The wonderful Kelly prompted me over on my main blog to write "newt and hermann have some sort of break up (still in the 'dome), and newt is cleaning up his room and finds something of herm's left there and cries a lot, same/similar thing happens to hermann". I don't think what i've written so far is nearly awful enough and it's only Newt's perspective and really short so it's just gonna be part one of like 3 im so sorry about this. Under the cut (soz to those on mobile)
When Newt and Hermann broke up it was mutual, something they both agreed would be better not only for them, but for humanity. It had only been a hindrance to the efficiency of their work, they'd said. In the light of the imminent dissolving of the Jaeger Program, both men had thrown themselves into their work with a zeal unparalleled by that of anyone else in K-Science. They became obsessively absorbed in their work, neglecting all other aspects of their own lives, including each other. Their arguments, once forms of conversation, grew biting and strained, and they no longer even attempted to converse normally.
The night they end it, Newt feels for the first time the necessity to dig out an old bottle of tequila he'd been saving for when they closed the Breach, optimistically. He'd bought it over three years ago and hoped it hadn't turned, having stored it all that time under his small cot in his equally small quarters. As he digs around the clutter occupying the small space, his hand dislodges a small book he was certain wasn't something he had haphazardly stuffed under his bed. It was near the wall, leading Newt to supposed it had fallen into the small crevice between his bed and the wall at some point. Curious, he pulled the book out, which took some maneuvering and stretching of his tiny frame, and examined it in the dim lamplight. It was a small, brown, leather-bound journal he was certain he'd never owned or bought. Opening the front cover confirmed his suspicions: “Property of H. Gottlieb” was scrawled in quick, messy handwriting on the inner cover. This was the exact last thing Newt needed in his life at that moment, yet his compulsive curiosity pushed him to flip through the journal's pages.
Newt's eye caught on his own name written on several pages as he flipped through, and he frantically tried to flip back to one of the mentions. Instead, what he found were detailed descriptions of his own behavior and appearance, peppered with complaints similar to those in the weekly complaint forms Hermann liked to fill out. He raved about how, every day, he would put an effort into looking clean and neat, but then Newt would come in with his disheveled hair and bright tattoos showing under rolled up sleeves, “like the groupie he was,” he wrote.
By the time Newt had read through the whole thing his eyes were prickling and he was regretting thinking he could ever be better without Hermann. He considered taking the bottle of tequila over to Hermann's bunk and attempting to convince him they;d made the wrong decision, but then he remembered the stoic coldness with which the other man had handled their break-up. Even under the stressful circumstances which it had taken place, Hermann had managed to retain a cold and professional exterior; Newt was reminded of the earlier entries in his journal and how similar they'd sounded to his convictions today.
There was no way Hermann didn't mean every word he'd said. He clearly no longer felt for Newt what he once had, unlike Newt himself. Placing the journal on the table adjacent to his bed, Newt wiped the tears that had managed to fall and began to drink.
