Prompt: "Imagine person A from your OTP getting separated from their friends while they were inside a haunted house. Now imagine them clinging to the next person they see in fright and that person is B (who was also separated from their friends)."

"Yo, Tendo? Not cool, dude… not cool at all…"

Newt took two steps into the darkened corridor, thought better of it, turned, noted the slime on the walls from where he'd come (when had that happened…?) and faced the corridor again. He made a pained sound in the back of his throat, hopping from foot to foot.

"Tendooooo," he moaned.

No such luck. Either Newt had actually gotten separated or Tendo was being more of a jerk than usual. He knew Newt couldn't stand haunted houses. Yeah, sure, there was some logic to grasp onto: that scratching was just some poor bloke whittling his fingernails for an extra buck (right?) and that slime back there wasn't real slime (right?). Newt knew this was all just a gag meant to scare him, but that didn't erase the fact that it was doing a really good job.

He couldn't hear the other customers anymore. Couldn't hear much of anything over his own heavy breathing. Newt was all too aware of the stress his body was currently undergoing, from an increased heart-rate to the sudden need to pee in his very awesome pants (dark skinny jeans hand-painted with monster skeletons, hell yeah). Newt was also aware that if he were a monster—which meant he'd be one hell of a smart one—he'd choose something just like a haunted house as his hunting ground. What better place for a snack than the one area everyone thought they were safe? Where everything was supposedly fake? The irony was too delicious to pass up.

So what if there were other, evil creatures with a taste for the ironic…?

Newt threw his arm out and pointed a stern finger at the darkness, hoping he wasn't shaking too much.

"If there are any creepy things," he stuttered, "you'd best not attack me. I work around chemicals all day, no telling what you'd ingest if you ate me up! And—and—I'm really small. Like, bite sized! No one wants that bite-sized shit on Halloween, so why would you? I'll have you know I give out full sized candy bars every year and my name is Newt. I'm practically Godzilla okay, so just… just keep away…"

No answer from the darkness. Newt toed a sneaker into the shadows and pulled it back out with a mewl.

"OooooOOOOOoooOooOooooo," sounded behind him.

"…. Oh hell no," and Newt plunged into the corridor.

It was pitch black. He'd known it would be but still. So fucking dark, what the hell. Newt alternated between reaching his hands out and drawing them back in against his chest. He wanted to make sure he didn't touch anything, but at the same time, what if he touched something? With a whimper Newt settled for waving one arm blindly about. Maybe the actors here would take pity on him and—

"EAAAHHHHHH!" Newt shrieked as his foot suddenly nudged against a squishy mass. It squirmed beneath him horribly, something breathing, something alive.

"Noooo nononono, I touched something, I touched something, I touched—!"

"You touched me, you fool!" a voice shouted and Newt snapped his mouth shut.

He blinked. Not that that did much good in the dark.

"… who's 'me'?" he whispered, inching his foot forward again. Newt found the squishiness and prodded. With a yelp he jumped back when a hand swatted at his leg.

"Me," the voice emphasized. It sounded grumpy and… kinda human.

"You?"

"… Hermann Gottlieb, if you must know." Newt heard the guy shifting then. It sounded like he was seated on the floor, propped against the wall. "Are you the idiot that's been making all that racket? Good god. I'm surprised you haven't been tossed out on your ear yet. Save me your ridiculous theatrics and move on."

"No way!" Newt yelped. He crouched and threw out his hands until he found a bony arm under a scratchy sweater. He hung on even as Hermann tried to pull away. "Dude, you're the first person I've found in here. Tendon abandoned me, you can't leave me alone, we're survival buddies now."

Newt could hear the silence, could practically feel Hermann's incredulous stare.

"You are aware," he said slowly, "That this is not real, yes? There is nothing to be afraid of."

"So you say, but you don't sound very convinced, Herms."

"Hermann."

"Herms."

"Hermann."

Newt grinned in the dark. Hermann's voice sounded a little stronger now because yeah, it had been shaking before, almost as scared as Newt was despite the caustic remarks. Newt firmly patted the arm he'd found and followed the sleeve towards the hand.

"Don't worry, dude. This shit is super scary—no harm in admitting it—but I've got your back now. We can—"

Newt cut himself off. He'd found Hermann's hand alright… and it was far colder, far stickier than Newt was expecting. Trembling, he pulled away and the panicking part of his brain knew exactly what he would find before he could prove it. Newt brought his fingers to his nose, drew in a shuddering breath, and smelled that familiar, metallic tang. Blood.

"Don't faint on me," Hermann groused. "It's just a bad cut. I caught my palm on one of the nails when…" he tapered off.

"When what?" Newt asked, still breathing through his mouth.

When they came, Hermann's words were so soft Newt barely caught them.

"… when he shoved me." He heard Hermann swallow. "I should have realized it was a prank from the start. Honestly, him wanting to date me…As soon as we hit this hall he pushed me, said some rather brutish things, and—and… well. He took my cane. It's probably snapped in some dustbin by now. I fear that between the darkness and my lack of support, I'm quite incapable of moving. I did not intend to become a tripping hazard this night. My apologies."

Newt was really glad that Hermann couldn't see his bugged out eyes and gaping mouth. He wanted to scream, 'No, don't apologize for what that dickwad did!' or 'Oh my god I'm so fucking sorry,' or even just, 'Damn.' What came out instead though was,

"Shit, dude. Sounds like you found an actual monster in here."

Hermann had nothing to say to that.

"Hey," Newt's voice rose as an idea came barreling through him. "Hey! How about I be your date tonight? Yeah! We'll get out of this awful place, find you a new cane—where do you even get a cane this time of night? I don't know. Target? Target has everything—and we can buy all the candy down at the drugstore, gorge ourselves on it for dinner, head back to my place, watch a bunch of monster movies—" Newt was practically bouncing in place.

Hermann was spluttering like a steaming teakettle.

"I—I—I don't even know your name!"

"It's Newt. Short for Newton. I'll call you 'Hermann' if you call me 'Newt.' Aw, man. Full name vs. nickname. We've got some 'opposites attract' shit here. C'mon, c'mon. Let me improve your night. No one should be left like this on Halloween. At the very least let me patch up your hand. Bio scholar at your service."

Newt felt giddy and jittery, his fear now fully transformed into something else. There was hot, residual anger at whatever asshole had done this to Hermann, but it was nearly overshadowed by marvel at Newt's own good luck. What were the chances of literally tripping over a guy? He liked the sound of Hermann's voice. His wit. Even the skeleton arm he'd felt beneath his sweater. That was appropriate for the occasion.

Perhaps even more than all this though, a part of Newt loved the idea of falling in love on Halloween.

I could happen. It would be awesome.

"What about your 'Tendo'?" Hermann's voice had softened considerably.

"He's not my Tendo, unless you mean 'my friend Tendo.' Not boyfriend. Besides, if he hasn't come back yet he's probably found someone else to go home with. Wow. This place is a magnet. Don't leave me the only one hanging."

Newt held out his hand. It was probably a stupid move given the whole pitch black hallway thing, but somehow Hermann found him. Newt felt a hesitant, slippery hand slide into his. He took it gently, mindful of the injury if not the blood.

Not now anyways. Hermann's blood was totally different.

Newt helped him to his feet. Hermann was warm pressed against his side and Newt hummed at the feeling of another body so close to his. They rocked together a moment, Newt figuring out exactly how to manage Hermann's balance.

"I do believe I'm getting blood on your shirt," he whispered.

"Whatever. Adds to the Halloween-y feel. Now: Cane? Candy? Not candy cane because that's another holiday entirely. Movie marathon? I have all the Screams on bootleg."

"… You don't even know what I look like."

"I'm about to find out," Newt said, steering them towards the pinprick of light in the distance. "Bet you're hot. You sound hot. But who knows, maybe my worst nightmare is coming true and I've picked myself up a monster."

Hermann sniffed. "I'm the one who's likely being kidnapped by a monster. 'Newt.' Honestly."

"Monster love then, man," New laughed. "Happy Halloween!"