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Chapter Text

The antique shop was quaint, tucked away into an often overlooked strip mall. A set of furniture in the French rococo style occupied one display window; in the other, two mannequins, posed elegantly, had been carefully dressed in vintage 40s dresses. The inside followed the same pattern: on one side of the store were the furniture and collectables, and on the other were the clothes, all arranged by size and decade of origin.
The checkout counter acted as both a jewelry display case and a divider between the two sides, and it was on this counter that the cashier leaned as he idly gazed out the window. A light snow had begun falling in small flurries reminiscent of powdered sugar. The sun had already began its slow descent, but instead of the steady golden glow associated with sunsets, everything was a miserable grey.
The cashier was a young man noted for his taciturn nature and incredible height; he made a good assistant at the shop, as he could reach high shelves and was always polite and tactful in customer service.
He was the only one present in the shop. The owner, an old man with bright eyes and an odd name, had gone off to a business arrangement, some kind of auction. A lady had also worked there, but left a month ago to take care of her elderly mother. They got along well enough without her. The cashier was a hard worker and easily picked up the slack--officially, he was just the cashier, but in actuality, he served many more roles.
He had begun to take on the role of daydreamer-turned-napper when the door opened and the store's owner pushed his way in with a burst of icy wind.
The bright eyes appeared a moment later, peering keenly around the stack of boxes piled in his arms.
"Come on, boy!" His bushy mustache twitched excitedly. "Go get the rest!"
The cashier was very much awake by now, and he nodded and grabbed his coat.
"What did you get?" he asked after they had brought in all the boxes.
The old man smiled, saying nothing, and lifted a silver teapot out of one of the boxes. It was in excellent condition with an elegantly carved handle.
He turned it over in his hands. "Look at that, Berthold, see how she shines... I was lucky to get the set for the price I did."
"Are all these boxes silver?" asked Berthold.
"No, only two. One of the others is a china set, and the other is a whole box of old film reels."
They laid the silver tea set out, a gleaming spread consisting of a serving tray, coffee pot, teapot, creamer, sugar, and waste bowl, as well as four teacups. Each piece shone with a pale luster, and no scratches, dents, or tarnish could be found.
"It's breathtaking," said Berthold, and he meant it.
"Isn't it lovely? Divine, yes, in perfect condition, too--ah, what's this?" He pulled another teapot out, frowning as he examined it. It was far less elegant than the first one, being basic in design, very short and very stout, and very, very tarnished.
"I don't recall buying this one..." He scratched his head, then, after another moment of scrutinizing it, held it out to Berthold. "You drink tea, right, my boy?"
"Um, yes, on occasion."
"Take this, then."
"Oh, no, I probably shouldn't--"
"Nonsense! It's far too tarnished to sell--it might if it was better looking--and you deserve something nice for all the work you've done."
Berthold's idea of something nice most certainly was not a teapot, but he wasn't the type to complain. He'd take what he could get. Besides, he appreciated the gesture.
"Thank you, Mr. Pixis," he said. His smile was thin but genuine.

The rest of his shift saw no customers, and Berthold was very glad to go home when the shop closed at eight. By that time it was very dark outside and still cold and miserable. He was looking forward to getting home and taking a hot shower, then popping in a CD and setting to the task of polishing the silver teapot.
He had leftover polish from a mirror he had cleaned up at one time, and it was with this polish and a content attitude that he set about the cleaning.
He'd hardly just begun when a preposterous amount of smoke began spilling out of the tea pot. Initially, his thoughts went to wondering what kind of chemical reaction was happening and whether or not that polish happened to be expired, but the smoke was overwhelming, and Berthold temporarily abandoned his thoughts for the more important necessity of cracking a window.
The odd smoke drifted out the window and into the cold night, and Berthold's eyes still stung from the gas and the chill. He rubbed at them somewhat absentmindedly, mind already wandering back to the potentially damaged tea pot, but that thought went out the window too as he lowered his hands from his eyes and became alarmingly aware of another person in his apartment.
Berthold froze. The other man hadn't seemed to notice him yet, alleviating himself from the same irritation Berthold suffered from moments before, and Berthold found this to be the perfect opportunity to scramble for something with which to defend himself. He didn't necessarily feel threatened by this stranger, but, should complications arise, he would need all the help he could get--the man standing in his living room was nearly as tall as Berthold was, and was far stockier. Berthold's trembling hands found their way to an aluminum bat from his old highschool baseball days, and it was this he held at the ready as he slowly edged his way in the general direction of the door.
The other man lowered his hands from his eyes and turned to look at Berthold. Berthold froze again. The expression on the stranger's face showed that both of them were equally as confused as to what was happening.
"This isn't the ba--" began the stranger, stopping mostly because Berthold had asked who he was at the same time.
"Who are you?" he repeated.
His inquiry was ignored. "Wait, yeah, it's coming back to me now. Sorry. That whole popping out thing confused me a lot more than I thought it would." The stranger laughed nervously, eyeing the bat. "Look, would you--would you put that thing down please?"
Berthold said nothing and continued holding the bat.
There was a silence.
"Look," said Berthold, "I'm not sure if this is some kind of joke, or... Or what, but it's not all that funny."
"Joke?" He seemed confused again. "Oh, right, right, I get it. You're probably expecting some blue guy with pointy ears or a fancy goatee or slippers with pointed toes, right? Like in the movies, yeah. It hasn't been that long but I forgot people aren't used to this kind of thing."
"What? You're being really vague, sorry, I don't really... Can you just be forward about it, please?"
"You haven't pieced it together yet?" The stranger was amused. "You rubbed a lamp, there was smoke, here I am. Oh, I'm supposed to go over the rules first. First of all, you can't be a wise guy and wish for three more wishes. It doesn't work like that. Second--"
"Sorry to interrupt," interrupted Berthold, who wasn't as sorry as he seemed, "But you're telling me, and I'm fully expected to believe, that you're, what, some kind of genie?"
The stranger, who was very much a genie, nodded. "That's right."

Chapter Text

The first thing Berthold learned about the genie was that his name was Reiner.
It wasn't a very genie-like name, thought Berthold, neither did he look much like one.  The genies in the stories he'd read, the real, non-Disney ones, came in fun colors and frightening shapes and had names with a lot of consonants that were hard to pronounce.  They also weren't white and they didn't live in tarnished tea pots.
"I don't know how it works," shrugged Reiner when these accusations came up. They'd moved into Berthold's small living room.  Reiner occupied most of the loveseat while Berthold remained standing, tense.
"I'm not even sure how I ended up like this," he continued.  "I guess it's some kind of punishment for doing some bad stuff when I was alive."
"You were alive?"
"Yeah, I... I don't really wanna talk about it.  I guess I'm kind of like a ghost?  I dunno.  The afterlife is confusing, I'll tell you what."
Berthold was quiet.
The silence continued for a few moments that stretched out awkwardly until Reiner finally cleared his throat.
"So, uh...  You make your three wishes and I'll be outta here."
Berthold had been staring at the floor, but he lifted his gaze to meet Reiner's.  "I don't know what I want to wish for.  There's--"
"Aw, are you kidding me?!" exclaimed Reiner.  "Most people have this kind of thing figured out already in rhetoric!  It's literally anything you want, man, almost anything at all--"
They were talking over each other now.  Berthold's mumbling hadn't skipped a beat.
"--but with that much power, you never know.  Fixing world hunger or having world peace would be too big of an impact, I suppose, and there's really not anything I want, per se--"
"--you can't be like, drowning in riches or--wait, hang on," said Reiner suddenly, and Berthold stopped talking.  "There's nothing you actually want?  Not like, a big house, or a pet tiger, or your dream car?"
Berthold shook his head.  "I can be happy without those things."
Reiner studied him, a hint of amusement in his gold eyes and a lopsided grin on his face.  This young man, the one with the worn sweater fraying at the edges and the charmingly messy dark hair and the quiet, somber expression that constantly occupied his face...  He was interesting.  Reiner's memories of being alive were fuzzy, but he had the notion that he'd never met anyone half as interesting in his whole life.  This man was twice as alive as he ever was and it was exhilarating.
"Look," said Reiner.  "Just wish for something silly.  A pair of shoes that you never outgrow.  A never ending box of Twinkies.  It doesn't matter to me.  Three wishes and boom, I'm out, just like that, and you never have to deal with me again."
"Give me a few days," replied Berthold quickly.  "I need time to think about it and make a responsible decision."
What a nerd, thought Reiner.  He was certain that plenty of college-aged boys would have instantly wished for endless booze, their own personal harem, and the ability to throw the sickest parties ever.  This guy would probably wish for a signed, first-edition copy of some book by a long-dead author and a kitten.  It was endearing and quite honestly a relief.
"I need to go to bed," said Berthold suddenly.  "It's late.  I have school tomorrow.  Do you need to sleep?"
"Sleep?  Nah, probably not.  Is it okay if I just hang out here?  I won't touch anything, promise."
The idea of this person who was still very much a stranger sitting around on the couch for the next eight hours made Berthold uncomfortable, but he didn't have the heart to say no.  He couldn't imagine being confined to a lamp--er, a teapot--for however long, only to get sucked back in very shortly after release.
"Okay," he agreed reluctantly.  "Don't touch anything though.  There's cereal if you get hungry."
Reiner nodded.  "Can do.  Goodnight!"
"Um, goodnight."
The genie propped his legs up on the coffee table and leaned back, positioning his arms behind his head.  He was posed so casually, with his friendly grin and golden eyes focused intently on Berthold, that one would think he'd belonged there and had done so for a few years.
Bert was almost positive that as soon as he turned around the corner and went into the bathroom, all his valuables (an old television with a built-in VCR, a pot he made in a high school ceramics class, 57 cents of loose change) would be stolen, or camera crews would pop out and make him aware of the fact that thousands of people were laughing at him on live television and all he'd be able to do was laugh over his shame and pray that the cute girl from school wasn't watching.  But when he peeked into the living room from the bathroom, nothing had moved, including the man on his couch.  He brushed his teeth, combed his hair, and awkwardly scooted into his bedroom while staring at Reiner, who stared at him in turn.
After a moment of frantic, internal debate, he closed his bedroom door and leaned against it, hand still on the knob, listening closely for sounds of movement.  None came.  He allowed himself to go to sleep.

Bert's sleeping patterns were constantly unstable.  At best, he'd wake up in the middle of the night, roll over, and fall back asleep.  At worst, he'd wake up in the middle of the night, roll over, and suddenly become aware of heavy breathing from his living room and spend the next few moments in a groggy panic wondering how some kind of large animal got into his apartment before remembering that the large animal did not exist and was in fact some kind of supernatural creature that came from a teapot.  He would then sit up and rub his eyes and realize just how absurd the entire situation was.
Upon opening his bedroom door, the breathing became louder and a lot more obnoxious.  He peeked around the corner cautiously, squinting through the darkness.
Reiner was splayed out on the small couch, half his body draped over the side.  It was questionable as to whether he had fallen asleep from actual tiredness or from boredom, but Berthold suspected the latter.
He stepped into the living room quietly.  The chill of the winter night hung heavily in the air; the pale light diffusing in through the window only added to the cold.  He never kept the heat on at night.  It was a waste of energy and the three homemade quilts sent from his great-aunt that were stacked neatly on his bed did the trick.  Until now, he'd never realized how cold it got.
Reiner must be cold, he thought, although he seemed to be doing a good job of sleeping despite of it.  Berthold hesitated for a moment, eyeing the sleeping form on his couch.  It was all so surreal, really, and a large part of him was convinced that it was all some kind of dream, that he would wake up in the morning and be alone again.
With that thought, he realized this was the first time he'd ever had another person in his apartment.  The realization and the feeling that accompanied it made his head hurt. 
As quietly as he could, Bert draped a spare blanket over Reiner.  He stirred in his sleep; Berthold froze, but no additional movements followed, and it took him a moment to realize that Reiner's breathing had gotten quieter, more peaceful.

Berthold woke up to the smell of something burning.
"I tried making toast," said Reiner as Berthold hurried into the kitchen.  "It's uh...  It's kind of charred."
"Yes," replied Bert, "I can see that.  And smell it.  It's pretty awful."

Reiner laughed. "Sorry 'bout that. I thought I'd make myself useful. I wasn't sure how your toaster worked--you know when you're making toast in someone else's house and you don't know if their toaster works, like if you have to crank it up to five or six or if it doesn't pop out automatically so you have to watch it, or if it gets super burnt at anything past two? Yeah, it's like that, and I wasn't sure so I thought four was a safe bet."
"No, it's fine, don't worry about it." Berthold smiled awkwardly. "Uh, look, I have to go to school today, so... You can stay here, I guess, as long as you don't burn the place down with your toast. I don't have cable but I have a lot of movies and video games."
Reiner leaned against the counter, halfheartedly picking at the burnt toast he felt obliged to eat. "Don't get me wrong, I would love to bum out all day, but I have certain genie-rules, right? And one of those is I can't be any more than a certain amount of feet away from the person I'm with.  It's not 'I can't be' in the way where I'm not allowed to, it's 'I can't be' in the literal sense to where I actually physically can't be too far away at any given time."
Berthold frowned.  This was a lot more troublesome than he had anticipated.  There were no empty seats in any of his classes, nor did he have an excuse or the proper permission to have a guest with him on campus.  There didn't seem to be anything he could do about it, and he certainly wasn't skipping school.
"Hm," he said as he put a piece of bread in the toaster, taking care to adjust the settings.  "That's fine.  I'm afraid I don't do anything terribly interesting, though.  All I really do is school and work.  Speaking of which, be ready to go in ten minutes, okay?"
Reiner nodded.  As soon as Berthold left the kitchen, he threw away the toast.

The snow that had fallen overnight draped over everything, sparkling in the cold morning sun.  It was very beautiful and very white, and there was something almost sacred about it as Berthold walked over it gingerly, very aware of the soft crunching beneath his boots.
It was very cold, the kind of cold that made the white snow seem even colder, and Berthold had bundled up in a dark, wool pea coat, a stark contrast against the purity of the surroundings.  Reiner walked beside him, quietly taking everything in with eyes that sparkled like the snow.  He was still wearing the thin short-sleeved shirt he had appeared in the night before, and, as far as it was apparent, was wholly unaffected by the cold.
The eager crunching of fast-paced footsteps in the snow sounded behind them, but Berthold didn't take any notice of it until someone called out his name.
He turned around, surprised.  The speaker waved and awkwardly trotted up to them, stopping to take a few sharp breaths when he had reached them.
Armin Arlert was in a few of Berthold's classes.  Before college, he had lived with his grandfather in some small, mid-western town, but he'd done well throughout school and skated easily into college on numerous scholarships.  His major was undecided as of now, but he gave off the impression that he'd shove as many classes as possible into his schedule and major in as many degrees as he could.  It wasn't that he was indecisive, he was just passionate about a good number of things.
He leaned over, hands resting on his knees as he caught his breath, then finally stood and smiled brightly up at Berthold.
Armin was short--when compared to Berthold, this wasn't an impressive feat (everyone was shorter than Berthold), but when compared to everyone else, he was still shorter than average.  Because of this, Berthold had taken to stooping over slightly when talking to him.  They didn't talk much but were on the level of being friendly acquaintances, and Berthold genuinely enjoyed the conversations they did have.
"Hello Bert!" greeted Armin.  "I thought you should know our class is in a few rooms over today--I wasn't sure if you'd gotten the e-mail or not."
"Oh, thank you," he replied.  "No, I didn't get the e-mail...  I probably would've walked into the wrong class and not noticed until halfway through."
Armin laughed.
"Oh, by the way," said Bert suddenly, "This is, um... my, ah, cousin.  He's, uh, he's visiting for the holidays.  Hanukkah and the like."   He put one hand on Reiner's shoulder and gestured with the other.  Reiner grinned and waved.

Armin's impressive eyebrows furrowed together and a look of bemusement settled on his face.  Finally he spoke, expressing his confusion in a tactful way.
"There's no one there, Berthold."
Bert's nervous smile faltered.
"Oh yeah!" exclaimed Reiner loudly, snapping his fingers.  "Yeah, I forgot.  You're the only one who can see me.  Probably should've remembered that sooner.  It's a genie rule."
Bert ignored him, laughing anxiously.  "I was just, um..."  He faltered.  "There's a, uh, a play, and I'm trying out for it today.  That's my line," he said unconvincingly.
"Huh," said Armin.  "I didn't know you were a thespian.  It seemed kind of forced, though, like someone trying to cover a lie."
"Oh no."  They resumed walking.  "That's part of it.  See, this guy, he's uh, he's a mafia guy, see, but he's undercover and he goes to be a butler for a rich guy on his hit list, and there's a Christmas party scene and one of his other mafia buddies is there, so he's introduced as his cousin to avoid suspicion."
He shot a sideways glance at Reiner, who nodded approvingly.
Armin seemed interested.  "What else is it about?"
"Uh..."  Berthold hesitated.  "I... I don't want to spoil it!"
"Aw, really?  I understand."
The building was a welcome refuge of warmth.  It was empty; Armin and Berthold had the common habit of arriving early to school.  Armin continued to the classroom, but Bert excused himself and ducked into the nearest bathroom.
"Okay," he said, turning to face Reiner.  "I think I know what I want to do.  There's this girl that I, uh, I like her a lot, and I think my first wish is--"
"Hang on," interrupted Reiner, holding up his hands.  "I can't make anyone fall in love with you.  That's against the genie rules."
Bert looked puzzled.  "Fall in love?  No, no, it's nothing like that.  I just want her to notice me."
"You're like, eight feet tall.  It's kind of hard not to notice you."
"Yeah, well."  He frowned.  "Look, will you do it or not?"
"Yeah, I can do it, but you gotta say it like a wish."
"Alright, fair enough.  I wish Annie Leonhardt would notice me."
Berthold paused, waiting for something--a strange electricity in the air, maybe, or a picking up of wind or a cloud of magic sparkles.  Nothing happened.  It was very anti-climatic.
"That was very anti-climatic," frowned Reiner.  "I think it's done though.  Just gotta wait for the universe to do its thing."
"You think it's done?  You mean you're not sure?"  Berthold balked.  Did this guy have any idea what he was doing?
"Yeah, see, you make the wish and I act as like... the middle-man, kind of.  Like between you and the powers of the universe.  You can make a wish anytime you want and if you wish hard enough it'll come true eventually, but what I do is make it come true faster.  It's like that."
"Oh," said Bert simply.  "Well.  She's in my first class, so I guess we'll see what happens."

"Hey Berthold, are you sure this is her?" Reiner stood over an unsuspecting, apathetic Annie Leonhardt.  He was very surprised.  Berthold didn't seem like the kind of guy to like someone who looked like an icicle at the beginning of winter: sharp, cold, pale, and very, very short.
Berthold nodded subtly.
"Dude, there's no way she hasn't noticed you already.  You're at least a foot taller than her.  You sit right next to her.  She's looking at you right now."
Berthold looked at her, panicked.  "Really?"
Annie glanced at him, and it was only then that he realized he had spoken out loud to no one.  His stomach sank.
"Do you need something?"
"Um."  His face heated up.  "Can I--do you have a pencil I could borrow?  I'll uh, I'll give it back."
She leaned over to root around in her bag, procuring a pencil.  Reiner stood behind her, snickering.
"Thanks," said Berthold coldly.  The icy tone was intended for Reiner in a passive-aggressive way, but he suddenly realized Annie would probably think it was for her.  He'd messed up big time.
Reiner realized it too.  "Oh man, she's definitely noticed you now."
Berthold felt like sinking through the ground.  This was like some kind of sick joke the universe was playing on him.  It wasn't what he wanted.  But his wish had come true at least.  At least it wasn't something horribly embarrassing.

The horribly embarrassing part happened half an hour into the lecture when Sasha Braus raised her hand.
"Professor!" she yelled from the back of the room, waving her arm around.  "I have something to say!"
The professor turned from his presentation to look at her.  His raised eyebrow signaled permission for her to speak.
"Berthold likes Annie but is too afraid to say anything!"

Berthold's expression turned to that of muted horror.  He was screaming on the inside.  Maybe that hadn't just happened, he thought, maybe I just imagined it because I've fallen asleep in class, or maybe I'm still at home dreaming...  The burning of his face and of the eyes all turned on him testified otherwise.
"Sasha," said Annie coldly, "There's a time and a place.  You're embarrassing yourself.  Sit down."

The rest of class dragged on slowly and painfully, and Berthold felt like he was drowning for the entirety of it.  He was the first one out of the classroom, Reiner hot on his heels and pronouncing apologies, and he was making a beeline for his car when Annie caught up behind him.
"Berthold, is what Sasha said today true?"
The pit in his stomach turned into a sort of nervous liquid.  "N-no, of course not!"
"I thought so.  She likes to cause trouble in the classroom a lot.  Connie put her up to it, I bet.  It was rude of her to single you out."  She paused, as if she expected him to say something, but when he didn't, she continued.  "See you next week, then."
"Yeah, see you."  But she had already merged into the flow of people.

Berthold cried in his car.  Reiner sat there awkwardly.  He thought he ought to say something about wishes, about how one had to be specific, about the example of the guy who wished he could jump higher and got turned into a frog, but all of those things seemed inappropriate. 
"I'm such an idiot," said Berthold quietly.  His knuckles were white on the steering wheel and he smiled in the way people do when they cry.  "I could've told her the truth, it was the only opportunity I had, but I blew it and I'll never have a chance like that with her ever again."
Reiner said nothing.  He was waiting for an outburst of blame and anger to be expressed towards him, but it never came.  Berthold wasn't angry at Reiner or Sasha or Annie or the universe, he was only angry at himself.  It made Reiner feel worse somehow.

He made hot chocolate for Berthold when they got back to the apartment, complete with an attempted and quickly disassembling smiley face made from mini marshmallows.  Berthold smiled and took a drink.
"Look," said Reiner, sitting next to Bert on the couch.  "I'm really sorry about this.  Like, really, really sorry.  You can't wish to undo the wish directly, but I'm sure you could figure out something to make it better."
"No, it's okay."  The words tasted stale.  He tried again with more conviction.  "It's okay.  It probably wouldn't have worked out between us anyway."  A lie.  "I don't have school again until next week.  I'm sure everyone will have forgotten about it and I'll feel better by then."
They were quiet for an uncomfortable amount of time before Reiner broke the silence.
"I used to like this girl too," he said.  "She was like Annie, kind of, in that she was short and pretty and blonde, but she was...  She was like spring in the way that Annie's winter, y'know?  She was a regular goddess."  He stared into his own mug of hot chocolate.  "She was always real nice to me, and I was a confident guy, right, but she made me feel all nervous inside.  So I thought I'd ask her out one day, nothing really big or serious, real casual and all.  I bought two tickets to a butterfly house.  I thought she'd love it.  I could imagine her in there, surrounded by flowers and trees and butterflies, smiling at me."  He smiled sadly, and his eyes were distant.
"Sounds like it didn't go too well," said Berthold.
"It would've gone great if we'd actually gone," he continued.  "I brought the tickets to a football game.  I was on the team in high school and she was a cheerleader, so it was really cliche.  Anyway, I was going to ask her out after the game, but you know what?  She showed up there with some girl.  'Have you met my girlfriend?' is what she said.  I gave both of them the tickets, said I got them for me and a friend who'd backed out on me and I didn't want them anymore.  They thanked me.  She seemed so excited about it, y'know, she said she loved butterflies, and it made me regret not asking her anyway but by that time it was too late.  I still can't get over how smug her girlfriend looked.  I think it was just how her face was naturally, but man, it bothered me."
"That sucks."  Berthold couldn't think of much to say aside from that.
"Yeah.  My point being, I liked her a lot.  She didn't like me.  It was really hard, but I got over it with time.  I also died, that had a lot to do with it.  It makes you stop worrying about a bunch of stuff.  I mean, I'm not telling you to go die or anything, I'm just saying that in the long-run, it probably won't matter so much.  It'll be something you can look back on and feel kind of bad about, but you'll only feel bad when thinking about it, and a lot of other cool stuff will have happened to you to where you don't think about it a whole lot."
Bert nodded slowly.  "I'm going to take a nap.  That'll help me not think about it."

Reiner made pancakes in the evening.  He was a good cook when it didn't involve toasters, and the pancakes came in fun shapes.  The fun shapes were an attempt to cheer Berthold up.
"This one's a bee," he said, slathering butter onto something that vaguely resembled a bee, albeit a very smashed one.
The fun of the pancakes came in the interpretation of their attempted shapes.
Berthold poked at one with a fork.  "This one looks like...  a flower, I think."
"Ah, it was actually supposed to be a cat--or was it this one?"
They agreed to not try and figure out what they were supposed to be.  It was more exciting that way, and it was that sort of playful excitement that made it easy for them to set aside the day's events and look forward to the morning.

Chapter Text

The weeks passed by, and Berthold and Reiner grew accustomed to each other.  They became good friends easily.

One week, Berthold worked a lot of overtime (it wasn't so bad with Reiner around) and got paid very well, and the two agreed that they would celebrate with a nice dinner cooked by the both of them.
"If we're going to make stir-fry," said Berthold, leaning on the cart as he went over the shopping list, "We're going to need some beef, and a lot of vegetables...  We should pick those up fresh, don't you think?"
Reiner nodded.  "Did you write the water chestnuts down?  I don't see them on the list."
"Oh, yeah, you're right.  Good eye.  Can't forget the chestnuts...  Alright, got it.  See anything else I forgot?"
He studied the list carefully.  "Nope.  It's all there."
"Okay, let's get started.  Don't let me forget the soy sauce, I..."  He trailed off suddenly, eyeing someone who had stopped at the end of the aisle to regard him curiously.  
Reiner looked up too.  Both of them were confused for a second, until he laughed and slugged Bert's shoulder.  "Dude, you forgot!  No one else can see me.  You look like you're talking to yourself."
Berthold's face turned red with embarrassment and he busied himself looking over the list again until the onlooker had moved on. 
"I have an idea," he said quietly when he was sure they were alone again.  "If we're out and you want to talk to me, let me know and I'll get out my phone."  He slipped his phone out of his pocket and held it up.  "That way I can talk back to you without looking weird, and people will just think I'm on my phone."  He held it up against his ear and smiled at Reiner.  "Hey, I'm at the store now, can you think of anything you need other than the stuff for the stir-fry?"
Reiner grinned.  "Yeah, we need five gallons of ice cream, and lots of sprinkles, and some microwave burritos."
"Chopped liver and onions?  Well, if you insist."
They stood in the aisle, snickering like little kids. 

Berthold was in charge of chopping up the vegetables, and Reiner, the so-called "culinary expert", took the lead in cooking them in the skillet.  The radio was cranked up, blasting Christmas songs at Reiner's request.  Berthold didn't celebrate Christmas (he was Jewish) but he knew all the songs anyway, and it was fun to see Reiner sing along and dance while cooking.

"Do you dance, Bert?" asked Reiner when the radio turned to commercials.
"Oh no, not really."  He focused on chopping the carrots in even slices.  "It's kind of embarrassing, really.  I'm bad at it but I do it by myself sometimes."  Berthold didn't admit that his solo-dancing career consisted mostly of vaguely ballet-like, interpretive moves done to classical music.  It was embarrassing for him to think about.
"So you do dance!"
"By myself, it's not really the same.  Like I said, it's really, really awful--"
"Come on, it can't be that bad."
Berthold set his knife down and looked up from the carrots.  "I promise you, it is."
Reiner grabbed Bert's hands, moving them back and forth as he swayed rhythmically.  "There, see?  You can dance."
Berthold obliged to the swaying, although he couldn't bring himself to meet Reiner's eyes.  His hands seemed like limp noodles in the other's strong ones.  He had always been awkward when dancing with others, never managing to maintain eye contact for any more than a few seconds, always pretending to be keenly interested in something over his partner's shoulder.  He had danced with someone else only twice in his life, this time being the second.
"You're not into it."  Reiner sounded vaguely disappointed.
Berthold laughed awkwardly.  "Ah, sorry.  I'm not very good at this."
Reiner let him go seemingly reluctantly and attended the stir-fry again.  "I'll teach you after dinner, okay?  That way you won't have to go around embarrassing yourself every time someone wants to dance.  And don't think you can worm your way out of it, alright?  There's no way I'm forgetting!"
"Alright."

Berthold's hands were clammy; he could still feel the pressure of Reiner's hands in his.  It was an odd feeling, one he hadn't expected to linger even though he grasped the kitchen knife firmly, wondering if it could squeeze out Reiner's hands or the regret of being so limp and unresponsive.   It would be more fun to dance, although something was holding him back--what it was, he wasn't sure, but he was determined to let go.

Their dinner was completed with candles arranged in the center of the table.
("It's romantic," said Reiner with a grin, and Berthold wasn't sure if he was joking or not.) 
The meal itself was excellently prepared, much to the pride of both of them.  It was served with gourmet tap water garnished with ice, as provided by Berthold.
"This water," he said as he set the cups down gently, "Was laboriously prepared with only the finest of ingredients.  Expertly blended, you will find the ratio of one oxygen atom to two hydrogens most pleasing.  It has been chilled to the optimal temperature, perfect for drinking.  To accentuate the quality, you can see it has been served in only the finest of plastic cups."
Reiner snickered.  "Tell me, sir, how long has this been aged in your water cellar?  I can only drink water that has been aged to perfection."
"Er, well, it's been through the water cycle since the beginning of this planet, so...  Aged several trillion years?"
Reiner's snicker had turned into a hearty laugh.  "A toast, then!" he cried, and they raised their cups together.

Berthold obliged to the dancing, having been put in a better mood by good food and good company.
They rifled through the extensive CD collection together. 
"What do you think would be best?" asked Reiner, comparing two CDs.  He wasn't all that familiar with the classical music that Bert seemed to favor, and he was hung up between trying to figure out the difference between Beethoven and Bach. 
"Ah, well, it depends on what kind of dancing you'd like to do," replied Bert.  "Swing dancing, the fox trot, the Charleston, tap, ballet, jazz, the waltz..."
"I don't think I could do anything fast-paced like jazz."  He hesitated, laughing awkwardly.  "I was, uh, thinking something more slow."
He shot a sideways glance at Bert, trying to read some kind of reaction in the expression that did not change aside from slightly raised eyebrows.
Berthold nodded slowly and pulled out a CD.  "We'll go for Strauss's Blue Danube Waltz, then."

"Alright," said Reiner, "Put your right hand in mine--there you go--and then your other hand goes on my shoulder, and mine goes on your waist, like that."  They shuffled a bit, trying to ignore the awkwardness of the sudden closeness.  "And uh, the dancing itself is easy.  It's basically a three-step shuffle in a triangle shape.  The rhythm is real nice and easy--one, two, three, one, two, three--there you go!  You're not as bad as you led me to believe."

Reiner first fell in love with Berthold as they danced.
It was very sudden and it happened as he realized the fragility of the other.  He hoped Berthold couldn't feel his fingertips trembling on his waist.  They were standing close together, so close, neither meeting the other's eyes as the music played in the background.  Reiner was scared to be touching him, in a way--he felt as though Bert, solid as he was, would be crushed in his grasp, that cracks would appear in his skin under Reiner's fingertips.  This sudden realization of love had come crashing down on him, sweeping him away like he had been caught in a tidal wave.  It seemed very heavy and burdensome.  He did not want Berthold, who was so light and willowy and yet solid, to feel the heaviness of it.

He was anxious ready to stop dancing, but he did not want to let Berthold go.  All of his feeling had gone to his hands, one of which held Berthold's slender waist, and the other which held Berthold's slender hand.  Reiner was painfully aware of the sweaty clamminess of the hand that held Bert's.
"Are you okay?" asked Berthold. "We can stop, if you'd like."
Reiner swallowed a lump in his throat and nodded.  He let go reluctantly and sat on the couch.
Berthold sat down next to him, close enough to where their elbows brushed against each other.  "Are you okay?" he repeated.
Reiner nodded, although he was certain his face had turned an embarrassing shade of red.
"Your face is red.  Are you running a fever?"  Instinctively, Bert placed his hand on Reiner's forehead.  "You're very warm."
"I'm fine," he insisted.  "I just..." he hesitated before admitting, "I got nervous.  I haven't danced in a really long time and I got nervous.  Let's do something else.  You have video games, right?"
The change of subject was sudden and somewhat off-putting, but Berthold could tell Reiner was uncomfortable, and so he stood, turned off the music, and selected a game.

"I play Mario a lot," he said, sliding the disc into the slot of his Wii, "But I'm embarrassingly bad at it.  I thought maybe I'd be better at it if I played it a lot, but I still can't beat the very last castle, no matter how hard I try."  He was rambling mostly for the sake of Reiner, an attempt at making the subject change seem more natural.  "It can be multiplayer, though, so maybe you can help me out."
Berthold was a lot more animated when it came to video games, particularly when things didn't go his way, and especially when it came to the level he had trouble beating.  His inner levels of frustration were rising, and, by the fifth time they'd failed to complete the final level, there was an unmistakable fire in his eyes.
He grunted angrily.  "I wish I could just beat this level already!"
It took him a moment to realize what he'd said, but when he did, he turned to Reiner, eyes wide.  "Did I--?"
Reiner nodded.  "You said the words, didn't you?  What, did you forget?"
"Um...  A bit."  There was a sinking feeling in his stomach.  It was a stupid, careless mistake, and now his second wish was gone, wasted on New Super Mario Bros. Wii.
Reiner began to laugh, but it was the nervous sort of laugh that happens when one has made a grave mistake that they cannot fix.  It did nothing to dispel the pit in both of their stomachs.
"Well," said Bert, clicking on 'retry level', "There's not much we can do about it, is there?"  He had accepted his fate.
Sure enough, they beat the level.
"I don't know what I expected," said Berthold after the fact.  "Still, I wonder if we would have beat it regardless...?"
Reiner shook his head.  "I don't think so.  That was definitely due to the wish.  You only have one left."
They were quiet for a moment.
"Say, Berthold...  It sure was a long time between that first wish and this one, wasn't it?  If you hadn't screwed up that second wish, how long would it have taken for you to make it?"
"It's hard to say," he replied solemnly.  "The truth is I was planning to put it off for as long as possible.  Like I said on the first day, there's really nothing I can think of to wish for.  Aside from that, part of it is that I like having someone else around more than I thought I would."
Reiner grinned broadly as his heart skipped a beat.  "Hey, keep me around as long as you like!  I like being here too, being with you."
"What was your life like, Reiner?"
The redirect was sudden, but didn't seem like a redirect so much as a genuine question.
"It was good," he said slowly.  "I grew up in a small town.  I had a younger brother, lots of friends.  Lots of normal teenage stuff, I guess.  Sports, school, social...  That was about it, really.  Looking back on it, it seems really great, but I wouldn't call it exciting.  I didn't realize it at the time but a lot of people looked up to me.  Shortly after graduation my parents and brother died in an accident and things went downhill pretty fast for me.  I disappointed all the people who looked up to me and I disappointed myself too."  His face turned cold.
Berthold touched Reiner's arm gently.  "I'm so sorry," he said, "How long ago did this happen?"
"What is it, December?  About nine months."
Even though Berthold felt bad, he couldn't help his surprise.  It had only been nine months?  He thought genies were supposed to be ancient creatures buried in sand from a time long-forgotten.  No wonder Reiner's wish-granting skills weren't all that great.
"I'm sorry to hear that," he repeated.
Reiner shrugged.  "Not much that can be done about it, huh?  I guess I'm here to fulfill some kind of cosmic purpose, like it's some sort of punishment for the stuff I did towards the end.  Some punishment this is."  He shifted on the sofa, leaning his head back to look at the ceiling.  "The Universe gives out tough breaks sometimes, man.  You just gotta roll with it.  Sometimes when you think something sucks a lot, it might just end up being the best thing you've ever done.  You never know."
Berthold nodded solemnly, unsure of what to say.
"I'm glad you're here," he said at last.
"I am too."

Chapter Text

"Reiner to Berthold, come in Berthold."
Berthold rolled over sleepily.  They had taken to sleeping in the same bed--it just made sense, really, and Bert felt bad when Reiner slept on the couch, especially when it was so cold.  Three months had passed since Berthold had polished the teapot and they were the best three months he had had in a long, long time.
"Seriously Bert, wake up."  Reiner's voice deepened, sounding more urgent.  It was this sense of urgency that stirred Berthold out of his sleep.
"What's wrong?" he mumbled groggily, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.  Reiner had propped himself up on one elbow and he looked concerned, almost panicky.  "Reiner?  Hey, tell me what's wrong."  Berthold was much more awake now.
Reiner shifted uncomfortably.  "I don't want you to panic or anything, but I think I'm disappearing."
"Wait, what?  What do you mean, 'disappearing'?" 
Reiner avoided eye contact and lifted the covers.  Sure enough, the lower part of his legs had vanished.  They were completely gone below his shins.
Berthold stared at Reiner's legs in shock.  If he looked carefully, he could see Reiner's legs continuing to disappear slowly as the vanishing worked its way up his body.  At the pace it was going, Reiner had, at most, an hour left before he was gone completely.
Reiner placed a hand on his face.  "I'm terrified," he whispered, smiling to try and fight back the tears that had started blurring his vision.  "This is it.  This is worse than dying."
"H-hey!  Don't cry, it's okay, we'll figure this out.  There has to be a reason this is happening, right?  Do you know what it is?  Did I keep you here too long?"
"No, there's no rules about that."  He thought for a moment.  Realization hit him suddenly.  "I'm such an idiot, I should have known--"
"What is it?"
"It's stupid, some dumb genie rule I forgot about until now."
"Genie rule?!"  Berthold frowned.  "You haven't even done anything!  Which one was it?!"
"It's too late, it doesn't matter anymo--"  Reiner was cut off by Berthold grabbing his shoulders suddenly.
"It does.  I want to know.  I want to know what stupid rule is going to leave me all alone again."  Bert's face was set to an expression of stony determination, a rare expression that made his olive eyes gleam.  "I want to know because if I know, we can figure this out together.  There's always a chance but if you don't tell me you're just going to disappear.  Reiner, exactly which rule did you break?"
You idiot, thought Reiner as he shrugged Berthold's hands off of his shoulders, only to have them clamp down again, looking at me with those eyes is only making this worse.
"Stop!" yelled Berthold, and his yelling surprised Reiner so much that he did stop.  "Why are you trying so hard to avoid it?  It's not a big deal, considering the situation at hand!  Whatever you did isn't as bad as the possibility of losing you like this!"
"Fine!" shouted Reiner back.  "Fine, if you want to know so bad, I'll tell you!  The genie rule is that genies aren't supposed to fall in love with the person they're serving, okay?  That's it, that's what I did.  It's too late for me."
Berthold laughed incredulously.  "That's it?  That's what you were so afraid of?"  His expression softened.  "I'm glad...  I'm glad you feel the same way, then."
They were quiet for a moment.
"Well," said Reiner.  "Let's talk about that later.  My knees are gone.  What are we--hey, I forgot about this in all the excitement, but don't you have one wish left?"
Berthold's face lit up.  "I can wish you back to normal!  But...  What if I get it wrong?  I messed up the other two, and this one is the only one that really matters..."
"It's fine!  As long as you're specific, it's fine!  I'm going to disappear if you don't do anything anyway.  Berthold, you have to try.  Please."  He brought a hand to Berthold's face, cupping it gently.
Berthold placed his hand on Reiner's and took a deep breath.  "Okay.  I won't mess up this time.  But if it doesn't...  If it doesn't work, thanks for everything, Reiner.  Thanks for being with me all this time.  If you end up disappearing, wherever you go, please don't forget about me.  I love you."  He pulled Reiner in, holding him close.
Reiner was surprised at the sudden embrace but returned it, clutching Berthold tightly and burying his face in his neck.  He could feel Bert's heart beating against his chest.  Hot tears fell silently on his shoulder; Reiner became painfully aware of all the tears he had been holding in and shut his eyes tightly, squeezing them out and letting them stream down his face and onto Berthold's shirt.
"My final wish," began Berthold, his breathing shaky but his voice steady with determination, "Is that Reiner will be free of being a genie forever, and will be alive with all of his physical body intact, and will be here, with me, like he is now."
Reiner clung to Berthold and focused on granting the wish properly.  Please, he thought, please, if all of this was to give me some kind of second chance, I promise I'll live better this time around.
The strange sensation of his legs disappearing suddenly stopped--thank goodness!  He began to breathe a well-deserved sigh of relief, only to have it interrupted with his breath getting knocked out of him.  Something heavy was leaving his body, something he hadn't been aware of before, and something else was rushing in.  It was all very vague and Reiner couldn't put any words to the feeling; he would later describe it to Berthold as "dying back to life".  The feeling was fleeting and left him with a headache and a bad taste in his mouth.
"It worked," whispered Berthold after Reiner stopped shaking.  He let go and studied Reiner's face intently.  "How do you feel?  Do you remember everything?"
Reiner nodded, touching his legs to make sure they were really back.  "Yeah, I'm all good.  I could go for a glass of water though."
As Bert got up to get water, Reiner fell back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling.  What now?  The future seemed so full of uncertainty all of a sudden--he had gotten so used to the routine of always being around Berthold, but could that realistically continue?  And as far as starting his life over again, how could he?  There were records of his death, after all, so finding a job would be hard without some kind of illegal documents--
"Don't worry," said Berthold as he sat on the bed again.  Reiner sat up and took the glass from him.  "We figured out that whole mess just now, so we should be able to figure anything else out.  It'll be okay."
They sat close, elbows touching comfortably.  Reiner said nothing, sipping the water thoughtfully and mulling things over in his mind.  There was a lot going on up there and it made him exhausted to think about; he turned to Bert to say so only to find Bert was about to say something himself.
"Look," he said with a soft smile.  In his hands he held the teapot, a relic that had been placed atop the fridge and forgotten about for quite some time.  It was a little dustier than before, but the most remarkable difference was a large crack splintering right through the middle.  Reiner gingerly ran his finger over it.
Berthold stared at the crack.  "In the beginning, when I said there was nothing I wished for, I was lying.  I think everyone has something they want.  I was just too embarrassed to admit it and I didn't think wishes would've helped anyway.  I was, um...  I was really very lonely, but as time passed I realized I didn't need wishes.  I just needed you.  That's why I put off making the third wish.  It felt selfish in a way because I was preventing you from fulfilling your purpose but I just--I just really needed...  Um..."
Reiner laughed.  "Hey, I get it, okay?  No need to get all embarrassed about it.  Look, let's make breakfast and just take it easy today, yeah?"
"Yeah," Bert nodded.  "Yeah, that sounds good."

The sounds of Saturday morning radio drifted through the kitchen, accompanied by the smell of cooking eggs and a fresh March breeze floating through an open window.  Between tending to the eggs, a couple enjoyed a dance, smiling and laughing, each of them more full of life than they had been before.  Everything seemed as though it had finally fallen into place.  As they set the table, each took a moment to quietly contemplate the centerpiece: a cracked silver teapot that one had stuck a daisy in, set in the middle of the table as a reminder of freedom, life, and love.