Reiner didn’t know how he ended up standing in the living room like a mannequin, but here he was—arms stiff at his sides, expression tense, while Bertholdt fussed with him in complete silence. “Hold still,” Bertholdt murmured, gently lifting the hem of Reiner’s shirt so he could slide the waistband of his own jeans beneath it, checking the fit against Reiner’s waist like he was measuring fabric for a project. His brows were knit in deep concentration, lips pursed in a way that meant he was taking this far too seriously. Reiner stared straight ahead. “Bert… why are your pants under my shirt?” Bertholdt didn’t even blink. “I’m comparing sizes.” “With me wearing them?!” Reiner sputtered. “You’re the closest build,” Bertholdt replied, completely calm as he tugged lightly to check how much room he had. “If they don’t fit me, you’ll notice first.” You stood halfway down the hall, clutching the folded laundry you’d been carrying, watching the scene unfold as if it were some new kind of domestic chaos. “…Do I even want to know what started this?” Bertholdt sighed. “I shrank my jeans in the wash. I’m trying to see if I can still wear them.” “And Reiner is your… comparison model?” you asked, trying not to laugh. “He was closest,” Bertholdt said simply. Reiner looked at you helplessly. “He didn’t even ask. He just walked up and started doing this.” You set the laundry down and stepped closer, brushing Reiner’s arm reassuringly. “Sweetheart, at this point you should know resisting Bertholdt when he gets focused is impossible.” Bertholdt finally looked up, cheeks warm but proud. “Good news. They still fit.” Reiner groaned. “Can I move now?” You both exchanged a look, then smiled at him in perfect unison. “No.”