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Newt slides into bed, hair still damp, smelling of soap, and puts his arm over Hermann's hip. "'M exhausted," he mumbles.
Though Newt can't see it, Hermann smiles and puts his hand over Newt's. "It was a very good show."
After planting a series of light kisses across Hermann's shoulder, Newt shrugs. "Better with you there."
Hermann has his own seat now, when he chooses to attend a Black Velvet Rabbits concert. It's at the end, almost off to the side, away from the crush of bodies that stand at stage's edge, reaching for the members of the band. Sometimes he even chooses to open his little booth before the show, selling the rarest and most exclusive merchandise, the things no one else can get. Concert-worn masks, signed; signed posters (some his own design); unreleased studio practice sessions; signed photographs. In reality, he is the band's merchandising manager, and nobody really knows it (Tendo has been a huge help, no denying it).
"I can hear you thinking," Newt grumbles. "Relax."
Hermann does, letting his shoulders soften, his arms fall limp, and allowing his head to sink into the pillow. It's still odd, especially when he's sitting in the audience, people screaming and cheering and singing along with his boyfriend. But there's no way to stifle that frisson of desire that courses through him at the sight of Jet Ring on the stage. Newt is his love, comforting and secure, but Jet Ring is raw desire and sex. They're two different people, and even Newt admits to it.
Jet Ring is supposed to draw those feelings out; it was part of the decision to dress, as a band, like they do. Newt was comfortable in the lycra, not at all self-conscious, didn't mind wearing the mask with the ears, and was surprisingly nimble in high heels.
Just thinking about it, the heels, the generous bulge of the cup in Newt's magenta lycra singlet, the sweat shining on his shoulders... And it's all Hermann's. He rolls over so he's properly facing Newt, and kisses him. "You were gorgeous."
Newt's eyes are closed, but his lips curl up into a sleepy smile. "As usual."
"As usual." Hermann kisses him again. It's one of the few dates Hermann is able to attend as his graduate studies draw to a close. Things have been turning over in his mind as he eyes the date on the calendar he expects to finish (nothing is sure, but Hermann is confident), and the future is cloudy with uncertainty. It seems the Boston area will have to remain his home if he wants to stay with Newt (and he does), which will certainly limit his job prospects. The band makes a comfortable amount of money for all involved; this will be Hermann's compromise to make because he can't ask the others to change on his account.
"Doing it again." This time Newt's eyes are open, and he's watching Hermann with gentle concern. "What's got you so occupied?"
"The future."
Immediately Newt's face becomes guarded. "Oh."
"What kind of job prospects I'll find in the area, if we could find a place that's cheaper and better, because I have no desire to actually work at MIT."
Slowly, Newt's expression opens up, looks cautiously happy. "So you don't mean-" He swallows hard. "Breaking up?"
"Never. If I want to be with you, and surely I do, I have to find a way to make the area work for me, not to ask you to accommodate me. After all, you were a rockstar before we ever met."
Now Newt's eyes are shining, and he's smiling almost ear to ear. "Yeah, we'll make it work."
Finally Hermann is able to properly relax, sliding lower in the cool, crisp sheets of the hotel the band is staying in, and allowing Newt to cradle him to his chest. Sleep comes quickly.
***
Hermann's bus leaves at noon, taking him back to Boston, so the two of them fool around in the shower as parting gifts to one another. Five shows, six days, and then Newt will be home. Hermann groans with desperate need as he comes across Newt's fist.
"Take care of yourself, okay?" Newt tells him as he washes his groin with care. "I don't wanna get back and find you all pooped out because you worked the whole time."
"I have to work. I refuse to hold on to your coattails." Hermann sighs as he turns the water off and Newt runs his hands down his back. "This was my plan all along; I never had the expectation that anyone would take care of me." But Newt does, drapes a towel over his shoulders. "I can manage working at the bar and finishing my studies."
"Not saying you can't. I just want you to squeeze some time to relax between that stuff." Newt slings a towel around his waist before embracing Hermann from behind. What would the Rabbits do without their merchandise guy?"
"How romantic. But for you, I will. I'll be properly energetic when you get home." He smiles into the mirror at Newt watching from over his shoulder.
***
Newt gets back, late, and is as quiet as he can be even while he lugs his huge bag in. The lights are down, and the apartment is quiet; Hermann is either asleep or reading in bed. Sorting out his things can wait until the morning since he'll have to wash his clothes anyway, and everythings just a jumble. He slips off his shoes, take off his jacket (blue, brandless, unremarkable), then walks silently to the kitchen. Waiting in the refrigerator is a styrofoam container with a thick roast beef sandwich from his favorite deli.
He smiles, but just gets a bottle of water; the sandwich will make a perfectly inappropriate breakfast (according to Hermann). He makes short work of the water before starting his usual bedtime routine, happy to be in familiar surroundings, where he can toss his clothes in the hamper instead of putting them back in his bag, and he knows the books next to his bed that he can open to any point and read himself to sleep. And Hermann of course.
The bedroom door is shut, and when Newt peeks in, he sees Hermann fast asleep, but he'd put up a fight. The light is on and there's a book open on the bed. Hermann's glasses are askew on his face. "You dork," Newt says quietly, smiling, then gets to tucking Hermann in properly.
***
"I draw the line."
"Oh don't be a fuddy duddy, Herm. No one can tell it's me. It's Jet Ring."
Hermann doubles down on his look of displeasure. "I will know, and it's completely beneath you."
"Actually it's behind me."
"I will not take a picture of your ass to sell!"
Newt changes position, moving from his hands on knees on the bed to sit cross-legged. "Is it really that big a deal to you?" he asks, abandoning his previous humor.
Quietly, sounding miserable, Hermann says, "Yes. It's just… I can see every detail." He shrugs. "They're my details. I don't mind the outfit, or the profile shots, even on the bed, but… It's too personal."
Without speaking, Newt sweeps the mask from his face and opens his arms.
Hermann abandons the camera to kiss him.
"Ho-ly shit," Tendo says, and whistles. "This one is hot as hell. Hermann, we need to get you to shoot the others, make a calendar. God, I'm getting flustered and I know what an asshole he is."
From behind him, Newt clears his throat. "I'm standing right here, and you're calling me the asshole."
Tendo ignores him, continuing to ogle the picture. "Print calendars up at ten bucks a pop, sell them for over twice that, yeah." He hands the camera back to Hermann. "I'll talk to the others so we can organize some shoots. Good job."
Jet Ring is on the bed, white sheets disheveled, looking up at the camera. He's leaning back, holding himself upright on his left hand. His singlet, the magenta one that is Hermann's favorite, has one strap pulled down. His mask is in place, but there's no mistaking what he's been doing, with his lips red and swollen, his cheeks pink, and the marks on his neck.
It ends up being February.
***
Tendo is a genius. His marketing of the band is perfect. Once the calendars are done, he releases them in a very small quantity, mostly through giveaways. Radio stations, streamers, clubs, and even a few from their website, and it gets fans clamoring. The next concert Hermann can attend, his little booth will be set up and he'll have several boxes of calendars to sell. A few signed ones, by every band member, that he figures will go for a cool hundred each, and with the demand generated, even the regular ones will go for more than what was expected.
The crush at Hermann's booth is almost more than he can handle. Bills are practically being thrown at him by screeching fans. Calendars are are disappearing faster than he can even take a glance at how many there are in the boxes at his feet. The signed ones were gone with almost the same amount of customers that first showed up, and the squealing still rings in his ears.
God, he can't wait to get inside and see the show.
It is only, in fact, when all his boxes are empty, that every last calendar has been sold and he quickly packs up his display, that the crowd disperses. People ask when more will be available, where else can they get one, how did he get them as he walks away, and all he can tell them is to watch the web site. He's beaming as he carries the lockbox filled with money (he'll have to count once he gets inside, but he's sure there's well over a couple grand there), because Tendo played the situation perfectly, knew their audience exactly, but there is still that little bit of doubt over selling Newt like that, especially that February picture.
Of course, it's Jet Ring and not Newt, but Hermann knows the truth, and it's hard to separate them in his mind. He sees Jet Ring on stage and he sees Newt performing. He sees Newt in the apartment and he sees Jet Ring washing dishes or cooking dinner. He sees Jet Ring ride that little scooter in a baggy mauve sweatshirt.
It's weird. It's difficult. But it's Newt, and Hermann thinks Newt is more than worth it to struggle through these minor crises.
Tendo finally hired a security service, people that were capable of dealing with a crush of people without even lifting an arm, and it's one of them that waits by the side entrance. "Good sales? No more boxes?"
Hermann smiles at the man. "Just like Tendo predicted." The man opens the door for Hermann, not even needing to glance at his lanyard. "Thank you, Sasha."
As much as he wants to, Hermann knows better than to seek out the band before the show. Instead, he heads to a smaller room that Tendo uses as a temporary office, mostly just a spot to guzzle coffee and set down his laptop, and starts counting the money. Without a doubt, he knows they would have made more if he'd had other merchandise, but the unceasing demands for the calendar would have made it difficult to deal with it all. Ideally, Hermann thinks another person helping in the booth would make sense, but he doesn't know anyone he trusts that much.
The stacks of bills grow in size and number as he thinks his problem through.
He wants to increase the presence of the OFFICIAL merchandise at the shows, but that means he has to actually go to all of them, and that's just not feasible. And since he basically donates his time (though Newt does so much more for him than what simply paying him is worth), it feels silly to have to pay people to handle it. And frankly, Hermann doesn't trust outsiders, people he doesn't know, to deal with the merchandise and the money. Too many times he watched other booths give things away because of a wink and a low-cut shirt, which was fine for things they were given as promotional anyway, but Hermann's stuff is the band's money. He doesn't give things away; that's not his place to make such decisions. And Tendo would probably get that look on his face and the vein would throb at the side of his neck.
"How'd we do?"
Speak of the devil. "Just like you predicted. I feel like we should expand the booth though, find another person to help, or run it completely when I can't be there." He finishes counting. "Twenty four fifty. If I'd had more items and someone to help, it would have been higher."
Tendo smiles. Sometimes it's a shark's smile, but this time it's genuine. "Nice. Real nice, brother. How much merch are we sitting on right now?"
Business talk, and Hermann is not a businessman, but this is on his shoulders now; it's his own fault for practically volunteering.
But this is what he wants. Not to be the star, not to stand under the lights, but to be one step removed. Seeing the band's success, helping them, is enough.
Alexis opens the door for him, shielding him from the waiting fans down the hall. Hermann doesn't try to keep his identity secret, but he doesn't want fans pestering him for things in his day-to-day life either. Being seen this close to the band would surely lead to that.
Just as the door is shut behind him, before he can say a word, he has a sweaty Newt hugging him. The mask is off, the heels are off; it's just Newt in lycra now.
"Did you notice me sing to you?" Newt asks and kisses him on the neck.
"I did." Due to the venue's seating arrangement, Hermann sat in one of the four private balconies, alone, and during one song Newt very pointedly looked up to him as he sang. "You've never asked me to bite you in private," Hermann says quietly, smiling.
Newt embraces him more fiercely. "I'm so glad you were here. I really needed to see you." His voice is thick with unspecific emotion.
"Are you ok-"
"I'm fine, really. I just kinda feel like I haven't seen you enough over the past couple weeks. Like I'm leaving you behind, making you take care of everything alone."
"As I did before I met you. Please, enjoy your time as a success." Hermann pulls back and kisses Newt's temple. "Don't worry about me while you have a theater full of people screaming at you." Forgetting there's a room full of people undoubtedly watching them, Hermann cups his cheek and kisses Newt softly.
***
Newt worries. He worries about Hermann a lot. He doesn't say anything because he's not Hermann's father and he knows how responsible Hermann is. Even as the bottles of medication get lower in supply, they never get empty before there is a new one next to it. Until Hermann finishes his studies, telling him to take it easy will fall on deaf ears.
So Newt worries.
It's why seeing him at the concerts is such a rush, and Newt loves seeing him at the end of the concerts looking flushed and happy.
It's that image in his mind as Newt looks on the glass cases, ignoring the look of disdain the woman is giving him. All because he's wearing his dirty Chucks, his jeans with the torn belt loop, and his faded Aerosmith t-shirt (not even any holes in it). "The white gold," he says confidently, and points at a simple band. "I like the white gold."
"Sir, that ring is twelve hundred-"
"So you make a nice bit of pocket change selling it to me." This isn't the first time he's navigated through a conversation like this. "And I know I'm overpaying for this, so you should be happy I haven't just ordered it online." Newt sighs. "I'm not asking for your approval; I just want a ring."
It's not the right size, too big on Hermann's finger, but seeing it on his finger is enough to make Newt want to perform backflips. "You mean it?"
Hermann looks up from his hand, eyes wide, but he's smiling. "Of course. I wouldn't have said so if it weren't true."
"And you'll be able to handle the lifestyle? Me being away and-"
"I already am, but I'll feel better about it. I'll be able to legally nag you."
"Oh shit."
***
Jet Ring is the eternal tease, a man who will never settle down.
Newt is not, and he and Hermann prefer it that way.