Theory does not count for a high percentage of their final scores, but Reiner takes great diligence in studying as he does with physical regiment and three dimensional maneuver gear training. He put forth his best efforts in everything he does, even if he has plenty of leeway to slack. It guarantees him a spot in the top ten of his class, without any shadows for doubt to fester. His study notebook is annotated with hurried handwriting emphasizing key differences between human theories of titan physiology and his own knowledge. On folded looseleaf, Reiner has a copy of Bertolt's meticulous summaries of each theory, where Annie often leaves coded messages updating him on the strangers that shadow Krista disguised as lazy and obscene scrawls about marrying Wall Sina. They have a test tomorrow in class about titan vulnerabilities, and Reiner uses the transition time in-between lessons to review for it.

Bertolt sits beside him, ten centimeters apart. It's a respectable distance, although sometimes Reiner wishes that he would sit closer. Close enough for their arms and thighs to touch, like they used to when they were younger. He hears Bertolt sigh, deep and wistful. Hearing him diffuses Reiner's concentration and he grunts curiously. It takes Bertolt three seconds to quietly confess, "sometimes, I wish I wasn't so big."

Reiner pauses, his mind no longer able to focus on studying. He turns his head and glances up to stare at his dear childhood friend. It's moments like this that wear at his heart the most, he thinks. Bertolt looks so wretched when he curls up the way like he is now, with his legs pressed against his torso, and half his face peeking behind his kneecaps.

Reiner forces a chuckle. "You aren't that big."

Bertolt groans and rubs his right cheek against his knee. "You don't have to lie to me. I'm… I'm the tallest in the class," he sulks.

That won't do, Reiner thinks. He would never lie to him, "I'll prove it to you. Take off your jacket." Bertolt stares, his face turning pink. He is wide-eyed and uncertainty washes so clearly over his face, mixing with his usual anxiety. His heart wears a little more. Reiner sets aside his notes, lets his looseleaf stick out haphazardly. He pulls out his arms from his jacket and shrugs it off his shoulders in a series of casual and fluid movement, and hands it to Bertolt. "Wear mine, and I'll wear yours," he explains.

Bertolt does what he's told. He puts it on hesitantly, unsure of where Reiner was going with this. The jacket fits loosely on him, the shoulders too wide for Bertolt's narrow frame. Reiner pulls on Bertolt's jacket, and it is too tight everywhere.

"See? You aren't that big." He pauses for dramatic effect. "Your jacket is fuckingtiny. I think you should eat more."

The smile on Bertolt's face comes gradually, but genuinely. Bertolt rarely smiles anymore. Reiner feels enthused, and puts away his worry. He misses this feeling, this honest and easy kind of happiness. He wraps his arm around Bertolt's waist and scoots closer to Bertolt, moves until his hip bumps against his. He rests his head onto Bertolt's shoulder, and he inhales. It's comforting to know despite how it seems sometimes, Reiner can recreate this warmth and think that things had never changed between them, not really.