It's Newt's third cup of coffee, he's cycled through his entire iTunes playlist, his fifteen-page paper (regarding the evolutionary history of Ornithorhynchus anatinus) isn't even half done, and he can't quite put his finger on it, but something's definitely off. He wonders if maybe someone shifted everything in the room to the left by half an inch or some other nefarious prank. He wouldn't put it past Tendo and Yancy.

By chance, he glances at the time when he goes to skip a song on his laptop. He does a double take.

"It's two already?"

"Yes," comes the irritated reply. "Yes, it is."

"It's two in the morning, and you're still awake?"

"I imagine it would be rather difficult for us to hold this conversation otherwise," Hermann says with the same strained inflection.

"But, like, you don't stay up past midnight. Not even before finals."

"Unfortunately, I didn't choose very reliable people to work with," Hermann growls, typing angrily. Newt's never seen anyone type angrily the way Hermann does, as if each key had personally offended everything he stands for.

"Hey man, what's wrong? Do you need help or something?"

Hermann pinches the bridge of his nose. "Newt, I appreciate the sentiment, but I think it would be better if we both went back to what we were working on."

"Fine, fine. Just don't murder anyone. At least, not me."

They lapse back into relative silence, the only sound between them that of fingers striking keys and pages being sullenly turned. Newt's mind starts wandering after the seventh page of his paper, and he finds himself staring at the same article in Nature for a solid four minutes.

"Herma – "

"It's a group project due tomorrow. Or today, I suppose," Hermann sighs. "We were supposed to begin compiling all of our sections together on Monday, but someone claimed he needed more time. Then, the same thing happened the next day, and the next, until he finally confessed this afternoon that he'd done absolutely nothing over the past three weeks. I should never have allowed this to happen."

"Why didn't you tell your professor?"

"We're not in high school anymore. Deadlines are deadlines."

"Well, you should've talked to the other people in your group, at least. You shouldn't have to do everything by yourself."

"Frankly, I have no more faith in any of them. It's simpler to complete it on my own."

"Whatever floats your boat, I guess," Newt says with a shrug, curiosity temporarily sated. He settles back into the painfully slow progress of his paper, alternating between actually working and catching up on One Piece.

"What is this trying to say?" Hermann snarls suddenly, banging a fist on his desk. Newt jumps at the sound, pulled out of the Zen stage of the all-nighter. He checks the time. 3:14.

"Listen. 'In the context of the problem, that is to say, that she had been able to go but chose not to go, and that had she not been able to go, she would have wanted to go, not discounting the physical and material constraints of the theorized latter conditions, the metaphysics of the issue at hand changes to suit the specific explanation of morality through which the individual is examined as compared to the collective conscience, the former of which has roles and duties to the latter that depend entirely upon the lens through which we view the situation in addition to the situation itself,'" Hermann growls. "That's all one sentence, by the way."

"Wow."

"Some people," Hermann continues, slamming the laptop shut, "shouldn't ever be allowed to write."

"Dude, calm down, ok? Why don't you take a break? You'll feel better after a nap. You can work later."

"I don't understand how he was even admitted into this school," he fumes, pacing back and forth. "Frankly, it's an insult to my intelligence."

"Hey, hey," Newt says, swiveling around. "Chillax. Go to sleep, ok? I'll wake you up in half an hour. Or you could set up the alarm, but it's like, I don't know about you, but I'd be pretty cranky if I woke up to that noise. If you want, you can use my phone."

"Alright," Hermann says, sitting down on the edge of his mattress. "Half an hour, and no more." He rubs his temples and sets his reading glasses on a stack of papers before falling into bed without changing.

"Got it. Half an hour," Newt says, pulling up an online countdown. "Sweet dreams."

"Hermann," Newt says, shaking his roommate. Hermann groans and draws away from him. "Hermann," Newt repeats more forcefully, gently slapping him (God, those cheekbone could cut through steel).

"Hermann!"

"I'm awake!" Hermann shouts, curling up into a ball. "And now I feel worse than before. Thanks."

"Believe me," Newt says, dragging the covers off. "Once you really wake up, you'll be glad you took a nap. I'm speaking from experience here. You're talking to the all-nighter expert."

"It feels like someone removed all of my internal organs and ground them into a paste," Hermann grumbles, burying his face in his hands. "How do you do this all the time?"

"You get used to it. Come on; you've got a project to get done."

"I'm seriously contemplating letting us all fail at this point," Hermann says, climbing reluctantly out of bed.

"What? That isn't the Hermann we all know and love."

"There isn't a Hermann you know and love." He squeezes his eyes shut. "I think I can afford a C on this if I do well on the final."

"No," Newt says, tugging on his arm. "You can do this. You're Hermann fucking Gottlieb. You can fight this assignment. You can win."

"Thank you for your input," Hermann says dryly, standing up and stretching.

"I wasn't being sarcastic, you know."

"I know. Now, we both have plenty to do. Let's get down to business."

Just as he finishes the final edits on the eleventh page, Newt's stomach growls so loudly he can hear it through his music. He takes a peek at the time.

"Hey, the cafeteria opens in ten minutes. You wanna go get a bite to eat?"

"Let me finish this section first," Hermann says, hunched over his work.

"Sure. Just tell me when you're done." Newt leans back and scowls at the remainder of his paper. Four more pages to polish, and he can get this stupid thing over and done with. Gritting his teeth, he sets to attacking the next paragraph.

A few minutes later, he feels a tap on his shoulder. He pulls out his earphones and turns around. The first things that catch his attention are the dark rings under Hermann's eyes. He hadn't thought it was possible for Hermann to look more like he hated everything in the world; he was wrong.

"You ready?" he asks, looking around for a jacket. He finds one that doesn't smell too bad hidden under a pile of journals stacked on his bed and slings it on.

"Let's go," Hermann says, carefully pocketing his key.

They step out into the cool spring morning, the campus seemingly deserted. Newt hums as they make their way to the dining commons, his hands shoved into his pockets to stop them from freezing.

"So… how's it going?" he asks, waiting as Hermann hands the cashier his meal card to swipe.

"I can probably finish in an hour, but I'll be late for class," Hermann replies brusquely.

"Told you you'd make it," Newt laughs, jabbing him in the side with his elbow. "You wanna grab some stuff to take back or sit down and eat an actual meal?"

"I would like very much to have a hot cup of tea," he says, making a beeline for the drinks. Newt trails after him and grabs a mug.

"Personally, I think coffee's better," Newt says, pouring himself a cup.

"That's because you're addicted to it."

"Uh, then you're addicted to tea," he retorts, taking a sip of the steaming liquid.

Hermann fixes him with a wooden glare. "I drink a cup or two a day. You drink six or seven."

"I only have that much fifty percent of the time," Newt protests as they each take a plate and pile on food.

"I agree. The other fifty percent of the time you drink eight or more."

"You're just jealous because you don't have the same kind of dedication," Newt says, claiming a seat at one of the tables by the floor-to-ceiling windows. Hermann sets his plate down across from Newt's and sits.

"It's certainly peaceful this early in the morning," Hermann remarks, pointedly ignoring Newt's comment.

"'Cause nobody wants to be up at this time."

"Nevertheless, here we are."

"Yeah, well, it's kinda nice, isn't it? It's usually always so loud you can't even hear yourself think."

Hermann stares out the windows, chewing thoughtfully.

"I do suppose it's a welcome change, for once."

Newt isn't sure how exactly to respond, so he settles for combining a shrug and a nod. A shrod. A nug. He needs more sleep.

They slip back into the companionable silence that had lasted them through the past hours, an unspoken understanding and mutual sympathy between them. Newt watches as people slowly trickle out of the dorms and plod over; Hermann watches the clouds and the sky as it changes colors.

"Hey Newt, Hermann." Tendo's cheery voice cuts through their thoughts (or lack thereof; Newt can only think vaguely of how much he wants to just lie down somewhere). They turn away from the window to look at him, and an incredulous expression crosses his face. "What happened to the you two?"

"Science," Newt says glumly.

"People," Hermann says angrily.

"When are those not the answers?" Tendo asks, lips quirking in a grin.

Newt and Hermann share a look, and maybe it's the insufficient sleep speaking, but Newt breaks out in laughter and Hermann follows him, Hermann actually starts laughing even though it looks like he's trying his hardest to keep a straight face. And Newt can only think of how this is the first time they've ever shared a laugh like this and how he feels a weird twinge of regret that this will probably also be the last.

Newt drops the unlabeled paper bag in front of Hermann with no explanation, so, to be fair, Hermann has the right to be immediately suspicious.

"What is this supposed to be?" he asks, poking it with his pen. The squished bow haphazardly attached to the corner falls to the desk with a sad blop.

"Alles Gute zum Geburtstag!" Newt says, smiling. "Go on, open it."

Hermann makes a face but complies anyway, ripping open the stapled top. Inverting it, he dumps out a familiar golden bag.

"Haribo gummy bears," Newt announces proudly, as if Hermann can't see for himself what they are. "And not the gross American ones either. Nope. These are authentic Goldbären brought all the way here from Germany. Man, these bring back all sort of memories."

"I – thank you, Newt. It's been a while since I've eaten these," Hermann says. Actually, he can't remember the last time he had them. Likely it was before they'd moved to the United States. He tears off the corner of the pack and shakes a few onto his palm. "Would you like a few?"

"I've got another bag at home," Newt says. "I asked my parents to get them while they were on tour in Germany."

"Well, as you said, these do bring back memories."

Newt's grin widens. "So, does that mean I did it?"

"Did what?"

"Found something you like for your birthday. Happy eighteenth, Hermann."

Finals the second time around are just as bad as they were the first time (which is to say, not all that bad for Newt). Really, the only differences this time around are that everyone else is a bit more prepared and it isn't freezing cold outside.

Those and the fact that he's leaving on a completely different break this time.

After his last class, he returns to the dorm, and Hermann's already there, packing for the first time with a neat and precise efficiency. Newt sits at his desk, unable to bring himself to start taking everything out of where it's settled, unable to bring himself to make the ultimate concession to the idea that the year has ended and that he'll be ripped up from the niche he'd finally adapted to. It isn't fair.

But, eventually his mom calls to ask how his exams were and if he's ready for the flight tomorrow, which guilts him enough to drag out his suitcase and lay it open on the floor.

"Hey, Hermann." He pauses in chucking his clothing into a pile and sees that on the other side of the room Hermann's stopped halfway through folding a shirt.

"What is it?" Hermann asks, hand smoothing out a crease.

"We have to, uh, get rid of that, don't we?" he says, pointing to the duct tape dividing their room in half. "Funny, I'd almost forgotten it was here, you know what I mean?" he adds, voice cracking.

"Newt, are you… crying?" Hermann asks, crossing over to Newt's side.

"Shut up and help me peel it off, ok?" Newt sniffs, picking at the edge of the tape. Hermann squats down, with some difficulty, beside him.

"I – it – it was… an interesting year," Newt continues, refusing to make eye contact.

Hermann hesitates and awkwardly pats his arm. "I suppose it was certainly a memorable year."

"No, you don't – you don't get it. I know we didn't always get along, but I'm – dammit! I'm gonna miss you, you stupid math nerd. You and your ugly sweaters and your old man stuffiness and your piles of books you buy and never read." He throws his arms around Hermann, who stiffens momentarily.

"I thought I said no hugging," Hermann says without any real anger.

"I'm gonna miss you," Newt repeats, burying his face in Hermann's shoulder. Hermann transfers his awkward patting to Newt's back.

"I'll miss you too," he says gently. "Now, let's get this tape off the ground."

A/N: I attended a program on a university campus this summer, and on the last day when my roommate's aunt and cousin were helping her move out I broke down and cried in front of them and I just wanted to hug my roommate and never let go or sneak into the back of her car or something, and I think that if just six weeks could do that to me, it'd be far worse saying goodbye to a college roommate?

Also, stay tuned for one last epilogue! Thank you all for reading this far; I don't think I could've ever finished this if I hadn't had your support m(_ _)m