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Hermann gasps as Newt leans in closer, freckled nose just inches away. His hands are reaching up to cup his cheek, his breath sets Hermann's skin tingling, his heart is beating too fast, his breathing shallow, Newt is so close– He flinches back. He can't help it.
'Stop struggling already, if you keep twitching then I really will get your eye.' Newt gripes, wiping away a stray line of eyeliner where he caught Hermann's cheek by accident.
'Sorry.' Hermann mutters, not really sorry, resisting the urge to reach up and slide his hands over Newt's as Newt carefully strokes the edge of his eyelid with a thick kohl pencil. He wants to protest that it's natural to flinch when someone comes near your face with sharp objects, but he just fights to stay still instead.
After all, he already agreed to this… this makeover, so protesting now won't make much difference. Besides, he's quite sure whatever style Newt is giving him will look ridiculous– hopefully once the man is done laughing at him he'll be allowed to wash it off and they'll never speak of this again.
Newt's eyes flick up to his for a half second as he grins and Hermann notices the gentle green of his eyes as they catch the light.
Hermann grits his teeth. Newt is halfway to stage-ready and stunningly handsome, as usual. While Hermann is… still just Hermann, of the uneven hair and tweedy jumpers in a variety of dusty brown and navy styles. Newt can draw on his face with pencil all afternoon and he'll still just be Hermann. Which is the whole problem really.
The problem being that Newt, his longtime roommate, unrequited crush and notorious flirt, is crouching over him, practically sitting in Hermann's lap and forcibly holding his face still as he applies eyeliner.
He looks away, mostly out of self-preservation. Unfortunately looking away from his face just means looking at the rest of Newt, with his home-bleached-blonde spiked hair and his smokey dark eyeliner that flares out into sharp zig-zags. Hermann often wonders how he keeps the lines so neat, it never seems to run, even after hours of sweating under hot stage lights.
He's turned one of his old band tees into an open-sided, ripped-neck tank top, cutting so much of it away it's now only held together by oversize safety pins at the shoulders. The bright colours of his chest tattoos show through the frayed edges every time he turns, a tantalising glimpse clearly designed to make anyone looking foam at the mouth in frustration. It's working. It looks like a single hard tug would tear it clean off. Hermann is amazed Newt doesn't worry about his outfit falling to pieces on stage.
Over that he's layered an endless number of spiked collars and cuffs and belts and jewellery… A full size industrial padlock hangs on a chain about halfway down his chest. It must weigh a ton.
Hermann picks it up, mostly to distract himself from how close Newt is. How intense his gaze is as he carefully shapes the lines around Hermann's eyes.
'Your neck must ache at the end of each show.' he tuts, hefting the lock, 'Do you really wear all this the entire time? Tell me you throw it out into the audience or something.'
Newt snorts. 'What, and kill an audience member? I don't think they let you fling a pound of metal at people's heads just because you're performing, that'd be really hard to explain to our public liability insurance.' He pulls back and tilts his head thoughtfully, surveying his work before diving back in to make adjustments. 'That said, I suppose we could get everyone who buys tickets to sign a waiver. Risk of death at every show would be a great thing to put on the posters.'
Newt drops Hermann's cheek and leans back to grab an eyeshadow palette. 'Close your eyes, dude, I have the perfect colour for you here. You are going to look so fucking hot.'
Hermann feels his face burning as he shuts his eyes. The idea that any colour could make him attractive is more than a little hard to believe, but the brush is soft and soothing against his eyelids and he doesn't argue. It feels rather nice to be the centre of Newt's attention like this, even for a little while.
All too soon, the palette snaps closed. 'Done! Check yourself out, Hermann.'
He opens his eyes to see Newt grinning at him, holding up a little hand mirror. Hermann swivels, trying to see his whole face all at once. He looks… Well he looks much better than he expected. Hardly clownish at all.
As much as he hates to admit it, the man has quite a talent. Newt has given him long dark tails of eyeliner, blending into shimmering green eyeshadow; a dark, cool green that doesn't look completely terrible against Hermann's pale skin. It's strange, if it were someone else opposite him, and not himself, he might even say it looks… nice.
He clears his throat. 'It's quite… striking.'
'Hell yes, it is. You look fine as hell.' Newt winks. His hand brushes the edge of Hermann's eyebrow, fingertips smoothing some invisible imperfection. 'Be careful, looking this good someone might take a bite out of you. Half the audience will be jealous and the other half are just gonna want to jump your bones. Sucks for them, 'cause tonight you're all mine.'
Hermann swallows, throat dry. 'Er. Oh. Yes.' He'd almost forgotten about that part.
The part where he's going to pretend to be dating Newton Geiszler, lead singer of the Black Velvet Rabbits— Publically, in front of several hundred people who are going to be pretty annoyed that the ever-single frontman is suddenly not-so-available. There's going to be questions. There's going to be crowds. There's going to be… Newt, pressed up against him, holding his hand, looking unbelievably attractive and so painfully close. And none of it will be real.
Tonight is going to kill him. How in god's name did he get into this mess again?
***
Was it two weeks ago, when Vanessa had called and sweetly told him she had a new client to introduce him to?
Great project, she'd said. They're looking for a sound designer to collaborate with the composer, someone to create a unique synth palette for an upcoming sci-fi film. She'd put his name forward– Said they're keen to move quickly but it's all very hush-hush, so he'll have to sign about four levels of NDA before they even let him speak to the audio director. She'd said the composer was a big name, but kind of a kook and Hermann hadn't asked asked nearly as many questions as he should've—
Or was it nine days ago, when he'd been on a call with said film composer, one Theo Riddell? Theo had seemed skittish, talking over Hermann and shooting down suggestions for dozens of potential recording locations around London.
Halfway through the meeting, Newt had interrupted with an apology and a smile, bearing the cup of tea Hermann had left on the kitchen counter in a rare moment of anxious forgetfulness. The moment he'd left, Theo perked up, asking a half dozen questions about him before pausing for an answer.
'Oh– Newton? We live together,' Hermann said, unthinkingly. 'He's the lead singer for a band called the Black Velvet Rabbits, you may have heard of them…'
Theo visibly relaxed and laughed a little. 'Wonderful, Wonderful. In that case, why don't we forget about finding a space in the city and just work from my home studio? It's better equipped than anywhere we could rent, and knowing you're attached makes me a lot more comfortable inviting you into my home.' Theo's tone dropped into a confident stage-whisper, 'Having strange single men around the place does not make for marital bliss in my experience, though people get so offended when you say it.'
Hermann, his mind busy running through potential gear lists, just nodded along as Theo talked– until his mind caught up and he blanched.
'Oh! I didn't mean– we're not–' he started to protest weakly, but whether due to call lag or simply not hearing him, Theo had already moved on to the next topic.
Hermann had fretted and worried through the rest of the conversation, but it wasn't until the end of the call that the second bomb dropped. 'My daughter is a big fan of your partner's music,' Theo said with a little smile, 'I got her tickets to his show next week actually, but perhaps you could get us an autograph? It'd make me father of the year.'
How could Hermann say no to that? 'I'll… I'll see what I can do,' he said, smiling to hide his rising anxiety.
After the call had finished he sat in horrified silence for several long minutes, surrounded by the gently winking lights of walls of rack synthesisers.
On the one hand: It's a great job, a chance to really use his programming skills to shape a unique sound, to work with a well known creative to build something new and interesting.
On the other hand, he'd just inadvertently told Theo Riddell a massive lie. He is not dating Newton. He lives with him, he fights with him, and perhaps, he might even admit that he's more than a little in love with him… but no, they are not dating.
He leans back into his chair, covers his face with his hands and screams silently.
It's been eight years since Hermann and Newt decided to split the extortionate rent on a central London flat.
Back then, Newt was just a wannabe punk with big dreams, some eyeliner and a distinctive screechy voice and Hermann was… the same as he is now. A rail-thin, grumpy producer with a wall of heavy gear, a singular knowledge of almost every synth on the market and an intense perfectionistic streak. Well, perhaps he's a little less skinny now… Newton tends to bully him by leaving increasingly precariously balanced plates of hot food near sensitive electronics if he forgets to eat for too long.
At the time no one could understand why they'd decided to live together, but Hermann understands it was less of a choice and more of a process of elimination. Both of them are idiosyncratic and difficult. Between them, they'd burned through half a dozen living situations in a couple of years with a frankly impressive roommate turnover rate, until finally they were the only two remaining. When their last roommate, Angie, had left, she'd sat them down and told them that they were both insufferable, their arguments were childish, their music pretentious and that they should just lock themselves in a room and "figure their shit out".
After a couple of days raging about how wrong she was, they realised she was right. Truthfully they're the only ones capable of putting up with each other, largely by giving as good as they got in every fight. Newt proposed they stop looking for roommates, Hermann proposed a chore rota and they wrote up a very detailed and much amended contract to help keep the peace.
The deal was this: Hermann agreed to mix and master all of Black Velvet Rabbit's tracks in exchange for getting to use the third bedroom as an office, Newt got the largest bedroom on the contingency he not destroy the rest of the apartment, and they both had to take turns cooking without deriding each other's piss-poor culinary skills.
The system worked so well they'd never looked back. They drew dividing lines across the bookshelves, created an elaborate system to determine whose turn it was for laundry and, eventually, even managed to eke out a compromise on interior design (Mid-century modern meets tasteful industrial). They still argued, but it became more of a routine, sparring a few rounds just to keep the dynamic fresh.
Once Black Velvet Rabbits took off and became a real band rather than a lunatic pipe-dream, they'd tacitly agreed it would be better to just buy the flat outright and kit it out properly as a studio— So now he and Newt are locked in. Roommates for life. Producer and singer. Newt the showy, talented, famous rockstar and… Hermann.
It would all be perfect except for one tiny snag: Hermann has been secretly harbouring an enormous, impossible crush on his roommate that simply will not die, no matter how hard he tries to starve it out of existence.
He shakes his head into the darkness of the room, trying to clear his mind. No. Definitely not dating. No matter how much he might wish it.
He should come clean with Theo.
He should tell Newt.
He should get on the first flight to anywhere so that when either of them find out what just occurred he's as far away as possible and won't have to experience the raw embarrassment first hand.
He is still weighing the pros and cons of where exactly to run to when Newt comes to get him for dinner.
***
'Hey, man,' Newt asks half an hour later as they eat reheated vegetarian lasagne at the breakfast bar, knees almost-but-not-quite touching under the counter, 'What's eating you?'
Hermann stops idly stirring the tiny pieces of carrot into mushy oblivion.
He hasn't decided what to do. Tell Newt? Tell Theo? Say nothing and hope no one ever asks him any questions about anything ever again?
He looks up and his train of thought scatters as it always does when he's looking at Newt. The man is just so casually handsome. On stage Newt dresses outrageously, but at home he's all worn-out t-shirts with oversize hoodies; Hermann hardly knows which version he finds more attractive.
Just now he's wearing one of Hermann's old university sweaters, stolen years ago and never returned, the long sleeves tucked around his hands as he eats. It's one of Newt's favourites; god only knows why. Ugly maroon, faded, with holes around the collar. Newt calls it his comfort sweater, and insists every time Hermann suggests he throw it out that if anything ever happens to it, Hermann will be on the hook to replace it with one exactly the same. Holes and all.
'Did your meeting go okay?' Newt pushes, narrowing his eyes. At least that is an easier question to answer.
'I… Yes. It seems like a good project, I think I'll go up there tomorrow so he can show me what he's been working on so far…' Hermann gives a tiny cough, trying to mask the anxious tightness in his throat. 'His daughter is rather a fan of yours, actually. He just bought her tickets to your show.'
'Oh yeah?' Newt says and Hermann swallows. Or at least he tries to, it's rather hard around the dry golf ball caught in his throat. Newt is looking at him strangely. He must be failing to sound normal. What does normal sound like again? Not too loud, not too soft. Normal.
'When you brought me tea you see…' Hermann tries for a casual laugh, but it just sounds like he's gasping, 'He asked after you and he thought, or I should say, I implied– Only I didn't mean to, it just came out that way– And he assumed— We were together. Romantically. How, um, droll.'
'Yeah. Pretty funny.' Newt says, voice flat.
'Only I, er, perhaps, I didn't correct him. I didn't– I didn't mean to lie, I just…' Hermann is stumbling, but the worst is over, he just needs to get the rest out, 'Only he said then he doesn't work with single men.'
Newt shrugs and raises his eyebrows at him. 'Hey, well, we've lived together for forever and you throw a hissy fit if I pair your socks wrong so it's not even that far off the truth. Practically married. Hardly a lie at all.'
Hermann fights to maintain a neutral face while firmly quashing the traitorous fluttering feelings that very much like the idea of words Newt and married in the same sentence.
'You… you don't mind?' he asks, 'I know it could affect your reputation with BVR if people thought you were romantically attached.'
The Black Velvet Rabbits are loud, angry, theatrical and highly provocative. In his frontman persona, Newt makes himself out to be a player, a slut. He flirts with the entire audience, doubling down on his already frantically restless energy, putting it to good use sliding around the stage until he's sweating hard and flashing tattooed skin.
Given that spends far more time wrapped up in blankets on the couch in front of godawful cheaply made sci-fi trash than he ever has partying, Hermann is amazed anyone believes it.
'Eh. I'm kind of over that image. Eternal playboy bunny? It's cute when you're in your early twenties but it's getting kind of old. Just like me.' Newt grins and takes another bite of lasagne.
Hermann breathes a sigh of relief. 'Thank you. Well I'll try not to ruin your image all the same.'
Newt sighs. 'You worry more about my "image" than I do. We're not doing tiny pub gigs to six people anymore, I think the fans can probably handle the concept that we're different people when we're off stage.'
'Oh really? Does that mean you'll clue them into your vast anime collection the next time you're doing an interview?'
'Oh sure, I'll just hint that it's a raw, sexy anime collection of the most hard-to-find, mind-melting realness.'
'Digimon? Gundam Wing? Ranma ½?'
'Like I said, raw and sexy.' Newt growls in a low purr before sitting up. 'Actually I'll just tell them it's your collection. After all, we're dating now. My boyfriend, the nerd. You can be my geek-beard.'
Hermann chokes. 'Absolutely not. There's not enough beard in the world to cover all your geeky preferences.'
Newt grins and leans in, 'At least the title comes with perks…'
The habitual flirting brings a blush to Hermann's cheek but it also jogs his memory. 'Actually,' he says with a little sigh, 'There was one more thing… Do you think you could do Theo's daughter an autograph? He asked and I was a little flustered so I inadvertently agreed.'
'Sure, which show are they going to be at?'
Hermann frowns trying to remember. 'It's one next week. I think he's based in Norwich?'
Newt pulls his phone out and taps a few times. 'Oh, yeah! That's a nice little venue, not too big… Hold on, let me see…' he frowns in concentration for a moment and then looks up at Hermann, eye's sparkling. 'So I can do you one better, I can get you backstage passes.'
'Really? That would be wonderful.'
'Like I said, perks.' Newt grins, pointing a finger at Hermann. 'Only I have one condition. It's an absolute must.'
'If it's your dishes, I already do them.' Hermann deadpans.
'You've gotta come to the show.'
Hermann drops the fork as a mild stab of panic arcs through him. It clatters to the ground, abnormally loud on the tiled floor.
He hasn't gone to one of Newt's gigs in years . It's become an unspoken point of tension between them: Newt regularly asking him to come to any show within easy travel distance and Hermann politely but steadfastly refusing.
That last show… It had started out as nothing special, just a small gig in a tiny but very cool pub in Brixton, but it had set Hermann on the path to this ridiculous crush he's been nursing for the past seven years.
He'd been on a barstool close to the front, tucking his legs to keep from getting jostled in the crowd, when Newt slid across the stage toward him, screaming from the top of his lungs. He'd torn his shirt off, got up one one knee and pointed right at him, just feet away in the intimate venue, and Hermann had felt a terrible heat rising through his entire body. Gripped by the sensation of his ribs tightening, his eyes widening, his knees shaking, he clutched his cane for dear life as Newt belted out the chorus. He almost collapsed with relief when the song ended and Newt moved away again.
The rest of the set had been a nightmare; Hermann gripping so tight his thigh bruised as Newt sang about sex and love and queerness with an energy and passion that reached into Hermann's chest and squeezed his heart in a vice.
The ride home had been even more impossible, Newt chattering happily while all Hermann could think of was pushing him against the cab door and kissing him senseless. He'd held his cool, but barely.
He'd known in that moment as clearly as he knows now that he can't experience that again and continue on as they've been doing; as roommates, as colleagues, as friends. Seeing Newt perform live just once had instilled in him a crush so powerful it's never faded, who knows what seeing it a second time might do. And even worse, now, when Newt has had years to perfect his act.
He wants to scream, to protest… but Newt is still talking. 'I know you don't like crowds and stuff, but I'll get all of you passes and you can watch the show from the VIP area at the side of the stage, so no one will shove you or anything.'
Newt is looking at him with such hope, Hermann can't… He can't turn him down.
'Y…es,' he says and gives a little cough. 'Yes, thank you Newton. That would be very… thank you.'
Newt grins a slightly evil little grin. 'Actually I've just tacked on a second condition.'
Hermann feels a slight anxiety headache coming on. He almost doesn't want to ask. His appetite is gone. 'What might that be?'
'You're my date, so you've got to dress up.' Newt says matter of factly. 'If I'm introducing my brand new longtime partner Hermann Gottlieb to the world, he's gonna look hot as hell.'
And how could Hermann say no to that?
***
'Earth to Hermann? Come in, Hermann!' Newt softly swipes a large makeup brush across Hermann's forehead, bringing him back to the present with a shocked little bump.
'Pardon?'
'I said we've gotta get a move on!' Newt says, packing the brush back into his kit, 'Makeup is done so let's get you into something less comfortable. If you've got any secret clothes I haven't seen a million times before, now is the time to tell me about them! Got some thigh high platform boots stashed under the bed? A penchant for leather you've been indulging only in secret?'
'Oh yes,' Hermann says sarcastically, 'I'm surprised you missed my vast collection of high heels. They go great with my cane.'
'Hey, you'd rock heels and you know it, my dude. The cane is not to blame for your lack of fashion sense.'
'Regardless,' Hermann gestures vaguely toward his green-grey argyle sweater vest. 'I doubt you would be willing to consider any of my clothes as 'punk', not without considerable ripping and tearing… And I would rather you not damage anything I wear regularly.'
'I was hoping you'd say that,' Newt says entirely too cheerfully, bouncing up off the bed and extending a hand to Hermann, 'Because that means we can take this party to my room.'
Newt's room is what it always is; a mess. Originally it was by far the biggest of the three bedrooms, but he's since transformed a considerable chunk of it into a walk-in wardrobe and dressing room, leaving the rest of his room as an overstuffed monument to punk and every one of his dozens of geeky hobbies.
The walls are plastered in movie posters, shelves lined with comic books, figurines and the half-built gadgets he loves to tinker with. Overhead he's hung an array of harnesses, whips and chains; it would be more intimidating if Hermann didn't already know they are just props and accessories for his act. The only clear space in the whole room is the rug that Newt uses as a tiny practice stage, wedged between his guitar rack and a stack of amps and pedals.
Hermann sits on the bed as Newt dramatically throws open his wardrobe door and flicks on the dressing room lights, illuminating racks of black leather and studs. Stepping inside, he spreads his arms wide like a magician building drama for a grand reveal.
'Once you see what's in here, you'll say "Newt! Whatever have I been doing with my life? You were so right all this time about how good I'd look in leather pants. By gum, by golly, let us burn my sweater vest and never look back." Newt announces, running his hands affectionately across a row of hangers.
'You know I've seen all of this before, Newton.' Hermann says, not moving.
If Newt hears him, he ignores him. 'I have so many things you'd look great in, man.' he mutters, flicking through options, pulling things out seemingly at random.
'Newton, I'm not sure if you've ever noticed but we are quite different in height and… general shape. Adding to which, haven't a lot of your outfits been tailored to you?'
Newt shrugs. 'Eh, so maybe some things are a little big or a little short. It's not like you wear anything that fits you usually.'
'Can we do this with one part less of disparaging my general taste, person and apparel?' Hermann snipes, starting to feel quite annoyed. 'Yes, I agreed to this makeover, and certainly fashion does not rate highly on my personal list of priorities, but that does not give you , my roommate- cum -fake-boyfriend, the right to ridicule me to my face. For example: I rarely, if ever, tell you that your chain-pants make you look like an extra in a cheap horror film, or that your favourite transparent plastic top makes your chest look like an overstuffed sausage casing, because that would be rude.'
Newt grins, as he always does when Hermann roasts him. 'Point taken, Hermann. You're right; boyfriends build each other up. Your wardrobe is safe from me for the rest of the night.'
He carries his haul over to the bed and dumps it out next to Hermann with a soft whump. 'I'm just really excited to see how you look in some of these. D’you mind if I take pictures, for, uh, reference?'
Hermann can't suppress the disapproving frown that scrunches his lips tight as he fingers the edge of something lacy and sheer.
'You can't be serious about this. I would look…' Hermann trails off, unable to articulate it. It's not that the clothes themselves are ridiculous, some of them are quite lovely, but draped across his bony frame? Nothing short of absurd.
'You'll look incredible, dude. After all, you're out there pulling off grandpa's clothes every day, so imagine what you'll do with something actually decent.' Hermann glares and Newt holds up his hands 'Okay, okay, sorry. I'm trying to build you up, I'm just doing a terrible job.'
He pulls out something in shiny black pvc and holds it out to Hermann, who purses his lips.
'Pretty please?' Newt asks, widening his eyes into that kicked puppy face he knows always gets him what he wants, 'Just try them on?'
'Fine.' Hermann grumbles, taking the hanger, 'But only if you promise not to hound me about this forever afterwards. This is just for tonight.'
'Pinky swear.' Newt shouts, jumping up onto the bed and crossing his legs, 'Now! Fashion show!'
Hermann begrudgingly changes into the first outfit with a little help from Newt, who quickly leaves the bed again to bounce around getting jewellery and accessories. It's an all black PVC coat, shorts and knee-high boots ensemble with no shirt at all, just a soft collar. 'Hmm, one more thing…' Newt hums and loops a long black plastic necklace over Hermann's head. He tugs the beads around a little, adjusting the pendant to sit under the coat. His hand lingers for a moment over his chest and Hermann shivers, feeling foolish.
'You can't really expect me to wear so little?' he gripes, tugging the coat a little more closed. 'Bare chest, bare legs? I'll freeze.'
Newt isn't listening again. He steps back, looking Hermann up and down. 'Fuck.' he mutters, taking out his phone and snapping a few pictures.
Hermann frowns at him. 'I said I'll freeze.'
'I don't think it's possible to freeze when you look this hot, Hermann.' Newt says, kneeling on the bed so he can get a better angle, 'Could you walk a few steps? Or just move around a little? Keep glaring though, it's a great look. Very menacing.'
Hermann rolls his eyes, spreads his arms and does a little circle.
'Okay, yes, but this time less like a robot who is trying to signal a plane and more like… Walk like you just found out I dumped a pot of coffee over your keyboard and you're looking for me to kill me.'
'Newton,' Hermann says sharply, 'Please tell me that was just an example and not you telling me you've destroyed my keyboard.'
Newt grins, 'Just an example! But your face is perfect right now, so I'm sure we can make it a reality if you need the motivation.'
Begrudgingly, Hermann strides in a short loop around the room, glaring at Newt all the while. Over on the bed Newt just sighs happily. 'Absolutely perfect. Okay, next outfit!'
They repeat the whole process several more times; first an oversize glitzy holographic jacket, followed by a sheer black shirt with lantern sleeves and high-waisted trousers. 'I call this one 'Pirate slut but make it fashion.' Newt informs him and Hermann retorts that none of those adjectives are ones he aspires to.
The last look is almost passible, or at least, it certainly has the highest percentage coverage of any outfit tried so far. A long leather coat and leather pants paired with a cropped black polo neck, leaving only his stomach exposed.
'At least this one isn't so cold,' Hermann says, twisting to look at himself in Newt's floor length mirror. He turns back to find Newt zoned out again, staring vaguely at Hermann's torso. He's biting his lip, looking slightly glassy and a little flushed. At least someone is warm, Hermann thinks grumpily, turning back to look at himself again.
'While this one isn't completely dreadful, I'm still not happy walking around with my midriff exposed,' he decides aloud.
'But you have such great hips,' Newt protests behind him, apparently listening after all, 'Don't you want to show them off to the world?'
'Not particularly.'
Before Newt can marshall further argument, Hermann decides to brave the walk-in closet himself. The black jeans earlier weren't too bad, and he has a dark jacket of his own somewhere, perhaps he can salvage something that will meet Newt's approval and allow him a modicum of decency.
The closet is remarkably well organised considering the chaos of the rest of Newt's room. Rows of shoes and boots take up the shelves on the back wall, and the well-lit racks of coats, shirts, skirts and strange, unnameable, questionably 'fashionable' items can be pulled out and perused individually.
Hermann finds what he's looking for quite quickly.
'I'll be right back' he assures Newt, collects the discarded jeans from the bed and heads back to his own room.
Once finished, he looks himself over in the much smaller and less well-lit mirror on the inside door of his wardrobe. The effect is not bad actually, the jeans Newt picked out for him fit well. Suspiciously well in fact, almost as though Newt had in fact bought jeans in Hermann's size and then found an extremely roundabout way to get him to wear them, the manipulative bastard.
Hermann has paired them with one of Newt's black shirts, tucked in to hide that it is, in fact, much too big, and a black suit jacket he'd bought years ago for a work conference and never worn again. The jacket is best worn open, so he digs around for a few minutes and finds a long silver scarf to add to the mix for extra warmth.
It looks good, but it's not quite… punky enough. He's sure Newt will complain. Hesitatingly he undoes his top button and then two more. There. That's as much skin as he's willing to show, so it will have to do.
When he enters the room again, Newt looks up and drops his phone.
'I know it's not as extreme as your other looks, but I happen to think it looks rather good.' Hermann says firmly, trying to head any complaints off at the pass.
'...grrzt….' Newt croaks and clears his throat. 'Yeah. Yeah? Yeah. It's, um. It's good. Good stuff. Looks good.'
Hermann stares at him suspiciously, waiting for the backhanded quip, but Newt just opens and closes his mouth a few times like he's trying to form words and can't.
'You actually like it?' Hermann asks finally.
Newt nods furiously. 'Yeah, I, uh. Do you want any, um, accessories? We'll have to get you some shoes too… I have a few pairs I ordered that, um, didn't fit me… Maybe you could try those?'
Hermann's suspicions deepen. Who keeps shoes that don't fit them? Preposterous.
'You just so happen to have some shoes that don't fit you. Several pairs.' He says, raising one eyebrow.
'Yep.' says Newt, popping the 'p' obnoxiously. 'They're all long and narrow and way too big for me. It's kind of weird they're all the wrong size in just the same way, I'd better not buy from that store again.'
'What store was it?' Hermann asks, trying to sound curious and not accusatory.
'Honkin' Chonker's Foot Factory.' Newt replies sweetly, without skipping a beat. Damn him.
Newt does indeed have several pairs of boots in exactly Hermann's size, with a low heel and a little more room than he needs so he can add supportive insoles. Hermann doesn't remark on the coincidence any further, just picks out a nice narrow pair in suede that match well with the silver of his scarf.
Newt sighs happily, pulling Hermann into a side-hug so he can snap a picture of them together.
'We look awesome, dude. Tonight's gonna be great.'
***
It's still early afternoon and so far things are not great.
It's a good two hour drive to Norwich and while Hermann knows all of Newt's bandmates well, he's never actually been trapped in confined space with them for a long period of time. They're strong personalities and he can handle that, just about. It’s all the strange comments he wasn't prepared for.
It starts when they board the "BVR Tour Bus", really a minibus with half the seats removed to make room for all the gear. The rest of the band is already there, fully ready in stage outfits and makeup– everything except the signature black bunny ears. Newt has complained in the past that they tend to give him a headache if he wears them for too long, so the band has made a ritual out of putting them on right before they go on stage.
Kvothe, a heavyset bear of a bassist and Delilah, a tiny drummer who terrifies Hermann, have set up a card table between two seats, playing world's most precariously balanced game of poker. Alexis; the BVR's lanky lead guitar is lounging around, managing to take up three seats.
Up front is Elk, part time keyboardist, part time stage manager, who always insists on driving so they get to pick the music.
'Hey guys, guess who agreed to be my date this evening?' Newt says with a grin as he hops aboard and puts his hand out to pull Hermann up.
'Hermann!' everyone yells, waving him in. Hermann smiles around tightly, feeling a little self-conscious in his new look. He feels practically naked without his habitual sweater vests.
'Looking fly, my guy.' Alexis shoots Hermann finger guns and shifts over, making room for Newt and Hermann to sit together.
'Super hot.' Elk whistles, 'You should dress up more often.'
'So you made it at last, Hermann?' Kvothe asks, in a deep calm voice, an uncharacteristically secretive little smile playing about his lips.
'We didn't think you'd ever cop on.' Delilah adds, grinning a wide, almost feral little grin.
'Chill out, guys.' Newt says a little sharply. 'Hermann hasn't been to a show in a while, so let's make him feel welcome, yeah? Especially if we ever want him to come again.'
Hermann feels his face heating rapidly. He hadn't realised his absence had been felt. He'd assumed the band would be happy to not have to worry about the comfort of their awkward mixing engineer.
'I'm... I'm sorry I haven't seen a show in a while…' he starts to apologise but Alexis cuts him off with a friendly little clap on the back that almost sends him flying.
'Hey don't worry about it,' Alexis says as Hermann tries to catch his breath, 'It's just good to see you, that's all anyone meant. Right, guys?'
'Oh sure,' Delilah says, her eyes on her cards, 'But hey, seeing as Hermann hasn't been to a show in a while, we should definitely play some new material. Really give him a show to remember.'
'Definitely.' Kvothe agrees, nodding emphatically, 'What do you think, Newt? Is tonight the night for some new tunes?'
Newt looks a little green. 'If you guys are sure we're ready…'
Elk chuckles at that, like Newt told a good joke.
'I don't think we could be more ready, my man.' Alexis says with a grin, 'If you make me practise any more my fingers might just fall off.'
Newt doesn't reply, he just looks out the window, strangely quiet and withdrawn, leaving Hermann to chat politely to his bandmates.
Everyone is super friendly, handing him drinks, asking how his new job is going. Delilah tries to convince him to play poker, Alexis asks his opinions on some new pedals, but all the while there seems to be a second conversation happening just over Hermann's head. Everyone is excited about the show, everyone except Newt, who only joins in the camaraderie when someone asks him a direct question.
It's the worst case of stage nerves Hermann's seen from him for a long time, and during a lull in the conversation he leans over and pats Newt's arm awkwardly in an attempt to reassure him.
'Is anything wrong?' he asks when Newt looks up in surprise, 'You're much quieter than usual…'
'No.' Newt says with a small smile, 'I'm, uh, just hoping you enjoy yourself. They're right, you know… It has been a long time since you've seen us perform. You might hate it… And it would be my fault as, uh, I kinda forced you to come tonight.'
He looks out the window again and Hermann finally twigs that Newt's not just anxious; he's upset. He's trying to hide it, but with a voice so expressive it will always betray more than he realises.
'Newt,' Hermann says seriously, 'You have not forced me, you asked me to come and I agreed– Not only that but you're doing me a favour too. I certainly don't want you to worry about me.'
'I should have just given you the tickets and let you make up your own mind,' Newt says, so quietly Hermann almost misses it. 'Real gentlemanly, bribing you into a date.'
Hermann purses his lips, not sure how to take that. Isn't Hermann the one who asked Newt to pretend to be his partner? Shouldn't this be Hermann's misplaced guilt over forcing Newt into a pathetic charade? Somehow, he suspects that's not really what all this is about.
'I am sorry I've not come to a show for so long,' Hermann says quietly, unsure how to explain his long absence without giving himself away, but determined to try now that he can see how much his absence has upset him. 'I…I regret that. I do not know if this helps but; I am glad to be here now and I'm looking forward to tonight. Truly.'
'Thanks.' Newt says quietly, It's... It's just really good to have you here–' He sounds like he's about to say something else and Hermann waits patiently for the rest of the thought, but instead he just slides a little sideways and lets his head drop to Hermann's shoulder.
Hermann squeaks a little in surprise but doesn't move away. After a few minutes it becomes clear that Newt isn't moving away either, so Hermann goes back to quietly patting Newt's arm in mute reassurance.
***
Heavy traffic has them running almost an hour late for set-up so there's a mad scramble to unload the gear and prep for sound check. Hermann can't do much more than help by holding doors open, so once the equipment is inside he gets out of the way by offering to sit in the pit to listen to the mix from there.
Newt's mood has picked up considerably; he's almost back to his usual self as he runs too and fro, taping out layout markers and joking with the band. He over at Hermann every now and again and smiles, and Hermann feels a warm rush in his gut.
The check goes as smoothly as these things ever do; which is to say a complete mess. After twenty minutes of trying to locate the crossed wires and broken mic, everything is finally sorted and the Black Velvet Rabbits run through a couple of their classic songs.
Elk does a basic test just to check the keyboards are working and then runs off to consult with the engineers. Delilah is giving it everything she's got, working up a sweat in a rapidfire drum solo. Kvothe is playing with intensity, rumbling the floor at Hermann's feet.
At 6'3, Alexis and Newt have always made a funny contrast side by side, but they make a great duo as Alexis's ability to jam superfast riffs frees Newt up to indulge all his stupidest antics.
Hermann can palpably feel the excitement building as everyone warms up, Newt's energy gradually leaving planet earth and becoming completely unhinged as he falls into his stage persona. This was the moment Hermann was terrified of; that he couldn't see this again without losing his cool entirely, but as Newt slides across the stage and belts out the chorus to 'Ten Ways To Go Fuck Yourself', he finds himself smiling.
He knows these songs by heart, has heard Newt hum them quietly in the living room, sing them in the shower and scream them into a recording studio mic. He's listened to them endlessly as he's mixed down the tracks, adjusting levels and cutting noise to prep them for recording. He loves them… and seeing Newt unleashing everything he has to bring them to life is wonderful.
He's disappointed when the sound check is over after just a couple of songs. Newt hooks the mic back up and hops down off the stage, heading straight for Hermann.
'How did we sound?' he asks, glowing with sweat.
'Incredible, as usual.' Hermann says with a smile. 'Shall we get you some dinner to fuel those flips and cartwheels?'
'Alright, but I asked you out, so I'm buying.' Newt says, hooking his arm through Hermann's and tugging him along before Hermann can protest.
***
It's probably the least fancy 'date' Hermann has ever been treated to. They get takeout dimsum a few blocks over and eat in the minivan with the rest of the band, not wanting to risk running into fans before everyone is ready. Hermann smiles as everyone goes through their pre-show rituals, humming, stretching, bickering and finally clipping their velvet rabbit ears securely into place and testing them with a little tug.
There's a queue forming by the time they get back. Elk hands out the passes, stage passes for the band and three backstage passes for Hermann. 'Newt asked me to set you guys up with a tiny VIP area.' they explain, 'It's a 400 person venue so it's a bit tight, but you're off to one side behind a rail so no one will be shoving you and you'll have a decent view. It's not much of a backstage area either, but if you're getting overwhelmed during the show you can head back there and it'll at least have chairs and some water.'
'I know you hate crowds and you got shoved around a lot the last time you came,' Newt says in a rush, bouncing on the balls of his feet anxiously, 'I just wanted to make sure that didn't happen again.'
Hermann blinks in surprise, feeling quite touched. 'You didn't have to do all of this,' he says, looking between them.
'Wanted to.' Newt says matter of factly. He hesitates for a moment, looking uncertain. 'Um. Enjoy the show, dude.' He blurts out and then turns and marches off toward the stage door.
***
Hermann reluctantly turns back toward the entrance and phones Theo. After that first meeting, Hermann had spent the week trucking gear between his London apartment and Theo's high-end personal studio, listening to Theo waffle endlessly about his vision for the project and dodging personal questions, so he's not feeling too optimistic about having him as a companion for the evening.
When the man finally arrives, he's dressed in business casual clothing that's even more out of place than Hermann's toned-down look. Trailing behind him is a surly and fully goth teen girl who tells Hermann to call her Raven before grabbing her pass and vanishing into the shrieking crowd.
Theo is delighted with Hermann, with the tickets, with the VIP area and tells Hermann so at length. 'It's so good not to be stuck in with the general public, don't you think?' he says, in his usual habit of framing all his thoughts as questions he doesn't actually want an answer to. 'I love Raven– her real name is Emily by the way– but the company she keeps can be terribly unwashed. And that's not even including all these strappy, spiky, metal clothes that absolutely murder a washing machine– Not that any of this is any reflection on your partner or Black Rabbits of course! He can't help who his fans are, I'm sure.'
'Clothes with a lot of metal detail are generally recommended as hand wash only.' Hermann replies mildly. He's found this is the best way to deal with Theo. Let him ramble, barely listen, nod quietly and every now and again state a fact or two that shows you're still awake. He doesn't need more encouragement than that. Hermann learned early in the week that listening too attentively tends to leave him furiously angry as Theo generally spouts large scattergun quantities of poorly worded and ill-informed nonsense, followed up by a 'no offence meant, of course.'
The project is great, the money is great, Hermann has actually been allowed quite a lot of creative freedom and if the price he has to pay is putting up with Theo Riddell then so be it. He's certainly had enough experience in managing rich, conservative egoists from Lars Gottlieb, and at least Theo isn't taking potshots at Hermann's personal choices at every opportunity. Case in point; he hasn't even mentioned the green eyeshadow, which Hermann is supremely thankful for.
Within a few minutes, Theo moves on to talking about the project, largely covering the same ground he's already spoken to Hermann about several times already. Hermann relaxes and tunes him out completely, looking over the crowd.
The excitement is amping up. A mosh pit has formed in front of the stage already, and Hermann catches sight of Raven violently smashing elbows, giving as good as she gets. By the time the support act finishes the crowd is amped up, screaming and tossing cotton balls back and forth.
Hermann is surprised at the sheer numbers raining down around the room– Newt told him once that the cheap bunny tail he clipped onto the back of his jeans would inevitably fly off into the crowd when he got too high energy– So the fans had started bringing something to throw back. Nowadays Newt sews the tail to his waistband, a pleasing little duo-tone puff to match his hair, but apparently the fans never stopped bringing cotton balls.
It's oddly sweet for a punk act and Hermann is glad that if they're going to be tossing anything at Newt, at least it's soft. He can see why throwing a heavy lock into the audience might be a bad idea; people might start bringing their own and lobbing them at the band–
His train of thought derails as the house lights shut off, plunging the room into pitch darkness. There's a strange sensation, a sussration of a huge number of people moving invisibly in the blackness… Until the deep opening chord of ' Kinetic Combustion ' cuts across the whispers, and the whole crowd braces in a singular rippling moment of tension.
As the drums hit, the stage blazes bright in a gush of purple smoke and behind it all, just hazy shadows silhouetted against the fog: The Black Velvet Rabbits.
Hermann can't see Newt, but his voice rings out, taking the opening lines slowly as the band picks up volume, building the tension.
Told me I was gonna fail, pulled me aside,
But you're just fucking frail, so terrified,
Know why I'm not gonna bail? 'Cos I've got fucking PRIDE!
As the beat hits Newt explodes through the smoke on his knees, screaming into the mic and the crowd loses it. Cotton balls rain through the air onto the stage as Newt picks himself up and high kicks into the second verse.
The crowd is loud, Theo is still wittering on, but Hermann can't hear any of it. He's completely transfixed.
Newt is so beautiful. More than that, he's powerful; backlit by stage lights and imbuing the songs with a wild energy Hermann had never truly appreciated before. He kicks cotton balls back out into the audience, does stunts between verses, stamping and sliding across the stage like a tiny, volatile perpetual motion machine showing no sign of flagging even after three, four, five songs back to back.
Hermann's heart is bursting open, a renewed flood of fresh pain ready to layer down over a decade of calcified yearning. Only now those years of tamped down emotions are cracking, seeping out, escaping the tight confinement he's been keeping on them.
How can he continue like this? Getting up every day and making Newt his ridiculously lightly toasted bread, arguing over sweetener and milk, bickering about housework and dishes and turn taking– When all he wants to do is hold him close and tell him how much he adores him, values him, needs him.
Impossible. It's impossible. He can't put this back in the box.
Hermann, you've got to be kidding me, Newt'll say when Hermann tells him, You go to one show and you're fucking in love with me? Now we'll have to sell the place and never speak to one another again.
Or something to that effect. He's ruined everything, and for what? One stupid job with an asshole composer who never stops talking? Hermann never cries in public, but the rising lump in his throat is a painful concrete reminder of his total and abject failure.
On stage, Newt is drinking, tipping up an enormous water bottle and downing it in huge gulps. He pours a great deal of it down himself, to the screaming gratification of the front rows. He grins and upends the bottle over them, soaking a small group right in front of the stage. Hermann shivers, both glad to be out of the splash zone and… strangely envious.
Throwing the now-empty bottle out into the crowd, Newt looks over at the VIP area and winks. Hermann smiles. Was that meant for him? Likely Newt can't even see him, tucked away against the side in the darkness of the auditorium… but who else would it be for?
BVR are almost through the first half of their set when some kind of silent argument breaks out on stage. Kovthe and Delilah are covering the exchange pretty well, riffing in the background, but it's pretty obvious something has gone awry.
Alexis, Elk and Newt take a step back from the mics, gesturing at one another furiously. Alexis plays an opening chord Hermann doesn't recognise, Newt makes a sharp cutting motion with his hand and Elk leaves, returning a minute later with a second guitar.
Finally, someone wins out. It's not totally clear who. Newt strides to centre stage and puts his mic back on the stand, picking up the new guitar. Hermann frowns. Newt usually tracks his guitar parts beforehand and gives it to Elk to mix in so he can keep his hands free, he hadn't realised they still had songs where Newt played live.
The covering riff finishes up as Newt leans into the mic. 'Ya'll ready for a new one?' he asks, and his question is almost drowned out as the audience roars back enthusiastically. Newt taps loudly, trying to quiet the crowd so he can finish speaking.
'This new one is actually an old one. I wrote it a long time ago but I've been waiting for the right time… Tonight is finally the night.' He pauses for a moment. He's smiling but Hermann can see he's chewing his lip. An old, familiar anxious tic that's all Newt, completely out of place coming from his outgoing stage persona. 'This one… This one's for you. Fuck it.'
Newt leans in close to the mic, singing softly, almost gently; ' I'm right here– Can't you see me?'
He glances toward the VIP area again, and Hermann frowns. He's never heard this song before. Eight years in the same studio and he's ever heard it? When did Newt write it? When did they practise? How is this possible?
'I'm right here– Can't you feel me?' The gentleness in Newt's voice fades into something fierce and angry, each line punctuated by a blast of feedback and noise as he whacks the fretboard, ramping up the volume until he's screaming into the mic– ' I'M RIGHT HERE, CAN'T YOU HEAR ME?'
The band join him, exploding into an intense, technical riff that drops Hermann's jaw to the floor. Newt is playing too, doubling up on Alexis' guitar, the entire band joining in as backing vocals as he screams out into the audience 'I'm getting louder (EVERY DAY), Amping years of foreplay, I'm getting sharper, (EVERY DAY), Ripping feelings that betray–' Newt stamps on a pedal and the crunch of distortion colours his voice, ' I'm getting worse, (EVERY DAY)– So why do you even stay?'
Hermann's mouth twists, his chest hurts and he can't quite process why. This is all happening so fast—
Newt flings the second guitar down and forcefully grabs the mic back off the stand. ' Can't seem to bite my tongue, Falling hitting every rung–' he barks the words out, hard and angry. Hermann's heart picks up, beating out a furious rhythm in adrenaline and anxiety. Newt seems truly upset– or has Hermann just never seen this part of the act before?
A half-second later, Newt takes off running across the stage, jumping over speakers, grabbing– what looks like random items, but Hermann hopes very much is artfully arranged props, and flinging them out into the audience. ' Breaking all our dishes, smashing shit to pieces, Tearing up our place, looking for a single trace–' He kicks stuff into the air, throws someone's jacket to the ground and stamps on it, grabs the long metal pole of the mic stand and whacks it into the floor. ' I need to know you feel the same– Or am I the only one to blame?' Newt screams, dramatically rippings his already barely-hanging-on shirt clean off and tossing it to the floor.
Kvothe and Delilah pick up and play an intense bridge and Newt stands under the lights for a moment, panting, shirt in tatters around his feet.
Hermann can't breathe. He's trying to replay the lines, trying to get some sense of what this all means but his mind is a stuck record just skipping— skipping— skipping—
On stage, Newt tucks the mic under his arm and strides over to the VIP side of the stage, just a couple of dozen feet away. Jumping up, he grabs the metal truss supporting the lighting equipment and starts climbing. Hermann's heart is in his mouth, half spellbound, half simply terrified that Newt will fall. The crowd below are screaming, foaming up and crashing against the barrier in one fluid mass when Newt stops about halfway up and leans out over the audience, hanging by one arm.
Hermann can see he's sweating, glistening under the bright lights as he lifts the mic and yells; 'Cause I've been lying from the start– (please get a clue)--' The backing vocals are almost drowned out as Newt pushes them forward. '-- It's been tearing me apart (you're my glue)--' Newt emphasises each line by stabbing the mic out toward the audience, like he's expecting a call and response that never comes. '--Don't play so stupid when you're so smart (surely you knew?)--' His voice sounds off, tight. Still fierce, but raspy, like he's struggling to keep up the volume, 'Every day you're breaking my heart – It's alway been you.'
As soon as the last line finishes he kicks straight out across the stage. There's a moment of plummeting terror as Hermann watches him arc and drop down— but Newt lands hard on his knees, already shouting the last verse at the top of his lungs. ' Getting louder every day, I'm right here hitting replay, screaming will you look my way, can't you hear me when I say–'
Newt pulls off his lock necklace and holds it out at arms length, looking out toward where Hermann stands with shaking hands, gripping the cold metal rail like a lifeline. Hermann can feel him scanning, looking for him, a single face in a sea of faces, swallowed up by the darkness of the crowd.
Their eyes meet and Newt smiles, letting the lock fall to the floor. ' It's always been you.'
Hermann hears it. He sees it. But he doesn't understand it. Newt is staring out at him, smiling, but Hermann's mind is awash with static, a decaying signal caught in a feedback loop, indistinguishable from random noise. Distantly he is aware that something has happened, is happening, that he needs to act, to react– but he's stuck fast in place, completely unable to move.
They stare at each other across the gulf of the auditorium, performer and audience, until the last chords end and Newt stands up at last, looking a little shaky. Hermann watches blankly as Newt frowns, picks up his fallen t-shirt, waves vaguely at the crowd and exits the stage for the half-show break.
Hermann's lungs aren't working right. He can't breathe. The metal of the rail is the only thing he can feel, clamped beneath stiff cold fingers, the only thing keeping him upright.
Why did— How is— Should he— What— Why—
'Hermann? Are you okay?' Theo whispers, breaking in on the fragmenting cycle of stunned thoughts. 'Do you need to sit down?'
'I'm f-fine.' Hermann croaks, grateful for the question. He pulls it around to the front of his mind and focuses on it, a reasonable question in a sea of impossible unknowns. 'I just need to get… get some water. And a little air. You have your passes, yes? I won't be long, I just need to… go.' For once Theo just nods, something in Hermann's face having spooked him into silence.
Hermann is shaking from head to toe as he pushes his way through the crowd. The backstage area would be calmest, but Hermann is afraid of running into Newt before he's had a moment to think. He needs to think.
Catching sight of a side door, he heads out, not caring much if he sets off a fire alarm or two at this point. The sharp inhale of night air helps, even tempered by secondhand smoke and the warm gusts of sweaty, ripe air that coils out the open door behind him.
What did it all mean? The song, the date, the clothing— The song was for him, that much Hermann is completely certain of, but what on earth did it mean ? He paces, agitated, trying to replay the lyrics, but his mind keeps skipping back and forth like a cheap sampler with a broken hard drive.
— getting louder — Smashing shit to pieces— lying from the start – I'm right here – feelings that betray—
Scheiße, he wishes he'd been recording it, thought to write it down— His usually perfect recall has failed him, his memories of the scene feel like a tangled mass of lights, colours, noise, all surrounding Newt. Newt who'd screamed his heart out like he couldn't be loud enough, and then looked so… so sad as he'd left the stage.
Why do you even stay?
Ice cold fear trickles down the back of Hermann's neck, a cold, clammy certain terror that Newt has finally decided he's done with his stuffy, surly flatmate at last, is telling him to get out, to move out, to move on– He stumbles, hits the solid, cold wall bodily and has to bite down on a grunt of pain to stop it becoming a scream.
Someone grabs his upper arm, strong enough to stop him sliding to the floor. Unthinkingly, he grabs back trying to steady himself.
'Well… shit.' Newt says, mouth twisted into an unhappy line, 'I hoped you'd just got lost trying to get backstage but you're crying out by the bins…? I guess I fucked up.'
'Newton–' Hermann shakes his head, gasping. 'I'm not. Crying that is. I'm. I was just… Getting some air. It's very stuffy in there.' He drops his vice-like grip on Newt's arm and draws himself up, trying to pull together the last shreds of his dignity. 'How did you find me, anyway?'
Newt rolls his eyes. 'We have a joint phone tracking app, remember? You made me get it the first year we lived together because I kept walking home alone after shows.'
'Carrying expensive gear and wearing nothing but hotpants.' Hermann grumbles on autopilot, the familiar argument a liferaft in deep and choppy waters.
'Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm a walking target.' Newt says, but it has no bite. He looks… deeply unhappy. Hermann's heart squeezes. Whatever is about to come, it's going to hurt. Better to get it over with.
'I… You wrote it for me, didn't you?'
Newt nods. Someone has given him a spare t-shirt to replace the one he ripped on stage. It’s too big, too clean… That manic energy that could fill a whole room is gone, leaving him looking small and scared.
'Yeah, I, uh… I thought it would be the best way to tell you. Or maybe the stupidest. It's definitely not feeling like such a good plan right now, but at the time I thought it would be more, uh…' Newt waves his arm vaguely, like he's trying to pluck the distasteful words straight from the air instead of having to use his own mouth to say them. Hermann swallows, bracing. '… uh, romantic, I guess.' Newt finishes.
"Romantic"? Romantic?! Hermann's busted sampler of a brain slams the brakes and hits rewind.
— breaking my heart – tearing me apart— Breaking all our dishes— It's always been you—
It's always been you.
His mouth opens and closes several times. Newt was trying to be romantic?! Singing about lying and smashing and ripping— romantic? He wants to ask for a lyric sheet, to sneer and question every line until they're both so furious they'll snap exactly what they really mean with no room for confusion. They always were better at communicating when standing six feet apart and screaming at the top of their lungs.
Romantic? It almost makes sense. Almost.
He means to demand clarity, to cut through the ridiculous game whatever it may be; instead his voice comes out in a dry airless whisper, the last horse voice of the hopeful damned, 'Did you… did you mean it?'
Newt looks exasperated, fond and annoyed all at once. 'No, I just confessed my love for my roommate live on stage for shits and giggles. Because I love to suffer and torment us both and make my own living situation hell.'
Hermann frowns. 'I did ask you to lie about being my partner to my employer and then agree to go on an elaborate fake date, I think you can forgive me being a little concerned that this was part of the charade…'
'Yeah, I don't think even I could write, compose and convince the band to learn and perform a new song in like… a week, but I'm glad you think so much of my skills.' Newt pauses for a moment and points an accusing finger at Hermann, some of his usual fighting spark flaring up 'Besides, asshole, I didn't ask you on a fake date, I just asked you on a fucking date. Didn't we already have this conversation on the bus? The whole "coerced-you-into-coming-slash-glad-to-be-here" routine? What was that even, if you're calling this a fake date?'
Hermann blinks, trying to slot this new information into the rapidly shifting sands of his perception of the last week. 'This is a real date?' he asks weakly. Suddenly his stomach is churning. He's always been terrible on dates. He gets anxious about making a good impression and then overthinks what a good impression might be and then— his stomach gurgles menacingly— And then he's usually disastrously and publicly sick.
'Do you want it to be?' Newt growls.
'I… You wanted to go on a date with me? You–' Hermann reaches out for the wall again, cold rough brick lending him some reassurance that the world has not in fact flipped upside down.
Everything seems a little wobbly around the edges, a little fuzzy and unreal. He parcels out the new information, one fact at a time. Newt had asked him on a date. Hermann had said yes. They're already on that date and Newt had written and performed a bizarrely angry romantic song for him in front of— In front of everyone.
'Fuck. Are you okay?' Newt is holding his arm again, twisted sideways, his freckled nose and dark lined eyes very close suddenly. Hermann registers slowly that he's sitting on the ground, the wall having failed in its very basic task of keeping him on his feet.
'Perhaps,' Hermann says, working to keep his voice steady, 'Perhaps we could have this conversation in a less public location. Preferably one with chairs.'
Newt hauls him to his feet again, and passes him his cane. It's so important to keep one's dignity intact during important milestones in a relationship, Hermann muses, covered in alley mud and being supported by his roommate, lifelong crush and allegedly reciprocal date.
'Yeah,' Newt snaps back, replying to Hermann's apparently external monologue, 'It's so important to have dignity when you bear your heart on stage only to have your date pass out over it.'
'But why… why now?' Hermann asks, his brain seemingly giving up entirely on trying to parse out the situation and resorting instead to needling. 'Why didn't you say anything sooner?'
'It would have been a lot sooner except you stopped coming to gigs.'
'What? When did you write that song?'
'Uh… about a year after we moved in. I always wanted to sing it for you, to tell you that way… and then you just never came to another show. I figured… I figured if you didn't come to our shows you weren't interested, but I promised if you ever came again I'd do it anyway.' He laughs, a hollow painful little laugh, 'Because fortune favours the brave, I guess.'
'Seven… seven years.' Hermann whispers as the reality of it registers at last. Seven years of sleeping just a couple of walls apart, seven years of wishing, wanting—
Newt is still talking. 'Seriously though, Hermann, I guess it was kind of a shitty way to go about this. Forcing you to come on a date, then hitting you with this– You'd already made it clear you weren't interested and here I am pushing it on you anyway. So, uh, I understand if this whole thing is just too much. I can crash on Elk's couch for a few weeks or something if you don't want to see me for a bit.'
'Oh.' Hermann blinks, 'I thought you knew, this whole time… Newt, I stopped coming to your shows because I fell in love with you.'
Newt staggers, almost drops him.
'You fucking what?'
They untangle and stand six inches apart, staring each other down in the dim beige-painted service corridor, blank grey doors lining either wall and not a chair in sight. It'll have to do.
'I fell in love with you.' Hermann tells him simply, looking deep into Newt's green and hazel flecked eyes. It's strangely easy to say it aloud, a fact to be stated, resolutely and immutably true. 'I knew if I came to another show I wouldn't be able to continue on as we were a moment longer, so I… I stopped coming.'
It's hard to tell beneath the makeup, but Newt looks pale.
'You mean… You mean we've both been… This whole time? We could've been… this whole time? ' he hisses like a tiny, pissed-off rattlesnake. 'Why didn't you say anything?'
'Pot, kettle.' Hermann says wryly, 'It seems we've both been fools. I will also point out that I've now stated my position clearly and yours has been inferred only from bizarre lyrics about smashing our crockey.'
'It's a metaphor for frustration.' Newt snorts. 'Anyway, what, like I'm going to sing a sappy song with flowers and kittens in it? Breaking shit has always been more us.'
'There's nothing wrong with some flowers,' Hermann sniffs, 'They're far more direct at least.'
'Noted.' Newt pushes forward suddenly, sliding an arm around Hermann's waist and grins up at him. 'Hey, Hermann?'
'Yes?'
'I love you too.'
Hermann doesn't know who closes the gap, just that one moment they're sniping at one another and the next he's being pushed up against the service corridor wall and kissed within an inch of his life.
Kissing Newt is both nothing like and exactly like he'd always imagined; wonderful and messy, strangely awkward and yet so right.
Newt's stubble grazes his lips and cheeks in a rough tingling slide that sets his nerves on fire. He wants to push his fingers into Newt's soft tempting hair that smells of his awful extra-hold gel, but the velvet bunny ears stop him in his tracks. Newt's hands snake their way under his jacket and shirt, tracing vivid, hot lines across the bare skin of his back and sending little shivers of need up Hermann's spine, and all the while those ridiculous necklaces digging almost painfully into his ribs.
Hermann laughs, the juxtapositions and imperfections just make it more… more real. Newt warm and soft and so real in his arms. All of it together intertwines, perfect beyond Hermann's wildest fantasies. Why hadn't they done this years ago? So much time lost, so much to make up for now…
Hungrily, Hermann pulls Newt closer, twisting to get a better angle, dropping his cane to free his hand to slip in under the edge of Newt's shirt—
And break apart when a bland grey door slams open about three inches away, narrowly missing his ear as two people barrel through it.
'Fuck!' Elk shouts as they whack straight into Hermann's back. 'There you are!'
'Little busy here, guys,' Newt says thickly, waving them off and trying fruitlessly to convince Hermann to get right back to where they were.
'Uh,' says Alexis weakly, putting his hands on Newt's shoulders, 'I'm real glad you're working things out and all, and I know this timing is partially my fault—'
'--But we're halfway through a show, we've been on break for like nearly thirty minutes and the audience is starting to get restless, so wrap it up like NOW and get your ass on stage, Newt–' Elk hisses.
'Right?' Newt squeaks, his eyes still bright and dazed as he's forcibly separated from Hermann, 'The show? Oh, yeah… Fuck. Yep... the show.'
'We'll get him back to you asap, I promise.' Alexis tells Hermann as he drags Newt backwards through the door.
'You two better not be necking the whole way back in the bus.' Elk shouts back over their shoulder.
'Uh-uh,' Newt complains distantly, 'You don't get to start making demands now–'
The door shuts behind them, leaving Hermann standing stunned in the corridor, feeling like he's just been snapped awake from a beautiful dream. Shaking just a little, he picks up his cane, takes a few deep breaths, and starts to make his way back to the VIP area, Theo and the rest of the concert.
***
'Well, that was quite the show. A little shouty for my taste, not very melodious, but I suppose that's what young people like—' Theo witters on later as they join the backstage queue to see the band. They could probably skip the line, but Hermann quietly thinks it would be fairer to people who actually paid for their tickets to go first. Theo doesn't need any more special treatment than he's already getting.
And maybe… Maybe Hermann has another reason for delaying a little longer. A thrumming anxiety that's set up base camp just below ribs… that perhaps Newt will regret what happened earlier. Or that perhaps Hermann had dreamed it in some fit of sheer anxiety and he's about to be forcibly disabused of any notion that Newt might actually love him. Might actually choose him.
'Did you enjoy yourself, Raven?' Hermann asks the teenager, desperate for something to take his mind off his musings. She looks happy, or at least as happy as it's possible to look while actively trying to appear moody and serious.
'Yeah. Got kicked a bit, but I kicked back and my shoes have spikes.' She says pulling up the edge of her dress to show him the wicked looking spiked running up the back of her platform boots.
Hermann winces. He will never understand the appeal of the mosh pit. 'Have you been following BVR for long?' he asks instead.
'Oh she's been following them forever, haven't you, sweetie?' Theo answers for her. Raven rolls her eyes but he ploughs on anyway, 'Although before this it was K-pop, right? Oh it was very hard to get tickets to those shows sometimes! Well, decent tickets, anyway…'
'I've been following ever since they released "Pareidolia", it's an early album, kind of a deep cut,' Raven tells Hermann, ignoring Theo completely. 'You know it?'
Hermann smiles, realising Theo hasn't told his daughter how he got today's passes. 'I do, actually. I helped mix it. A great album, though I think the message about perception biases was a little confusing for most people.'
'Uh-hm.' Raven says, not really indicating if she agrees or disagrees. "Capitalism is Hitler's Teapot" was the best track anyway.'
Raven looks away and Hermann realises he's been dismissed. They wait in relative silence as the queue shrinks, admitted in small batches to get autographs and photos, Theo chatting to no one in particular about the lateness of the hour and his feelings about queues.
When they're finally admitted to the room where the band is, Newt practically leapfrogs the table and almost sends Hermann flying.
Hermann just about manages to keep his feet, more than a little shocked by the sudden armful of Newt. They rarely even hugged before now, Hermann at least restricting himself to the occasional arm part or accidental finger brush as they pass a mug— Is this his new normal?
He doesn't have time to dwell on it too long because as soon as they've caught their balance Newt pulls him down into a full sloppy smooch.
'Newton!' Hermann pulls back with a gasp, 'We're in company—'
'But Hermannnnn–!' Newt whines, 'I was worried! What took you so long? I thought you might have had second thoughts about the whole thing and hitchhiked home without me…'
'Preposterous. We were queuing to come see you, you ridiculous man.' Hermann says with a sniff, even as his secret heart sings in silent relief, 'It's not my fault you're so popular I have to wait in line to see you. Speaking of which, may I introduce Mr Riddell's daughter Raven, she's quite the fan of yours…'
Hermann turns to Raven, only to find her staring at them, mouth open wide.
'You… You…?' She says slowly, before regaining her voice and gushing words so fast Hermann is amazed she doesn't run out of air, 'WAIT WHAT? Oh my GOD, you're dating…? I thought Newt didn't date people? I have to tell the fanblogs. Oh my god. Everyone is going to lose their MINDS. Can I get a picture?'
'Sure.' Newt says, and before Hermann can react he pulls him down into another kiss.
Hermann smiles all the way through the rest of the signing. Raven is transformed; she asks the band to sign just about everything she owns, chatting delightedly the entire time, surly goth persona completely forgotten.
'I'll see you in the studio next week,' Theo reminds Hermann on the way out the door, 'Actually there's a second project I want you to take a look at, the whole thing is nearly wrapped but it could use a second set of ears from someone with a more technical perspective– I'll email you tonight with the details, there's so much to talk about—'
Hermann sighs as the door finally shuts, blocking whatever Theo was about to say next.
The whole band breathes a sigh of relief and relaxes, dropping pens, slouching into chairs and removing their rabbit ears.
'I know I should be grateful to him for getting you to finally come to a show, but holy shitballs, that guy could talk his way into the olympic medal for talking.' Newt sighs, massaging his head where the too-tight ears have pressed his hair flat.
'I just tune it out.' Hermann says with a smile, 'You know I've had a lot of practice tuning out people who never shut up.'
Newt swats at him affectionately before grabbing his arm and pulling him into another kiss. He can feel Newt smiling against his lips, he tangles his fingers into Newt's hair and thinks… If this is their new normal, that's absolutely fine by him.
***
Loading the gear into the van takes twice as long because Newt keeps holding everyone up by stopping in the middle of doorways to demand a kiss from Hermann until Kvothe firmly asks them both to please stop helping because it's deeply unhelpful.
'Finally!' Newt huffs and pulls Hermann against the back side of the van, out of the way of everyone else. He sticks his cold fingers up inside Hermann's blazer and Hermann lets him because, really, they've been less than useful in breaking down and packing up so far.
Besides, it's not like he's going to complain about having the warm body of the man he's loved for the better part of a decade crushed up against his, even if he wishes it were happening in a more private location.
Newt grins up at him. 'Hey'.
'Hello.'
'It's nice to be able to look at you, you know?' Newt says quietly, his gaze switching from Hermann's right eye to his left and back again, like he's mapping the differences between them.'I feel like I've spent years trying not to ogle you, I can't believe you never noticed.'
'I suppose I was also preoccupied with not staring…' Hermann admits, 'Especially whenever you came home with a new tattoo or piercing.'
'I knew you liked them secretly. I figured the more you bitch about them the more you like them.'
Hermann's mouth quirks at the corner. 'Astute observation.' He runs his fingers down Newt's bare arm, where stylised golden Ghidorah strikes lightning down on crumbling ruins. 'Though I always felt–'
Hermann cuts himself off and draws his hand back, suddenly deathly embarrassed at what he'd been about to say; but it's too late. Newt catches his hand and pushes closer, not letting him shrink away and inch. 'What. What did you always feel?' He says, gaze curiously intense.
'Nothing.' Hermann tries to walk it back, but his face is already heating up in a telltale blush as Newt's hand tightens on his. He looks around trying to see if anyone in the immediate vicinity can hear them.
'They're inside.' Newt whispers,'Tell me now while they're all gone or I'll hound you the whole way back home in the van and you'll have to tell me in front of everyone.'
'You really are the most diabolical little asshole I ever–'
'Yeah, yeah, I'm a malevolent demon sent to torment you, I get it, but WHAT did you always feel about my tattoos, Hermann?' Newt says, eyes bright, absolutely not letting up. 'Quick, before they're back.'
Hermann sighs. 'I always regretted that I'd never been able to touch the bare skin under each before it was covered up.'
It's Newt's turn to turn faintly pink, his mouth hanging open as he stares at Hermann with wide eyes. 'Oh.'
'Quite. Now please refrain from needling me into any more personal confessions at least until we get home, or you'll be sleeping alone after all.'
'There's more?' Newt asks, delighted. 'Is it my birthday? Have I died and gone to heaven?'
'At least seven years worth, I'm sure.' Hermann says with a smile. 'But it's your turn for the next one.'
'I…' Newt says and bites his lip. There's a loud clank from the back of the van as someone comes out and loads in some heavy gear. 'Uh… I'm trying to think of one that isn't totally x-rated and kind of failing.'
He leans forward to whisper in Hermann's ear, low enough that whoever is loading won't hear it–
Hermann chokes and goes bright red, suddenly far too hot in his light scarf.
'That's the last of it,' Someone says from just around the corner. 'Everyone ready to go?'
They disentangle and Hermann has to take a minute to compose himself before he can bring himself to round the corner and face the rest of the band. Newt just grins up at him, holding his hand, utterly shameless.
'We're late getting out so is everyone cool to just pick up something at the services on the way back?' Elk says, pulling the door open for everyone to get in.
'Bagsy not sitting in the back with the newlyweds!' Alexis laughs.
'Uh-uh, you're not getting out that easy. We draw straws for it.' Delilah says, catching the back of his jacket.
Newt flips them off and goes to kiss Hermann again, but Hermann ducks away, his face beet red. 'Please don't fret,' he tells the band, 'I'm not intending to make anyone uncomfortable. We're adults who can certainly behave until we get home.'
'It's not you we're worried about.' Delilah says and flicks Newt's forehead for emphasis.
'I have every intention of making the next two hours hell for you guys.' Newt says sweetly. 'Come on Herm, let's sit at the back and make out, extra dirty style.'
'No.' Hermann says, already absolutely certain this journey is going to be its own special circle of hell, created just for him. Newt has just learned how easily he can push all of Hermann's buttons at once and he has the sense and self-control of a hyperactive toddler in a sweetshop. 'Absolutely not.'
'Hermann! I'm dying here! We've been waiting years for this, I want to make up for lost time!'
'Then you can wait a couple of hours longer. We will sit in the middle, be respectful of your bandmates and if you keep your hands visible at all times you may have one kiss per 20 miles.'
Hermann drops his hand, climbs in and sits firmly in the middle aisle, back straight and face only slightly flushed. Newt whines softly but he gives in and plonks down next to Hermann anyway. The rest of BVR stand in incredulous silence for a long moment before cracking up laughing as one.
'Oh my god,' Delilah says, wheezing, 'That was incredible. I just witnessed a miracle.'
'You have no idea,' Kvothe says, clapping Hermann on the shoulder too hard as he sits into the seat opposite, 'How irritating he can be hyped up after a show. And you can actually control him? Hermann, you need to come to all our gigs.'
'You're all assholes.' Newt complains loudly, 'I can't believe you're ganging up on me. I'm quitting the band forever, dickwads.'
'Phew,' Alexis says, 'We were about to chuck you but didn't know how to tell you, thanks for saving us the effort.'
'I bet Hermann could take all of our recordings and make a synth Newt anyway,' Elk calls back to them as they belt in and adjust the mirrors. 'Much easier to deal with. Never late for rehearsals for a start.'
'You know,' Hermann muses, 'I probably could, now that you mention it...'
'I know you're just fucking with me, but actually that would be awesome.' Newt says, kicking his feet up onto Kvothe's seat, slouching down and tucking under Hermann's arm, pulling him into a cross-body cuddle. 'Do I have a robot body in this version? Man, two of me and one is immortal? Think of the stunts we could pull off.'
Hermann just smiles and squeezes him tightly. One Newt is quite enough for him, thank you. More than he'd ever dreamed of.
Newt must take Hermann's threats of sleeping alone seriously, because he behaves himself; He cuddles up close, regularly demands a kiss and only pushes the boundaries of decency a little, all the way home.
***
The next morning, Hermann wakes early. He leaves Newt sprawled sideways across his bed, steps out into their apartment and feels as though he's seeing it for the first time. An entirely new perspective.
His things and Newt's things have long ago drifted from their carefully allocated spaces; a tangle of shared and communal property in juxtaposing styles. The perfectly restored vintage record cabinet is stuffed to bursting with thrifted punk records, their ultra-cool leather couch kitted out with soft cushions and a tasteful throw. The sleek breakfast bar is half-covered with magazines and catalogues, but the floor is perfectly clean and free of trip hazards.
There's been no need for the contract for years; they're already perfectly enmeshed. Chaos and order, form and function. Two dissonant waveforms that have clashed their entire lives are finally moving as one. Each cancelling the other out, leaving a moment of perfect stillness and silence in their wake.
Hermann smiles, deciding today is a day to make omelettes.
***
Newt wraps himself around Hermann's waist just as he's folding the egg over, the smell of melting gruyère getting him out of bed with clockwork reliability.
His hair is stiff with gel, sticking out in every direction and the smudges of yesterday's makeup look almost like a black eye and he's wearing his Hermann comfort-sweater again. He's never looked so beautiful.
'Mornin', hot stuff,' he says sleepily, 'What's cookin'? Is that morning-after breakfast? And it's not even your turn on the rota? Either Hermann has been replaced with an identical android or I'm being pampered.'
'A hot breakfast sounded like just the ticket.' Hermann says with a soft smile. He leans down for a kiss.
'Android theory confirmed.' Newt murmurs against his lips. Hermann huffs and turns to plate breakfast. 'Hey! I didn't mean for you to stop!' Newt protests, trying to tug him back, 'I don't mind if you're an android. I'm cool with being pampered!'
'There's coffee on the breakfast bar already. Why don't you take these plates and go sit before you talk yourself out of anything else I might choose to do for you this morning?' Hermann grouses, reaching over to collect cutlery.
Newt ducks his head around his arm to look at him, gaping. 'Was that innuendo? Did you mean to say that? Are you feeling alright?'
'I was having quite a pleasant morning taking care of the man I love, if the man I love would stop being such an ass about it.' Hermann snipes.
Newt takes the cutlery from his hand, puts it on the counter and threads his fingers through in its place. 'Don't be embarrassed, I'm sorry for being an ass,' he says sweetly, '…Only not really because I know you love it. Just like I like you being grumpy to cover how embarrassed you get when I flirt with you. Thank you for making breakfast, it looks delicious. Now kiss me again so I can be sure this isn't just a lovely dream I'm having.'
Hermann obliges with only minimal grumbling.
The omelettes are a little cold by the time they actually get around to eating them. They sit at the breakfast bar, which was always a little small for the two of them; it felt like a disadvantage before, but now, with Newt's foot rubbing a warm, comforting trail against his calf, Hermann decides it's actually the perfect size.
Hermann looks up from his food and finds Newt is grinning at his phone like he's lost his mind.
'What is it?' he asks, alarmed.
Mutely, Newt spins his screen around. He's reading the front page of 'KILLUSION', the major music news site.
'Oh no.' Hermann says, blanching stark white. The omelette suddenly feels like a very bad choice of breakfast. Far too heavy.
The headline 'Playboy No More?' stares back at him in bold type, splashed across a picture of himself and Newt kissing backstage last night. Not only are they kissing, but Newt's arm is outstretched, flipping the photographer off.
'She did great, huh?' Newt says fondly, 'That kid has a future in paparazzi photography. I hope she got paid well.'
'Raven took this?' Hermann asks, appalled.
'Hell yeah she did. And wait, oh man, do you think we'll get a couple name? I'm gonna go with… Beauty and the Dweeb.'
'You shouldn't be so hard on yourself,' Hermann replies automatically, 'Your geeky proclivities are nothing to be ashamed of.'
Newt cackles delightedly, taking the phone back and scanning through the article at speed. 'Oh hey, Raven was totally right, the fan forums are going nuts for this. You're famous now, Hermann! Everyone wants to know everything about you, you should read some of these rumours… Did you know you're possibly a vampire, out to steal my soul?'
'Hrmph,' Hermann grumps, 'Vampire, very original. Can't we do better than that?'
'I think it fits,' Newt grins, setting the phone down to pick up Hermann's free hand. 'Pale, handsome …and you dress like you died last century. I could get you some fangs to wear to our next show.'
'I am not going to play into your fan's delusions.'
'Awww,' Newt pouts, 'How about if I start some better rumours? Tell them you're an orphan with a mysterious past, lost at sea, with no memory of anything before the age of twenty one.'
Hermann takes another bite and chews, considering for a moment. 'Make it before the age of 30 so I have an excuse not to answer any questions about anything earlier than last June.'
'Yes!' Newt laughs, 'Cultivate a mystique! We'll have to get you a BVR stage name… The Hermannator. Hermannity. The Herm Unit.'
'No.' Hermann says firmly. 'But seriously, Newt, are you not worried about what this will do to your career? Your image–'
'Screw my image.' Newt says firmly. 'People can deal, this is my life, I love you and now that we both know it, I'm not going to hide it for anyone.'
He kisses Hermann's knuckles, smiling at him with such a soft expression of naked fondness it takes Hermann's breath away 'You're it for me, Herms. I knew it the moment we painted the yellow line down the centre of the bookcase. I wouldn't trade your grumpy ass for all the fans and fame and fortune in the world.'
'You daft, sentimental little man,' Hermann chokes out, pushing his plate away, already blinking back tears at 9.15 am on the first Saturday of the rest of their lives, 'Come here and kiss me immediately.'
...And Newt does.