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Newt can almost smell the dust in the air of the nearly-deserted apartment, but he’s not gonna say anything. Hermann’s place is nice, really, but nice like a new house being shown off by a realtor— not nice like a home. Newt knows he’ll be safe here — as safe as he can be in the malnourished, aged, and deeply traumatized body that he’s stuck in — but he can’t imagine himself living here. He can’t even imagine Hermann living here.
The leather couch that sits nestled against a partial wall looks brand new, the material still shiny and without any hint of wear. The floor is bare save for a television sat on a cabinet and a single table an arm’s length from the couch; the walls are the same, the uniform cream color of a cloudy day. From where he stands — awkwardly hunched in the doorway, frozen, he realizes — he can see the hint of a small kitchen on the other side of the partial wall, a short hallway jutting out along his right. Newt takes a step in to join where Hermann is looking back at him expectantly. It’s a small place, but that’s not where Newt is getting hung up. It’s the fact that this place feels brand new.
“This it?” he asks Hermann, letting him get the door behind him. Newt tries valiantly not to flinch when he hears the click of the lock.
“It’s not much, I apologize,” Hermann says, and Newt can hear the nerves in his voice. Seriously? He’s nervous? Newt’s been locked in a basement for months, and he’s finally free — physically, at least — for the first time in a decade, but Hermann’s nervous. He’d be mad if it wasn’t so endearing, really. Hermann’s always been a stuck-up nerd, even by Newt’s standards, but he’s gotten even worse in the ten years since… Newt shakes his head, snapping his fingers a few times to clear his mind of the thought. He’s safe. He’s with Hermann. What they did to him is in the past.
“No, dude, anywhere’s better than that dungeon,” he says. Hermann turns back to him, and Newt can almost see the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He’s really nervous, huh? Even after they’d drifted — once to get the precursors out for good, another a few weeks after that just to be sure — Hermann’s worried Newt won’t like the place. Or won’t feel safe here. Or won’t feel safe with him. Or something.
Hermann almost closes the gap between the two of them — just a few feet, really, but Newt feels it all the same — and Newt could swear Hermann almost grabs his hand before he says, “Make yourself at home, Newton.
Make yourself at home. And how exactly is he supposed to do that?
“You gonna show me around or what?” he says after a few seconds of hovering near the couch, not sure whether or not to sit. He will not have Hermann just leave him to explore on his own, that’s for sure. Not only would that be incredibly fucking rude of his… what? Host? Roommate? Savior? Kind of boyfriend (but Newt’s not sure because they haven’t talked about it, but they have kissed a few times; that’s gotta be something)? — He’s gotta find a better word for that one — but Newt hasn’t had free will in what is now a solid quarter of his lifetime. He’s not exactly the best at quote-enquote Making Himself At Home.
Hermann looks like a deer caught in the headlights, and Newt has to laugh. “Dude, calm down. You’re gonna give yourself a heart attack, or something.”
Hermann laughs with him, but his heart’s not in it. “Apologies, Newton. I’m, er… hardly the most experienced host, I’ll say.”
“Yeah, that much is fucking obvious,” Newt says. He gestures as dramatically as he can towards the kitchen. “Lead the way.”
The kitchen, at least, looks a little more lived in. Newt doesn’t remember Hermann cooking much before, but then again, there hadn’t been much time or resources for any food beyond the shitty cafeteria rations. There are no dishes in the sink, but Newt’s not surprised Hermann’s cleaned up a bit for him.
“This is the kitchen,” Hermann is saying. “There’s not much else to say on that, I’m afraid.” He gives one of his classic Hermann-attempting-wry-humor looks, his head tilting slightly towards Newt as he leans on his cane, an eyebrow raised. “I suppose, if you have any questions…”
“Dude, you’re a shitty tour guide, you know that?”
Hermann opens his mouth like he’s about to answer, but nothing comes out, his mouth gaping like a fish out of water. Before he has a chance to answer, Newt pats him on the shoulder (and if his face warms up at the contact, well, he’s allowed to be touch-starved after the shit he’s been through), a twinge of guilt in his chest for making it even harder for Hermann to deal with him. Okay, a lot bad, really. Here he is, his ex-lover, current-something who broke his heart a decade ago, making Hermann uproot his entire life to take care of Newt, the idiot who went and got himself mind-controlled and almost ended the world. Asshole doesn’t even begin to cover what Newt is. But apparently, even his recently-diagnosed PTSD, courtesy of the precursors, isn’t enough to make Newt know when to shut the fuck up.
“Sorry,” Newt mutters. “Uh, no, no questions. Carry on?”
Hermann stares at him for a second, a strange look on his face. There was a time when Newt would have been able to tell exactly what he’s thinking just by his expression, but even the ghost drift can’t make up for a decade apart. Then the look is gone, and Hermann is leading him back out of the kitchen.
The apartment is small, sure, but it’s not as deserted as Newt had taken it to be. Hermann’s room is organized almost exactly like his space had been at the Shatterdome; that is to say, not organized at all. The floor is clear, of course — otherwise Hermann wouldn’t be able to get around, what with his leg — but several near-identical sweaters and trousers are spilling out of overcrowded drawers. His bed is made, but sloppily.
Hermann’s embarrassed by the mess, Newt can tell. Or maybe he just doesn’t want Newt in this space? Newt gets it, if that’s what it is. After all, here he is, invading Hermann’s privacy because he’s got nowhere else to go. It makes sense for Hermann to want one space to remain purely his. Even when they were… closer, before the precursors had dug their claws into his mind and made him leave the only man who’d ever truly seen him, Hermann had liked his space to remain his own.
Next up is the guest room — the room Newt supposes is his, now. The room isn’t decorated, not even by Hermann’s bare standards, but there’s a quilt on the bed that seems out of place, all bright colors and geometric shapes standing starkly against the blank cream-colored walls.
“Vanessa made that when she heard you’d be staying with me.” Hermann must have seen Newt staring at the quilt, and Newt turns to look at him in the doorway behind him.
“Why?” He’d met Hermann’s sister-in-law just a few times, and while they’d gotten on like a house on fire, he hadn’t spoken to her since leaving Hermann. He can’t imagine why she would make him something like this.
“She said she wanted you to have something that was truly yours,” Hermann says. “She was homeless for a short time, many years ago. I imagine she understands what it’s like, having so few things to call your own.”
“Oh,” is all Newt can think to say. He’s not crying — can’t, he’s starting to think, hasn’t since the day he and Hermann drove out the precursors for good — but he feels almost like he could. Vanessa was right, really. He’s got the clothes Hermann had brought him, his suit from the trial, and that’s all. Everything the precursors had bought had been either taken as evidence against him or been sold by Newt. The idea of ever wearing something of theirs again makes his skin crawl.
Newt sits on the bed, just for a moment, running his hand over the quilt. It’s soft, the texture reassuring. And — he lifts it slightly, testing the weight — it’s almost solid enough to replace his old weighted blanket from back at the Shatterdome.
Beside him, he feels Hermann sit, just far enough for Newt to feel the distance. He doesn’t say anything, and Newt wants to fill the silence, but he doesn’t know how. It’s such a small thing, this gift, but it’s more than Newt had expected. More than he deserves, especially from a woman who’s a stranger to him after a decade. He just sits there for a few minutes, aware of Hermann beside him and the quilt under him, the silence sitting heavy on him.
Then he stands, turning to Hermann. “Where to next?” As long as the tour is going on, as long as he’s got something to occupy his mind, he can almost pretend he’s the same man he was before.
Hermann stands, leaning on his cane. “There’s not much else, I’m afraid,” he says. “Though I was planning to start dinner soon, if you would like to join me?” Hermann’s so careful with him now, always giving Newt an out, never ordering. It’s overwhelming. Even a bird who knows it can fly has got to feel scared looking over a steep cliff, right? Newt knows he’s free, knows he’s here because Hermann offered and because he wanted to stay with him, not because he has to be. It doesn’t change the rush of adrenaline and fear Newt feels at every choice he’s given.
But he knows he doesn’t want to be alone. He’ll have to be tonight, sure, but in the meantime he’s not leaving Hermann’s side. Hermann, uptight little nerd he may be, is safe. Newt almost feels like he’s ten years younger around him. So he nods, and Hermann leads him out of the bedroom (his bedroom, he tells himself; this is his) and back into the kitchen.
* * *
Hermann Gottlieb is not a cook. He can handle food well enough to survive as an independent adult, but the kitchen is no lab. He’s most at home in front of an enormous chalkboard and facing an impossible problem that he must solve. There is an answer to everything; with chalk in his hand he can pull back even the thickest of veils to see the root of any problem. Hermann Gottlieb is a master of the mind, of logic. Food is emotional; food can heal, but it can also harm, can kill.
But Newton is hurting, and no amount of Hermann’s logic can solve that. So he can fix what he can. He gives him a place to stay, he lets him make his own choices and guarantees he always has ample space to move about; Hermann doesn’t want to crowd the man, no matter how desperately he aches to hold him. Newt’s trauma is a problem Hermann can’t solve, but he can cook him dinner.
He gives Newton his phone to play music while Hermann cooks — the PPDC had confiscated the phone he’d been using when the precursors controlled him, and Hermann hasn’t had a chance to buy him one between the days spent with Newton during the trial and in the weeks leading to it. He’d never touched him much then, either, but somehow the distance between them feels greater now that they are truly alone together. Newton has decided on a song Hermann recognizes from their time in the lab, and as he boils the rice and adds the vegetables for the stir fry, Newton plays song after song of his old favorites.
Hermann smiles to himself as Newton sings along from where he’s perched on the counter. Newton is a changed man as much as Hermann is — more than Hermann is — but this is familiar. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed Newton’s constant motion, like a moon stuck in Hermann’s orbit. Even when the man is seated, he’s never still; Hermann watches his legs swing and his fingers tap as he sings, and it makes Hermann’s chest feel tight.
And then dinner is ready. Newt lets Hermann serve the food, so Hermann is careful to give him plenty. It’s alarming, really, how thin the man is. Even in the war, Newton’s body had been fuller than it is now. He could probably fit into Hermann’s clothes with ease, and while Hermann would hardly object to seeing that, he can’t stand to see Newton wasting away as he has. So he gives Newton a few more spoonfuls of the fried rice and vegetables he’s prepared than is strictly necessary.
“We’ll eat in the living room,” Hermann says, kicking himself for his poor choice of words. He’d meant to give Newton a choice, but then again, there’s hardly another place in the minuscule apartment to eat. But Newt is following him out of the kitchen, so Hermann sits on the couch, careful to leave enough space for Newton to sit.
The pair of them eat in near silence, Newton picking at his food — his appetite is still recovering from a hunger strike of the previous month, courtesy of the precursors — and Hermann watches him eat as unobtrusively as he can manage. Hermann himself isn’t terribly hungry, but he finishes his food all the same.
“So, what’s the plan from here on out?” Newton asks after a few minutes.
“Well,” Hermann starts, “tomorrow, I can take you to get a phone of your own. If you want to, that is.”
Newton takes a small bite of his food. “Yeah, that’s alright by me,” he says as he chews, and Hermann is reminded of the countless meals spent together during the war, not even able to pause their work long enough to go to the cafeteria. “But don’t you think people will, uh… recognize me?”
Hermann doesn’t miss the apprehension in his voice. “Newton, you have been cleared of all charges, you know. It hardly matters if people recognize your face from the news.”
“Yeah, but-” Newton cuts himself off, taking a deep breath as he carefully lowers his fork. Hermann hears the clink of the silver on the plate. When Newt speaks again, his voice is measured, deliberate effort put into verbalizing how he feels. “Here, it’s… safe, you know? Out there, they’ve all got thoughts on what I— they did.”
Newt isn’t looking at him, just staring down at the plate before him. His shoulders are hunched. Hermann’s hand twitches, but he pulls it back; the distance between the two of them as vast as ever.
“You are safe here,” Hermann says, turning to look at Newton beside him. “And I cannot honestly tell you that there aren’t outlandish conspiracy theories floating about regarding your innocence.”
Newton still does not look at him, just cracks his knuckles absentmindedly as he stares ahead.
“But,” Hermann continues, “You will be okay if you leave here. You won’t be alone unless you wish to be, and I believe that seeing how life goes on will be a good thing for you.”
And that is the thing that gets Newt’s attention; he turns to look at Hermann at last, and Hermann can see the exhausted look in his unnaturally blue eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Well, as I see it, you have two options. You can stay in this apartment — where you will, of course, always be welcome — safe, if isolated. Or you can start to make up for lost time at whatever pace may suit you. Traveling to buy you whatever amenities you may need may be enough for now, but as you grow more comfortable, I’ve thought…” Hermann trails off, worry pooling in his stomach that he is pushing Newton too far.
“Thought what?”
“Perhaps we could visit Germany,” Hermann finishes, eyeing Newt’s expression with concern. “Or Boston? If you wish, we could visit your father and uncle.”
Newton looks away at that, and Hermann worries he’s overstepped. “Yeah, I’d… I wish I could do that, really. But this-” Newt is looking stubbornly at his feet, but his hand waves at the room around them. “This is overwhelming enough, you know?”
“Of course, I—”
“Maybe one day.” Newt’s eyes meet Hermann’s for just a moment. “You’re right, dude. I can’t stay cooped up here forever.”
“We could take, er, baby steps?” Hermann suggests. “As much time as you need, you have.”
Newt nods, then goes back to picking at his food. “Yeah, baby steps. I, uh—” He takes a small bite, “I need some clothes, too.”
“Actually, Vanessa offered to take you shopping when she brought the quilt,” Hermann says. “She mentioned something about my having the fashion sense of a ‘bitchy old grandfather,’ so she apparently believes herself to be best suited for the job.” He gives Newton a wry smile, one he hopes says, Oh, you know how she is.
Newton smiles at that. “Well, she’s not wrong, dude,” he says, laughing slightly. “And uh… I guess that works for me. Gotta leave the nest sometime, huh?”
“You can take as long as you need to get comfortable leaving before that, of course,” Hermann says. “And I can come along, if you would rather not be alone.”
Newt shakes his head, pushing his (impressively mostly cleared) plate away. “We can cross that bridge when we come to it, dude.”
“Of course. Are you finished eating?”
Newt nods, taking his own plate and reaching for Hermann’s emptied plate as well. “Yeah, dude. I can clean up, if that’s— if you don’t mind?”
For a moment, Hermann is overtaken with indecision. The last thing he wants for Newton is for him to believe he has to do anything to earn his keep with him, but he also wants the man to exercise his own autonomy as often as he wishes. “You’re welcome to, if that’s what you want,” is what Hermann decides on saying, handing Newton his plate as he stands from the couch.
“Yeah, I want to, it’s alright,” Newt says as he takes Hermann’s plate and rounds the corner into the tiny kitchen. Hermann can see his back over the partial wall behind the couch as Newt turns on the tap, rinsing the leftover food from the plates.
“Think you could turn on some music?” Newt asks, looking at Hermann over his shoulder. Hermann does, presses play on an old playlist of Newt’s he’d downloaded years ago on his phone. As the music starts, Newt humming along, Hermann finds himself paralyzed, torn between closing the distance to help Newton and giving him the space to make his own decisions, to do what he wishes. In the end, he hovers in the doorway, leaning on his cane as Newton carefully puts the leftover food into plastic containers to be refrigerated.
Newton has always been at his most content when he has something to do with his hands; cleaning up after dinner is hardly a replacement for studying kaiju entrails, but it’s something. He watches him until the kitchen is cleared, humming along to the music.
* * *
Newt had thought the movie would make him feel better, but it just gives him too much time to think. Hermann had suggested watching it, one Newt had watched a lot as a kid working on his undergrad. It had nothing to do with monsters or mind control, the scenery peaceful and the ending happy. But Newt can’t pay attention to movies even on his best days, and he hasn’t been at his best in years.
As he sits curled up on the side of the couch, holding one of Hermann’s throw pillows — a housewarming gift from Karla and Vanessa, Hermann had told him; he’s not one for excessive decor — Newt finds himself lost in thought, following the trail into a familiar rabbit hole in his mind.
He’d had plenty of time to think when he was locked up in his own mind and in the PPDC’s basement. And now, well, he may be free, but it’s like he told Hermann: this shit isn’t going to just disappear. He’s not an idiot; he may not have had a chance to check the news, but he knows people aren’t going to just forget about his crimes. Because that’s what they are, aren’t they? What they did to him may not have been in his control, but he chose to drift with that brain again. And again. And then it was too late, all because Newt decided to fly too close to the sun. So much for being a rockstar; now he’s ten years older with nothing but trauma and a body count in the thousands to show for it.
So yeah, he doesn’t want to go outside of this bubble. Is that such a crime? Who could really blame him, after the shit he’s done? And then he remembers his dad and his uncle, the only family he’s got outside of Hermann. He’d spoken to them a bit before the trial, yeah, but it hurt. A lot. How is he supposed to face them again? He’s not the kid they’d raised. He’s a fucking murderer.
The movie ends and Newt’s popcorn is still sitting untouched on the coffee table, Hermann sitting stiff as a statue on the other side of the couch.
“What time is it?” Newt mutters. That bed in that room — his room — isn’t exactly where he’d like to be if given the choice, but the sooner Newt can go to sleep the sooner he can stop the constant chatter in his head, even if it’s just for a bit.
Hermann turns off the television, checking his (analog, seriously?) watch. “Half-past nine,” he says, and Newt feels his eyes on him. Newt just hugs the pillow closer to his chest, staring absently at the dark television. “Newton, are you alright?”
Shit, why does he have to sound so concerned? “Yeah, just…” Newt takes a deep breath, trying to pull himself out of his thoughts. “Just tired, s’all. Think I might call it an early night, if that’s cool with you?”
Hermann’s still staring at him. Newt’s eyes are stubbornly refusing to move, but he watches him out of his periphery as Hermann scoots closer, but never close enough to touch.
“Of course. Though that does remind me, I… have something. For you.”
“You do?” Somehow that’s enough to pull Newt’s body back into his control — no, he was always in control, Newt reminds himself, he was just zoned out, he’s okay, he’s okay — and he manages to turn to face Hermann. There’s that same unreadable expression on his face, the one that makes Newt feel further away from the closeness that they used to have than anything else.
“Just… Will you wait here?”
Newt nods, and watches Hermann head into his bedroom. A few seconds later, he’s back, carrying something small wrapped in brown paper. Possibilities fly through Newt’s head, but he just keeps his eyes on Hermann as he sits next to him again, pushing the package into Newt’s hands.
“What’s this?” Newt manages.
“A surprise,” Hermann answers.
With fumbling fingers, Newt tears away the paper as Hermann watches, anxiety practically radiating off of him. And then he’s holding a bundle of fabric in his lap, not sure what to do with it. It takes him a few seconds, but he realizes with a start what this is. But—
“How did you find this?”
Hermann smiles, more a tightening of his lips and a slight squint in his eyes than anything else. “The night after we drifted with that vile kaiju. You stayed in my bunk, we…”
Newt remembers. The post-war celebrations had been too much for either of them, so they’d snatched a bottle of champagne and shacked up in Hermann’s place. One thing led to another, and Newt had ended up staying the night. The memory makes Newt want to hold Hermann even more, but he settles for clinging to the gift.
“I thought I’d lost this,” he mutters, more to himself than to Hermann. The shirt is worn, the colorful designs on the front faded into the black background, but even after a decade he recognizes it. “I… They sold all my old shit pretty much as soon as I left you. I…”
“So it’s alright?” comes Hermann’s voice, quiet and full of apprehension.
Newt can’t cry. But apparently he can still get choked up, and his voice can’t quite get over the lump in his throat. So he just settles for nodding, running his hands over the soft fabric. When he’s recovered from the initial shock, he manages to choke out, “Thank you. Thank you. Christ, Hermann… fuck, dude. I don’t— I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t need to say anything, dear. I know.”
When Newt manages to tear his eyes from the old shirt and look at Hermann, there are tears in his eyes.
“I only thought,” Hermann says, “You might like to have something comfortable to sleep in. Something of your own.”
“You… All this time. You kept this all this time?”
Hermann lets out a noise that sounds almost like a laugh. “I could hardly get rid of one of the only souvenirs I had of our time together, you know.”
God. Newt’s memory is spotty, but he remembers the night he left Hermann like it happened yesterday. He’d been so cold. Hermann hadn’t cried, but the silent acceptance was worse. Even after all of that, Hermann had held onto the shirt Newt had left in his room after their first night together.
“What did I do to deserve you?” Newt asks. A tear falls down Hermann’s cheek, but Newt can’t bring his hands up to wipe it away. Hermann leaves it, lets it fall.
“There is nothing you have had to do or will ever have to do to earn this,” Hermann says, his eyes locked on Newt’s. “Do you understand?”
Newt doesn’t know how to deal with this. He is not fucking equipped to process this relentless kindness Hermann is showing him. Fuck, he wishes he could cry. As it is, he’s just got a massive headache pounding in his skull.
But he nods anyway. Despite everything, Newt believes Hermann. Hermann is safe. Hermann won’t leave him.
“Yeah,” he chokes out. “Yeah, I understand. Thank you, man.”
Hermann looks at him for a moment longer, then his eyes leave Newt. “Well, I suppose you’ll be wanting to retire for the night, then?”
Right, right. He was going to bed. Alone. The thought of being by himself in that empty room, with nothing but his own thoughts, is pretty much the opposite of appealing to him. Newt doesn’t want to intrude, though, doesn’t want to rob Hermann of his every moment of privacy, so he says, “Yeah. Yeah, uh… guess this is goodnight, then.”
“Goodnight, Newton,” Hermann says as Newt stands, carrying the shirt with him. “If you need anything at all in the night, please don’t hesitate to wake me.”
Newt doesn’t look at him as he heads to bed, just mutters, “Yeah, thanks, Hermann,” and steps into the room. His room. And then he’s alone.
***
He wishes he could blame his insomnia on the sounds of the vibrant city outside. He wishes he could point to some outside factor: the room is too hot, perhaps, or his bed too stiff, or the pain in his leg flaring up as it is wont to do. But Hermann has been lying awake for nearly a full hour now, and it has little to do with any of these. Each time his eyes start to drift shut, his mind floating away to that fuzzy plane of sleep, he remembers Newton, asleep in the guest room, and he jolts awake yet again.
He’d seemed upset, after the film. Tense, even more so than usual. Hermann had scarcely noticed the plot of the film, instead spending the time sneaking glances at Newton and trying — to no avail — to work up the nerve to take his hand. Like a schoolboy with a crush, Hermann is. It’s pathetic, really. He doesn’t pretend to know what word exactly fits his and Newton’s relationship after all they have gone through together, but he knows that he cares deeply for Newt, despite the man’s often infuriating nature.
Now, though, Hermann is lying here, wide awake in the dark of his room, because he wants nothing more than to have Newton next to him. To simply hold him, Hermann thinks, would grant him enough peace of mind to sleep.
Hermann, however, knows Newt needs space. After so long without any privacy or choice, it seems only natural for the man to want his own room, something to call his. So Hermann can live with this ache in his chest, this desire to touch Newt, to kiss him and call him his. The few times they have kissed since Newton has been freed have been moments of elation, moments where Hermann’s passions got the best of him. He needs to learn some damned restraint. Hermann can live with these sleepless nights as long as Newt is safe.
He has almost fallen asleep when a knock at his bedroom door jerks him awake yet again.
“Hermann?” comes Newt’s voice from the other side of the door.
Hermann rubs his eyes, sitting up groggily. “Yes, come in.”
A stream of dim light from the hallway flows in as the door is pushed open. Newton stands in the doorway, the shirt that once fit him so snugly now hanging loosely on his frame.
“Um… I can’t sleep,” he says, not moving. “I can go, though, if— if you want. I get it, if you want privacy, or… something.”
“I’m sorry?”
Newt’s arms come up to cover his chest, making him appear even smaller. Hermann can’t see his face in the dark, so he reaches over to the bed stand and turns on a lamp, the light illuminating Newt’s tired face as Hermann puts on his glasses.
“Sorry, I’ll just—” he starts, gesturing as if he’s about to leave.
“Newton, wait,” Hermann says, reaching for his cane and standing. “You don’t need to go. What… Do you think I don’t want you here?”
Newt freezes. “I mean, I get it,” he says after a moment. “You’ve gotta, like, deal with me completely invading your space, here. It makes sense that you’d want me to stay out of your room.”
Hermann hasn’t the slightest idea of how to answer that. How could a man as brilliant as Newton be so daft?
“What could have possibly given you that idea?”
Newt shrugs. He still has yet to move from the doorway.
“Newton, please—” Hermann says, motioning for him to step in. “You’re welcome to come in. You’re always welcome.”
Newt’s mouth opens as if to answer, but it closes just as suddenly as he takes a few steps into Hermann’s room.
“Seriously, dude, if you want me to go—”
“Newt, please. I want you here, alright?” Newt nods shakily, and Hermann takes a few steps towards him. “Now, do you— do you want to stay?”
Newt stares at him for a moment. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Yeah, I’d… That would be nice.”
Well, so much for restraint. If there is any time to touch Newton, it would be now. Hermann holds out his hand, giving Newton an out, always careful to allow him space to say no, but Newton takes it, and his hand is warm. Hermann leads him to the bed, sitting on the edge and examining Newt’s face carefully.
“Why are you so nice to me?” Newt asks him, and oh, how that makes Hermann’s heart break.
“You deserve nothing less, my dear.” Newt’s hand is still in his, and Hermann squeezes it tight. “Is this… Are you comfortable with being touched?”
Newt’s eyes meet his, and he nods.
“Please.”
Slowly, reverently, Hermann brings his other hand to cup Newt’s cheek. The stubble on his face is rough, but Hermann doesn’t mind. Newton leans into the touch, looking more relaxed than Hermann has seen him since the first time they’d tried this, years ago. This. Whatever they are. Hermann rubs his thumb where it rests just under Newt’s eye, his other hand stroking where it holds Newt’s just as tenderly.
“Newton, may I kiss you?”
Newt says nothing, just nods and closes his eyes, so Hermann leans in, gently pressing his lips to Newt’s. He’s painfully aware of the fact that this is their first kiss without an audience in ten years, and he intends to make it count. Newt’s free hand comes to rest on the back of Hermann’s head, just enough pressure to make him aware of it.
The kiss doesn’t last long enough, but Hermann knows there will be time for more. And then Newt is climbing into the bed next to him, and Hermann goes to lay on top of the covers, before—
“Dude, you don’t have to. It’s okay.”
And so Hermann lies down under the covers next to Newt, still and stiff and far too separate from the man for his liking. The two of them lay like that for some time.
“Do you ever miss the lab?” comes Newt’s voice from beside him after a few silent moments.
Hermann had not expected that. “It depends, I suppose,” he says. “The constant bickering, no. The camaraderie? Knowing that regardless of how unbearable I may find you, I had an ally in that dreary place? Constantly.”
“You know, I never hated you,” Newt mutters into the dark. “Even when— when I wasn’t… me. Sure, you were a pretentious asshole, but I was pretty far from perfect myself. Even before the…”
“I know, liebling. I may not have known it then, but I’ve been in your head, remember? And you’ve been in mine; we have no secrets here.” Hermann had not expected to be having such a heart-to-heart so soon, but he might as well say what’s on his mind. He turns his head on his pillow to look at him. “I love you, Newton.”
Newt does not answer for a few seconds.
“I…” Newt’s voice sounds almost fearful; Hermann sees him staring steadfast at the ceiling.
“You don’t have to say it back, dear. I know.”
Newton nods, then turns to meet Hermann’s eyes. In the dark, Hermann can pretend his eyes are still the bright green they once were.
“Hermann, can you… I want— Will you hold me?”
How could he deny Newton such a simple request? Hermann takes Newt into his arms, and the two of them fit as easily as two puzzle pieces, slotting perfectly together.
Tomorrow they will face another day. This journey is far from over; the both of them are far from undamaged, but they are not alone. Newton loves him. One day, he might even be able to say it out loud.
“G’night, Herm,” Newt mutters, pressing a light kiss to Hermann’s jaw, snuggling closer to his chest.
“Goodnight, love,” Hermann whispers, pressing a light kiss to Newt’s temple.
He may not be able to take away Newt’s pain, but he can hold him, love him, let him know he’s safe. So long as they have each other, the future is bright.