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2025
The whole thing gives an illusion of domesticity. Newt knows this isn’t real, this bliss in their shared apartment, but he likes to indulge in the fantasy for as long as he can. With the threat of the world ending, they’re not as urgently needed at the Shatterdome, or anywhere else, so they rent a small apartment, pointedly with one bedroom. They didn’t really discuss how many rooms they needed, but when the time came, they both understood. One bedroom to share a life, an office space, a couch with just enough room to hold two people.
Then comes the damn cat, which sends Newt in about a dozen different spirals. They’re walking past a pet shop, minding their own business, when Hermann stops abruptly to tap at the glass. There’s some kittens in the front window, little creatures that don’t have a place to go home to. Newt smiles to himself when he sees the way Hermann reacts to the kittens, cooing over them as he touches the glass, it’s like seeing a whole different and softer man. Within moments, Newt’s dragging him into the shop.
Hermann pretends to be indifferent as a shopkeeper tells them that the cats are from a local shelter, that they’re just over two months old which means they’re very young, and that there’s a discounted adoption fee today. Newt, though, listens carefully even as he watches Hermann offer up his finger as a toy for an overeager tabby kitten. Newt’s busy holding two of the kittens himself, rubbing his cheek against the softness of his fur before placing them back in the enclosure.
“We have enough room for one,” Newt offers, wrapping an arm around Hermann’s waist. Hermann still doesn’t like much more physical affection than this in public and that’s alright. He’d expected that Hermann wouldn’t have liked any so this is a treat.
“For one what?” Hermann responds, still distracted by the kitten.
“A cat. A feline companion. Would be kinda nice, wouldn’t it?”
“Nonsense, Newton.”
Hermann doesn’t look at him, just keeps playing with the kitten. Newt doesn’t know why it’s so important that Hermann has a pet, something else to come home to, but it's paramount. Maybe so when this happy illusion crashes down, he knows Hermann will have some comfort. Maybe so Hermann’s relying on someone other than him, a known flight risk. Newt’s not even sure why he’s so certain he’s a flight risk, but it makes absolute sense in that moment.
“It'll be someone in bed on nights I don't come back,” Newt argues.
“I'd rather have you come back to bed.”
“Just- let's give it a try? It would be sort of like being a proper family.”
Finally, Hermann turns to face him. His eyes are lit up, pleased at the concept of family. Newt feels both equally pleased and sick to his stomach. He shouldn’t be taunting the concept of family to someone like Hermann, someone he knows has been craving just that for so long. He curses the fact that he’s been in Hermann’s head and knows his needs and wants so profoundly well.
“Oh, alright. I suppose we have the room for a cat.”
Newt grins at him and they take the cat home along with about a hundred dollars worth of things the cat will probably never use. The cat immediately hides under the bed when they arrive in the apartment and Hermann spends three hours coaxing her out from under the bed. Newt knows in that moment he’s absolutely made the right decision by bringing this cat home.
Newt’s been laying on his stomach on the floor for the past hour, staring at the cat. They’ve lived with the cat for a few weeks but haven’t been able to choose a name for her just yet. Hermann’s insistent that they find the most perfect name for the creature with the wide, vividly green eyes. She’s going about her cleaning routine, only stopping on occasion to give a glance ot Newt as though he’s intruding on her territory. Increasingly, for some reason, he feels like he is.
Only it isn’t her territory that he feels like he’s encroaching on, but Hermann’s. This is absurd, he’s building this home with Hermann, but he’s feeling pulled away in an odd way. He hates himself for hating this stagnation, for not wanting to be happy with the life he has. He hates himself for the speed with which he’s hurtling towards breaking someone’s heart and he wishes it was his own heart on the chopping block and not Hermann’s. There’s nothing that can be done with it, though, and it’s better to get it over with before Hermann’s too attached to this particular brand of domestic bliss.
“What about Viola?” Newt suggests, his voice nearly muffled.
“Why Viola?” Hermann counters from the kitchen. He’s making them dinner. It probably won’t be anything complicated, but Hermann insists that they both do this. After all, neither of them have lived much of their adult life outside of a Shatterdome and haven’t been expected to cook for themselves often. It’s better if they both learn, which has been a process that is at best fun and at worst a complete and utter disaster for everyone involved.
“I don’t know. It’s kinda pretty. Dainty like she is.”
“The kitten is only dainty because she’s still a kitten, Newton. In time she’ll grow to be a much larger cat.”
“I dunno, I think she’s gonna be a small cat. Little.”
“Yes, yes. Why don’t you come into the kitchen and eat, darling?”
Every time Hermann uses pet names, something feels tight in Newt’s chest like he’s undeserving. Like this is all going to slip through his fingers and he knows it’s going to be his fault. He’s going to let this thing between them die and he’ll have no one to blame. It’s a strange feeling, regretting something before he even does it. Knowing he’ll regret it far more than the payoff of whatever he’ll end up doing will be worth. But it’s better this way, something in him says, this is the way to handle this. It’s better to break Hermann’s heart than continue to lead him in believing this lie, this absolute delusion he’s been entertaining for him.
He reaches out and roughly pats the kitten’s head before hefting himself to his feet, rubbing his stomach on the way to the kitchen. The kitten trots after him a few steps before she tires of him, flopping down on the living room floor and staring after him.
“What’d you make?” Newt asks as he pulls out his chair.
“It’s pasta,” Hermann explains, as though Newt can’t clearly see that it’s fettuccine and probably not the best he’s had in his life. He’ll still eat every bit of it, not because it’s hungry but because it makes Hermann happy. How strange that he still cares about Hermann’s happiness so much when he’s going to do what he’s about to do.
There’s a silence across the table, something that often falls between them in these moments. It seems unfair that Hermann must find this comfortable when Newt wants to claw at his skin to break free. It’s unfair that Newt doesn’t simply tell Hermann that he’s uncomfortable with moments like this.
“I’ve got a job interview next week,” Newt announces across the table.
“A job interview?” Hermann gives him a curious look. He’s devastatingly confident that this is a forever thing and if it didn’t come from something unbearably tender, Newt would hate him for it.
“Shao Industries. It’s...I would use the word start-up but it’s already making millions.”
“I’m familiar.”
Of course Hermann is. He’s good with that sort of thing, robotics, even if he doesn’t have the appropriate degree or current career path. Hermann’s better with robots than Newt is, in fact. He’s brilliant at it, a genius at coding Jaegers or anything that involves number.
“Anyway, it’s not really an interview so much as they want me for the job and just want to make sure i’m a good fit.” Newt twirls his fork in his pasta. “Their headquarters is in Shanghai.”
“We’re not in Shanghai.”
“We could be,” Newt retorts.
“I like working for the PPDC. I’d assumed you did as well.”
“I don’t see what’s so wrong with looking for another job. It’s not like we’re all that essential now, right? This sort of thing, it’s the future, Hermann.”
“Yes, but what we’re doing now is our life. In Hong Kong.” Hermann places his fork down. “I’m certainly not going to stop you from doing what you want, but I’d thought- but never mind.”
“You thought what?”
“I thought we were partners, Newton. You don’t just tell your partner you’re doing this. You talk to them before you just go and make a huge life decision.”
Newt furrows his brow. “It’s still my life, dude. Chill.”
“Chill?” Hermann repeats the word in disbelief. “Chill? I think I’m being rather levelheaded given the situation.”
“The situation is a job. It’s not like it’ll be forever and it’s a really good opportunity for me.”
“Did I ever say I thought it wouldn’t be?” Hermann blinks, rapidly, a few times. “Did I say I thought you shouldn’t take the job?”
“No, but that’s probably what you think! Because you want to keep me in this miserable little life with you.”
“Miserable.” Hermann sets his jaw. “If you don’t want to be here, you can just leave. You don’t need a job offer to leave me.”
“Is that what I said? Did I say I was going to leave you?”
“You called our- our life together miserable not a minute ago.” Hermann rises and collects his plate. It’s amazing how easily the man can convey anger in a few quick clicks of a cane on the floor. The contents of his dinner are slid into the trash and the plate clatters in the sink. Newt’s suddenly unsure if he can force himself to finish his dinner.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean, Newton?”
Newt stares out at Hermann for a few long moments, the way he looks so small standing by the sink. His hand that isn’t clutching the cane is shaking and he looks frankly terrified of something. It takes an immense amount of self control to not stand and take him in his arms, to heartily apologize for everything he’s just said. He is sorry about it all, from the bottom of his heart, but he cannot bring himself to say so. It’s a physical impossibility. For a reason Newt can’t place, he can’t even bring himself to shape the words of an apology, let alone let his body rise and cross the distance to where Hermann stands, even if it’s only a few feet away.
“I’m going to go to Shanghai next week. If I like it, I’m taking the job. If I take the job, I’ll move there. I imagine in time there will be a job for you as well, or we could do-” Newt stops to wave his hand dismissively. “The long distance thing. It’s a three hour flight, that’s not so bad.”
“Am I so secondary to you?” Hermann asks, his voice oddly small. “Because just a few weeks ago you’d implied that you considered us a family.”
“Takes all sorts of families, dude.” Newt smiles at him and tries to reach out in some sort of truce. Hermann does not step forward, does not take his hand. Instead, he leaves the room and a few moments later the bedroom door is slammed shut. The kitten’s run into the kitchen, excited by Hermann’s tread, but she stops dead in her tracks in the doorway. Her expression would be comical if Newt didn’t feel like he was in the process of shattering into thousands of pieces and utterly disappearing.
2030
Newt’s been in Hong Kong maybe twice since he left, both times on quick business matters. Some impulse had overcome him this time, some base and human sentiment forced him to write to Hermann. For whatever reason, Hermann took it upon himself to invite Newt to dinner. Newt’s still not sure why he accepted, as he was half certain Hermann did it because it was the polite thing to do. Still, he arrives at Hermann’s new apartment (new to Newt only, from his understand he’s lived here for three years) at precisely the agreed upon time with a very expensive bottle of wine and his hair slicked back. If he’s going to do this, he’s going to look and act his very best.
Hermann ushers him inside and gives him a quick tour of the apartment, which looks surprisingly well lived in. This feels like it’s truly Hermann space, even if the clutter betrays a new tendency for messes. Whatever he’s cooking smells fantastic and Newt’s not sure if Hermann’s cooking has improved or he’s so unused to home cooked meals that anything would smell good to him at this point in time. Newt’s instructed to sit on the couch while Hermann finishes dinner. That’s not so different from how things used to be, except he was more used to following Hermann into the kitchen on occasion, peering over his shoulder, kissing his neck as he stood over the hot stove. The part of him that wants to do that is still there, still as much a part of him as it ever was.
There’s the awkward feeling hanging in the air. This is supposed to be his couch and his bookshelf cluttered with books and his partner. Instead, he’s got a nice suit, a sizable wine fridge, and a floating kaiju brain in his bedroom. He’s lonely. He misses Hermann so much something deep in him aches, something primal that he can’t exactly put words to. The thought that Hermann is no longer in love with him seeps in and fills the parts of him that longs for human contact. It’s too late to rebuild this bridge he’s burnt, love is a thing that’s left him. Newt will cope with this the way he copes with everything: expensive wines and drifting with Alice.
The time for pity ends when he’s greeted by a small “mrrp” sound, followed by a cat jumping up on the arm of the couch. There’s an immediate flare of affection in Newt’s chest that no ugly thing can properly destroy.
“Oh, hey.” Newt holds his hand out to the cat and she rubs against his fingers. “Didn’t know you still had the cat. This is- this is the same cat, right?”
“Oh, yes. My darling Adeline.”
Something ugly and juvenile flares up in Newt. He’s Hermann’s darling, no one else. How easy it is to forget that he’s forfeit something so long ago when feelings can still so easily be hurt.
“She didn’t get very big.”
“No,” Hermann pauses for a long moment. “She didn’t.”
“Hey, Addy,” Newt says very softly. “Don’t get any fur on my suit, I’m trying to make a good impression and this is a very, very expensive jacket.”
The cat doesn’t listen as she climbs into Newt’s lap and curls up to sleep. He half hates the creature for it, but for some reason he can’t place, he starts to cry. Maybe he’s suddenly allergic, or maybe he’s tired from working long hours and traveling. If he takes more than a moment to stop and think about why he’s crying, he knows he won’t stop. He must stop crying, Hermann can’t see him like this. Adeline, oblivious creature that she is, starts to purr and for a moment Newt’s soothed. That moment is all he needs to collect himself before Hermann announces that dinner is complete. There’s no benefit to showing any weaknesses to Hermann or anyone else.
They sit up late after dinner, finishing off the bottle of wine that Newt’s brought. They’ve both drank too slowly to have any more than a pleased buzz, and for Newt this is an especially small serving of wine. It’s still enough to put himself back in the forefront of his mind, to keep the darkness pushed to the back. He feels warm, and so he strips off his jacket, ignoring the fact that the damned cat is laying directly across it on the back of Hermann’s arm chair. The cat can have it, he thinks, if it means Hermann keeps looking at him the way he’s been. He’d give away everything he owns for Hermann to look at him through his lashes like this.
They’re both too close on the couch, angled towards each other as they talk, Hermann touching Newt’s knee every so often, venturing to rest it until one or both of them becomes too aware of the touch. Until the time that Hermann does it and rather than let him pull away, Newt rests his hand on top of Hermanns. Their eyes meet and, for a moment, there’s an honesty between them that hasn’t been there for a long while. Newt shares with Hermann a word, a sentiment, that has long gone unspoken. He’s not even sure of the last time he’s brought himself to say this word in a way that means anything to him. It’s lost its meaning, become a hollow and superficial thing since he’s left Hermann, so it makes sense that it only means something now that he’s here with Hermann. The word hasn’t just lost its meaning to Newt, but has ceased to have the potential to have any meaning except for when he’s with Hermann.
Naturally, they kiss. It’s an out of practice kiss, an awkward kiss, of too many teeth and too much tongue and too much eagerness behind every movement. Newt wants it to never stop, he doesn’t want to have to face the reality he’s staring down at every given moment. So he doesn’t stop, and Hermann doesn’t stop and he lets himself be taken to bed. Another thing that’s become hollow, he thinks, the thought of being touched. The abstract concept of desire, which Newt’s all but forgotten until Hermann’s kissing along his clavicle and begging to be used. That’s not what he’s asking at all, Newt knows, but it feels like it. It feels like they’re using each other as warm bodies that were once capable of feeling love for each other, that might still love each other, but can do no more but rock against each other, into each other, and cling to each other with a desperation usually reserved for drowning men. He feels unworthy of everything Hermann’s asking of him and he wants so very much to be worthy again.
The aftermath is never as pleasant as the act, Newt remembers. Or maybe he’s misremembering, because he remembers chasing the laughter of Hermann’s mouth, or following him to the shower where they talked about their favorite episodes of Star Trek as they washed each other. Maybe he only dislikes it now because he feels far too human and he’s not used to that anymore. Or maybe he dislikes it now because he can’t actually remember what Hermann’s laugh sounds like and doesn’t know if he’ll ever hear it again. He’d give the whole experience he’d just had to hear Hermann laugh one more time.
They’re both panting, laying side by side in Hermann’s double bed as they recover and it’s grounding, even in its profound squirming weakness.
“Please ask me to come home,” Newt says breathlessly, without thinking.
The moment is broken as Hermann sits up. “Home, Newton?”
“Home, where the cat begs at the door at night and you make us mediocre dinner.”
“It's been half a decade and I sleep with the door open,” Hermann states. “The home you're asking to be invited to doesn't exist anymore.”
“It has to, Hermann. I don't know what I'm gonna do if it doesn't. Please. I lo-”
“Don't! Absolutely don't say that, that's not getting you anywhere.” Hermann sweeps the blankets aside as he moves to stand. “Perhaps it's time you left.”
“I just said I don't want to leave. I don't want to go back, I want to pick back up where we left off.” It hasn't been that long, has it? It feels like only months, it can’t have actually been five years. It’s been no time at all, not where love is concerned, not where his feelings for Hermann are concerned. Those are eternal, an essential part of the things about Newt that make him Newt.
“You left me five damn years ago. There's nothing left to pick up. I will- I will always value our friendship, but at the risk of extinguishing any regard I have for you, I cannot. I cannot leave myself open to this again.”
“I'll do it right this time. I'll do everything right. I promise.” Newt sits up and rests a hand on Hermann's arm, but he wrenches it away.
“I can't recover from you leaving me again. I can't do it.”
“I said I'm not going to leave you this time. I'm never going to leave you again.”
“No. The time for you to regret this is over. I waited two damn years for you to come back and then I buried that part of me. I want to get on with my life and you should get on with yours.”
“Then why did you keep asking me to fucking dinner?” Newt asks, planting his feet on the ground as he looks for his things. “Every time I hear from you, you ask me to stop by, to see how you are. Is that it? Flaunting that you're happy without me. Can be without me.”
“It's not like I had a choice!”
“You wouldn't come with me!” Newt shouts and his voice cracks. “I knew you'd never even consider coming with me.”
“Our lives were here.”
“Wrong. Our lives were with each other. That's how it should have been but I knew it had to be the job or you and I really, really fucking made the wrong choice.”
He knows, on some level, that the only thing granting him this level of clarity is that he's not sober. He doesn't care, even as sobriety starts to sink in he doesn’t care. Damn the consequences, damn the screaming in his head, because Hermann needs to know. Hermann deserves to know that Newt knows that he’s a fuckup.
“And I chose to move on,” Hermann explains. “I'm not in love with you anymore. Is that what you want to hear? I've ceased being in love with you because you left me.”
“That's not true.”
There's a core part of Newt, somewhere deep down that knows Hermann will never stop loving him. It's the only thing he's been sure if in these last five years. Hermann loves him and will love him for the rest of his days. He's been in Hermann's head, so he knows this. But Hermann's love for Newt has lost its meaning, it's become bitter. Newt must live with this. He doesn't know how he's going to live with this but he must. He will. Maybe if he’s lucky, one day he can find a way to make peace with this.
“It’s the truth,” Hermann states. “I’m- I don’t want to say I regret what we did, because I don’t.”
“I would have- I would have done this anyway.” Newt stares down at his feet, where the cat has quietly slipped into the room and dropped herself. She looks content as she purrs up at him, begging for attention. He stares at her and relishes in what he’s certain will be the last moments he feels human for a long while. Perhaps forever. They don’t speak as Newt collects his clothes and dresses himself.
2035
The apartment looks barely lived in. Newt knows this is largely because this is probably the truth. Hermann’s been busy and, to the best of Newt’s knowledge, had been living on base for the past few years at Moyulan. He tries to listen as Hermann gives him the tour, shows him the bathroom they’ll share and the bedroom set aside for him. Newt knows for certain this isn’t where Hermann had been living because he’s been given the larger room, the master bedroom. Hermann’s room is smaller, on the other side of the apartment. The distance is too far.
There’s far too much room, he knows, as he drops his singular bag at the foot of the bed. Newt doesn’t need this much space for what’s left of his life, what’s left of his mind. He’d likely prefer to curl up and never move from his space on the bed. The size of the bed even mocks him, a queen sized mattress when he wants to be so insignificant.
“Adeline is around here somewhere,” Hermann explains, slipping from Newt’s room to his own. “She’s been very shy because it’s a new place.”
“Oh. I didn’t realize you still had the cat,” Newt remarks. He’s still not used to his voice, or rather owning his own voice. The concept of his words being entirely his own is foreign to him. He’s not sure if his voice was always this scratchy or this is a new quality it’s taken on from lack of use during his captivity.
“Yes, of course. She’s officially a senior cat now, but she’s got a good half of a decade ahead of her. Or longer.”
“Good for her.” He sits on the edge of the bed, bounces a few times. “I won’t get in her way.”
Hermann’s already not listening and intent on finding his beloved cat.
“Darling,” Hermann calls. “Come out of hiding, it’s just me and Newton here, nothing to worry about. He’s come to stay with us for a while.”
Newt closes his eyes when Hermann speaks, when he calls the cat by that tender name. Half a decade ago, he was jealous that someone or something else took that place in Hermann’s heart. Now there’s a comfort in a memory, the remembrance of Hermann’s soft tone on a difficult day as they sat together. The ghost sensation of his fingers running through Newt’s hair as he soothed him. Newt wants nothing more than to be held.
How does he ask this? How does he look at a man who he left, a man who had very plainly said he doesn’t want to be with him, and tell him he just needs to be held by him? He can’t. There’s no conceivable way for this to happen, and it would be ludicrous to expect him to. Instead, he rises and closes the door to his room. It’s better that way, in his imposed isolation and his loneliness. Hermann respects the closed door, even if Newt’s fairly certain he hears his footsteps outside a few times. He can imagine Hermann standing by the doorway, maybe listening in, or maybe with his hand poised to knock. Either way, each time he wants to open the door and rush to Hermann and take him in his arms. That will not do.
Around dinner time, Hermann does knock to tell him there’s food on the table. Newt doesn’t want to eat, really, but he doesn’t want to make Hermann worry. If Hermann worries, there’s a chance he’ll have to be sent back away. He’ll be locked up again, he’ll never see the sun again. There’s not much value in his life for him right now, but he does know that he wants to see the sun and the moon and Hermann across the dinner table. The last one is absolutely the most important of those three.
“I wanted to thank you again,” Newt says, when they’re halfway through dinner. “For...for doing this. For me. You really didn’t have to but I don’t think anyone else would have and then I-”
“You’d still be down there being treated like a criminal,” Hermann supplies. “I didn’t do it because someone had to do it, Newton. I did it because I wanted to, and I will not have you thinking otherwise.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re my friend. Because I know you’re a good man. Because I care about you.”
“I used to be something different.” The final clause falls off there. Newt can’t quite bring himself to say what he actually means, the message he’s trying to convey. He was something different to Hermann, to himself, to the world. He can choose the options and any of them would be perfectly correct in this context.
“You’re still you, no matter how you’ve changed. And I’m still me, don’t you understand?” Hermann slides his hand across the table and offers it to Newt, but he doesn’t dare take it. He doesn’t dare read anything more into the situation than what’s been offered to him where he sits.
“I’m glad you haven’t been alone all this time,” Newt says. “I’m glad you’ve still got the cat, and friends, and a full life. I hope you’ve been happy.”
“That’s not important right now, Newton.”
“What do you mean?” Newt leans forward. “That’s the most important thing of all, your happiness.”
Newt had tried his best, all those years ago, to set Hermann up to be happy. Gotten him away from the ‘dome, given him a companion, left him before he got too attached to the idea of spending the rest of his life with someone. Now he’s realizing that may have been for nothing and they’ve both been miserable all the while.
“I’ve been busy with work,” Hermann explains. “But I had a routine that I didn’t mind. Wake up, work, come home and pursue my hobbies and sit with my cat. It wasn’t a particularly happy life, but it was a life that I was content with.”
“Content I can live with.”
“And I did.” Hermann pushes his plate forward. “I want to make it clear that you should think of this apartment as as much your home as mine while you are here. I refused to adhere to the PPDC’s recommendations that you be kept under more strict lock and key, but unfortunately they will have to change the circumstances if you leave this apartment without me. You’ll have biweekly therapy sessions which I will escort you to, and I’m happy to take you anywhere you wish.”
“Like a child being driven to after school soccer practice.”
“This is all the more freedom I could guarantee. I tried to explain to them that-”
“No, Hermann. It’s fine. This is more freedom than I ever expected to have again.”
“Newton.”
“I said it’s fine.” Newt swallows hard, pushes at the food on his plate. “If I had to be stuck under lock and key with anyone, I’m glad it’s you.” Is he allowed to say this, he wonders? To be so blunt in his regard for Hermann, his preference for him above any other person in his life? It’s the truth and he’s learning to speak the truth.
He feels in that moment, avoiding Hermann’s eye across the table, the full weight of the ten years he’d tossed away, what he’d lost. Newt wants to find it again, but he’s not sure that’s even a possibility. It’s going to take time just to dig out exactly what it is that he’s trying to find in this strange time and place.
There’s a scraping sound at his door. Newt sits up in bed before he fully processes that it’s the cat trying to come into his room. He rises out of bed, pads towards the door and leans down, investigating where her paw is peeking through the doorway. Cats, he recalls from a childhood pet, often do this and then when they’re granted access, decide to leave. It’s after midnight, but there’s still light shining under the door. Hermann must still be awake.
“Addie, stop that,” Hermann chides softly, confirming Newt’s suspicion. “Let Newton sleep, he’s had a very trying day.”
Newt feels his face twist into a frown and he’s not sure why. He wants to let the cat in, he supposes, even if she’s indecisive and shy. In fact, this is the first he’s heard from the cat since coming here, but he wants to see if she still looks the same. He wonders if she’ll sit at his feet and stare and purr or if she’s become utterly indifferent towards anyone but Hermann. (A feeling he can relate to.) He sinks fully to the floor, pats his fingers on the carpet to encourage the cat, even as he hears Hermann rise to retrieve the cat.
“Don’t take her,” Newt says, when the shadow of Hermann creeps under his doorway. “It’s fine.”
“She’ll do it all night if I don’t stop her.”
The cat lets out a pleased little sound, Newt can see her paws as she circles Hermann’s feet on the other side of the door. He presses his hand and his cheek against the doorway, as though that is any semblance of the closeness he craves. There’s no warmth in the feeling of smooth wood against his face.
“I don’t care,” Newt responds. “You can let her in if she wants, I don’t mind.”
“I’ll go to bed. She usually comes with me and then she’ll leave you alone.”
“I don’t want to be left alone,” Newt blurts out. “I don’t want silence.”
When the door cracks open, Newt nearly falls forward. The cat struts into the room, triumphant, and he’s left staring awkwardly up at Hermann before scrambling to his feet. Hermann switches the light on and they both sit on the edge of the bed.
“Is there- is there anything I can do for you, Newton?” Hermann asks, placing a hand on Newt’s knee.
Newt shakes his head. “No, it’s fine. I just don’t know how to cope with all the silence- with nothing in my head but my own thoughts. They hurt.”
Hermann turns to him then, looks him in the eye for a moment before he looks away. “We could get a sound machine, or maybe you could listen to some music to sleep.”
“That’s not- you wouldn’t understand, Hermann. I know I can do those things, but when it’s something like a cat scratching at my door it’s like it’s a normal life, y’know? I get to be me for a moment.”
“And there’s nothing else I can do to help?”
His face crumples then, and he buries it in his hands. The cat’s up on the bed next to him, sniffing and purring as though that means anything. There’s a beat, an inescapable silence, until Hermann puts a hand on his back and rubs a soothing circle. Newt lets himself cry and Hermann sits beside him and it’s the only silence Newt thinks he’ll ever be able to handle for the rest of his life, the sound of Hermann breathing beside him. It’s the silence he craves above all other silences he can have, awkward and wonderful and calming.
“I’m sorry,” Newt says when he looks up. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“Newton, you’ve been through an experience that no one else in the world can quite understand, it’s understandable that you’d have moments of weakness. I think no differently of you for it.”
The dumb cat nudges against Newt’s arm, demands to have attention languished on her. Or maybe demands to be a distraction, Newt’s not really sure which.
“I just want to take it all back. I want to go back, I want to make the right choices, Hermann.” Newt looks tearfully over at Hermann, up at him as though he’s trying to convey something that he doesn’t understand yet.
Furrowing his brow, Hermann reaches for Newt’s chin so he can focus on him properly.
“You didn’t do anything wrong. I know you find this hard to believe now, but you did what you had to in order to save the world. Someone- something else manipulating that does not mean you’ve done wrong.”
“I’ve missed you, you know? Every moment I was trapped in my own head I kept thinking about how much I missed you.” He must be allowed to say this, it has nothing to do with his feelings for Hermann. He would have missed him all the same if he wasn’t in love with him. “I missed you down to my bones and I don't know how to stop missing you.”
“I'm here now. For as long as you need me here. And for what it's worth, I missed you too.”
“But it's never going to be the same, don't you understand?” He shakes his head free from Hermann's grasp. “I can't go back.”
“We're working on moving forward.”
Hermann leans in then and kisses Newt's temple. When he pulls away, his eyes are red rimmed, like he's fighting tears. Newt’s not sure if he’d rather Hermann did or didn’t cry.
“I should try to sleep more,” Newt concludes.
“Do you want me to stay here for longer?”
“Yes- no. I can't get too used to that.”
“It's one night.” Hermann toes off his slippers and moves up the bed. He's still wearing his robe over some lounge clothes and Newt thinks he looks unbearably soft like this. He wants to slide a hand up his shirt and rest it on bare skin, to feel the beating of Hermann’s heart under his touch.
Newt stands then, letting Hermann settle before he switches off the light. He pushes the door mostly closed, leaving enough from for the cat to move in and out of the room. Hermann stays on his side of the bed, but doesn't shy away, Newt realizes, laying close to the center. This is just for tonight, just until he's fallen back asleep.
He debates within himself staying awake, not letting himself succumb to sleep but the human body is a traitor. It can't be much more than half an hour until he drifts off.
When Newt wakes, the bed is empty save for Adeline sleeping at the foot of the bed. The door is still slightly ajar so the cat is free to come and go as she pleases. More importantly, the other side of the bed is still warm. It hasn't been long at all since Hermann left, probably less than half an hour. He spent the night in bed with Newt. Newt allows himself the secret hope that this was intentional, that Hermann wanted one more chance to share a bed with him. There's a throbbing pain in his chest and the thought that Newt wishes he could have enjoyed the moment more. The moment is gone, nonetheless, and he stretches, ignoring that the cat glares at him. She will have to learn to cope with disappointment being around Newt. Everyone else has gotten very used to it.
Newt leans down to the foot of the bed and pets her, smiling to himself when she starts to purr. He remembers from his school days that there's no one solid explanation as to why cats purr. It's a response to many strong emotions, after all. Some cats purr when they're afraid or anxious, even if the action is associated with happiness and a sense of contentment Newt's not sure that he's ever known. He thinks this is why Adeline is purring, because she has a happy life where she is well loved and cared for, waking up in a warm bed with someone upon whom her happiness depends.
There's also evidence, Newt recalls, that cats purr to help with healing. He presses both of his hands against Adeline's soft fur, wishing she could make his healing smoother. But he knows that isn't the case. He knows there's still so much hard work ahead of him. When he looks up, the door's pushed further open and Hermann's standing in the doorway.
“I'm sorry about last night,” Newt blurts out.
“Sorry for what?” Hermann looks confused, he looks like a man who doesn’t understand that Newt has something to be sorry for or a man who’s far too good at playing coy.
“My little breakdown, for making you sleep in my bed with me.”
“You didn’t make me do anything I wasn’t more than willing to do. I- I could have chosen to leave at any time in the night, and I didn’t, did I?”
He’s finding it difficult to look at Hermann, so instead Newt focuses his attention again on the cat, though she’s perked up at the presence of her owner. Newt no longer holds the appeal for her so, while she remains purring, she jumps off of the bed and circles around Hermann’s legs.
“What time is it?” Newt asks.
“It’s almost noon. I made you some breakfast, though it may be cold. I’m to drive you to your therapist in an hour, so I suggest you dress and eat quickly.”
The thought of therapy is daunting at best, at worst it’s a nightmare that Newt wants no part in. Objectively, he gets it. Most of his teen years were sent in therapy and he’d likely have continued well into adulthood if he didn’t put all of his energy into saving the world and then trying to end it. This feels unparalleled, though. Even the best professionals in the field don’t have a precedent to deal with what Newt’s gone through in the past decade of his life but it’s the only option he has. There are no other options for therapy and he’s going to take what he can get.
“Can’t I just stay in this room forever?” Newt falls back into the bed, staring up at the ceiling. It’s stark white and makes him feel oddly uneasy.
“I believe it’s either maximum security prison or you go to therapy regularly. I obviously can’t make you go to therapy if you don’t want to, but for my part I’d like to be able to see you for the rest of my life.”
“Don’t, Hermann. You don’t have to be so kind all the time.”
“I’m not being kind, Newton. I’m being honest. Get dressed and eat something. We’re leaving in an hour, alright?”
Newt’s glad Hermann’s not being soft in how he speaks to him at all moments, he’s relieved. While it’s true that Hermann’s being too kind, all of this is too kind, if he came to him with softness like he did the night before, Newt thinks he’d fall apart all over again. Part of him wants to fall apart, but he doesn’t want to put that on Hermann, he doesn’t want to make the bond of the love they once shared a burden for either of them. It’s important to him that Hermann will always think of their time as a couple with the gentlest and kindest of thoughts. So he does what Hermann asks of him, he dresses himself in the simple clothes he’s been provided, he eats cold eggs, and he leaves with Hermann at precisely the time he wants to leave. (Hermann does love to keep a schedule when he can. Newt used to love interrupting this schedule, changing his plans but now is not the time. In a few weeks he can try, or maybe months.)
His therapist is a man with a soft face and an expression that reminds Newt of his father. Instead of addressing anything he’s been through, he spends the first ten minutes staring at the man before he tells him that he looks too much like this father. That’s factually untrue, this man looks nothing like his father, it’s just that the any kind face reminds him of someone he knows and loves. Every kind face is a reminder of someone or something he’s lost. The reminder of his father is a particularly rough blow to contend with.
Through some miracle, Newt talks anyway. He starts by talking about the early days, when he could still remember things clearly. These are almost more painful, even if he wasn’t harming anyone. In these times, Newt can dig through everything that’s happening to himself and find a kernel of the man he was then, and the man he is now. The therapist’s face remains kind throughout and Newt wonders how the PPDC managed to find someone so understanding, how they found someone who didn’t shout at him. Newt doesn’t break and he’s grateful for that, almost as grateful as he is for the fact that Hermann’s waiting in the waiting room with his sudoku book and the faintest hint of a smile.
It’s a doctor’s appointment, Newt thinks to himself. Regular healthcare. You can pretend for a moment this is your partner- your husband- of almost a decade and he’s waiting to take you home. You can go home and maybe he’ll nap with you, maybe you can have sex before dinner and maybe he’ll let you eat takeout in bed and none of this past decade has happened. It could just be a good day.
Instead, halfway home Newt starts to feel like he can’t breathe, like he’s a corpse brought back to life. Like he’s going to be dead again soon and there’s nothing to keep the panic from singing through his veins. He wants to claw his veins out in that moment, but on the outside he knows he looks so calm until he speaks.
“Hermann? I can’t breathe, buddy. Can you pull over?”
For a moment, Hermann is too panic-stricken to do anything, but he quickly finds a street to pull over onto. “Newton, is everything alright?”
“Panic attack,” Newt answers, leaning down against the dashboard. “I think. I’ll be fine, I’ll be fine. Just need a few moments.”
“Can I touch you? Or will touch make it worse?”
Newt deliberates for a moment. “Gently.”
Hermann lays a hand on Newt’s back and rubs softly. He doesn’t speak, just touches so gingerly, so carefully that Newt doesn’t know how he went so long without being touched like this. But now it’s been twice in such a short amount of time and it’s all too much for him to process. He’s still overwhelmed, he still feels the hovering imminence of death, but he feels better by the moment.
Even after it’s passed, they sit in the silence of Hermann’s car for a while. There’s a whole world whirring past them and Newt has to contend with it. He’s going to be just fine, but it’s still early days and healing is a longer journey than a carride to and from the therapist’s office.
Despite the urge to come up with a flimsy excuse for Hermann to share his bed at night, Newt manages to sleep alone for the next week without issue. Some nights, he leaves the door open and the cat will come inside off and on, usually to sniff him and demand pets before she’s on her way, presumably to Hermann’s room. It’s a comfort to him, the more he realizes Hermann’s love for the cat, that he had a consistent companion over the years. It’s something.
Hermann’s busy in his office doing some work that he can’t discuss with Newt. Apparently it’s a risk to have him know PPDC information, but it’s not a risk for him to live with one of the PPDC’s most valuable employees. Newt supposes this is just Hermann having his way, as the man who has saved the world twice. Anyone who’s done that deserves to live their life however they want after all. It pleases him to know that Hermann finally has the respect he craved so long and so justly deserved. It pleases Newt even more that Hermann doesn’t seem to hold this respect in too much regard and fully understands just how much he deserves it. He’s no longer simpering and saluting for anybody.
While he waits for Hermann to finish, Newt sits sprawled out on the couch with one of Hermann’s countless books of sudoku. (He teased him so much when he first saw them, called him an old man and Hermann had the audacity to smile at him. Not even a smile he tried to hide, just an open smile of something like relief.) The puzzles that Hermann has completed don’t have any markings on them, but Newt has to write all of the possible number solutions in the box alongside the correct answer. Hermann’s bought some books for Newt specifically, as well as crosswords and some fidget toys for while he watches tv, but he likes to use the same books as Hermann. There’s a comfort in seeing the numbers written in his hand, the confidence with which he solves puzzles, the care he takes to get everything right.
The cat’s crawled up onto the couch and chosen Newt’s stomach as a resting spot, curled up and gently kneading his chest. He’s wearing a sweater that he stole from Hermann today, so he doesn’t mind. Hermann may mind, but Newt doesn’t intend to return the sweater to him unless he’s asked to. Adeline still has a clear bias towards Hermann, she’ll usually scurry away to him whenever he enters the room, but Newt likes to think they’ve become friends. This morning, she woke him up and demanded attention and she frequently sits in his lap while he watches television or reads a book. This creature doesn’t know or care who he is or what he’s done, she’s not capable of understanding as much. What she does know is that he’s a human and she trusts him with her life. Newt does not take this lightly and he hopes to regain the trust of many people in his lives with as much care as he takes in this cat trusting him.
He doesn’t look up when he hears Hermann’s familiar tread into the room, and for once the cat pays little mind. Hermann settles on the far end of the couch and, instead of avoiding Newt, shifts him so that his feet are in Hermann’s lap. He wraps a hand around Newt’s ankle, those well loved hands on bare skin is enough to make Newt weep, but he doesn’t. Hermann touches him fairly often, usually small gestures like this and nothing as dramatic as the temple kiss the first night. Newt’s not really sure if Hermann’s doing this deliberately or unintentionally or if this is going to stop when he starts to get better.
“You’re writing all over my books, Newton,” Hermann begins and Newt finally looks up at him.
“You have a stack, I think you’ll be fine.”
Hermann starts to rub his ankle gently. He can’t possibly be aware that he’s doing it. Shifting carefully, Newt sits up properly. The cat shoots him a glare, but settles down further down his lap. Newt hands the folded book and pen to Hermann.
“I don’t know the answer to this one,” Newt says. “You can finish it for me, if you like.” There’s some beauty that he can’t articulate in creating something, anything, with Hermann. Collaborating with him towards a common goal. He misses that so badly.
“Thank you for giving me my own book.” Hermann quirks a brow at him, but reaches for his glasses to affix them to his face.
Newt shifts again, this time making the cat jump off the couch until she can settle herself on the back of it. He leans against his knees, sitting as close to Hermann as he can manage without looking over his shoulder.
“I’m not putting your life on hold, right?” Newt asks softly, once Hermann’s diligently working on the puzzle.
“My work was my life,” Hermann remarks, casting him a glance. His words are half mumbled in a way that’s calming, it’s Hermann’s low and tender voice that he used to use to say sweet things to him.
“So I did put your life on hold.”
“I more than needed the break. I’m making up for lost time seeing you.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ve probably more than made up for-”
“Ten years,” Hermann answers resolutely, looking away from him. “I won’t be happy until I’ve had ten years.”
The blush that rises to Newt’s cheek can’t be helped, he knows it can’t be helped. He’s not sure what Hermann’s trying to convey, but he hopes his guess is correct. He hopes everything is not lost forever, that it’s just waiting for the opportunity to be found. Newt’s found it, he’s found it so easily because he’s been looking so intently for it all the while.
“I’m sorry that I left you,” Newt says, and his voice is small. This isn’t the apology he gave half a decade ago, desperate but unable to articulate why he needed a change. This apology is coming because he means it truly and doesn’t need anything more from it. Hermann is not obligated to forgive him for what he did and Newt doesn’t think he’s obligated to love him.
“Newton, it’s alright. I know that wasn’t you. Or I hope that wasn’t you or- you were right to leave or not leave me as you saw fit. I don’t mean to imply that I know for a fact you wouldn’t have left me because I believed for a long time that you did but…”
“I never would have left you of my own free will.”
Hermann’s hands tremble and he puts the book aside. “I should have let you come home that day five years ago. It’s never not in the back of my mind, all I had to do was let you come home and we could have had five more years.”
“Or I would have put my hands on your throat and actually killed you because there was no one to point a gun at me,” Newt answers, rather coolly. He pushes himself so he can move off of the couch. “I’d rather have never gotten myself back than lost you, or risked losing you more than I already did.”
“I’d have sacrificed myself to save you if it came down to it, without hesitation.”
“Why? Why would you save someone who left you? Who you fell out of love with?” Newt grips the couch cushion, as if he has to physically tether himself to the spot to hear the answer.
“I didn’t, Newton. Not really. Is that what you want to hear? It’s the honest truth. I lied, I lied to you because I knew if I told you the truth I couldn’t have let you go again. I wish every day I had tried harder to make you stay.”
“Nothing was going to make me stay,” Newt admits. “I knew exactly what I was doing and I would never have stayed.”
“Then I’d have gone with you! I’d have followed you. I should have followed you and maybe I could have stopped you.”
Newt bites his lip, considering for a few moments. He releases his grip on the couch cushion as he turns to Hermann.
“I was always going to leave, no matter what. I’d have found a way to leave you behind.” And it’s the truth, but there’s another truth that Newt cannot help, something that bursts out from the deepest part of him. “But I knew eventually you’d find a way for me to come home. That’s why I asked at my most desperate, because I was tired of waiting to come home to you. But I wouldn’t have stayed then, even if you’d have said yes. I would have hurt you or killed you or left you all over again. And now I get to be here with you, and i get to be me with you. Even if I’m sad about the last time, I can’t bring myself to feel regret because I get to see you again.”
Hermann leans forward, reaches to take one of Newt’s hands in his own. This touch is too much, but Newt allows it. He relishes in it.
“Newton.”
“Just let me stay, Hermann. Please don’t make me go away.”
“I’m not making you go away. The thought of...the thought of being apart from you of my own volition hasn’t crossed my mind.”
“Can you hold me?” Newt asks. “That’s all I’ve wanted, I want you to keep holding me forever.”
There’s a moment of hesitation, when Newt thinks he’ll be rejected, when they’re not on the same page. Then Hermann leans forward and takes Newt into his arms, holding him as tight as he can manage without squeezing. Newt presses his face into the crook of Hermann’s neck, pleased that he smells a bit like old sweaters and still oddly the smell of chalk dust. Or maybe Newt’s just a victim of wishful thinking.
“All you ever have to do is ask,” Hermann says softly, rubbing a hand down his back. “I loved you then, I love you now. I’ve never stopped loving you.”
Newt feels safe in a way he never has before, at least not in recent memory. He’s safe. He’s cared for and he’s loved. This is too much for him, when he deserves none of this, but he’s going to take it and he’s going to keep it for as long as he can keep it. He tightens his grip on Hermann and stays where he is for a long while. There’s no way he’s ever going to let go again.
The cat becomes bolder with time, or at least she does to Newt. Hermann remains undaunted by her crying outside of doors or demanding pets from someone who seems wholly disinterested in her. For the first time, Newt has a taste of what it must be like to live with himself, needy and obtrusive but still oddly endearing. Newt is confident enough in himself and who he is to admit that he’s endearing, and at the very least Hermann thinks so. He’s even said so, with his words and a kiss pressed to Newt’s cheek.
Newt envies the cat for her boldness, for how freely she can do what she wants. Both Hermann and the kind faced therapist agree that Newt needs to be focusing on his recovery more than anything else in his life, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t preoccupied by the prospect of a romantic entanglement. He wants more than these chaste kisses and looks across the kitchen table, but he knows he has to wait for these.
Today he’s pacing, a bit anxious for reasons he cannot place. He’s already picked up the same book and tried to read it on three separate occasions and turned the television on and off again. This feeling is all too familiar to him, the feeling of damming something up, of holding back thoughts he’d rather not be having at the moment. He knows enough to know that the cat’s been watching his every movement, even trailing him a few times when he wanders to the fridge to find a snack or something to distract him. She mews pitifully as though telling him to calm down, but he can’t imagine what could actually get him to calm down. Hermann’s in his office again, and while he’s never said this is the case, Newt assumes he’s not to disturb him there. (Or Newt’s enforced this rule on himself for himself, to give Hermann some remaining semblance of privacy as Newt’s taken over so much of his space and his life.)
It’s nearly impossible to stay still, he realizes, when he sits on the couch and taps his fingers against his knees. A small touch to his arm makes him jump until he turns and sees Addie beside him, with her uncannily green eyes looking at him like he’s some giant idiot creature. (He is some giant idiot creature.) Newt chuckles and holds out a hand to her and she rubs against it happily before climbing on him, making a home in his lap. The door to Hermann’s office is open, Newt realizes, and he’s glad that Addie’s chosen him over Hermann just this once. Small victories are all he hopes for these days.
He’s overcome, in that moment, with another gladness. This is a home he’s in, and it will be his home. The things are Hermann’s things, sure, but one day he’ll feel that they’re his as well, and he’ll love them all the more because they’re Hermann’s. The couch and the sudoku books betray a decade of life, as do Hermann’s new habits that Newt’s learning by the day. Most importantly, though, he has that damn cat, the small parting gift that Newt never fully left himself to process. He knew that Hermann would need someone, something, or he’d get lonely, but now this can be Newt’s life too.
Wiping at his eyes, Newt looks up in time to see Hermann enter the room and settle beside him. The smile on Hermann’s face is kind and while he looks older than Newt would like (Newt would like to go back in time- to see him in his late thirties, he has nothing against this forty something version of Hermann), there’s a softness to him that Newt would never wish away.
“Is something wrong, Newton?” Hermann asks, his voice low.
“No.” Newt sniffles and reaches for Hermann’s hand. He can have this touch. “Just your damn cat.”
“Is something wrong with Adeline?”
“No, she’s fine,” Newt blubbers. “She’s beautiful and she’s got another half a decade in her at least and she’s made you so happy.”
“Is that- are you upset that I’ve been happy?”
“No, you idiot.” He shakes his head. “I’m happy that you’ve been happy and sad that I haven’t been there to make you happy but I’d still much rather that than you were sad all the time.”
Hermann lifts his hand to his mouth and kisses the back of it. He leaves their hands like this, closing his eyes and mouthing something. It has the reverence of a prayer but to the best of Newt’s knowledge, Hermann doesn’t believe in any higher power.
“I was...not miserable all this time without you, I’ve told you as much,” Hermann admits when he finally drops their hands. He doesn’t let go. “Part of me feels guilty that I didn’t spend my years pining for you, longing for you so desperately, but I do mean it when I told you a few weeks ago that I loved you all the while. It’s just that…”
“Love isn’t all you need to be happy. I get it.”
“It was love, I suppose. Of the life I’d earned, of the creature who kept me company, of the friends I’d made, but it wasn’t you.”
“I’m glad you had a full life, Hermann. I wouldn’t want you to have anything less than that.”
“I wanted you,” he exhales. “Newton, even when I was my happiest I missed you so much a part of me ached, and it’s hard to explain. I wasn’t pining away, I didn’t need you or want you with me. I mean that. But I always felt the ache of you leaving me, on cold mornings, at dinner when I ate in silence, every time I watched a damn documentary or met with our old friends. It stung me.”
“I wanted you, too. From the moment the things in my head told me to leave you to the moment I came back, I wanted you. I want you now more than ever and I know I have to wait to...fully alleviate this want, but I’m glad I can have you now. I don’t deserve you, but I’m not going to second guess your decision and make myself more unhappy. That would be pointless.”
For a moment Newt’s worried he’s said something wrong. Of course he’s said something wrong, he’s always saying something or other wrong, isn’t he? That’s part of the appeal, or lack of appeal, of Newton Geiszler. Always with his foot in his mouth and no way of fixing things. It’s only after Hermann’s leaned in and kissed him on the mouth that he’s realized that maybe, just this once, he’s said something right. His eyes are open when Hermann kisses him, wide open and disbelieving, but Newt’s not afraid to take a leap of faith. He closes his eyes and presses back, allowing himself to melt into the kiss. It’s familiar despite the canyon of a decade that separates their last kiss. (That night five years ago doesn’t count, he thinks, it doesn’t count if he was so unhappy.)
They’re both grinning as they pull away. Hermann’s lips are parted and his cheeks are flushed. Newt’s forgotten how much he misses this look, down to the coy flutter of his eyelashes.
“Darling-” Hermann begins to speak but he’s interrupted by the cooing of Adeline. “No, not you darling.”
Newt pauses for a moment and then laughs, running a hand ever so roughly down the cat’s back. She purrs eagerly.
“Gonna have to get a new pet name for your pet,” Newt says. “I had that one first and I’m going to be taking it back.”
“We could always find a new one for you. She is a senior cat, you know, and she’s very used to being my darling.”
“I’m really going to have to veto that, Herms. She can be sugarpuss or something very cat specific.”
“Don’t you want to be sugarpuss, Newton? I think it suits you and how sweet you are.”
“Oh, now I know you’re full of it.”
“Full of what?”
Newt doesn’t have it in himself to answer that with words, so instead he leans in and kisses Hermann again. Hermann doesn’t seem to protest to the kiss, and they sit on the couch trading kisses for some time. There’s still work to be done, but Newt knows that he’s got all he needs. The life he’s going to build with Hermann is a beautiful one.