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i.
Hermann’s first impression of Newton Geiszler is relatively ordinary. Dr. Geiszler introduces himself as he shakes Hermann’s hand, and Hermann does likewise.
“Always nice to meet a fellow scientist,” Newton remarks.
“Yes, and it seems as though we’ll be working in close quarters for a while,” Hermann replies.
“Oh, yeah, I guess we will.” Newton shrugs. “That’s not going to be an issue or anything for me, though.”
“Nor me,” Hermann assures him, feeling uncomfortable and not knowing exactly what to say, as is often the case when he meets new people.
If he were asked later about this first meeting, Hermann would not be able to recall it. Their first fight, which occurs less than a week later, is what he would remember instead.
Hermann walks into the lab and is accosted by the sound of Geiszler’s music—loud metal with too much screaming and too much bass.
He tries to be the bigger person and simply ignore it, but eventually finds himself unable to concentrate, rereading the same line of calculations over and over again without comprehension.
“What is this bloody racket?” he finally yells.
“Racket?” Geiszler asks, and Hermann can’t tell if he’s actually offended or just pretending to be. “This is awesome, is what it is!”
“No, it most certainly is not. Turn it off.”
“Look, man, everyone’s got a thing that they do to help them work, right? You’ve got your weird chalk thing, and I’ve got this.”
“That is not an accurate comparison,” Hermann responds. “The reason for my—as you so kindly put it—‘weird chalk thing’ is that physically writing out the calculations facilitates—”
“Right, that’s what I’m saying!” Geiszler interjects. “And my music does—”
“This caterwaul that you call music impedes my ability to get work done! Nothing of mine has any such effect on you.”
“Are you kidding me? That sound your stupid chalkboard makes is so grating—”
“Grating? That’s what you call grating when you have this—”
“Dude, were you not paying attention earlier? Because I told you already, my music is—”
“All right,” Hermann says, holding up a hand. He doesn’t want to concede defeat, but he also doesn’t want to continue having this argument. “How about you simply lower the volume?”
Geiszler hesitates for a moment, then grumbles, almost imperceptibly, “Yeah, fine.”
He goes over to the old stereo and lowers the volume by just a few notches, and then he ignores everything Hermann says to him for the rest of the day.
Hermann does not retaliate against the stereo in any manner whatsoever, despite how often he thinks about it, because that would be childish.
Instead he files the first of what will eventually come to be many, many complaints against Dr. Geiszler.
ii.
Innards and appendages of suspicious origin have begun showing up all over Hermann’s working area—on his desk, in his desk, on the floor… It’s just another thing for Geiszler to cross off the checklist of ways to annoy Hermann that he’s doubtlessly made for his own amusement.
When confronted about it, Geiszler plays innocent, claiming that anything Hermann may have found was definitely left there on accident, no really, why would he go and do a thing like that on purpose?
“Of course it was,” Hermann mutters.
He decides to file a complaint about it, but not before spitefully throwing some of the entrails back over to Geiszler’s working area. Not that it makes much of a difference.
iii.
Two months after meeting Newton Geiszler, Hermann finally comes up with a solution to his problem.
He draws a line down the center of their shared lab and says, “Your half, my half,” using his cane to gesture to each side. “There shouldn’t be any need to cross the line.”
“Sure, Hermann, no problem,” Geiszler responds.
Hermann nods, satisfied, and even though he had only known Geiszler for two months, he really should have known better.
iv.
Hermann walks into the lab one afternoon to find the overwhelming stench of cigarette smoke permeating the air.
He spots Geiszler in the corner, lighting a cigarette, unsurprisingly, and it’s certainly not his first of the day. If Hermann were to wager a guess, he’d say it was probably his fourth or fifth.
“Must you do that here?” Hermann grumbles.
“Where else would I go?” Geiszler responds.
“Anywhere besides this room would be preferable.”
“I’m not even on your side, dude, which means you can’t get mad at me.”
“That’s an entirely unfounded conclusion,” Hermann says, then adds, “and I’m still going to die of secondhand smoking.”
Geiszler shrugs in a manner that’s probably supposed to look nonchalant, but instead looks jittery and tense.
“Quit worrying so much,” Newton says. “You’ll be fine.”
Hermann ignores him.
“Since you’re evidently determined to kill yourself, I suppose it only makes sense that you’re going to take me down with you.”
Geiszler rolls his eyes and responds, “You’ll give yourself a heart attack long before you develop lung cancer. And that’s only if the Kaiju don’t get to us first.”
Hermann glares at him and opens his mouth to say something about the effects of smoking on mental health, but then he decides against it and just says, “Don’t do it in here anymore.”
The next time Newton smokes a cigarette in the lab, a month or so later, Hermann waits two days before he considers filling out a complaint form, and then another three before he actually goes through with it.
v.
“Look, Hermann, your hypothesis is good, but that’s the problem: it’s just a hypothesis. Science—and I mean real science—requires—”
Hermann would love to dispute the merits of “real” science with Dr. Geiszler, but Marshal Pentecost is currently in the room, awaiting the end of their discussion so he can collect the results of their research, and Hermann has a more pressing issue on his mind.
“Could you please maintain at least some semblance of professionalism, even if it is nothing more than a façade?” he interrupts.
There’s a short pause, then Geiszler asks, “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I am a doctor, and you are to refer to me as such,” Hermann explains.
“What?”
“Gentlemen, as much as I appreciate that you have matters you need to discuss, right now I just need your data,” Pentecost states.
“Yes, sir,” Hermann responds, at the same time that Geiszler says, “Oh, yeah. That.”
“‘That’,” Hermann quotes under his breath, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, but barely.
They hand their respective reports to the Marshal, who takes each one with a nod.
“I’ll get back to you both as soon as I’ve looked everything over,” Pentecost tells them, before making his departure.
As soon as he’s left the room, Geiszler says, “Mind explaining what that was all about?”
“It is improper to refer to me by my first name when there are others around,” Hermann answers calmly. “If you reveal that you don’t respect me, how will anybody else?”
“Who said anything about respect?” Geiszler asks, and to his credit, it actually sounds like a genuine question.
“A title commands respect. A first name does not.”
“That makes absolutely no sense to me,” Geiszler declares.
“It doesn’t have to make sense to you. Just do it,” Hermann orders, and turns his back to Geiszler to indicate that the conversation is over.
Later, Hermann will not be able to think of one reason why he’d actually thought that Geiszler might have done as he was told.
vi.
At some point over the next few years, Hermann starts keeping a stack of complaint forms on top of his desk in the upper left-hand corner. He fills one out every time Geiszler does something particularly irritating or harmful—either towards himself or others (namely, Hermann)—or when Hermann is simply in a bad mood.
Eventually Pentecost pulls him aside and tells him, “You have a new lab partner.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Some new researchers just transferred here from Vancouver, and we’re looking for a place to put them,” Pentecost explains. “We’re going to shuffle some people around. Evidently HR decided that you’ll get along with Dr. Drescher much better than you do with Dr. Geiszler. He should be much more suited to your personality.”
Hermann never actually expected his complaint forms to get something done about Geiszler, and knows they likely wouldn’t have if it hadn’t been for the transfers, but he’s extremely appreciative nonetheless.
Dr. Drescher is quiet and neat, and, most importantly, he keeps to his own side of the room. Hermann doesn’t even know what his field of study is, and that’s just the way he likes it because that means his field of study isn’t strewn about all over the place. He’s everything Hermann could want in a lab mate.
“He’s perfect,” Hermann tells Pentecost after the first week.
Hermann is walking with him to the mess hall and talking enthusiastically about his new hypothesis on frequentism, when Dr. Drescher suddenly stops walking and looks at Hermann for a long moment.
“Are you okay?” he finally asks, concerned.
Hermann bites down a comment about how he had been about to ask the same question, and simply asks instead, “Excuse me?”
Dr. Drescher glances overtly at Hermann’s bad leg and explains, “You were slowing down.”
Hermann often has to slow down, though it’s something he does out of necessity and habit, not something he thinks about consciously. He’s frankly a little surprised Dr. Drescher even noticed, considering Dr. Geiszler never did. Geiszler always kept Hermann’s pace automatically in order to mindlessly continue whatever inconsequential argument they were having that day and to infuriate Hermann as much as possible.
“It’s nothing,” Hermann says shortly, but Dr. Drescher still looks worried.
After the first week, Hermann had told Pentecost that Dr. Drescher was perfect. After a month he’s trying to tell himself the same thing.
The lab is always quiet, which is how Hermann prefers it of course, but there are times when he believes that working through his problems out loud with another person would be greatly beneficial, and every time he attempts to engage Dr. Drescher, all he gets in return are monosyllabic responses.
Hermann is grateful that he no longer has to put up with Geiszler’s Kaiju entrails, terrible music, constant yelling, and general unprofessionalism, but at least he and Hermann had had a familiar routine. Now that he thinks of it, Dr. Drescher’s refusal—or perhaps inability—to come up with intelligent responses to Hermann’s questions is rather irritating as well.
He’s perfect, Hermann tries to tell himself firmly, again and again, and then cringes when he realizes he isn’t thinking of Dr. Drescher anymore.
He requests a second reassignment from Pentecost, specifying that, if at all possible, he’d like his former lab mate back, please and thank you. The Marshal rubs his temples like he has a headache coming on, but agrees anyway.
The next day, Hermann finds Newton in the lab tinkering with the thermostat.
“Are you trying to boil me alive?” Newton demands.
“Lower the temperature if you must, but do not put it below twenty-one,” Hermann warns.
“These organs need to be kept below eighteen degrees, otherwise my experiments become useless!”
“Your experiments will be useless no matter what the temperature is.”
“How would you even know?”
The argument feels almost methodical in its effortlessness, and Hermann tries not to feel too relieved—especially when he’s reminded of what a bothersome pest Newton can be when he sets his mind to it.
vii.
It’s almost one o’clock in the morning, and Hermann is tired and ill-tempered. He’d finished his work at least half an hour ago and had planned to go to bed right afterwards, but then Geiszler had started in on one of his ravings; and Hermann knows from past experience that if he doesn’t stay and talk through Geiszler’s ideas with him, then Geiszler will stay in the lab for the rest of the night talking to himself.
“People tend to think of Kaiju as wild animals, but they’re not. I mean, they’re intelligent beings, they’ve gotta be, since they built a portal to another dimension, right? People don’t think about that.” Newton pauses and adjusts his crooked glasses, and Hermann briefly considers interrupting him to say goodnight, but he doesn’t. “So, if there was only some way I could communicate with them, you know? Like if I had a Universal Translator and I could just talk to one of them, I would learn so much! I could have a conversation with it, maybe ask it a few questions. Or even if I could just… read its mind…”
Newton’s voice trails off at the end, and Hermann gets a very bad feeling about where this is going.
“Don’t even think about it,” he says sternly.
“What?” Newton asks defensively. “I didn’t say anything!”
“I don’t need you to say anything. I already know what harebrained idea you’re planning to execute, and I’m telling you, don’t.”
Newton grumbles something that sounds vaguely insulting, and he doesn’t agree.
When Newton finally gets his hands on a Kaiju brain, Hermann yells until he’s hoarse about how repulsive it is and how Newton needs to dispose of it immediately, but Newton remains absolutely stalwart.
In hindsight, Hermann shouldn’t have been surprised to walk into the lab to find that, yet again, Geiszler has ignored his sound advice.
At present, Hermann spots Newton seizing on the floor—and it takes him a moment to comprehend what’s happened—but when he realizes what Newton has done to himself, his stomach goes completely cold and he’s not just scared—he’s absolutely terrified, more terrified than he’s ever been in his entire life—and that realization scares him almost as much as Newton’s astronomical idiocy does.
Hermann drags Newton into a chair (never mind the pain in his leg when he kneels down, he will not have Geiszler dying on him because of that) and says his name over and over again until he wakes up (and absolutely does not breathe a sigh of relief when he does) and then he screams, “What the hell were you thinking?”
“I can’t—” Geiszler starts to say, and then cuts himself off and tries to start over. “I saw— I saw—”
He’s stuttering badly, and though he’s looking straight at Hermann, his mind is clearly elsewhere. Hermann gets a glass of water and shoves it into Newton’s hands.
“This has to be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done, and you have done a lot of stupid things,” he spits out.
Newton looks at him uncomprehendingly—Hermann notes the red of his iris and wonders if it hurts—and then he begins, “I was…”
Hermann waits as patiently as he can for Newton to finish his sentence. When he never does, Hermann goes to get Pentecost because he doesn’t know what else to do.
viii.
Geiszler goes gallivanting off on some dangerous mission because trying to get himself killed once today apparently wasn’t enough. Hermann doesn’t bother saying goodbye. He considers catching Newton before he leaves so that he can at least wish him luck, but then he decides against that, too.
Later, Hermann is attempting to tidy up, and perhaps rid the lab of some of the clutter, when he unintentionally stumbles upon Newton’s tape recorder; curious about what asinine musings Geiszler might have put on it, he presses play. He does not expect himself to be mentioned.
Newton could have died, in which case the last words he’d ever spoken would have been meant for Hermann, childish and spiteful right until the very end. It’s odd that that even occurs to him, considering how he tends not to think about hypothetical situations that did not happen, only ones that could, but now that his mind has gone down that line of thinking, it is difficult to stop. Newton had been thinking of him right before he made such an incredibly foolhardy decision that it could very well have meant the end of his life.
Hermann listens to the recording twice more, and then he’s shaking and his leg aches and he needs to sit down.
It takes a little while, but when he stands up again, he’s completely steady.
ix.
“You would do that for me?” Newton asks, before quickly correcting himself.
Hermann very carefully doesn’t think about the possible consequences of what they’re about to do, of what might happen if it doesn’t work or of what might happen if it does.
All he lets himself think about is proving that his hypothesis is correct—because it must be, there’s no way he was wrong about this—as well as ensuring that Newton doesn’t do something as idiotic as attempt to Drift with an entire Kaiju brain on his own. Does the man have absolutely no sense whatsoever?
And then everything is a commotion of distorted colors, sounds, and distant memories—some his, most not—and the only thing he has time to think about is saving the world.
On the helicopter ride back to the Shatterdome, Hermann sits as far away from Newton as possible. He stares out the window without saying anything and watches as the miniaturized people and miniaturized cars go about their lives, presumably trying to recuperate from the Kaiju attack. He needs this time to think and go over in his mind everything he experienced in the past fifteen minutes in order to compartmentalize it all; and, well, if he’s really being honest with himself, what he needs more than anything is to simply be left alone for a moment.
Newton is sitting beside him, also silent, and Hermann realizes that he can hear—or perhaps feel, it’s difficult to say—Newton breathing, slowly and rhythmically, in through his nose and out through his mouth. Without taking his eyes off the window, Hermann hesitantly reaches out and takes Newton’s hand. Neither of them moves or says anything until the helicopter lands.
x.
Hermann does a double take the first time he looks in a mirror after saving the world.
“Oh, fuck,” slips out of his mouth as he leans forward to inspect his eye up close.
He supposes he should have expected this—for it to redden the same way Newton’s had—but he’d had other things on his mind at the time. Now, though, for the first time in years, Hermann is thinking about life after the end of the world.
Sometimes he thinks about just packing up and leaving without telling anyone. He could go anywhere at all and do anything he wanted. He could take up one of the many offers he’s gotten from universities all over the world. He would be able to put this entire ordeal behind him, and he would never have to see Newton Geiszler again.
Ten years ago that idea might actually have appealed to him.
Ten years ago Hermann drew a line down the center of the lab and told Dr. Geiszler to stay on his own side and keep out of the way. Geiszler didn’t listen, and look what that got Hermann: a near-death experience, a red-ringed eye, and a handful of memories that most definitely do not belong to him.
Hermann could leave today or tomorrow, or anytime he wanted, but he would still have to look at himself in the mirror every day and see concrete proof of what he’d done with Geiszler.
When Hermann finally gets back to the lab, Newton is on his own side, and Hermann goes back to his.
It’s ridiculous.
Hermann can close his eyes and recall with unquestionable clarity pieces of Newton Geiszler’s childhood. He knows the name of the girl Newton had had a crush on when he was eight and the movie Newton has always liked to watch on his bad days; and, though he’s never met them, Hermann knows what Newton’s parents’ voices sound like when they’re angry, and he knows what Newton’s done to make them that way. He also knows what they sound like when they’re full of laughter and pride.
Worst of all, Newton knows Hermann just as completely.
And now Hermann and Newton both are taking great care to stay on opposite sides of a line drawn on the floor.
It’s beyond ridiculous.
Hermann doesn’t end up leaving, instead electing to stay at the Shatterdome for the unforeseeable future. According to Marshal Hansen, now that they’ve all saved the world from certain destruction, it’s their duty to clean it up and make sure it stays saved.
The next day, when Hermann arrives at the lab, Geiszler is playing the type of incredibly loud music that he knows Hermann can’t stand, so Hermann yells at him about it and Geiszler yells something back about Hermann’s bad taste, and everything feels somewhat normal.
xi.
“Did you move my specimens?” Newton shouts. “Those are a limited resource now, you know!”
There have been talks of the Shatterdome being shut down soon, since its continued duration is no longer a necessity, and in anticipation of such an event, everyone is meant to be packing up their belongings and putting anything into storage that doesn’t have anywhere else to go. Newton, however, has been neglectful in the task.
“You should not have left them on my side,” Hermann returns, because even though adhering to their separate sides may be ridiculous, it’s still the way things are.
“Your side?” Newton echoes. “Are you serious right now, dude?” And Hermann thinks, this is it and we’re finally going to have this conversation, but then Newton continues, “You have, like, a desk and blackboard, and that’s it, man! Meanwhile, I’m trying to deal with these giant beings from another world, okay? I deserve more space than you!”
Hermann can’t decide if he’s disappointed or relieved, so he just responds, “The split is down the center of the room. That is where it’s always been, and that is where it will stay.”
“Oh, give me a break.”
“If you don’t like it—”
And that’s when Newton steps forward, grabs the back of Hermann’s neck, and leans up to bring their mouths together.
Hermann inadvertently drops his cane in surprise, but doesn’t spare it a second thought because Newton has let his hands fall back to his sides and is pulling away.
“Don’t you dare,” Hermann whispers severely, and grips Newton’s tie in an attempt to yank him closer.
Newton looks startled for a moment, before swiftly recovering.
“Whatever you say, Dr. Gottlieb,” he says, far too smug, and then he kisses Hermann again, properly this time.
Newton runs his teeth along Hermann’s lower lip, then gently kisses the corner of his mouth as Hermann wraps his hands around Newton’s waist. Hermann has noted in the past that Newton refuses to shave properly, and he feels somewhat vindicated in his observation when the stubble along Newton’s jaw scratches slightly.
Eventually Newton stumbles backwards, and Hermann almost loses his balance until he grabs onto Newton’s shoulder for support.
“What is this?” Newton asks, sounding breathless. “I mean, what exactly are we doing?”
“What do you mean ‘we’?” Hermann shoots back. “You’re the one who started this, if you’ll recall.”
“You helped!”
“Only after you—”
“Don’t even go there. It takes two to tango, man.”
“I suppose you’re right about that,” Hermann admits, with a heavy sigh.
“Did you just say I’m right about something?” Newton asks, feigning shock. Then he lightheartedly elbows Hermann in the ribs and adds, “I always knew you loved me.”
“Yes, well,” Hermann responds, not knowing what else to say.
There’s a long pause, and then Newton exclaims, “Oh my god!” and points an accusatory finger at Hermann’s chest. “You really do love me!”
“I,” Hermann begins, suddenly embarrassed, before continuing, through gritted teeth, “I would’ve thought that had been obvious.” He gestures to his eye. “I would not have done something that idiotic for just anybody.”
“You know,” Newton replies, laughing, “you totally had me going there for a while, with all your insults, and your yelling, and your complaint forms.”
“Do not be mistaken,” Hermann tells him. “My vexation at your character has been—and always will be—completely authentic.”
Instead of responding to that, Newton grabs Hermann’s hand and says, “I still can’t believe you Drifted with a Kaiju with me.”
“For you,” Hermann corrects, intertwining their fingers together, before muttering, “God help me.”
xii.
Reconstruction has begun in cities all over the world, and the Shatterdome has been all but shut down. Like many of the others, Hermann has moved out all of his possessions and rented a flat in Hong Kong in preparation for the inevitable.
Hermann and Newton have barely spoken to one another since the day they kissed, though that has been primarily due to a lack of time and opportunity, not a lack of desire. Hermann had been preoccupied with the move and barely spoke to anybody during that period. Every time since then that he’s gone back to the Shatterdome has merely been for meetings with Hansen about his future pursuits.
Presently, it is just past three o’clock in the morning. Hermann knows this because he caught a glimpse of the time displayed on his ringing cell phone right before he begrudgingly answered it.
“What do you want?” he demands tiredly.
Under normal circumstances, he might be worried about getting a phone call at this hour, but caller ID had shown ‘Newton Geiszler’, and after all those years of working side-by-side, he’s learnt not to be too concerned by Geiszler’s odd hours or by the way he’s prone to staying up for days on end—otherwise he’d worry himself to death.
“I just need someone to talk to, man,” Newton responds, completely unapologetic.
“And you thought I would be the best person to come to with this problem?” Hermann asks. He tries to sound appropriately irritated, but his heart isn’t in it.
“I’m on my way over,” Newton says, ignoring Hermann’s question. Hermann doesn’t bother asking how he knows his address. He sighs, resigned to his fate, and Newton exclaims, far too lively for the hour it is, “See you soon!”
Hermann attempts to mentally prepare himself for the onslaught of Geiszler’s presence, yet finds himself wholly unprepared when Newton knocks on his door seventeen minutes later.
He reluctantly gets out of bed and grabs his cane, which is leaning against his nightstand, and goes to open the door. Newton walks in without a word, and Hermann follows silently behind him as he locates the kitchen. Then Hermann watches as Newton goes through his pantry until eventually pulling out a box of cereal.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Hermann finally asks.
“I ran out of food at my place,” Newton explains, as if it should be obvious.
“My kitchen is not your personal—”
“This is one of the perks I get, since we’re dating,” Newton interrupts loudly.
“We’re dating? I wasn’t made aware of this.”
“Uh, you told me you love me. I’m pretty sure that means we’re dating.”
“It most certainly does not—”
“Yes, it does. It definitely—”
“Does not.”
“Why do you always have to make everything such a huge issue?”
“It’s only an issue for you because you assume—”
“Okay, okay.” Newton holds his hands up in a halfhearted surrender. “Hermann. Will you go out with me?”
Hermann purses his lips for a moment, then replies, “If you insist.”
“Jesus, was that so difficult? I swear, Hermann, you—” Newton begins, until Hermann leans down and kisses him hard on the mouth.
He pulls away a moment later and asks, “Don’t you ever shut up?”
“Sometimes,” Newton replies, and grins shamelessly.
They end up on Hermann’s couch—he would insist on going to the bedroom, but the living room is closer—with Hermann fucking Newton gently and unhurriedly; even so, their bodies shine with sweat and they’re both breathing heavily. Hermann scrapes his teeth along the spot on Newton’s jaw right underneath his earlobe, and just barely bites down.
“Fuck,” Newton groans when he comes. “Fuck fuck fuck.”
“Didn’t you say that you would shut up?” Hermann chides, with a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
“You shut up,” Newton responds.
Neither of them makes any effort to move off of the couch, so they lie there together, letting their breathing fall into sync with one another’s.
“I believe this is the first time I’ve seen all of your tattoos,” Hermann notes, as he runs his fingers along the colors on Newton’s skin.
“Oh, yeah?” Newton replies. “What do you think?”
“Distasteful,” Hermann responds, though he hasn’t yet moved his hand from Newton’s chest. “Extraordinarily distasteful.”
xiii.
Two years after saving the world, Hermann wakes up at half past eight, gets out of bed, and grabs his cane so he can go to the kitchen to make breakfast. It’s a Saturday.
He’s at the table, reading the newspaper, when Newton finally trudges in around ten wearing nothing but his boxer shorts.
“You slept in this morning,” Hermann informs him reproachfully.
“It’s the weekend,” Newton responds, suppressing a yawn.
He grabs the plate of waffles that’s sitting on the counter and sits at the table across from Hermann, whereupon Hermann sets down the morning paper and takes off his reading glasses in order to look at Newton properly.
“You’re supposed to go to the lab today, so you can get those experiments done for Marshal Hansen,” he reminds him.
“But I don’t want to,” Newton complains.
“If the entire world gets destroyed because the Breach opens up again and we don’t have sufficient data to do anything about it, I’ll know who to blame,” Hermann says.
“God, Hermann, don’t be so melodramatic,” Newton replies. “And, hey, you know, I wouldn’t have to go all the way to the lab if you would just let me keep one tiny little appendage in the refrigerator.”
“We have had this discussion already. In fact, we have had this discussion many times.”
“Whatever,” Newton mutters, and starts eating his waffles. Hermann puts his glasses back on and returns his focus to the newspaper, but a few minutes later, Newton suddenly exclaims, “Hey, didn’t you have to do a guest lecture this morning?”
“That was rescheduled for next weekend,” Hermann replies.
“Oh.”
“Also, for whatever reason, the university has asked me to inform you that they would like your presence there as well.”
“What do you mean ‘for whatever reason’? Didn’t you just say that it will be my work that prevents the destruction of the human race again?”
“Hmm,” Hermann responds, without looking up.
“Well, you can tell them I’ll be there,” Newton says.
“I’m sure they’ll be delighted.”
Newton eventually gets up to take a shower and put on proper clothes before heading to the lab; he returns to the kitchen to grab his jacket from where it’s hanging on the back of the chair, and Hermann tells him, “I know it goes against your nature, but try not to do anything foolish or irresponsible while you’re gone.”
“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” Newton remarks.
“When have I ever done such a thing?” Hermann asks, though he absently reaches up towards his left eye—still red, just like Newton’s, even after two years—before he realizes what he’s doing and quickly puts his hand down.
Rather than responding to the question, Newton gives Hermann a quick kiss on the mouth, and says, “I’ll see you later.”
Hermann does not remember the day he first met Newton, but the twelve years that followed had been both overwhelming and extraordinary enough that, when all is said and done, he is not surprised that they ended up here.