Prompt Post No. 2
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All right, so, he wanted to blow Hermann so fucking bad, like, just get down on his knees and unzip Hermann's slacks and see if he still frowned like frowning was going out of business even when he came. He wanted it so bad it rivaled a nicotine craving in how antsy it made him, and hey, that was an awesome idea, how about a cigarette, Newton?
He was out on the roof before he knew it, and he shivered and hopped in place and shotgunned like three disgustingly stale cigarettes because, fuck it, it was the end of the world and everything, who even cared? When his lungs started to ache, he conceded it was probably time to walk of shame his way back to the lab to face the music (something dramatic and instrumental and Hermann in a doom and gloom kind of way). He got all the way there before he decided, no, actually, he was hungry, he was starving, so if he went to the mess hall right now, it would not in any way be classified as hiding.
He grabbed a tray of-well, of something, and went over to join Tendo, who was lounging at a table near the back of the hall as he fiddled with his phone. "Lord of all Jaegar tech, the great and powerful Tendo," he said in deference as he sat, and Tendo looked up with a smirk.
"Newt, my main man, what's happening?"
"Oh, not much, just my life imploding in my face, many and varied mistakes spreading out before me to gobble up my happiness." He twiddled his thumbs and stared down at some Chinese-ish something or another, and then he sighed and admitted defeat and picked up his chopsticks. "The usual. How is the magnificent Allison today?"
"Magnificent," said Tendo with a smile that made Newt jealous, and Newt frowned and considered.
"Can I ask you a question? Don't answer that, I'm gonna ask either way."
Tendo laughed. "Never doubted."
"Would you, maybe, in any way, classify me as a human wrecking ball?"
"Yes," Tendo said, definitively.
And, well, there was no arguing with that.
When he couldn't possibly kill any more time without imagining the further collapse of civilization as he knew it, he made his way back to the lab, picking up a tea for Hermann on the way there in the hopes that it might distract Hermann from, he didn't know, thinking? Not that Hermann was probably thinking about it anyway, he fairly oozed professionalism, and Newt bet emotions danced in one ear and out the other without ever taking root. Except pride. And stuffiness. Was stuffiness an emotion? Hermann could make it one, no doubt.
Hermann was at his blackboard when Newt walked in. Newt set the tea on his desk without comment and walked over to his side of the lab, stood, and stared at his various instruments of scientific genius like he'd never seen them before in his life. He reached over and switched on the stereo after a moment, and from the corner of his eye, he saw Hermann stiffen.
"Doctor Geiszler, if you please," Hermann said to his blackboard.
"Doctor Gottlieb," Newt replied, mocking, because damn, ouch. He hadn't been Doctor Geiszler since that time Hermann had gotten drunk on piss-poor beer and started a duet with him in front of Herc Hansen like seven freaking years ago. That was a pretty definitive rejection, which was so unfair considering Newt hadn't meant to make a proposition to begin with.
He turned the music down anyway because, to be fair, this was all his fault.
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