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It was no unknown secret or fact that punctuality fell within Dr. Gottlieb’s core values, which was why his postgraduate students found it a little unsettling when they didn’t see their instructor at his afternoon lecture. No one said anything straight away, but within ten minutes the whispers began spreading like wildfire.
“Did he forget?”
“Maybe something happened.”
“He’s never late. This is really weird.”
“Should we email someone in the department about this?”
The quiet stream of murmurs eventually transitioned into a roar of conversation, and just when everyone was ready to gather their belongings and jump ship a high, scratchy voice rose above the others:
“SHIT. Did class start already?!”
A student—wait, no, maybe he wasn’t a student?—got to his feet from one of the desks in the back of the room and quickly jogged up to the front. He didn’t look too much older than most of the students themselves, but he definitely didn’t dress like a professor. Not with his faded Converse, scruffy beard, unbuttoned overshirt, and black baseball cap.
“My bad, guys,” the man apologized, prior to holding up his phone and wiggling it. “I got sucked into an article about chromosome banding and basically forgot anything else existed. ANYWAY.” He pocketed his phone and then did the same with his hands. “‘How’s it going? I know you’re all probably thinking, ‘wait a second, that’s not our super good-looking professor’, and you’d be correct. The name’s Newt and I’m your rad substitute today."
When the only responses Newt received were blank stares and awkward coughing, he continued, "I’m aware I’m rocking a serious hobo look over here, but I don’t usually dress like this. The whole subbing thing was a last minute arrangement. That and I normally don’t teach on Fridays.”
A woman raised her hand in the front row, and when Newt looked at her she asked, "Is Dr. Gottlieb alright?”
“Oh yeah, he’s fine. Jyyyust a touch under the weather, which is why I’m here,” Newt replied, glancing around the classroom. It wasn’t as big or spacious as the auditoriums he typically lectured in. Then again, he supposed there were more biology majors than people who wanted to study advanced mathematics. It was still a cozy room though, and the students, however few there were, looked genuinely willing to be there.
Newt turned around, surveying the giant blackboard stationed behind him. “Of course he’d ask for one. What a dork.”
Towards the middle of the room, a student on a laptop leaned over to his friend and muttered: “Is this guy for real? I’m wondering if he’s actually employed here.”
“He is,” someone from the row behind him pointed out, turning her own laptop around to reveal the faculty profile page she’d pulled up. “I checked. Apparently that’s Dr. Newton Geiszler.”
“Wait, what? THAT’S Dr. Geiszler?”
It was no secret who Newt was, or what he and Hermann had accomplished together during their employment at the PPDC. They were famous in their own way (at least to budding, scientific minds) which made it hard to believe that their substitute lecturer was, in fact, someone with six PhD’s and not a random person the university had baited with food and a hot shower to teach a class.
The students turned their focus frontward just as Dr. Geiszler pulled away from the blackboard, which now read ‘Newt was here!’ in the upper left corner. “Ho’kay! From what I’m told today is supposed to be, like, a review-discussion-thing, right?” Newt asked, leaning against the lecture stand with his arms folded against his chest.
The students nodded.
“Alright, cool. Then I guess—wait a second, which class is this again? Sorry, Hermann teaches like four math classes and I swear to God they all sound the same.”
“Topics in Combinatorial and Analytic Number Theory,” the same woman from the front row answered.
Newt’s glasses slipped down his freckled nose. “Topics in what? Oh man, yeah, we’re uh—we’re gonna do something different. Hang on.”
Shuffling around the lecture stand, Newt typed in his login name and password on the computer and accessed the overhead projector, so that the students could see what he was doing. He waited until the screen lowered, and once it had he opened up the search engine and went to YouTube.
“What’s he doing?” someone from the third row whispered.
“He’s logging into YouTube. That’s what he’s doing,” their neighbor replied, sighing.
“Normally I’d just pull up the videos individually, buuut I already have a playlist saved for days like these,” Newt explained, accessing his playlists (though not before everyone could see a video entitled ‘Super Sweet Fiji Vacay’). The thumbnail for the video showcased their very conservative Dr. Gottlieb dressed in a short-sleeved floral polo while standing beside Newt, who was holding a fruity cocktail in one hand and flashing a ‘hang loose’ gesture with his other hand. “I know it’s crazy, but my husband actually does have skin under all those grandpa layers. Who knew, am I right?”
Husband. Husband. The word seemed to echo throughout the classroom like a clap of thunder.
Clicking the playlist he’d mentioned, Newt waited until the first video was loaded up before he paused it to address the (very confused) students. “I’m not gonna lie, dudes. My main shtick is biology, and while I can dig numbers and appreciate them for their importance in applied sciences, they’re not really my thing. If anyone has any review questions you can leave those with me and I’ll pass them along, but in the meantime, sit back, relax, and enjoy the next hour and fifteen minutes of cats being freaking' hilarious.”
*
After the lecture ended and Newt collected any review questions that had been turned in, he peaced out and headed home. There was no need to visit his office since he technically wasn’t obligated to be on campus that day. He’d check his emails once he was back at the house, nice and comfy on the couch with his laptop propped on his stomach.
Living near the university meant that twenty minutes later Newt was opening his front door and kicking off his shoes. While Newt tended to shrivel up and die on the living room couch whenever he was sick, he knew from experience that Hermann preferred the comfort of their memory foam, California king bed. Poking his head into their room, Newt found his partner seated on the edge of the mattress with a towel covering his head. If Newt didn’t know what Hermann was doing, he would have probably been confused as hell.
“I’m home, babe,” he announced, entering the space in full. “How're you feeling?”
A response came, yet it was spoken so low and muffled that Newt couldn’t really understand it. Approaching the bed, Newt reached out and gently tugged the towel draped over Hermann’s head upward, as though he were lifting a bride’s veil. A vaporous cloud wafted up, fogging Newt’s glasses immediately from the bowl of hot water Hermann had situated on his lap.
“You’re letting the steam out,” Hermann croaked. His face was flushed from the heated water, and the ends of his hair were curling naturally from it.
“Shit, sorry. Back to the Batcave,” Newt replied, lowering the towel again and letting Hermann go back to huffing up the steam.
“How was the lecture?” Hermann asked, speaking a little louder so Newt could hear him. “I trust that you handled things properly.”
Newt sat on the bed beside Hermann. “Yeah, it was fine. I snagged the questions you wanted, and before you ask, yes, they’re all facing the same way.”
“And the discussion?”
Silence.
“How did that go?”
More silence.
“Newton?”
“So, uh. Haha...ha, about that...”
One of Hermann’s hands reached up, tugging the towel completely off his head. With his rosy cheeks, messy hair, red nose and striped pajamas he looked like a poster boy for an old-timey cold medicine advertisement. “Did my students not discuss the review material?”
“I mean, kiiiind of? We definitely had a discussion. Just, uh. Not about math stuff.” Newt pointedly looked away, suddenly interested with the opposite side of the room.
“So, pray tell, what on earth did you discuss?” Hermann dared to implore, transferring the bowl of water on his lap to the nightstand.
“Oh, you know.......catvideosonYouTube.”
“CAT VIDEOS ON—?!” The would-be shout broke off into deep, chesty coughing.
Newt’s attention snapped back to Hermann; he reached out, rubbing his husband’s back soothingly through the worst of the fit. “Look, if it helps they did end up talking about your last lecture towards the end. Then they all kind of grouped up to write down questions, so it wasn’t a total bust. And hey, a lot of them actually told me to tell you that they hope you feel better,” Newt said, still rubbing Hermann’s back.
If he didn’t already feel as though he were dying, Hermann might have asked Newt to dig a grave for him. Just how bloody informal and unprofessional HAD Newton been with his class? Apparently enough that YouTube had been thrown into the mix.
“Remind me again how I allowed you to teach my class?” Hermann rasped, reaching for some tissues.
“I mean, at the time your fever was higher and you basically had no other choice,” Newt replied, shrugging. “It’s not the end of the world, Herms. I doubt your students are throwing their academic careers in the toilet because I showed them a sick compilation of cats versus cucumbers.”
“I have very nearly faced the end of the world, and with you by my side no less. What perturbs me is that you chose to occupy an entire lecture with cat videos of all things. And with postgraduates no less.”
“Hey, they were eating that shit up,” Newt countered, remembering all of the laughs he’d gotten. “I’m sure they achieve math nirvana on the reg with you. A little break every now and then is good for the soul.”
Hermann said nothing, but his wrinkled nose reflected distinct disagreement with Newt’s last statement. Rather than commence the exhausting process of voicing a differing opinion, he merely flopped over and rested his aching head on Newt's shoulder.
Newt snuggled Hermann close. “It’ll be fiiiiine. You’re gonna get better, and you’ll be back in your sock garters and cardigans before you know it.” In the meantime Newt planned to enjoy how cuddly and clingy Hermann was when he didn’t feel well.
Carefully, Newt guided both he and Hermann to lie down, so that they were stretched horizontally along the bed. From there, he wrapped an arm around Hermann and turned his face, kissing Hermann’s warm forehead tenderly.
“You owe me, though. If I end up getting sick from you or just need a day away from my responsibilities, you’re returning the favor and teaching my kids.”
“Mmm,” Hermann hummed, drowsy. “Undergraduates…”
“Yeah, my kids.”
Newt offered Hermann some more slow kisses while thumbing Hermann’s wedding band idly. He was cool to let Hermann fall asleep and drool on him if Hermann wanted, but then a pressing thought occurred to Newt - one that needed immediate vocalization.
“Oh, by the way. The jig’s up. Your students totally know we’re married now.”
Newt couldn't tell if the groan Hermann supplied was from misery, mortification, or both.