as you wish

Rating: T
Pairing: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb

Summary: "The Drift reveals certain sentiments—at least to Newt. But they're both too tired to deal with anything until they're better-rested."


It's the most inopportune time for such a realisation, of course, Newt's well aware of the fact; but, well, the Drift is the Drift and, thus, nothing's hidden—literally, since they're basically mashing their brains together using Newt's very much built of scraps interface, as well as a dying kaiju brain, but—

Well, it's a bit of a surprise, because, while Newt knows by now that Hermann doesn't hate him, the true magnitude doesn't hit him until later.

If his life were a novel, he thinks, this bit would read something like the iconic passage from The Princess Bride: "On that day," it would read, the writing uniform in the way that Newt simply isn't, "Newt was amazed to discover that when Hermann said 'You're goddamn stupid', what he meant was 'I love you'. And even more amazingly, it was the day Newt realised he truly loved him back."

Poetic, poetic. Really, that's more Hermann's deal, ironically, what with his whole "poetry, politics, promises" spiel, but the fact remains that it's true.

Somehow, though, he's not surprised; perhaps this is because the Drift has no room for surprise, because surprise means doubt, and the Drift deals only in absolutes. Even less is his surprise at the mutuality of the sentiment, though he wasn't aware of how deep it goes for him before this moment.

Hermann, however, shows no sign of having learnt any of this afterwards, though, to be fair, he looks kind of dead on his feet for the first few hours. "Bed," Newt says, sternly, after LOCCENT erupts into partying, "now. Come on," and tugs Hermann away to his bed.

It takes him a few tries to get the door; they exchanged keys ages ago, so the issue isn't that he has to find Hermann's, but rather that his glasses are cracked and, subsequently, his vision is blurred. "Ugh," he complains, and re-adjusts so Hermann doesn't have to put any pressure on his leg, "your door sucks."

"…our doors are the same," Hermann points out after a moment, speech slow.

Newt shushes him, finally managing to get the door open, and they stumble towards the bed.

Hermann falls into bed with a huff. Nonsensically, he murmurs, "Everything upside…upside-down, Newton. Newt. Did," he pauses. "Did the world end and this is Heaven, Newt? I never thought Heaven would be…more upright."

"Heaven?" Newt asks, falling down on the bed next to him, takes a moment to simply stare at the ceiling, "why'd you think that?"

Hermann shifts so that he's facing Newt, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion, the red ring around it barely visible in the dim light. Newt knows that he bears an identical one; both of them are banged up a fair bit, but Hermann still manages to look not nearly as ruffled as he should be. "Why?" Newt asks, again, slower; quieter.

The physicist blinks at him slowly. Newt still thinks of him as a physicist, though perhaps the term no longer encapsulates Hermann—but then, Newt wonders, can any number of words accurately articulate Hermann? He doesn't think so.

"Well," Hermann starts, and then, again, "well. It must surely be Heaven given that you're here with me. Or—if not Heaven, then, surely a dream."

Where he any more well-rested, Newt's heart would be pounding, but as it is, he just hums. "Nope," he replies, "'s real."

"Ah." Hermann considers that for a moment, and then says, "Well."

They lapse into silence, and then, quietly, Hermann says, "Goodnight, Newt."

"…goodnight, Hermann," Newt replies after a moment. After a few seconds, Newt hears Hermann's breathing even out, and, without even realising it, his own falls in sync with Hermann's.