Chapter Text
They're in Hermann's room, Newt pressed up against the door, his head thrown back and mouth open as he draws shuddering breaths. Hermann kisses all over his neck, sucking gently at the corner of his jaw and along the column of his throat, enjoying his small whimpering noises. Without looking, he undoes the next few buttons of Newt's shirt and his tie.
"Hey," Newt gasps, "you could've asked me to take it off, you didn't have to-"
"-I will retie it for you tomorrow," Hermann interrupts, "ridiculous that you've forgotten how to, you wear them practically every day-"
"-I know how! It's just a waste of time to do it every morning!" Newt lies, and Hermann doesn't bother to point it out because he's far more interested in seeing how much further Newt's tattoos go. He undoes the rest of the buttons and drops his head to place sloppy kisses across Newt's shoulders as Newt takes over undressing himself. He's wearing a strange undershirt- a white vest in two layers, something like a cotton-polyester blend on top and something tight and slightly textured underneath, like a fine nylon mesh. The under layer ends at Newts ribcage while the top layer is tucked into Newt's corduroy trousers along with his shirt.
What on earth is this for? Hermann thinks, untucking the vest.
"Oh, I'll-I'll take it off. Unless, uhm? No, no, I should take it off, it's fine, I don't mind," Newt says in a jumble, "Just uh, take-take a step back, it's a bit awkward, just gimme a sec."
Hermann takes a confused step back and watches Newt drop his shirt to the floor, untuck the vest the rest of the way, grab the back of it and start pulling it over his head.
Without warning, a foreign memory starts to play in Hermann's head.
It's the first time he-no, Newton, has taken his binder off. Shuffling on his feet, rocking back and forth in his cold, echoing bathroom, trying to get the tight fabric over his head while ignoring the discomfort of all the most wrong parts of his body making themselves known. That night he lay awake for hours oscillating between the ecstacy of finally, finally having a binder and the crushing weight of the limitations of it. He hasn't even picked his name yet, but he knows that he can't imagine a future where he can only wear a flat chest for 8 hours a day.
"Oh," Hermann says, aloud, stepping back again as a number of things fall rapidly into place: the time they had gotten drunk and Newt had spent 30 minutes quizzing Hermann about his opinions on trans rights, at times seeming frantic as if their friendship depended on his answers (which, Hermann had thought at the time, was perfectly reasonable: he also would've struggled to see Newt the same way if he had discovered that Newt was transphobic), Newt's panic as a med-tech had tried to help him out of his rapidly corroding clothes after an incident with kaiju acid in the lab; Newt's anxiety and irritability when a package of non-vital medical supplies had been delayed by a week (Hermann had not asked what he needed from that package for the sake of his privacy, presuming condoms or hayfever medication), the way Newt avoided using certain types of ID at all costs without explanation. A hundred other small incidents come to his mind, but Newt is speaking.
"What?" Newt asks, stopped still and giving Hermann a confused look.
"Newton-" he starts but is suddenly hit with a wave of emotion that isn't his. Joy, quiet and familiar but still strong after all this time. Hermann hadn't realised how much it meant to Newt how he said his name.
"Yeah?" Newt asks, a little worried now.
"I didn't... I didn't know," Hermann isn't sure what else to say. He breathes in to try and say something more but is distracted by a wave of relief as he feels his chest, flat and unscarred and his own. He puts a hand above his own heart and feels a doubling of perspective; envy and a new privilege in equal parts.
"Didn't know what?"
Hermann shakes his head to clear it, "Uh, that you, you're-" Hermann loses his train of thought, memories that belong to Newt blending with his own, memories now experienced in double, and as he realises the ramifications of what they have done he forgets he was speaking at all.
"You didn't know that I'm trans? Oh. Shit." Newt's entire body slumps, and he takes a deep breath "Oh. Oh, okay, uh, sorry, sorry dude, uhm. It's okay, you're alright, I'm sorry, uh, I get it. Don't worry, I get it, really, I do," Newt laughs humorlessly and picks up his shirt, straightening his binder and pulling the shirt back on, "Sorry about the, uh, the mix-up, I thought you knew, but it's okay. I don't mind. I won't bring this up again, don't worry. You wanna just have a drink or something? Or-or I can go, if you want, if you'd rather. I can just go. It's okay, no hard feelings, just forget this ever happened if you want-"
"Wait, Newton, no," Hermann finally gathers his thoughts enough to speak, grabbing Newt's hand and stopping him from leaving, "Stop. Please. At what point did I say that changed anything?"
"I've been in your head, dude. And I've worked with you for ten years before that. You didn't need to say anything, you're giving me that look," Newt snaps.
"What look?" Hermann snaps back.
"The 'oh shit' look," Newt tugs his hand away from Hermann's sharply and finishes doing up his buttons, "Listen, it's not worth it if you're not into guys like me. I'm pre-op for everything - though I'm sure you've guessed that now - and I really don't want you to try anyway if you're not interested. I promise you, it's not worth trying anyway. You'll just regret it. Just- I'll go, okay? I'll go, and tomorrow we can pretend this never happened, alright?" Newt gives him a tight smile and picks up his tie.
"No hard feelings, dude. Promise. Just forget about it," Newt finishes, and by 'it' he means a decade of longing and fantasising and waltzing around each other; he means the fact that they fell in love more than ten years ago through nothing but their letters, he means the years and years of tension so thick you could cut it with a knife, he means the fact that earlier that day he woke up seizing in Hermann's arms and all that either of them could think in that moment was how neither of them could see a future for themselves without each other. He means 'forget that I'm in love with you and have been for so long I can't remember what it feels like not to want you.'
"Newton, you're misunderstanding me. Please don't go," Hermann pleads.
"I just need tonight, okay? Gotta sort my head out. But I'll see you tomorrow, Hermann," his voice is steady but his hands are shaking like they were after the first Drift. He opens the door, and makes to step out.
"Newton, I still-"
"Don't fucking say it," Newt snaps, quiet and cold, "You know you can't. Someday, maybe; not now. Don't lie to me."
"Newton, I'm not-"
"Goodnight," Newt mumbles in German, and leaves. The door clicks cold behind him.
"I'm not lying, you idiot!" Hermann half shouts, and considers chasing after him. His head is jumbled, full of feelings that are his and aren't, and memories that are his and aren't, woven together so that they all feel instinctively part of him. He doesn't know what he could say that would convince Newt he's still in love with him. He's reeling from the torrent of new memories, and Newt has already made up his mind about what Hermann is feeling.
Stubborn bastard.
He sits on his bed and stays there for a long, long time, sorting slowly through memories and once he's reasonably certain that he knows what is him and what is Newton, he brushes his teeth, turns off the light, takes off his shoes, and then lies in bed, fully clothed, in the dark, and aches.
Newton asked for tonight alone.