artist

Rating: T
Pairing: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb

Summary: "Newt's catsitting.

However, since it's Newt, of course something goes wrong."


"Fuck," Newt hisses, frozen.

The door creaks further open, revealing Hermann standing in the doorway, agog, hand hovering roughly where the door handle was a second ago, and Newt, at a loss for what else to do—

Dives after Picatso while screaming.

Hermann screams, too, drops his cane to the floor with a clatter.

Newt falls short, the tabby haring away, leaps onto the sofa and out the window, back onto Newt's balcony while Newt crashes to the ground fairly painfully.

He lays there, dazed. After a moment, he registers the sound Hermann's shouting—angry, surprised, oh, shit—"I'm not a burglar, I swear!" Newt exclaims, clumsily rolls over just enough that Hermann can see his face, and promptly passes out.

"Newton Geiszler," Hermann hisses, the instant the shock passes, but it's not like Newt, laying on the floor, can hear him; so he says, again, with more exasperation, "Newton Geiszler," because, really, what else can he say?

He should wake the other up, admonish him for pulling a stunt like this, frightening Hermann like this, and yet—

And yet, Hermann finds himself hesitating, finds himself thinking, No, I should make sure he's alright, this protective instinct he wasn't even aware he possessed, let alone in regards to an aggravating, loud-mouthed biologist.

For a moment, the two instincts—irritation and protectiveness—war within him, before he sighs, makes his way over to where the other's sprawled, kneels over, awkward. "Damn you, Newton," he murmurs, and makes an aborted movement to rake a hand through his hair.

After a bit of careful planning and admittedly clumsy execution of said plan, Hermann manages to get the other onto his sofa, legs thrown over the arm on one side, one of his own dangling off the side; not the most elegant, nor comfortable, but it is what it is, and, well, his worry only stretches so far, given that this is Newt's fault, in the end.

Still, the other somehow manages to make even this look…"cool". Hermann isn't sure if it's his own bias towards Newt or if the other is simply disgustingly decent-looking no matter what the situation—actually, it's probably the latter.

Really, it must be—Hermann's bias is wholly based upon false assumptions from their correspondences, a lingering affection he can't seem to get rid of for a man who isn't who Hermann thought he was.

Hermann sighs, again; blasted emotions.

He fetches a pillow.

Newt jolts to wakefulness, confusion his first feeling; a pillow pressing against his cheek. It takes him a few moments to remember what happened, and when he does, he bolts upright—

"Don't," Hermann warns, appearing by his side; too late.

He's hit with a wave of dizziness; slumps back down. "…shit," he croaks, "I think I fell pretty hard."

The look Hermann gives him suggests something along the lines of You're an idiot, Newton, which, fair, but—"This is what I get for trying to make sure Tendo's cat doesn't piss on your stuff or rip up your furniture?" he asks crossly.

Hermann raises a brow. "Tendo's cat?"

"Yeah," Newt says, "he flew up to stay with Alison for a bit, since, y'know, the war's over and he hasn't seen her in ages. He asked me to watch after his cat."

There's a moment where Hermann's expression is unreadable; then, stiltedly, "I…thank you, Newton," he says. He ruins it almost instantly, though, by adding, "I knew getting flats in the same building was a bad idea."

"Hey!" Newt protests, "this time it's not actually my fault! You left your window open!"

"I wasn't aware there was a cat in the vicinity," Hermann fires back.

"Yeah, well—" Newt stops. "Shit," he groans, "the cat. Tendo's gonna kill me if anything happens to him." He chews on the inside of his cheek, fingers fidgeting; anxious.

Hermann notices—he always does. "Would you like me to help you look for him?" he offers, a hand coming to rest on Newt's shoulder. Newt would normally refuse, would have, before, brushed him off, but—

"Yeah, thanks," he says, quietly, eases himself back up under Hermann's watchful gaze.

"Alright," Hermann says, "well, then." Then, more to himself, he repeats, "Well, then."

"I can't find him," Newt says, miserably, half an hour later. He bites his lip, tugs at his hair. "Hermann, Tendo's going to—"

"Be understanding," Hermann interrupts, voice slightly crackly due to the poor connection. "Calm down, Newton. Let's meet back at your flat and talk this out calmly, alright? I'm sure that it'll turn out fine."

No it won't, Newt wants to snap; refrains. "Okay," he says, instead, "sounds good."

Hermann's waiting in front of the door when he gets back, and Newt unlocks it. "I need to sit down for this," he explains. "You can…sit, or not—"

"Newton," Hermann says.

"No, nope, don't—"

"Newt," Hermann says, more forcefully, and points behind him.

There, dozing on the chair, is Picatso. Newt scowls. "Fucker."

The twitch of Hermann's lips almost distracts him from his frustration.