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If it had just been the glasses Newt could’ve dealt with it.
Change is gradual. As a biologist Newt had spent his life studying the natural world, which was bountiful with changing matter. All it took was a little time and Newt could almost guarantee anything in the natural world would have changed, at least a little.
Time is relative (Newt liked to think he had known this before Hermann had told him, but in all honest he probably hadn’t) and although ten years was a mere fragment of the time the Earth had been in existence, and practically non-existent when compared to infinity, it was a long time for a human. It had taken Newt ten years to complete all six of his PhDs. He’d spent a gruelling ten years in subpar elementary education. He’d spent just a little over ten years madly pining after Hermann Gottlieb, and hadn’t that felt like an infinity in itself? In a human being’s short life span every year you could get your hands on was crucial, and Newt had just lost a whole ten to an alien hive mind.
Having spent a decade trapped inside his own mind Newt knew that it was going to come out of the ordeal a little bruised and battered. Healing was excruciating, excruciating and slow, but now when Newt was jolted awake by nightmares he had Hermann to cling to, and weekly therapy sessions to alleviate him of guilt. The road to recovery was a mother fucking obstacle course, but Newt was prepared for it.
Initially Newt had found his appearance largely unchanged. He had been surprised to find he could see without any visual aids and a little affronted by how much weight the Precursors had made him loose, but he figured glasses were unimportant in the scheme of his recovery and after a few weeks in the medical bay he’d naturally regain his soft frame. For a while simply existing had sapped so much of Newt’s energy that he didn’t have time to fuss over the vain things he’d used to care about.
Now though, at two pm (practically morning, for Newt) on a sleepy Sunday afternoon in his Hermann’s shared apartment (shared apartment!) Newt found there was plenty of time to examine his appearance.
The glasses, or lack thereof, didn’t make an immense alteration to Newt’s overall appearance. If anything, he lost that slight nerdy-scientist look he’d been trying to ditch all his life. Ironically, now more than ever he was willing to embrace the awkward-science-dork side of his personality and wouldn’t have minded wearing a pair of (suitably badass) glasses, but apparently aliens required clear vision at all times.
His hair, though still ruffled and unruly at all times, was thicker than he remembered it and starting to grey. Newt wasn’t against dying it, he’d dyed his entire upper body (and right thigh) in multicolours of course he wasn’t against dying his hair, but it wasn’t the grey hairs that bothered Newt. It was the fact that the last time he’d been fully in control of his own body he hadn’t even had to worry about hair dye. In fact, at thirty-five he’d only just settled on a work-hairstyle he thought was both professional and punk-rock. He still remembered, vividly, combing his hair back then casting his fingers through it to give it a little edge. He’d tried to achieve the same rugged style this morning but something was slightly... off about it. His hair was too long. Or too short. Too clean? He’d been trying for days now and couldn’t get it right and it was beginning to gnaw at him.
Newt had always been soft, he’d only ever been interested in running when it was of the for-your-life variety and he was far too generous with his definition of ‘snack’, but his metabolism was as quick as his wit and had managed to keep him on the cusp of chubby, never quite tipping over the edge, for the majority of his adult life.
Six months ago, freshly relieved of his alien inhabitants and strapped to a drip in the medical bay, Newt had been fairly certain he’d never have to watch his weight again; he’d never been so thin in his life. But now, with minium overindulgences (ok, he was overindulgent with everything he ate, but he always had been so it shouldn’t have made a difference), Newt was properly chubby for the first time in his life (holiday seasons aside).
He didn’t mind. In fact, he liked it. The extra weight was grounding, and he looked fiendishly cute and incredibly punk-rock. Plus Hermann, who had redacted all rules on PDA, made sure he was extra affectionate and, God forbid he heard Newt use this word, cuddly on the off-chance Newt was feeling insecure. He certainly wasn’t, but he was thriving on the attention.
What annoyed Newt now was that he’d missed out on ten years of eating good food and having a soft tummy (and, of course, ten years of Hermann kissing said soft tummy when he ate too much of the aforementioned good food). He sighed and began to lazily trace the tattoos on his stomach, knowing the outlines off by heart.
He had been in the process of getting dressed but had paused for an existential crisis and was now sprawled on the floor, one arm in his shirtsleeve and jeans most of the way up his thighs. He felt different. And now he’d discovered that he clearly looked different, too. Was he even the same person? If he was a cheap clone of the Newton Geiszler of ten years ago would he even know? It was a stupid hypothesis, but the fact that large chunks of his memory from the past ten years were missing only reinforced the idea.
“Newton?”
It usually took much more than a word to drag Newt from his daydreams, but this was a word spoken by Hermann, the love of his life, and the love of his life sounded worried.
“Are you quite alright?” Hermann was bracing himself against his cane and preparing to kneel down beside Newt so he sat up hurriedly.
“No, no, no, yeah, I’m fine, I’m fine, don’t worry.” He took in his haphazard appearance and shrugged, he’d looked much worse in front of Hermann, then joined his husband (husband!) on the bed. Hermann placed a hand gently on Newt’s back and moved closer to him.
“Any particular reason you decided to give me such a fright?” He asked, following the question with a sweet kiss to Newt’s cheek (significantly less freckled than they had been for most of Newt’s life, but he wasn’t too inclined to spend any time outside to get them back).
“Sorry.” Newt nuzzled his head into Hermann’s shoulder. “It’s nothing.” He paused for a moment, then blurted out, “Am I a clone?”
“Excuse me?” Hermann’s voice had the same sharp intonations it always had, but now everything he said to Newt was delivered with a shy smile. He’d picked up all of Newt’s best qualities during their drift and all Newt had managed to pick up was an alien hive-mind.
“That’s not what I mean, that’s silly-“ Though Hermann did love to dissect Hick’s Replica Theory, “It’s just, I dunno man, I’m so different to how I was ten years ago, it feels weird to have skipped so much time. It’s like if you fast forward ten minutes of a movie you won’t get what’s going on with the plot... Especially when the plot revolves around alien invasion and remote-piloted robots and a guy you’re in love with but your brain won’t let you talk to.”
Hermann took a moment to process Newt’s babbling - he’d started tracing Newt’s tattoos like he’d been doing himself earlier, following the pattern exactly, and Newt wondered if that was something he’d picked up from the drift too - then said, “Undeniably you will be different, a decade is a long time, but I can assure you you’ve not changed beyond - stop squirming!”
“I can’t help it!” Newt wriggled around a little more, then stilled Hermann’s hand against his stomach. “You’re tickling me, dude!”
“Ah.” Hermann looked down at his hand as if he hadn’t even realised he’d been touching Newt then regrettably began to retract it.
“No! Didn’t say stop.” He pressed Hermann’s hand slightly more firmly against his tummy, so prevent any tickling, then looked to Hermann to continue.
“Yes, um, I can assure you you’ve not changed beyond recognition. I can tell you very little about the Newton Geiszler who worked for Shao Industries, but I can tell you all about by old lab partner and best friend, whose best qualities you have retained.” He kissed Newt’s forehead and he was comforted by the fact that Hermann thought he’d kept all his stellar, post-possession qualities, but that wasn’t what he’d been fixating on (not today, at least).
“But, my eyes aren’t even the same colour.” It was true. Newt’s eyes had once been a warm green, but over the years had transformed into an icy blue. It was a fascinating biological phenomenon and he had to do some further research into it some time.
“So this is a physical thing?” Hermann asserted. “You feel like your body’s aged without you being present in it, and now you’re trying to catch up but it’s frustrating you?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Newt nodded in relief. He and Hermann couldn’t read each other’s minds, a question they were frequently asked, but they certainly needed much fewer words to communicate. Not that Newt wanted to use fewer words; he wanted to use all the words at his disposal. “That’s it, that’s the thing.”
“Oh God, I’m going to have to reassure you with biology, aren’t I?” Hermann huffed, voice flooded with affection. Since Newt had been gone he’d made an effort to tackle the biological aspects of K-Science too, but he still maintained that Newt was the greatest biologist in the field (in the world, as he had once told Newt, but he’d never repeat that).
“That would be nice,” Newt hummed, though he was starting to care less and less about his crisis of five minutes ago and more about how gently Hermann was rubbing his thumb across the soft skin at Newt’s waist.
Hermann pulled him closer so that his lips were almost pressed against Newt’s one bare shoulder. “Well, I don’t know any corresponding biology so I may have to disappoint. It’s perfectly reasonable to be uncomfortable in a forty-five-year-old’s body when the last thing you remember clearly is being thirty-five. But you should also remember that it’s perfectly ok to be forty-five, because you are. Difference may be unnerving but it’s natural. Your body’s worked so hard to keep you alive, it deserves a break.” He kissed Newt’s shoulder and he felt so warm and soft and happy, a happiness only Hermann could ever bring him. “It’s still your body, Newton, it’s just trying it’s best to take care of you.” He smiled slightly. “Like I am.”
“It’s doing an alright job.” Newt patted his stomach affectionately. “You’re doing a great job, Herms, who’d have known you were so good at playing nurse?” Newt, of course, was the answer to that question. Despite his own post-drift ailments Hermann had spent the first few weeks after the non-end of the world making sure Newt took the appropriate medications at the appropriate times and got at least some sleep and plenty of food from the newly opened port. Even when they were busy pretending they didn’t get on they were still looking out for each other.
“Although I don’t appreciate your phrasing I do want you to know I’d do absolutely anything for you, darling.” Hermann stroked his hair back, then brushed the back of his hand gingerly across his cheek, and Newt could’ve melted. He loved him. And better than that, better than that because Newt loved a lot of people and a lot of things but they never seemed to reciprocate, he could see that Hermann loved him too. “I love you.”
No matter how many times you drift with someone you always have to say I love you at the right moments. Hermann always knew when those right moments were.
“Love you too,” Newt smiled. He could’ve stayed still and just enjoyed the peacefulness that hung in the air, but he’d just spent an awfully long time lying still on the floor and now he was restless. “I can always just get more tattoos-“ he was using his rant voice now; Hermann watched him adoringly and let him talk, “they’re probably the cure to all body issues ever, I know I love mine, they look so badass.” Just as people had warned him they would, Newt’s tattoos had stretched as he’d gained weight, but contrary to what he’d been told they didn’t look bad. The harsh colours faded to pastels and all that achieved was making Newt’s tummy look even softer and healthier. So if he wanted even more tattoos no one could stop him (especially not Hermann, who still teased him gently about his love of kaiju but who understood it now, and who loved anything that made Newt happy).
“You can come with me this time and hold my hand, you should get a tattoo, you’d never get a tattoos, so I was thinking I’d get the rest of them done in black and white because I’ve really grown fond of this one-thigh aesthetic I’ve got going on and also colouring hurts like a bitch.” He stopped for a huge gulp of air. “And I’ve been drawing loads of designs and they’re so good, they’re like my best yet, I’ve gotta show you right now-“ Newt jumped up to grab his sketch book but a shooting pain through his head sent him sprawling back onto the bed.
“Newt-“ Hermann grabbed his shoulders and pulled him tightly against his chest. The pain had already receded but now Newt felt unsteady and none too motivated to attempt standing again.
“Well, maybe I’ve not gotta show you right now,” he said weakly.
“I know you don’t want to hear this-“ Hermann kissed the top of his head, “But you’ve got to go slower, Newt. Your body’s healthy-“ he gave his waist an affectionate squeeze, “And you’re doing well in therapy, but you’ve gone through some monumental stress, greater than any human should have to. For once, please just slow down.”
“Ok,” Newt breathed, stretching then snuggling closer to Hermann. “Ok. Watch a documentary?”
“Absolutely.”
Newt slipped off the bed, planning on discarding his jeans (no need to wear pants in front of your husband, right?) and swapping his shirt for an old T-shirt, but Hermann caught his hand and halted him. “Want to hear some comforting mathematics?”
“Oh, absolutely dude, hit me,” Newt beamed. The only time he cared about maths was when Hermann was talking about it.
“I love you exponentially.”
Newt screwed up his eyes and clenched his fists and practically vibrated with pure, unadulterated devotion for the dumb maths dork that was his husband. Biology didn’t have any cool, infinite counterparts to exponentials, so instead Newt settled on the coolest thing biology did have to offer. “I love you way more than I love dinosaurs.”
Hermann smiled warmly. That certainly was a prestigious compliment.