Adjustments, ghost Drifts, and new habits

Chapter 3: Adjustments, ghost Drifts, and new habits
==Text==
"They must have emptied the pantry for this," Newt remarks as he surveys the small feast the cook staff has laid out in the mess hall. He loads a tray with generous portions of food for himself and Hermann under the other man’s watchful supervision. They find an empty table and sit down. Hermann notes with a flash of satisfaction that no one in the room sits alone and a pleasant hum of conversation fills the air.
Newt pauses between mouthfuls and studies Hermann across the table. "I never noticed before, but you actually eat like a normal human being," he says. "I thought you survived on baby carrots and air. Why the heck are you so skinny?"
"I have an accelerated metabolism. It’s nearly impossible for me to maintain a healthy weight."
"So you have to eat like a bird?" Newt asks earnestly. "Like, an actual bird. Not a proverbial one."
If glares could kill, Newt would be a bloody smudge on the far wall of the mess. That not being the case, Hermann visibly contemplates violence involving his fork.
"Sorry! Sorry!" Newt yelps as he brandishes his empty tray like a shield in front of his face. "I just meant that you need to eat all the time! Or you need lots of high quality food!" He peeks over the tray and whispers, "I won’t make a mistake like that again! Pleasedon’tkillme." Hermann grunts and turns his attention back to his meal, much to Newt’s relief.
On the way out, Newt snags some more food for later, figuring that neither he nor Hermann will want to make the trip back to the mess in the evening. They walk slowly, pausing regularly for Hermann to rest and flex his right knee.
"I’m afraid even that little exercise has done me in. I’m going to have a bit of a lie-down," Hermann says as he smothers a yawn soon after arriving back at his quarters. "You’re … ah … welcome to join me, Newton."
"Umm … I think I’ll pass. Might’ve had too much coffee with lunch." Newt puts the takeout into the fridge, then deposits himself in Hermann’s desk chair. "You going to sleep in your clothes? Need help changing? You look pretty sore … ," he asks. In answer, Hermann shuts himself in the bathroom and returns in the same flannel pants he had worn the previous night. He’s asleep almost immediately.
Newt pads to the closet and digs out what seems to be Hermann’s spare binder for closer examination. He spreads it out on the desk and draws its construction with quick lines on an envelope. The principle is simple enough. He borrows Hermann’s tablet and skims trans and genderfluid advice forums for inspiration and starts sketching on the back of some official memo. An idea strikes and he visits a few sites devoted to caring for birds to make sure his ideas won’t wind up hurting Hermann. Newt makes a few adjustments to better distribute the pressure away from the most delicate feathers and to help the wing bones settle comfortably. He’s satisfied, even a little proud of the design, and makes a short list of the materials he needs. Everything should be available in the city. If not, the internet will provide.
He stands up, stretches, and carefully returns the binder to where he found it. He grabs a bottle of orange juice from the fridge and takes a big gulp before sitting back down on the edge of the desk, feet swinging, to relax. Newt grins as he watches Hermann dream. The man’s wings twitch and flutter in response to whatever is going on in his mind.
He turns Hermann’s tablet back on and reads his way through a few fan-translated manga he followed, alternating between them and quick scans of world news feeds searching for mentions of himself. And Hermann, too. As he reaches a cliffhanger, he pauses and looks at his … friend, re-running the morning’s conversation.
What a hell of a secret to keep for so long, he thinks. How did he get through school physicals? Doctor appointments? Romantic relationships? Jesus. Has he been totally alone his entire life? Because his mom wanted to show off the size of her scientific dick? Oh, man. It’s no wonder he got so upset when I started talking about Drifting with kaiju. He probably started having genius mad scientist PTSD flashbacks.
He occupies his nervous hands by flipping the tablet over and over. But … think how much he must trust me, letting me in like this. God, I’m probably closer to him than anyone, ever. That’s … . The tablet slips from his fingers and hits the floor with a loud thud.
Hermann jerks awake the same instant Newt winces. Hermann cracks a bloodshot eye and fixes Newt with a glare. "If you’ve damaged that, you’ll need to replace it," he growls with a sleep-thickened voice.
"No, no. It’s fine. See?" Newt retrieves and holds up the device, turning the display to Hermann and thumbing it on.
Hermann squints at the screen. "Kindly clear the browser history when you finish, Newton. It appears my assumption of our differing preferences in light reading is correct." He sighs, turns to face the wall, and resumes his nap.
Newt blushes violently as he realizes what image he’d shown Hermann and facepalms hard enough to blur his vision a little. "It had to be the one tentacle panel in the entire series," he groans.
Newt starts fidgeting even worse. He needs to get out of there before he accidentally wakes Hermann. He decides music is the answer and makes his way to his music corner. He loses himself in sound for a while, not thinking of anything in particular, until hunger pulls him back to Hermann’s quarters and the food he’d stashed there. The other man is still asleep.
"Hey, Hermann?" he calls quietly. The man’s wings flare as his eyes open. "Sorry, but I think you should get up and eat something. You have meds to take, too, right?" Hermann grumbles, but separates himself from the bed to swallow a handful of pills with a gulp from the orange juice bottle. "You drink straight from the container?" Newt squeaks in surprise. "I wouldn’t have thought." Hermann glares at the bottle in his hand, then turns the full force of th expression on Newt.
"No, I don’t," he says slowly and carefully. "It must be the result of a ghost Drift." He brandishes the juice and shakes it a little in suppressed anger. "This is your fault." Newt laughs at the disgusted curl to Hermann’s lips.
"Don’t worry too much, Hermann. We’ll probably catch me extending my pinky next time I have a cup of coffee or borrowing one of your sweatervests before too long." Hermann chuckles and Newt fights not to join in. "Oh yeah! I worked out a new design for a binder while you were asleep. Let me grab it." He passes over the sketch and Hermann studies it, then flips it over to skim the memo on the back.
"Newton? Since when do you use good-one-side paper for drawing? I thought you said it stifled your creativity." A smile creeps across Hermann’s face.
"It does!" Newt protests. "That’s one of your habits, isn’t it? I caught this from you!" Hermann’s smile grows wider as Newt stares at the memo in horror.
"Indeed, it is. Waste not, want not and all that." Hermann pulls an innocent face. "I’m still hoping to see you in a sweatervest, though."
"Yeah, well, that’s less funny than the idea of you in jeans, grandpa." Hermann snorts.
"I’m more likely to throw myself in the harbor than do that."
"Yeah, well, promise me you won’t do that, okay?" Newt studies his boots for a moment. "If you go I won’t have anyone to argue with."
"Of course," Hermann says dismissively. "I was merely comparing two extremely unlikely possibilities." He pauses. "Yes. I believe I’m going to turn in for the night."
"Can I join you?" Newt asks softly. Hermann looks at him suspiciously, but inclines his head in assent.
Newt slips into bed beside Hermann and, after the barest hesitation, snuggles up against Hermann’s side. Hermann doesn’t protest. In fact, he leans into the contact, just a little. Newt smiles as he begins to doze and grins when Hermann offers a wing as a covering.
Hermann wakes during the night and spends a minute or two listening to Newt’s steady breathing. As he slips back under, he realizes he hasn’t slept so well since he was a child.
Newt opens his eyes at some point during the night and takes a few minutes to listen to Hermann breathing steadily beside him. As he yields to sleep again, he reflects on how he hasn’t slept this well since he was a little kid.
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