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Herman pushed open the old, worn door of his bedroom, the faint hallway light outlining the sparse objects arranged haphazardly in his room. He released a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. It was bare, empty. He attempted to find something within himself, a voice of reason, that would convince him that he enjoyed the space. That too much clutter would only inconvenience him, but he couldn't find the energy to go looking for it. He decided it was much easier to allow the sadness to creep over him, slow and heavy.
There was his bed, a small twin that just barely fit his lanky form. He can't remember how long he had had it. The tarp covering the sheets was half damp from the night before, worn. Covering the bed was a large blanket locked in a cage of clear plastic. His pillow was old and ragged with the sparse stain here and there, and surprisingly pillow case-less. He cocked his head, where did that thing do? He knew he would have to find it soon, unless he wanted his pillow to soak, eventually molding due to the moisture that would become trapped within.
He looked around more at the room in front of him. A window with some plastic shutters hovering over them, covered in a layer of dirt. The were left half lidded as the almost fully set sun dared to steep in. He thought of how much time he had spent at that window when he was younger. Too anxious to go outside, not even to play with the other kids, just go out. He absolutely hated being a burden, and he knew his constant wetness only inconvenienced others. He had faint memories of times where kids would push him down, sneer at him in disgust. Treating him not to get any closer. He shook his head, trying to forget.
He then turned to gaze at the small shelf in his room, the only other furniture in there. It was littered with an assortment of varying plant species, specifically tropical ones. The constant moisture and humidity released off of him at all times made a surprisingly good atmosphere for the little things to flourish, and they kept him company. Probably the closest you're ever going to get to having another living thing in your bedroom, a deep, repressed and angry voice hissed out in his mind.
He felt his shoulders slump and he bent in on him self, the floor creaking and shifting beneath his weight. He took a few steps into his room, quietly shutting the door behind him so as to not wake his grandma. He took it upon himself to awkwardly sit on the edge of his bed, staring at his hands. They were bandaged and yellow-green bruises were already threatening to emerge from beneath them. A memory of the day that just passed. The missions had been rougher, more risky, there's was more on the line when he was sent out. The mission had resulted in him and the few other members of his team getting into a heated fist fight with a group of assholes, roughing them up a good bit before they could take them down.
and if course, herm was their prime target, his lanky figure and anxious demeanor being the perfect punching bag for the group to attack when things got heated. Eventually the others pulled them off of him, with him also hitting a few down in the process. He remembered that he got a couple of compliments and pats on the back for manning up, which made him smile. Just the memory had his mouth tugging into a small grin, it made him feel good. Like a hero. He sighed, he was no hero. He was a sopping wet mess that made up a poor excuse of a man
He lifted his shaking hands, removing the goggles from his face and tossing them randomly on the floor below him. He then went to undo his suit, slowly undoing the zipper. He held it away from himself so as to not snag skin. Once removed Herm was left sitting on his bed bare in nothing but his briefs, the chill of the incoming night sending goosebumps across his skin. He scrambled a bit to find the spare shirt and shorts that were tossed aside somewhere on his bedroom floor. Even in the comfort of his own home, he didn't enjoy being fully exposed. Maybe it was because the more his skin was exposed, the wetter everything around him became. Maybe it was the fact he had a lingering self distain for the way his body looked. Too long and gangly, no muscle, just skinny and wet all over. Even just a t-shirt and basketball shorts aided in protecting his mental state and the room around him from his powers.
Once dressed, he pushed himself back onto his bed fully. He laid his head against the plastic-cover-less pillow and decided the unfamiliar soft fabric just felt too good. He could deal with it tomorrow morning. And hey, if his pillow got ruined he would have a paycheck coming in from SDN soon and then he could go out and get a new one! He shifted, turning to face the ceiling. A bruise that was blooming on his collarbone aching in protest.
The pain across his chest threw his mind back to earlier in the day. Once all of the perpetrators were taken care of and sufficiently beaten to a pulp, the work, courtesy of mostly his teammates, not him, they hand rounded them up and started to mosey their ways back towards the office. The walk was surprisingly quiet, Robert not making any comments to the group beside his original order to head back to HQ once the fight had ended. Once they reached the building and were able to hand the evil-doers over to the police waiting outside, and they all spilled into the lobby, only to be met with a slightly panicked looking Robert.
This thought made Herm squirm slightly. Robert… his face warming while images of the man filled his head. He was so nice, too nice. Especially to Waterboy. Even after all of his fuck ups, after struggling to get out simple sentences, Robert still just smiled and was as patient as ever with him. What did I ever do to deserve someone like that in my life? The thought made his flush deepen, as he realized that the way he worded that sounded as though Robert was something more than just his boss. I wish his mind said, betraying him and causing him to shift more, his face suddenly feeling like it was on fire.
…
Robert had rushed over to them when they had returned, checking to make sure they were all okay. Everyone was a little banged up, Herm being the worst out of the group. He remembers Roberts hands hovering over him slightly, an expression he couldn't understand plastered on his face. “You all did really great today. How about you all go take a well deserved rest, okay?” He said, turning to the rest of the group. They responded with varying levels of contentment at the order, but as Herm went to turn with them, he was stopped. A firm hand on his shoulder resting him from moving any further. He was forced to swivel back to Robert, who was still making that same unreadable expression. “Hey.. why don't you come with me back to my desk? I have a first aid kit up there. I'll patch you up.” Herman gulped, maybe a little too audibly. “O-of course! Sir- Robert.” He managed to squeak out. Robert let out a low chuckle as he led them to the elevator. His warm, steady hand not leaving its place from his shoulder.
…
Herman removed his hands from his face, when did they get there? Roberts hand was so comforting. So strong and reassuring. How kind he was to help him.. in the middle of his internal rambling, his eyes looked up to his popcorn ceiling. They were met with an old Mecha Man poster from when he was a teenager. He closed his eyes, embarrassed. Like if he shut them hard enough it would disappear. He really should have taken it down, especially seeing as though he now literally worked with Mecha Man. But he didn't ever find the time to. What a lame attempt at an excuse. He sighed. It was. At night, when it was just him and his thoughts alone, with not even a spare cat stirring in the hallway, he would look at the poster.
The robot suit figure would be illuminated by the glow from the moon, shining almost as bright as his presence always did to him, Herm would sigh. Even though the picture was only of the suit, it didn't matter. Because he knew who was in the suit. He knew the smart, selfless, beautiful man that was inside of it. He knew, he memorized. He remembers how the lines on the man's face would crinkle when he laughed, or how the eyebags that somehow perfectly complimented his face would deepen when anyone on the team said something particularly idiotic.
His whole body was burning with flush at this point. It felt wrong, but he couldn't help it. He couldn't deny the feelings that were growing for the other man. How he found himself longing to interlock fingers with him, or stare at his face with an unapologetic bashfulness that he could only dream of having. And if he was daring, and he was feeling daring tonight, he would long for the feeling of sharing his too small twin bed with him.
How Robert would occupy Herm's space, and slowly but surely make it his space too. Maybe he would bring a dog bed and toys for beef, he mused. Maybe he would wake up to find not only his clothes sitting sparsely along the floor, but Roberts there too. His SDN shirt tossed aside. He ran his hands through his wet hair, that was a dangerous path to go down, he warned himself. Roberts clothes thrown askew, his warm skin meeting Herm's as he held him gently. His smaller frame still managing to envelope Herman inside of it.
He wanted Robert's things in his room. To be surrounded by him, and everything he brought with him. He wanted to feel his presence when he wasn't even around. He wanted it so badly. He wanted Robert. It was a vulnerable and borderline animalistic want, one that teetered on the edge of evolving into a uncontrollable need. He wanted to be consumed and spit back out whole by the man, and then thank him. He wanted to feel like he was drowning in him.
He snapped his eyes shut and quietly cursed himself, flipping over onto his side so that he was no longer gazing at the poster looking down on him, almost like it could read his mind and was judging him. How cruel was it of Herman to place these desires onto Robert. He was just doing his job after all, being kind and looking after his team. Herman knew he didn't actually care for him. His lip quivered. He knew that Robert wouldn't ever reciprocate any feelings he had for him, nobody would. Herm was just too… unconventional. He remembered then, a dark memory he had tried to keep stuffed away. He was in highschool, and he had somehow built up the courage to ask out a boy in his class that had been nice to him throughout the year. He had even gone out of his way and saved up money to buy flowers for him. Shame still lingered in his chest, squeezing around his lungs while remembering the harsh rejection he was given.
It wasn't just his abilities though that made him unlovable. His personality was a train wreck to say the least. A constant bundle of anxiety with a tendency of to constantly second guessing everything. His body moved around awkwardly like it didn't know how to occupy the space it was in. His jokes almost always fell flat. Robert always laughed at them though he tried to defend himself before another thought cut in. He's just being nice. He doesn't actually find your jokes funny! He sighed it was probably true.
He started out at the empty wall across from him. He wanted to be around him so badly. Make him smile and laugh. Reassure him. He wanted to occupy Robert's space without fear of being pushed away. He wondered if Robert would be comfortable with the plastic on his bed. He wondered if Robert would bring soft blankets with him, letting him and Herman use them. And even when Herman protested, saying he would ruin them, he would grab his face and reassure him that everything was alright. That thought made his mind a bit fuzzy. Once again taking him back to the previous day.
…
Once they had gotten up to the dispatching floor, Robert had led him over to his desk and pushed him down onto his own chair. “A-ah! No! I'll get it- it will be soaked. The chair, your chair. I'll ruin it. My p-powers!” He panicked, quickly shooting up. Robert chuckled and eased him back onto the seat. “You aren't ruining anything, don't worry.” The tone of voice sent a shiver down Herman's spine. Robert turned, digging in a nearby cabinet, before spinning back with a first aid kit in hand. Herman's smile trembled as he watched Robert pull over a spare chair and dig around in the box.
“You did a really good job out there today, y'know. Showed those assholes who's boss” Robert commented quietly, like Herm was a wild animal that could dart at any moment. "It- oh- it wasn't really. Impressive, that is. Look at m-me my face! All.. bust- beat up.” He said defensively, letting out a sad chuckle. But it wasn't reciprocated. He could see Roberts brows furrowing as he finally found the bandages he was looking for, and he turned up at Herman. “No, don't start that. You kicked ass out there. There's no reason to put yourself down. I'm proud of you, really.” The same shiver ran down his spine again, this one with more force. Oh God he could feel his face heating up. Robert was so close to him. What was the cherry on top though was Roberts rough, steady hands reaching out and grabbing the side of his jaw. Herman didn't have time to respond, and it was like Robert read his mind.
“Don't worry, I'm just getting this cut on the side of your face. That okay?” he flicked his eyes up to meet his with a smirk, and Herman could only let out a squeak of approval. Robert smiled as he kept his hand on the other man's face, only removing it once the bandaid was securely fastened over the wound. Once he removed his hand though, Herm could feel himself involuntarily leaning forward slightly. Trying to get back the comforting warmness that was Robert.
He had moved onto his hands now, holding them gently and wrapping the busted open knuckles with gauze. Roberts thumb circling, tracing slightly over the others moistened palms. Herman's eyes were locked on Robert's face, which was tilted down. His face showed a deep concentration, like this was the most important mission he's ever been on in all of his years being Mecha Man, and that same unreadable expression Herm couldn't figure out .
When he finally finished dutifully wrapping each finger with the gauze, he looked back up at Herm, still not letting go of his hand. They looked at each other and there was a comfortable silence between the two. Robert's eyes were so close, such a beautiful brown color. And he could almost count each of the freckles on the man's face. His body betrayed him, leaning closer. And when he was almost there, almost close enough to close the gap between them-
“Jesus, get a room!” Invisigal shot out, sending Herm to swiftly jerk himself back harder than intended. His face was flushed, mortified. Oh God Robert was probably so uncomfortable. He looked at the other's face though, not met with discomfort, but rather just a twinge of slight embarrassment, carefully mixed with the same expression he hadn't been able to read all day long, but was now hungry to find out what it meant.
…
Herman's eyes closed, exhausted. His face still red with the memory of the interaction. His body though, relaxed, sinking into his bed. He drifted, thinking of how warm and gentle Roberts' hands were… How he didn't recoil at Herm's uncomfortable wetness, and how he always had that same unreadable look on his face… He tugged the blankets over him, before finally dozing off to sleep, nervously awaiting the next day to come.
What Herman did not realize though, was that his face was currently plastered with the same emotion he found to be oh so confusing. It was one of fondness, of desire and want. An emotion that only the two people who felt it towards each other couldn't recognize. It was love.