evolution
Rating: T
Pairing: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Summary: ""I think I'm really different than who I was yesterday," Newt says; voice scratchy and cracking. Hermann hums. "Really different," Newt repeats. "Do you even know me—do I even know me?" His voice rises at the end, pitching into hysterical, and Hermann raises a hand; draws it through his hair.
or: they talk, afterwards"
It's like this: the day starts off fine; bit of screaming at (with) Hermann followed by a quick round of kaiju dissection and—
Oh, well; you know how it goes.
Newt drifts, Hermann saves him, and then he saves him again, oh, and they Drift, you know how it is. It goes like that sometimes, yeah—you wake up expecting one thing and then life gets in the way, you know.
Ah, the beauties of life.
Anyway.
It starts fine is the point, and it is fine for a bit, there, after; because, hey! They saved the fucking world you know. But—anyway, the point is.
Ah—
The point is, it, uh. It doesn't exactly translate to now, which is Newt crouching, back pressed against the wall, knees dragged up to his chest and shoulders shaking, eyes pressed shut and mouth opened in a soundless scream as tears spill over his eyes.
"I'm fine," he chants, low, to himself. "I'm fine I'm fine I'm fine—" and the words lose meaning as he repeats them.
So.
Well, it's not great, given that Newt just had a lowkey panic attack started by the realisation that, actually, yeah, the world didn't end, and now he's got
- trauma - yeah that kinda covers it, actuallyBasically: Hermann was like, uh, hey, man, it's over but in more eloquent, Hermann-y way, and then Newt was like—yeah, well, fuck, you're right and then it sort of became oh, fuck, you're right but in the sort of way of "guess the single thing that gave my life meaning is gone now".
And, well, it...kind of spiralled from there; Newt honestly doesn't really remember the interim too well, but he's sitting here now, screaming silently as he cries, which. Is probably not the best.
Vaguely, he remembers that there are meds he should've taken for this; promptly discards the thought.
Regardless, the result is still the same: emotion welling up against the confines of his skin and Newt's like—yeah. Not good.
Suddenly, without warning, he remembers being younger and reading some book—something scifi-fantasy (there were definitely dragons involved) and, like, he doesn't remember the plot, but—
With startling clarity, he remembers the closing line—just after the protagonist, the war he'd been fighting in finally over, returns to his lover:
"He lights a candle every night hoping the man I couldn't be comes home."
"Newton?" Hermann.
Oh, fuck, he thinks. In reality, though, he just lets out a croak.
Hermann drops to his side. "Oh, Newton," he says, and then—and then his arms are around Newt, oh.
That's good, Newt thinks, and the panic recedes a bit with Hermann's skin contacting his own; breath evens out. Yeah, though, he's kinda low-key fucked up.
Hermann laughs. "A bit, perhaps," he murmurs, and, right, okay, he'd said that aloud.
"I think I'm really different than who I was yesterday," Newt says; voice scratchy and cracking. Hermann hums. "Really different," Newt repeats. "Do you even know me—do I even know me?" His voice rises at the end, pitching into hysterical, and Hermann raises a hand; draws it through his hair.
"Change is inevitable," he says. "I've changed, too."
"...do you miss it?" Newt asks, finally. "The—certainty?" and doesn't even have to specify because they both know he means certainty that your mind is your own.
"Yes," Hermann admits. "And...no."
"No?"
"I share it with you, Newton," Hermann says, softly. "How could I ever regret that?"
"Oh," says Newt, and thinks, oh, okay. This is comfortable. This is...good. "I...me too."
"I know," Hermann says, simply, and pauses his minstrations, thumb resting over Newt's temple. "I'm in your head, remember?"
Right. "Right."
He doesn't—hmm. He doesn't...really know where to go from here; see: kaiju have been destroyed, and thus, his field of study is, uh, kind of useless beyond the theoretical. Hermann seems to sense it, running slender fingers soothingly through Newt's hair.
"I've always wanted to go to the beach," he says, instead of voicing the tangle of emotions that elicits.
"We can, now," Hermann replies. "I doubt anyone would try and stop us."
We, he says; us, as if it's a given and Newt nearly points that out, and then doesn't.
"Okay," he says instead. "Geiszler-Gottlieb beach trip?"
"Terrible name," Hernann says; fondly.
