narwhals and numbers
Rating: T
Pairing: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Summary: "Newt accidentally stumbles upon something very personal to Hermann."
The first time it happens, Newt doesn't even realise until almost a week later. It's not that Newt doesn't read his mail, or that Newt hasn't gone down to the post-room in ages and ages, he has , alright, it's just…his room is messy.
Which, consequently, is why he only finds the package when he has to dig through his stuff in search of an errant earring.
The package is heavy, solid, and, in perfect, upper-case lettering, is addressed to one Hermann Gottlieb, post-marked…actually, what the fuck is that there. Whatever it is, it's written in a language Newt doesn't know. The stamps—three of them—keep doing this weird thing where Newt thinks, for a second, that he's got a keen view of them before they—
—do that, right there. Like one of those 3D photos where the picture moves.
"Huh," he says, and tosses it onto the bed, makes a mental note to give it to Hermann at the soonest possible moment. A secret little part of him wants to open it, but—well, he may be an utter asshole sometimes, but—
—no, just no. He wouldn't do that.
The second time it happens, it's in the pile with his other mail when he goes to pick it up. Another rectangular package, same weird writing, shifty stamps, and Newt heaves a sigh. "Hermann," he murmurs, and then spots the rip in the packaging.
It's a jagged thing, and Newt can see the object—book on the inside. The cover is dark, dark green, and it looks like it's made of leather. The rest of the packaging is pretty beat up, to—Newt's surprised that the book is intact, actually. "Damn it, Hermann," he gripes, "I don't have any wrapping paper."
He does, as a matter of fact, have wrapping paper, much to his own surprise. It is, however, not...well, it's not exactly the kind Hermann springs for.
That is to say, it's Christmas wrapping paper. Specifically, narwhals with wreaths of holly on their tusks. He almost laughs at the mental image of what Hermann's expression will be when he hands it to him.
For that, though, he's going to have to take off the original wrapping. "Sorry, Herms," he mutters as he goes to fetch a pair of scissors, because he really does feel bad about doing this, but his need to fix the wrapping is greater than his guilt.
The orangey-yellow cuts cleanly under his admittedly haphazardly-wielded shears, and he pulls it off, setting it to the side, and rolls out the narwhal wrapping paper.
The contents of the package
aren't, as Newt had initially assumed, one book—it's two, actually, one thick, dark-green, leather-covers, and the other, a far slimmer grey book. Newt can't help but glance at the titles as he begins to wrap them—the green one's title is easily visible in gold lettering: A Grimoire of Arithmancy . The title of thin grey one, he almost misses; it's in tiny lettering on the bottom left of the cover. Blood magic, cursing, and other "black" magics , it says.
He tapes down the wraping paper securely and files the information away.
"Hey, Herms," he says when he gets to the lab the next day, narwhaled package tucked under his arm. Hermann hums, not taking his eyes off of the holographic model, and does a little motion with his fingers, the one he does out of habit when something's annoying him, reaches for the cup of tea at his side. " Hermann ," Newt says, again, with a bit of a whine in his tone, "dude, I need to give you something."
Hermann takes a sip of his tea and sighs. "What?" he asks, "I swear, if you—"
"No, dude, no!" he protests. "I got another—so, like, remember that box I gave you a few weeks back? The one addressed to you that got mixed up with my mail?"
"...yes?" Hermann asks, sets his cup down, gaze flickering, finally, up to meet Newt's. "What about it?"
"Well," he says, "whoever's doing the distributing put another one of yours in with my stuff. Here." He offers the package to Hermann.
The physicist stares at the package, then at him. "It has...narwhals on it," he says finally, and then pulls it out of his hands. Eyes narrowed, he bites, "You—I can't believe you—went through my mail—!"
"The package was ripped!" Newt exclaims, throwing up his hands. "I—you know how I get about that, Herms, I had to— fix it!" He presses his eyes closed for a moment, and when he opens them, it's because Hermann's hand in on his arm, shaking as Newt shakes.
He pulls in a breath. "Sorry," he says, "I shouldn't've—sorry."
Hermann gives a tiny nod. "I can't say that I'm not upset," he replies, "but I...I appreciate the apology. It's simply that..." he sighs, sets the books down on his desk and picks his tea back up. "That's a rather...personal part of my life," he admits. "I...was afraid you would—"
The words cut off, but Newt knows what he means. "I'm sorry," he says, again. "I should've just given you the ripped package. But...I'd never judge you, okay? Like, just so you know."
Hermann offers him a tiny smile. "Thank you," he says. "And yes, next time I'd appreciate if you didn't...re-wrap my packages. Although, I must say, the design of this wrapping paper is quite unique."
Newt grins. "I know, right? It's from, like, four years ago, dude. I'd forgotten I had it." He pauses, then, slightly quieter, continues, "Um, I know it won't, like, make up for what I did, but I was wondering if you maybe wanted to go out for coffee sometime? And like, um," he stumbles over his words, suddenly very aware of Hermann's hand on his arm. "Uh, just, like. Talk? About whatever! Shit, sorry, this isn't coming out so great."
The look Hermann's giving him is surprisingly soft, and he says, "Yes, I think I would like that, Newton."
"Newt," Newt says, reflexively, and the corners of Hermann's eyes crinkle.
