his eyes from staring at his screen so long, unblinking.
“You know I was kinda worried I’d come across a bunch of creeps, but you’re really cool, ‘attack’.”
“Eren.”
“Hm?”
“My name’s Eren.”
Reiner’s face is bright, dawning a grin so pretty, “Nice to meet you, Eren.”
INCOMING CALL FROM MIKASA
SENT TO VOICEMAIL
“Eren? Are you there?”
They’ve grown closer, closer than anyone could ever dream of being to Reiner. Their online chats have grown less frequent, but Eren can’t complain because now he gets to witness the blond in all his glory. They like to frequent this one cafe together, and have a walk in the park after. It’s like their routine, theirs alone. Reiner sometimes brings a friend along—-which, truth be told, irritates Eren, but beggars can’t and will never be choosers. Eren isn’t too greedy, he’ll take what he can have.
Even though their friendship has blossomed beautifully, the younger still makes sure to be careful as to not ruin anything. He’s never been the most patient, but for him—-for Reiner, he puts in the effort. He doesn’t say too much, mostly listens rather than talks. He keeps his hands to himself, no matter how much he strains himself from holding back. He doesn’t walk too close, keeps his distance.
He does so as he follows Reiner to his car. See, with autumn rolling in, and the weather getting colder, the latter had come into their usual cafe with a thin little scarf. However, Reiner, being an unobservant one, left it behind. This trait of his worries Eren, he didn’t want to even begin to imagine the ways he could be taken advantage of. He should really bring his guard up. Luckily enough, he has Eren to watch over his back. And the boy smiles at the thought, cheeks flushing with the idea of taking care of the older, tending for him. Reiner wouldn’t need to lift a finger with Eren around, and he’s sure it wouldn’t take long until the former would embrace the fact. He clenches the forgotten scarf to his chest, as he walks behind Reiner, footsteps in sync.
He’d keep it if he could. (Reiner gets in his car.)
He doesn’t want to give it back. (The engine starts.)
Surely he wouldn’t miss it too much. (Reiner drives off.)
Eren always knew pride was a vice of his, but he couldn’t help but think that it was good that he kept the scarf to himself. Yes, Reiner would’ve just forgotten it again, for someone else to land their undeserving hands on. Eren rests better knowing the scarf is in better hands, his hands—his hands which hold it to his nose, deep inhales and exhales as he takes in the scent. He wouldn’t mind suffocating right there and now—naked, on his bed, with the scarf wrapped so tightly around his neck. He squeezes his limbs together, scarf between his legs, and turns to lie on his belly. Lifting his hips and bringing them down, he starts to rut against the piece of fabric—pace easy and steady. He is in no rush, having promised to cherish the garment like no one else could. As he starts to feel light headed, he can’t tell whether it’s from the make-shift noose around his neck or the amount of times he’s finished onto his bed.
Eren dreams of stealing the sun to himself that night.
“How was your session with doctor Ksaver?” Zeke inquires, eyes on the road as he drives away from the clinic.
“It was whatever.” Eren knows Zeke’s eyeing the scarf around his neck.
“You still watching that streamer of yours?”
“Yeah.”
His brother takes some time before speaking again, clearly putting thought into his words, not wanting to strike a nerve. “You know,” caution laced in his tone, “There are some lines that shouldn’t be crossed, Eren.”
After some digging around where Eren really shouldn’t be, he learns that Reiner treats his phone as a diary. Vulnerable words reserved for the brunet alone, on the topic of shame—shame for enjoying the recognition Reiner gets from his streams; shame for eagerly refreshing the tab, watching the views rise in number; shame due to feeling as though he’s deceiving his viewers with the perfect and calculated mask he puts on once the cameras are on.
It’s exciting, truly, knowing Reiner isn’t as perfect as he had once perceived. Knowing Reiner is flawed, and desperate for love the way Eren is.
They’re both lacking in what they could provide for each other.
Trouble at work, surface-level friendships, an abusive mother and an absent father. Eren can supply all that they couldn’t. They’re two sides of the same coin, after all, together they make a whole.
Eren is seated on a bench in the park in front of Reiner’s apartment—he watches as the blond enters the building.
“My bills are missing,” Reiner frowns as he takes out the only thing in his mailbox: a pizza delivery advert.
His childhood friend, and really, only friend, Bertholdt looks up from his phone, “What do you mean?”
“I haven’t gotten my bills in over a month.”
“Have you called your landlord?”
“Yeah,” Reiner scratches his neck bearing an uncomfortable look on his face, “But she says it’s all been paid for.”
“You think maybe you might’ve paid for this month’s bills in advance? Your streams have been doing well, haven’t they?”
“Maybe…”
Eren’s concerned for Reiner, his sleep, more precisely. He’s sure other viewers can tell, with said man appearing exhausted on stream, skin void from it’s usual colour and purple circles underneath his eyes. The younger can’t seem to figure out what might be the cause for this either, he had already gone through Reiner’s phone countless times.
He, quite frankly, doesn’t appreciate this change in the blond’s behaviour—for Reiner’s grown quite distant, becoming more private, uploading less, watching over his own back far too often. He’s pushing Eren away, the realisation horrifying him. His insides twist in agonising ways and a sickly feeling rests in his stomach. If only Reiner knew of how tormenting this is for Eren, too. They suffer the same.
Reiner is most at peace when asleep, features relaxed and body not tense as the weight of the world melts off of the blond’s back. Eren misses those nights; misses marvelling at the sight of the other. When those nights do come (unfortunately not as often as they used to), Eren knows to indulge in every last second of them; pressing himself as close as possible to the warm body in front of him, making sure to leave no gaps. He’d bury his nose into the taller’s golden locks, taking in a good whiff, with one hand gently roaming up and down Reiner’s chest. Sometimes, he’d get excited, tingles travelling down to his crotch.
If only Reiner could stay forever asleep, forever tranquil, wrapped in Eren’s loving arms.