i-really-heichou:

Beruani. For Isabel. 

He wonders if she can hear the stammering of his heart, because it is deafening to his ears, every clumsy thud against his chest. Annie doesn’t do anything particularly out of the norm other than dry the dishes with meticulous movements and a chilled silence. It is just her presence that renders him completely useless as Bertholdt once again drops a glass cup on to the floor, allowing it to shatter into a million pieces. 

“Crap,” he mutters, and Annie smiles when he’s not looking, because God, he would never curse in front of her. “Crap, crap, I’m sorry.”

She joins him on the floor, towel in hand, gathering the broken shards of glass. “Bertholdt,” she says, and his face turns three shades of red at the sound of his name. “Are you okay?”

Annie is so close he can feel her even breathing brush along his face and the end of her nose gently kiss against the tip of his. “N-no, sorry.” Bertholdt’s eyes are closing, head tilted so that his lips skid across hers. “I don’t think I am.”