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Hermann hears the sniffles over the sound of water boiling. He moves more quickly to reach the kitchen, cane tapping insistently against the hardwood. "Newt? What's wrong?" he asks, worry filling every syllable.
"Onions."
"Onions? What about onions is upsetting you?"
"Cutting onions, dude. Seriously, just fucking onions this time." Newt waves the knife in his hand. "I'm making soup for dinner."
"Aha. That explains the delicious smell."
"Flattery will get you a bowl of it. In a little bit." Newt's smile lights up his tear-streaked face.
Hermann returns the smile. "I look forward to it." His expression turns serious. "You understand my concern, though?"
"Yeah, I do. I've been a mess all week," Newt sighs. "God, I hate these lows. I'm sick of crying every five minutes. Why can't my brain work right?"
Hermann steps behind Newt and rests his hand on the small of his back. "Do you think you need your dosages adjusted?"
"Nah. I'm pretty sure it's the six months of winter I've had this year getting to me. The light boxes aren't hacking it. All the 'oh-shit-we-nearly-died' feelings are creeping out."
Hermann nods. "My experience resembles yours. I believe I mentioned I've increased my antidepressants to combat my nightmares recently."
"You did." Newt leans his head back to rest against Hermann's shoulder. "It's good to know you're with me in this. You actually get it."
"I understand because I'm living through something similar."
"Yeah." Newt grins. "Okay. Enough with the touchy-feely. Get out of here, Hermann. You linger much longer and it'll take weeks to get the smell out of your feathers. I don't want a repeat of the garlic incident."
Hermann sniffs. "I'll lay the table, then." He opens a cupboard and reaches inside.
"Great idea. Thanks, dude."
"You're wel—"
Hermann squeaks and nearly drops the bowls as Newt hops up on tiptoes and kisses him full on the lips.
"I mean it. Thanks. For everything."