Work Text:
"I'm earth, mundane desire that grows, and grows, and grows and reaches up for heaven, for its clouds that are sent down in an act of mercy to fill me with hope to leave me yet again with the sour taste of almost when they disappear way too early;
you're my particular, unreachable heaven.
The rains are scarce and far apart, but when they come... I bloom obnoxiously loud and colorful under the clouds and, once again, I find myself eager for the break of dawn, for a new day to keep reaching higher to you."
Newton stopped writing to rub his eyes and look at the clock. 3:17 am. Where the fuck had gone his whole night?
He looked again at the piece of paper in front of him, full of crossed words in his attempt to find the perfect ones for whatever it was he was feeling, with Hermann's name written in the margins, and read the poem again. He knew he wasn't that good a writer, but that didn't stop him from trying, and, besides, he had his biggest inspiration always a few steps away. So he could keep trying until he got it right enough to show him. But not yet. Not yet.
God, he was so tired... It had been a long day at the lab, and Hermann had been in a good mood, good enough to laugh at some of his corny jokes, good enough to concede that Newton had some valid critiques of his most recent paper, good enough that it put Newton in a good mood; and he felt he couldn't go to bed without putting into words how today felt, how Hermann's smile was the warmest thing he'd ever seen, how his academic validation made him feel more accomplished than he felt receiving any of his multiple diplomas, how he wanted to keep feeling this way forever and how rare it was that they would stop their bickering to actually share some intimacy, even if it was only in the shape of a tired smile.
He had to shake off those thoughts eventually and get ready for bedtime (which meant getting off his boots and shoving whatever was on his desk into his backpack to continue working in the morning back in the lab) going through the motions, tired enough that he didn't realize he still had his glasses on until he felt a sharp pain in the bridge of his nose the second his face hit the pillow.
*
-Geiszler, where in the world have you stashed the equations i was working on yesterday? I know you took them so don't even try to waste my time pretending you dont know.
It was obvious that Hermann wasn't in the same good mood as he had been the day earlier, Newt thought, elbows deep in some Kaiju remains.
-Check my backpack and calm down, dude. It's probably there. Somewhere. Just be persistent when looking.
Hermann rolled his eyes and crossed the line that separated their sides of the lab with clear discomfort; he was sure Newton did everything on his hand to gross him out whenever he was working with Kaiju specimens. However, he found the backpack and started looking through the wrinkled papers inside, one of them catching his attention when he saw his name scribbled several times around what looked like... a poem?
Curiosity got the best of him and he read the whole thing, struggling with Newton's messy handwriting paired with crossed words and the poor state of the paper, but he didn't mind any of those things.
-Newton.
-I'm busy, if you can't find it wait 'till I'm done and I'll look for your equations dude.
-Newton, look at me.
His voice was surprisingly close and Newt couldn't help but turn sharply to his right, only to see Hermann's face less than a meter away from his while holding a piece of paper that looked suspiciously familiar.
-What the... - "Oh Jesus. Mother fucker. What the fuck. Why." - W-What is that?
-You tell me. I could recognize this handwriting anywhere.
-I-I don't know what you mean I mean I can't read you know? I'm suddenly illiterate I'm sorry I can't help you Hermann I-
His babbling was cut the second Hermann planted a soft kiss on his lips, just a brush against his own, the softest touch on earth that left him with closed eyes, his breath caught in his lungs and his arms still deep in Kaiju.
-Finish your work there and come to my desk so I can help you correct this mess. You need to learn proper poetry structure, Newton.
He was right. His lips were, indeed, the heaven he had dreamed about for so long