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The thing is, once food is readily available to Newt without him needing to leave the lab (and he is so glad he found where Hermann’s been hiding that stash of junk food), his eating habits don’t exactly improve. They simply move in a different direction- from not eating enough, to perhaps eating a little too much.
Not all the time- only on bad days, when he’s sure he’s this close to making a big breakthrough, if only he could find just what he needed. The stressful days, which, admittedly, are frequent, what with the apocalypse nigh and all. On these days, Newt eats constantly, without really realizing it. Hermann would try to put a stop to it, but, well, the whole point of this was to make sure Newt ate, and with deadlines and war clocks breathing down the backs of their necks, who is he to judge what Newton does to relieve stress? There are far worse things he could be doing, after all.
It’s one of the particularly bad days- Newt is babbling on and on about DNA and bodily acids, and nothing seems to be going well for him. Hermann’s really not sure what he’s talking about, mostly because his own work is not cooperating either, and Newt’s chatter has become background noise he cannot work without.
At some point around noon, Hermann notices that Newt’s talking has been harder to understand than usual. He glances over his shoulder to see Newt wildly gesticulating with a fork in one hand and a cup of microwave noodles in the other. His desk is littered with wrappers and empty cans of disgustingly sugary energy drinks.
“-which is fascinating, scientifically,” Newt continues around a forkful of pasta, “and ideally, in a less immediately doomed world, I’d love to further study how it’d react with other reptilian organs, but nooo, that’s not a viable option at this point in time, Doctor Geiszler-”
Hermann opens his mouth to say something, to try to check up on him, but he just sighs and turns back to his chalkboard. It’s a bad time for both of them, and he can’t guarantee that anything he said wouldn’t lead to a shouting match that would just further distract them from their work.
Hours pass, and around dinnertime, Hermann sighs and puts down his stick of chalk. “Newton,” he says. “I’m going to eat dinner. Would you care to join me?”
“-and while the kaiju on the whole bears more of a similarity to a reptile, kinda like an, an iguana, the acid sacs are a lot like those of poisonous frogs- what?” He glances up from his work, half a Poptart hanging out of his mouth. “What’d you say, Hermann?”
The mess has only grown since Hermann last checked. Half empty bags of chips have spilled some of their contents onto the floor, surrounded by forlorn Twinkie wrappers. It is almost horrifying to think a man that size can eat that much. Hermann finds himself wishing it was just a mess of kaiju parts; at least then he’d know Newt was having a productive day.
“Hellooo? Earth to Hermann, come in Hermann? What’s up, man?”
“I was...I was wondering if you wanted to accompany me to the mess hall for dinner,” he said. “But you look...quite occupied.”
“Oh, yeah, yeah, definitely- man, I am crazy busy right now, and it’s okay, I’ve got...” He waves the Poptart in the air. “So, y’know, you go on down- I’ll totally make it up to you tomorrow, we’ll get nice healthy dinners the way you like, ‘kay?” Newt smiles at him, and it only adds to his frazzled, mad scientist appearance.
Hermann purses his lips and looks at his...what? They’ve yet to find a term they can agree on- Newt has no problem with boyfriend but Hermann finds it ridiculous for two men their age, neither can stand lover, and partner sounds too formal. He looks at him, and says, “Newton, are you...all right?”
Newt waves him off breezily. “Totally, dude! Just, just busy, you know how it is. Go! Go have dinner, I’ll see ya later.”
Hermann hesitates before sighing and walking off. There’s not very much he can do when Newt is like this, hyped up on sugar, caffeine, stress, and his own brain. It’s better to just let him go.
Hermann can only get through half of his dinner before muttering, “Oh, hell,” and heading back to the lab. He plans to just finish eating there, where he can at least keep an eye on Newton and, if he’s being honest with himself, fuss over him up close.
When he returns to the lab, however, he does not see Newt standing at his desk where he left him. For one sharp, ugly moment, Hermann’s heart starts to pound. “Newton?” he calls.
“Oh- over here, Hermann,” a weak voice responds. Hermann quickly shuffles over to where it came from, and finds Newt lying on the old, ugly couch they keep near the back of the lab. Newt gives him a shaky smile. “Sorry, man- I’m, uh, not feelin’ too hot.”
Hermann glances down to see that Newt’s tight jeans are unzipped and unbuttoned, and the last few buttons towards the bottom of his shirt are undone. His stomach, looking larger than usual, sags significantly, and his tattoos look especially stretched. Newt wriggles, uncharacteristically embarrassed, under Hermann’s gaze. Quite out of the ordinary- Newt exudes self-confidence constantly, and even what little uncertainty he felt about the pudge of his stomach was more or less relieved by Hermann’s appreciation for it. Newt must truly be uncomfortable to be this shy about his appearance.
Hermann sets his tray of food down on his desk (to hell with it, the lab’s a disastrous mess already- they’ll clean it all tomorrow). He sits down on the couch, Newt moving his legs out of the way and then swinging them back over Hermann’s lap. “What’s wrong, darling?” he asks quietly.
Newt’s cheeks are pink with embarrassment. “I’m, uh. Stomachache, I guess.”
Hermann rolls his eyes, but without any genuine annoyance. “That’s what you get for eating so much, you bloody fool,” he says. He sighs and pats Newt’s leg. “Get up. We’re going to my room.”
“Aw, Hermann, come on, I don’t-”
“Come now. I will not care for you here, with the lab in this dreadful state. My room isn’t far, I’m sure you can manage.”
Newt sighs with great melodrama and stands. Hermann follows, takes Newt’s arm, and leads him down the hall to his room.
There, he shuts the door behind them and turns to Newton. “Strip down,” he says.
Newt groans. “Hermann, babe, not that I don’t appreciate you and your rockin’ bod, and at literally any other time I would be down, I am so not feeling sexy right now.”
“I never said anything about sex,” Hermann says primly. “You’ll just be more comfortable that way. Come on.”
He looks surprisingly hesitant. “Okay, see, I know you dig the chub and all, but it’s- it’s not pretty, all right, I’m all...bloated, and, and gross.”
“Newton,” he says softly. “I adore every inch of you, bloated and ‘gross’ or not. Take your bloody clothes off so I can take care of you.”
Newt finally obeys, removing his tie and kicking off his shoes and socks. Hermann takes his sweater, shirt, and trousers off, leaving him in his underclothes while Newt finishes unbuttoning his shirt and pulls his jeans and boxers down.
“Lie down, darling,” Hermann says, and they both ease themselves down onto the bed. Hermann gently rests his palm on the swell of Newt’s stomach. Newt whimpers quietly- the man’s so sore even the slightest touch pains him. “Poor dear,” Hermann murmurs, rubbing his hand in a circle around Newt’s belly. “Poor, poor dear. I’ll look after you, darling.”
Newt whines quietly when he adds too much pressure, so Hermann backs off a touch, rubbing in soft, soft circles until Newt’s pained noises turn contented. “Hermann,” he murmurs, wrapping his hand around Hermann’s free wrist. “Th-thanks.”
Hermann allows himself a small smile. He presses a kiss to Newt’s forehead. “Of course, love.”