Work Text:
the drift and
dark, tall figures staring down through the
breach and the middle of the ocean teeming with eyes
blue
something’s break ing
they’re watching they’re coming they’re coming now they’re listening watching waiting for seeing
youushimthem
everyone
here
Drs. Geiszler and Gottlieb knew the end of the world, intimately, because their heads teemed with the same plans, the same deaths, the same fury and calculation, aligned in burning blue. It was enough to make Geiszler buzz, and enough to make Gottlieb retch. That in itself wasn’t unusual, but the strange thing was, now they knew. They had seen the beings that wanted their end and they knew exactly how it was going to go down.
It was time to run.
They made it to LOCCENT just in time, grabbing Tendo’s communicator and screaming into it to stop, wait, it wasn’t going to work. Newt found himself uncharacteristically focused and Hermann felt strangely frantic. And then the waiting. The waiting as Pentecost went down, as Raleigh and Mako flew down into the breach and collapsed the throat, riding on a kaiju corpse, as Mako surfaced and as Raleigh wasn’t breathing, until he was. And until they were all back. The threat of years was over. Twelve years of attacks, twelve years of calculating and dissecting and now of drifting, meant they could stop the clock.
Not until they celebrated were the two men finally able to share a glance and for once, even Dr. Gottlieb cracked a smile. Newt threw an arm around him and everything, for one second, was perfect. They’d won. The kaiju were gone. And although their world had crumbled a bit, they had each other as supports, cleaning up the rubble as they walked back to the lab for one final round of analysis.
That night, Newt managed to find some awful vodka and they both had a rare drink. The strange night got a little blurrier as the alcohol ate at their throats and at their inhibitions and they shouted arguments into the night until the clock on the wall didn’t mean much anymore. Collapsing onto the ratty sofa they’d put in the lab for late nights, Newt flopped into Hermann’s lap and their arguments devolved into conversations which turned to comforts in murmured English and German and both, neither, and then silence. Then conversations dripping with drink and something else started quietly as the clock neared four.
“Hey, Herms?”
“Newt.”
“You’re my...my, uh, mein Liebling, weißt du?”
“Und du bist mein.”
“Your what?”
Silence took the room again for a while before Hermann mumbled a quiet, shaking “Mine.”
Newt sighed and then grunted as he stood.
“C’mon, dude. Let’s get you to bed.”
The two men walked down the hall and Newt tossed Hermann’s arm around his shoulder to support him as they stumbled down the halls that were still wild with celebrations. Firecrackers snapped, people cheered, someone had taken a can of spray paint to the walls and painted the date and time they’d stopped the clock. Hermann’s leg was weak from a full day of running and shaky from their drinks and he leaned heavily on Newt as the world around them lit up with cheers. They both had to work not to get caught up in the swirl of victory, letting it simply tinge their hearts as they tried their very best to remember how to get back to their rooms.
By the time they’d made it, Hermann was very nearly asleep on his feet, mumbling something in German about beds and something else that sounded so sentimental Newt decided he must have heard wrong. Hermann tried to open his door, but leaned so heavily on his cane that he couldn’t use both hands, and his free one shook and shuddered for the key. Reminder: getting Hermann drunk isn’t as fun as you expected. Newt got the door himself (on his second try), mumbling a “geh ins Bett, Alter Mann” as Hermann immediately and unexpectedly complied, collapsing onto bed with his shoes still on.
“Hermann.” He grunted in reply, face full of pillow. “Herms, dude. You shouldn’t sleep like that, with your shoes and your…” The words all slurred before he lost his train of thought altogether. “Hermann.” This time he didn’t reply, and Newt sighed before bending down and starting on Hermann’s shoes. “You’re boring drunk. You’re just… tired and weird.” He didn’t answer, and after two minutes of focus, Newt threw the untied shoes into the corner. Newt was filthy, but Hermann was only a little muddied (he’d always been one to keep clean), and Newt’s head was too muddled to put much thought into anything, but he didn’t think Hermann should sleep in a blazer, so he propped the (much taller but surprisingly light) man up while pulling off his blazer and leaving it on the dresser (tiny, regulation, and, Newt assumed, probably near-empty. Hermann, he was certain, had a maximum of about five outfits. He’d counted.). Worrying he’d overheat, he pulled off the tacky (and bloodied) sweater vest too, but stopped there, deciding any more would make the man wake up huffy and even more unpleasant than they’d already be in the morning. With surprisingly little effort (how was he so light?), Newt got Hermann under the covers and turned out the light with a “‘Night, Herms” that surprised even him. He stumbled into his own room, threw off everything but an undershirt and boxers, and collapsed into bed and suddenly
it’s back
they’re coming they’re watching they’re staring and they never left
the breach is boiling
head screaming
bodies dead and minds
break
snap and the eyes the eyes
limbs like toothpicks and brains ripe for
plucking
might be gone but no no no no no no no
they’re not leaving
they’re not ever leaving
Newt woke up to someone screaming, to his whole body shaking, to some awful shadow in the corner, and it took two minutes of something’s wrong it’s going to kill me maybe i’m already dead before the shadow left and he realized his own throat was raw. His heart was pounding and his body was cold with sweat. They were watching from the corner and someone was on the end of his bed was it another it was
Hermann. But it took a minute. Because Hermann was even tenser than usual, perched on the edge of the bed like a bird, bony limbs sticking out from only an undershirt and boxers as he shivered. He stared at that same corner and once Newt stopped gasping for breath he heard Hermann wheezing as he stared and saw the man’s gaunt face drawn and beaded with sweat. Usually composed and fussy, he looked frighteningly vulnerable. Strangely young. Helpless. His eyes flickered in the light from the open doorway as he scanned the corner over and over and over and over and
“You saw them too.” It wasn’t a question. Newt didn’t need to answer. Slowly, Hermann pulled his eyes out of the corner and settled his shaking frame to stare at Newt, worried.
He felt sick.
He had the awful sensation something was still watching. The worse, too, the creeping dread that gripped their hearts in a chokehold because there’s nothing to do they’re watching they’re still watching
And suddenly Hermann’s trembling arms were around Newt’s neck and gripping his back, the composed falling away to the undignified, and in that awful, screwed-up moment Newt didn’t need to think because he could hear the shaking in the hands that gripped his back pleading someone tell me what’s real and the quiet, frantic gasps that screamed something is so, so, wrong and he couldn’t even bring himself to be surprised when he felt tears soaking his shirt because they were his too, his too, and they stayed gripping each other for dear life until Newt wasn’t sure if he was holding Hermann or if Hermann was holding him.
Hermann woke up to darkness that was too bright and silence far too loud and three seconds of a dull, thoughtless uncertainty before he felt someone else tangled in his arms and the previous night smashed into being. Thinking burned, but he didn’t have to think for his heart to start pounding loudly enough to make his head throb and stomach dropped because he was gripping Newt. He’d dreamt something- no, it wasn’t a dream. Too real for that. And somewhere between waking up and grabbing Newton for everything in the whole ugly world (he’d cried, hadn’t he? His face ached. Stupid.) he’d looked into the corner and he’d seen something awful. Ghost, Kaiju, Precursor- Precursor. It was a Precursor, one standing in the corner staring into his soul with eyes that mandated not just his death, but everyone’s. Newt’s. Was it still there? Watching and waiting to pounce?
How could he be this stupid? He wasn’t six years old, there were no monsters under the bed (No, they lived in the corners), and he wasn’t some child. Look in the corner. That was too hard. His leg began to shake. Count, then. Down from seven, six, five, four, three. Two. One.
One-half.
“Scheiße!” He whipped his body upwards, daring the nothing in the corner before curling up in pain from his own voice and from the screaming urge to vomit. There was nothing there. Of course not.
“Herm-oh.” Newt sat up and gripped his head. “Scheiße is right.” He stiffened suddenly and Hermann could watch (or maybe feel?) him going through the last night in detail. How did he feel? Some awful space between shame and comfort.
“Nothing in the corner. I checked,” Hermann managed, breathing shallowly. And then there was an awful, awkward pause full of eighty-three too many questions and Hermann remembered, once again, that he was in his colleague’s bed, barely dressed. And then another wave of nausea hit and nothing mattered enough to move.
“You okay, Herms?” Newt muttered, quietly enough to only be a dull ache in his throat and in Hermann’s head. “Did you-” he sighed and paused, wincing. “You too? You… saw them?” The air in the room went dead.
“Yes. Was it the drift? A nightmare? A-” and once again it was too loud and he went silent.
“I think it was both.” They reveled in a little more of the painful silence before Newt spoke again, reaching out a hand to Hermann’s shoulder like it was nothing. Was it nothing? Was it something? “Hey, are you okay, dude? I’ve never seen you that scared, and you did, like, pass out before-”
“I’m fine.” He wasn’t. He couldn’t remember being much worse. It was moments like this that he remembered why he didn’t drink.
“Okay. Do you wanna get up?” This time, Hermann could do nothing but answer honestly.
“No.”
“Me neither.”
The two men lay there for a while, Newt punctuating the silence with an occasional swear as they tried very hard not to think, until someone knocked on the door. They both winced.
“Doctor Geiszler?” Newt groaned quietly.
“Yeah?” Hermann, realizing someone might come in, snapped upright and bolted to the tiny closet. The movement made his head spin.
“I’m from medical. Can I come in?”
“Sure, just please be quiet-” the sound of the door opening was nearly deafening and the light was even worse. Hermann heard the covers shift, presumably as Newt covered his face. “I said quiet!”
“Sorry, sir. We need you to come to medical. Your second drift was unobserved and we need to ensure there’s been no adverse neurological-“
“I’ll come up. Just give me a minute.” He groaned.
“Is everything alright, sir?” Hermann felt his heart pound. Maybe it was Newt’s heart.
“Yeah, it’s just that last night was the end of the end of the world and…” he trailed off as the medical officer chuckled sympathetically.
“We do have aspirin, sir.”
“Thanks. I’ll be up.”
“We’ll see you there, sir. Call if you need assistance.” The door clicked open, and Hermann almost let out a breath before the officer started again. “Oh, have you seen Dr. Gottlieb? He’s not in his room and he needs to report to us too.” Hermann’s stomach dropped and his heart pounded. It was his heart this time.
“He’s probably in the showers. I’ll tell him.”
“Thanks, Dr. Geiszler.” The door closed and the two men sighed in unison. Hermann didn’t open the door. For one thing, the movement would probably ache, and for another, he was almost sure he was blushing, and he had no desire to reveal that to Newton.
“Herms? You okay?”
“Fine.” Another long pause. “I should go to medical.” He opened the closet door and, realizing he was barely clothed (god, this was idiotic, why did he do that), scanned the hallway through a crack in the door before running to his room and shutting the door. He spent a second staring longingly at his mattress before opening his dresser, trying his hardest to forget what had happened.
It was hard when he saw his blazer carefully settled on top of the the dresser.
seething dread dead dead they’re dead we’re dead they’re
here watching still still
waiting staring
planning the world will
fracture they’re
coming
Newt was awake or maybe he was still dreaming because it was back it was in the corner again it was threatening him he wasn’t safe no one was safe it was walking toward him it was coming and worse there was a shadow under the door because maybe this wasn’t real itfeltsorealgoditwassoreal but the shadow under the door had to be and this was the beginning of the end and
the door opened and Newt’s heart stopped beating before he saw Hermann’s caneless outline, hands shaking and face pale he wouldn’t hurt me he won’t hurt me he’s here and the thing in the corner was gone and Hermann was curled up so small so weak on the bed. Newt curled up and took a breath. If he moved he’d surely die he knew it was still watching but he mustered the courage to tap Hermann’s hand with his own shaky, sweaty palms and Hermann gripped him tight like once again he was the only thing that would keep him safe and the world from ending. Maybe they couldn’t stop the apocalypse from coming again. But together they could fend off the hell in the corner.
Newt woke up with a short gasp and almost sat bolt upright, but the arm around his back grounded him for the split-second it took to stay still while his heart slowed to a calm throb. Hermann was here. Oh scheiße, Hermann. This seemed like a habit was forming, and the scariest part was that he liked it. Even scared like this, Hermann was strong and safe, a sort of island, and then he remembered the awful creature in the ocean of a corner. Stupid, stupid, stupid. It’s a corner. There’s nothing there but there was last night, and it was getting louder, and Hermann sees it too and he had to look. He didn’t want to move. In that moment some corner of his mind screamed that it might not just be the Precursor, but the fear gripped him tightly enough he could barely breathe. He had to look.
He snapped up, heart throbbing, corner empty. It was a pregnant empty, still, a toying empty. Curiosity almost pushed him up to see closer, but a quiet sigh from Hermann brought an altogether different flutter of his heart. He watched Hermann wake up, slowly, then with a snap that he could still feel echoing in the back of his own head, and his head tried to form a taunt to break the frightening silence, to fall into easy bickering, but what came out was “You okay, dude?” Hermann snapped a stiff “I’m fine” and took stock of his surroundings (avoiding the corner). He was so thin without his bulky parka and layers of sweaters, Newt noticed as he watched him shiver. Something in the back of his head wanted to get back under the covers. Newt shook it away. It’s not even cold in here.
“So!” Newt said, trying desperately to ignore the fact that they were in the same bed, only half-clothed, “I guess it happened to you too, right?” Hermann nodded. “What’d they do with you in medical?”
“They observed my brain function, and I believe they compared it to yours,’ was the terse answer he received.
“Did they tell you anything?”
“Neither of us are in imminent danger of death, if that’s what you wanted to hear.” He paused. “We are, apparently, drift compatible. Shockingly so.” Newt smiled proudly. “Our minds still appear to be connected, as… our brain scans revealed.” A pause.
“Did you tell them about-”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
“What are they, Newton?”
“The monsters from the rift? They’re the head honchos, I think. They’re trying to… come back or something, and-”
“No. The nightmares.”
“I don’t know, dude.” The realization struck him with fear, now that he admitted it. He always knew, or at least pretended he did. “Maybe they’re just our minds connecting with the drift or… maybe they’re the Precursors trying to stalk us or something, I don’t know.” Before he knew it, he was babbling an “And it scares me, Hermann.” that shot his heart rate through the roof.
“Then I suppose we will be scared together, Dr. Geiszler.” Hermann looked at him like he was about to say something else, but stayed silent as he reached out to grab Newt’s hand. They spent a moment there in silence, heads still pounding with questions and unexpected answers that hid behind an utter loss for words. They stared at the corner. Nothing dared venture in.
The lab felt no less frighteningly intimate, despite their being fully clothed and at least five feet from each other at any given time. But they were back in the real world now, not the strange veil of their rooms, which they both were certain they’d rather not see the inside of again.
They’d been given the ultimatum to pack up. In the next two weeks, everyone would be shipping out- all the survivors, at least. Mako and Raleigh were off god-knows-where, probably sparring and flirting like always. Tendo was busy running around telling people where to go. The lab was unpleasantly silent.
Hermann assumed he’d return to Berlin. Maybe he would teach again, he thought as he packed up the files and files of loose-leaf paper. Almost none of it was objectively worth keeping- all the good things were on the boards, but they were too permanent to change now. Some things had to be the same.
What would Berlin hold? No Kaiju ever made land there, it was too far from the Breach. It’d be free of guts and bones. He could buy an apartment near TU, try to get his old position back. Eat real food for the first time in months (not that he ate often enough to care). Something about it sounded awful. Tenure, syllabi, office hours.
As he looked up at the daunting boards above him, he found another problem. Maybe the heart of the problem. He would miss the Shatterdome. The lab was cramped, often bloody, usually throbbing with Newt’s horrid music, unkempt, wild, and most of all, home. Here, he could trade arguments like gazes, payment in strained vocal chords for the a say in the day’s newest debate. It was a meeting of the minds (in the literal sense, too, because brain fluid had a tendency to make its way onto the boards and stain the corners). It was his space, yes, but it was their space. It was Newton’s space too. And that was when it sunk in. Leaving the Shatterdome meant leaving him.
Hermann realized he had been entertaining ideas of a future, but not of one without his lab partner. Thinking forward inevitably resulted in frivolous hope, no matter what the subject. Teaching was only possible, his mind adamantly declared, if they shared a course. An apartment building, even. Maybe an apartment no don’t be so stupid, he can hear it. He wasn’t really sure if “hear” was the best word. He wasn’t some telepathic creature from Geiszler’s B-movie horror films, and he couldn’t hear Newt’s internal monologue. He was glad for it, it must have been unceasing nonsense. Maybe. (God, what was that third voice? Hope?)
And so now, as he stared at the imposing and full chalkboards, eraser in hand, he took in not only each equation, but the little specks of chalk around them, each eraser mark a different shout and each stray mark a teasing clash, one jagged line from when Newt had jumped into the air, boosting off his shoulders after making some new discovery, a small circle of pecks from the day Newt played music so loud that Hermann couldn’t help but tap along with his chalk, the dip in an otherwise immaculate “x” from when Newt brushed his legs while walking by. Years in this lab were on the chalkboard. Not the equations. For once in Hermann’s life, he could barely spare a thought for the mathematics swimming in front of his eyes because the man he loved - he really did, didn’t he? He loved him, yes, he was in love - was laughing and smiling and singing and swearing and shouting and being, watching through every inch of variables and formulas. He felt something decidedly stronger than bittersweet, certainly kinder than disdain, undeniably fonder than friendship. As the eraser trembled in his hand, Hermann Gottlieb realized he was in love. And as his feet returned to the ground and his mind into his head, he realized that the man he was in love with was soon to be leaving.
Newt’s eyes lingered on the bits of kaiju brain, blue blood accenting the messy desk, letting his eyes stop for a mere second before the thing in the corner swam before his eyes again and he had to look away. The thing in his head wanted something, he could tell. One drift was enough for him to see malevolence, but now it was a need that came through. It was terrifying. Raw fury that made his gut churn, raw terror that made his hands shake as he brushed a blood clot into the trash. The biohazard boxes he’d requested had come in. He’d take kidneys, his prized vertebra section (whether it was from the 19th or 23rd, he wasn’t sure, but he was determined to find out). His eyes flew to the brain in the tank. It pulsed angrily. He flinched, then looked at Hermann. He was standing by his board, shaking. Newt wondered whether or not to go over and check on him as he felt his own hand tremble and something very like homesickness coming from the corner. Maybe Hermann missed Germany.
The thought struck Newt to his core. Why? Hermann was just his lab partner, his pet peeve, his headache. Yes, Hermann was his. A conversation from the end of the world echoed in his ears through a pool of vodka. “Wissen du?” “Und du bist…”
Mine. Had Hermann really said that? His heart pounded like the brain in the tank as he wondered if Hermann really meant it. Newt sure did, and he hoped, and he would. God, get over yourself, you puppy-dog. He can hear you. He wanted him to. He started putting organs in boxes, not daring to say a word as a flood pooled behind his mouth, a virtual hematoma of stuff he’d regret. But he’d never been one to hold back. He opened his mouth and suddenly there was nothing at all. What the hell was this?
When in doubt, a script. It got him through dull lectures, into MIT, and out of getting privileges revoked for bringing a liver section to the cafeteria. Not his style, but it worked. So, what to say? Can’t just start with Did you really call me yours when you were drunk? Maybe snark. Something about his grandpa pants. No, nothing about clothes, last night was weird enough without you remembering he wore less clothes then than he’d worn to the beach in ‘21. Definitely a bad time to bust out bigger words. But some of them felt right-
His phone rang. This was the worst possible time for his phone to ring. He ran into the hallways to answer- he didn’t really have to, but he also wasn’t sure he could look Hermann in the eyes or focus with him in the room.
Hermann was neck-deep in chalk dust and pencil markings and wildly unexpected feelings, taking down every equation and using the pretense of an accurate graphite recreation to relive every nick in a letter, each misplaced dash, each shouting match that culminated in Newton- Newt- saying something fond. His chest buzzed. He was no child, he couldn’t let himself get carried away. It was a kind word here, a tap on the shoulder there, Newt’s touchy habits and his music that carried its way into Hermann’s heartbeat, mein Gott, he was acting like such a sap
Newt stepped back in with a face pale as death. The phone trembled in his hand. For an awful second, Hermann wondered if someone had died before Newt registered his presence, face snapping into its usual enthusiastic candor. The edge was left.
“What was that about?” Hermann ventured. There was a pause just a hair longer than necessary before Newt responded.
“Someone needs me in Hong Kong. They, uh… offered a job. Well, not really offered.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re sending a plane. Tomorrow?” It sounded like a question and a funeral dirge.
Hermann had no words. Now there was no time to sort out the whole mess the end of the world had left them in, and now he was leaving, and there was no choice anymore. No question. He was leaving. But he wasn’t gone yet, he couldn’t be gone, he had to stay
“Hermann?”
“Congratulations.”
On their walk back through the base, their footsteps echoed louder than ever before. Clear of jaegers, the whole place sounded with emptiness. The whole place felt like the monster in the corner. Looking, watching.
Empty.
Trash had piled by rooms, boxes of things people wanted to leave behind, trash, tattered sheets. Graffiti had cropped up on the walls. Memorials to the lost and words for the survivors in more languages than they could count. The concrete remainders felt like a prison for lost hope when the rest had jimmied the lock, a jailbird from under the claws of monsters. There were still people left, sure. But there were too many gone.
It felt small in that hallway, despite all odds, as their feet thumped an agonizing, slow, suspenseful beat. Hermann held a box in one arm, despite Newt’s best efforts to not let him carry anything, and they both looked slightly ruffled.
This silence between them was new and disquieting. Somehow it felt rude to start a new shouting match, for once. Or maybe desperate. Either way, there was another sense now, one that there were some things that they’d never have to say at all. But maybe it was time to say some of them.
“Newt,” Hermann coughed as they reached their rooms. “Dr. Geiszler,” he repeated, a little louder to cover up his slip.
“Yeah, dude?” It was time. Either say something now or say nothing at all.
“Newton, the world would have ended without your unfailing determination. You get blood on my side of the lab, you listen to awful music-”
Newt, grinning was he blushing, cut him off: “Britney Spears is an icon, Herm-”
“For god’s sake, shut your mouth and listen! I’m trying to…” what was he trying to do? “thank you, damn it! Without you, we would all be dead. I don’t know where we’d all be- where I would be - without you.” Too much and not enough.
“Jesus, what’s wrong, man?”
“Nothing.” A lie, and likely unconvincing at that. “You’re getting reassigned.” Better. “I thought it time for a farewell.” He’d never planned for this day to come.
Before he knew it, Newt had dropped his boxes and gripped him in a hug that made his whole body feel it was being gently electrocuted. The kidney box fell out of his hands, but he barely registered it as he felt his own arms wrap around the smaller man’s back.
“I love you, dude.”
And there it was. For all their time together, for all the time sharing a lab, no declaration had been made. Hell, no realization had been made, and now Newt’s arms were around him and he said he loved him. Love. A messy word, nothing mathematics could make, so long discarded and now Hermann was hanging onto those words like his last tie to the world, because Newt was leaving and there was nothing to say but
“I love you too.”
Newt laughed. “I know.”
“Newton-”
“I’m in your head, remember?” Hermann did remember. Whether it was a curse or a godsent blessing, he wasn’t sure. Newt let go. Hermann bent down to pick up the box, face flushed red like he’d been running. Newt grabbed his boxes and clapped Hermann on the shoulder.
“Goodnight, Herm.”
And he opened his door to go inside. Hermann did the same, clicking the door open and feeling his and Newt’s hearts clench at the same time as they remembered the thing in the corner, the monster from their nightmares, they weren’t stupid, not children, not suckers, but something about the corner gnawed to their very core. And Newt was leaving. God, he couldn’t be leaving.
“Stay,” Hermann’s lips muttered before his mind could stop them.
Newt locked his own door and walked over. They didn’t need any more words for now.
we’re watch ing
we’ll kill them
we’ll kill him
Hermann woke and gripped Newt tighter. Not while I am here.
The deck of the Shatterdome was the one place that hadn’t stopped buzzing with activity, helicopters and planes moving in freakishly predictable and wildly loud jerks and thrums. It was deafening.
And Newt and Hermann were silent.
Because what was there to say? Neither had said a word since last night, when they laid in bed in silence, together and yet too scared to be anything but just a little but apart. Goodbye felt too final, be safe felt too forced. Were there words for how they felt? Words that didn’t tie them in knots?
Hermann didn’t think so. Every time he thought he had something to say, it vanished before he could open his mouth. It was undeniable, now, as the rain plunged onto the Shatterdome deck, drenching him, dripping onto the sealed boxes, flying out the back of the jets, that he was in love. That was it. It was that simple.
And that unbelievably complex.
And the plane was here.
And he couldn’t leave it be. He didn’t know how long it would be until he saw Newt again. Would they go back to emails, like they had so many years ago? And then see each other and go back to conflict, or worse, back to silence? He missed Newt and he hadn’t even left, he longed for something that never was, and there was no time to do anything.
He handed off Newt’s boxes to someone more capable of getting them into the plane, maybe as an excuse to watch the man he loved for any more seconds. Newt bounced up to the guard waiting by the plane, shaking his hand like nothing was wrong, not sparing Hermann a glance, and suddenly the guard and his immaculate suit stepped to the side and Newt was about to take a step forward and he couldn’t do that, he couldn’t leave him no stop
“WAIT!” Hermann shouted louder than he thought possible, running- yes, running, somehow - up to Newt and before he knew it, before he could overthink like he had for ten damned years, kissing him.
The whole world ground to a halt.
He felt like he was flying, or maybe like he was plunging down into an abyss, grabbing Newt for dear life. He couldn’t bear a night of horrid dreams without him. He couldn’t bear another day without him.
He felt Newt’s lips under his own, pressing back.
“Doctor Geiszler!” a call came from the guard. Jesus, he couldn’t wait five seconds? Newt couldn’t believe Hermann had, and that he had, and more than anything else, that he was leaving but he was being bundled into the plane, staring over his shoulder at Hermann and mouthing nonsense fragments of something to say while he bashed the barrier between their minds, considering breaking it all to tell, to show Hermann how he felt.
He didn’t want to go.
Inside his head, he felt something pounding, gnawing at him.
Weißt du, dass ich in dich verliebt bin?
Yes.