Chapter Text
This shift had been a rough one, and the worst part was that Herman was only left with about ten minutes to eat his lunch. Sighing, he grabbed his three protein drinks and his vegetarian plant-based noodles out of the fridge.
Since his stomach was mostly water, Herm definitely had some… bad… digestion issues. It took him about twenty years to learn the best ways to feed himself without feeling sick afterwards, but he eventually was able to come up with a routine meal plan. Cracking open one of his protein drinks, he slam-dunked his noodles in the communal microwave, grabbing a plastic fork from one of the drawers.
"Hey kid-" came an interrupted voice from the door of the break room. "Wow. That's a lot of protein drinks." Robert had appeared, probably to take his ten minute lunch break as well. He strolled over to the coffee pot, topping his cup off for the fifth time that day.
Herm would respond, but his mouth was full of kind of gross protein drink, which happened to double as a coffee as well. Instead he opted to somewhat enthusiastically nod. Crushing the box a bit as he threw it away, he then grabbed his noodles out of the microwave. They weren't done, but he didn't have the time to care.
"Yeah, I have to uh, drink a lot of uh, protein drinks. I have a wei- a strange diet." He then very un-gracefully shoved noodles in his mouth, chasing it with a second protein drink. This one was vanilla flavored, and it definitely didn't pair well with his Asian style zucchini noodles, but it was what had to be done.
"Well whatever strange diet you have, that smells amazing. I've never seen green noodles before." Robert came over and inspected his food over his shoulder. He would be self conscious of his food, but he was used to it.
"They're zucchini noodles," Herm mumbled between bites. "They're… made of zucchini. W-with tofu, and some peanut sauce. And a b-bit of chili oil- for flavor." He tossed his now finished protein drink and cracked opened his third and final one. Five minutes left on the clock.
Robert hummed in response. "No real meat? I only see this kind of stuff in my usual takeout order."
"W-well, I can't really… have meat. Being, watery, with my…, I can't really… d-digest it. At all." He took a big swig of his third mocha flavored protein drink. It really didn't match well at all. "So, my diet is mo-mostly vegetables, and-and fruit." Another almost obnoxious bite of noodles. "And m-my powers make me have a r-really, I mean really, high metabolism, unfortunately… So, that's what the, uh, protein drinks are for! So I don't… die…" Chomp.
"So you're cursed to a lifetime of protein drinks and plants, then." Herm tossed his third and slightly yucky protein drink in the trash behind him, and shoved the last bit of his noodles in his mouth, with three minutes to spare. "Those noodles, or whatever they were, looked amazing however."
Tossing his container back in the fridge and choosing to wash it later, he finally swallowed his noodles and wiped the corners of his mouth with a spare paper towel. "Th-they're pretty great. Since I, uh, can't really eat- have normal food, I had to learn t-to cook my own." And now he had to go back out and save people on a stomach full of protein drink. Ugh. "I-if you want, I can, uh… cook s-some for y-you! If you, uh, wan- you don't have to-"
"That would be great," Robert interrupted with a soft smile. "Truth be told, I can't remember the last time I ate a vegetable that wasn't in a can. Maybe you can cook something that'll actually be good for me." Herm pretended not to be concerned about that, and also pretended not to be concerned about the fact that Robert was refilling his mug again.
"Yeah, I c-can't even have canned vege-vegetables. I-it's a texture… thing…" If Herm was being totally honest, not only could he not eat meat, dairy, or gluten, but he also had enough texture issues in food to cause him some problems. "They don't cook q-quite right, and they, they just taste bad, man…" And now his ten minutes were up. Great.
"Well then, I'm free tonight if you are." He and Robert were now sludging it back to work, with the two of them stalling a bit. "You can meet me back here at the end of the day."
"T-tonight, yeah, sounds uh, great!" It was now that Herm realized he had basically asked out Robert for a date. "My uh, place, we uh… we'll be alone- we'd h-have the house to our, ourselves…" Smooth. "S-so, uh-"
"We'll head to yours after second shift, then." Robert then gave him a patient smile. God if he only knew how handsome he looked.
"Y-yeah! See you t-then! Later. Af-ter work!" He then awkwardly waved goodbye and went on to try and survive the second shift.
@)---'--,---
The second shift actually went better than either of the two expected. It wasn't quite a slow shift, but it wasn't a grueling one either. Plenty busy enough to make the two of them absolutely starving after work; Herman especially was starving because of his ridiculously high metabolism.
As Robert suggested, he met him back at his cubicle after work. "Ready to head out?" Robert smiled. Herm had almost forgotten that handsome smile during his shift. Almost. They made their way out towards the bus that Herm always rode to his grandma's house, making decent small talk along the way (or, at least, Herm tried his best to make small talk).
Getting to the house, Herm unlocked the door, trying not to turn the handle into a wet metal mess, failing miserably. "J-just a heads up, we have a, a uh, lot of… cats." He finally got the door opened. "You're not aller-allergic are you?"
Stepping inside the usual plastic wrapped abode, Robert replied, "Nah, I'm not. Cats are cool. I don't think Beef would appreciate them, however."
Herm chuckled at that, setting up in the kitchen. Robert hung around very uselessly. "D-do you, want a drink? We have, uh…" He began digging in his fridge. "...Water and whiskey. That's what we have." It honestly was a decent bottle he'd been saving.
Robert chuckled at that. "I'll take the whiskey, if that's what you're offering me." Herm took out the bottle and two glasses. He also took out two bottles of water just in case either of them needed it. "Honestly, I wasn't sure if you needed water, given your powers. I'm glad I have an answer now."
Herm smiled and grabbed the various ingredients they would need. He then remembered he was in his suit and could probably stand to change into decent clothes. "I am practically m-made of water, but, I still need to drink it t-too." He turned around and set out the whiskey, a jar of peanut butter, a container of sesame oil, and a couple other jars in front of Robert. "Your first task," he said, "is to open all the jars, and the whiskey, while I p-put on decent clothes."
He raised an eyebrow at that. "That's it? Open jars and whiskey?"
Herm raised his perpetually dripping hand in front of the two. "S-slippery hands. Jars are a… whole ordeal, between me and grandma," he added smiling.
Robert hummed in response, immediately starting to open all the jars, while Herm slipped away upstairs to change into decent clothes. He'd never had a date over, or at least he thought Robert classified as a date, so he just decided on a white tank and his black swim trunks. He had an arsenal of swim trunks to choose from, being one of the only things he could comfortably wear, and he usually wore a band tee or a tank when he was going out anyway. He came back to the whiskey and most of the jars opened, with the stubborn chili oil refusing to open.
"Here, let me…" Herm started. He grabbed a very specific butter knife from the silverware drawer, which was a little bent from being the designated jar opener. He took the chili oil from Robert, and was able to pop open the jar. "That one, it refuses to open s-sometimes."
"I loosened it for you," Robert joked. Now with all of the jars successfully opened, Herm poured him a decent glass of whiskey, and opened his water bottle. "Not drinking?"
He divided his attention between grabbing the other ingredients he needed and holding a decent conversation. Robert seemed to enjoy the concept of his lunch noodles, so he'd just make that again. "I'll catch up," he said. "I'll h-have one when we eat. High meta-metabolism," he reminded. "You go ahead, though."
Once again, Robert was standing uselessly, now with the added benefit of drinking. Getting out the weirdo zucchini-noodle-maker that totally had a name, but Herman forgot it, he nudged it, a bowl, and a few zucchinis towards Robert. He then took out his phone, opened up his Spotify, and gave that to him too. "I usually l-listen to music when, uh, when I cook. You put on, wh-whatever you'd wanna listen to. I listen to m-most… stuff."
"Got it." He then put on some general music that Herman didn't know, but it sounded nice. "And uh… do I… use this thing?"
Taking out a cutting board and the tofu, he began pressing the moisture out of tofu. "A-all you need to do," he instructed, "is attach th-the zucchini on one end, and, move the handle, and you… got noodles!" He started cutting the tofu up into bite sized pieces as Robert immediately fumbled with the spiralizer. Jeez, it was like this guy never cooked a day in his life. Which might not be far from the truth.
"Making zucchini noodles is… apparently not my specialty," Robert chuckled. The zucchini he was fumbling with nearly dropped to the floor.
Without using literally any thought process at all, Herm came up behind him and grabbed his hands. "Here… like… this," he said, using Robert's hands to reposition the zucchini. "You press it down, it should s-stick… and now," he moved his hands to the handle, "n-now you spin." Robert was warm, and he almost seemed to fit perfectly while he was hugging him from behind-
OH GOD HE WAS HUGGING HIM FROM BEHIND.
"A-Ah!!" He immediately backed away, nearly tripping on the water that had slightly pooled under his feet. "I-I'm sorry, I, uh, I didn't- I'm-"
Surprisingly, he was met with laughter. "I didn't mind, Herm." Weird, he probably should have minded. He spun the handle, and… "Oh, wow, this thing actually works!" Immediate zucchini noodles followed, gently falling into a separate bowl.
"Oh! W-well… good!" Good reaction, Herm. Pretending that the awkward but oddly romantic moment didn't happen, he went back to slicing his tofu. For a minute, it was the comforting sound of music, chopping, and the faint whir of zucchini noodles being made.
"So," Robert said, breaking the silence, "how often do you make these kind of noodles?"
"Well, I ha-have the noodles at least twice a day." Robert seemed to stifle a surprised cough when he said that. "Th-they're easy to uh, make, and they last a while… usually I make them into a c-cold dish, but the one we-we're making is… warm." The word "we" sounded nice on his tongue.
"Jesus Christ, I couldn't imagine having this twice a day, every day. How do you usually make them?"
Still focusing on the tofu in front of him, he tried to remember the million ways he prepares zucchini noodles. "Greek, plain with m-margarine, caprese, Pad Thai… there's a uh, bunch of ways… You get used to it when y-you have the issues I do." Herm usually found it easier to open up to people when he was cooking. There was something about multitasking that allowed him to speak freely. "S-since I moved in with my gr-grandma, I had to learn to ma- to cook on m-my own." Slice, slice, slice.
Robert had almost finished his noodle making, and Herm moved on to making the spicy peanut sauce for his noodles. It was a quick meal altogether, as most vegan and vegetarian meals tend to be. "When did that happen?"
"About when I was… eight? N-nine? One of those." He finished the sauce, and went to grab a pan. "My parents passed ar-around then, and then I just… moved in with her." He fired up the gas stove and dropped in a bit of oil. "It-it's not a bad thing!" he clarified, sensing a tense silence. "They just, uh, died. It's good. All good." He didn't want to mention that he was thankful they were dead since they were abusive assholes.
"I, uh, I see. I'm glad things worked out for you. What kind of sauce is that?"
Thankful Robert was able to change the conversation, he then dropped his tofu into the hot pan. "It's a spicy peanut sauce- w-wait, do you like sp-spice?"
He went to focus on stir-frying his tofu bites, when there was suddenly something- someone -hugging him from behind. He let out a squeak a bit louder than he wanted to.
"I like spice. What's this step?" Robert asked. All of a sudden he was hugging him, and god was he warm. He realized he missed the warmth, even though he accidentally hugged him maybe two minutes ago. His head was on his shoulder, speaking into his ear, and his arms were across him down by his waist. Most people recoiled at the sense of his wet skin, so he was thankful and surprised for the touch. Trying not to shake and melt into a puddle on the floor, he focused on his tofu as much as he can.
"I am… stir-frying th-the, uh, the tofu. S-sauce, please." He was handed his sauce seamlessly. Robert was surprisingly good at hugging, and was currently dangerously close to his neck. He prayed he couldn't hear his heart beating like he could. "When y-you stir-fry, it gets… crispy, and…" And his throat immediately dried up, even though he is literally Waterboy.
"Mhmm, go on." His low voice was ringing in his ears as he added the sauce, gently stirring in the tofu bites. Not only was the heat of the stove making him blush, but the entire situation at hand turned him into something resembling a tomato. "Smells real good."
Were his palms getting wetter than usual? Oh god, was he going to absolutely drench Robert at the end of this? "It gets… crispy, and th-the texture is… better, for, uh, for me. Other-otherwise, it'll just m-melt into the sauce. And not be- be crispy."
He hummed in response, and Herm tried not to explode into a million little pieces. He could feel his hands shaking, and yet, this was also the most comfortable he had felt in a long while. Robert broke off to grab the whiskey and top him off again. "Whiskey?" he asked.
Herm nodded into response, scared that he would butcher his words if he spoke. He poured him a rather modest glass, and he made a note that he had to drink slowly. His freakishly high metabolism guaranteed that he digested any type of alcohol almost immediately. Taking a larger sip than necessary, he grimaced a bit, wondering if alcohol would ever not taste like hand sanitizer. "Th-thanks." For a couple of moments while the sauce simmered, it was the two of them just like that, with Robert humming along to whatever song was playing and Herman trying not to overcook his tofu.
The sauce had finally simmered to his liking (as if he hadn't cooked this about a thousand times), and he turned off the heat. He went to brush Robert's warm, rough, handsome hand off of him, and before he could turn himself around to grab plates for dinner, he found that Robert had spun him around himself.
Suddenly he was facing him, with his eyes staring straight into those wonderful deep brown eyes of his. This didn't help the problem with him blushing profusely. He squeaked in response, trying his best not to tense up.
"I-I, uh, I-"
He couldn't finish his sentence before Robert's lips were on his, warm and slightly chapped. He was left breathless as Robert pulled him close, arms back around his waist as he was kissing him. He felt safe, he felt scared, but most importantly of all he felt like this was right, as if the two were made for each other.
Robert was the one who pulled away first, briefly showing an ounce of fear in his eyes. "I… If you don't want to… If you didn't like that-"
Now it was Herm's turn to interrupt him. Maybe it was the heat of the oven, or the single sip of whiskey he had, but he kissed him as though he'd never have the chance to again. Robert immediately leaned into it, somehow pulling him even closer. He put his hands in his hair, not even worrying about getting it wet.
They pulled away, both slightly panting for air. For a couple of beautiful moments, they held each other close, neither wanting to let go.
"Th-the sauce is… really easy to reheat for la-for later, if you're, uh, w-wanting, to-"
He could barely even think about finishing his sentence before Robert embraced him again. He's sure they'd enjoy the noodles later after this.