Newt has been in Sydney for exactly forty-six days when he has to admit to himself this whole “secondment to the other side of the planet to make a fresh start” thing just isn’t working out the way he’d intended.

It’d sounded so easy on paper. The University of Sydney was offering a twelve month secondment for a lecturer in marine biology, and had been overjoyed to have a fancy MIT professor join them while he worked on PhD number five. For Newt, it would be a fresh start, away from the coworkers who hated him and the students who saw him as an authority figure, not a potential friend or even straight-up peer. Easy. Maybe he’d even be able to form a new band.

And yet, here he is. Again. Alone in his shitty little shoebox apartment on a Friday night, surrounded by his barely unpacked mess, nowhere to go and no-one to go there with. Not even a hookup on Grindr to distract him, just a long lonely evening of eating microwave ramen (“two-minute noodles,” in the local parlance) and staring despondently at his computer, trying to find something to distract him. Because Newt can move halfway across the planet but he can’t, he’s coming to realize, move halfway across from himself. And hasn’t that always been the problem? Even here, Newt is still Newt is still Newt. And Newt, he’s starting to realize, is just not someone other people like very much.

He boots up Steam, because he’s too tired to work and too depressed to compose, and maybe mindlessly shooting aliens for a few hours will distract him. The app opens with an announcement that it’s having a sale, because Steam’s always having a sale, and Newt goes to mindlessly close the pop up like he always does, except . . .

Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers, the ad tells him. New expansion out now! And a picture of a group of fashionable attractive white-haired video game people—humans and elves and cat girls—posing together, dramatic and pensive. And Newt’s cursor pauses above the close button, and he thinks, Huh.

Because Newt is still Newt is still Newt. Except, maybe, he thinks, when he’s not.

It’s nearly midnight by the time the game downloads, Newt full of shitty ramen and half-drunk from the two beers he’d allotted himself while he’d waited (weed, he’s discovered, is not just illegal here but also ridiculously fucking expensive which, okay, he had not been expecting). So he makes his account and logs in and dutifully watches the opening cinematic, which is definitely Squeenix Pretty and the background music is a total banger, but also makes no sense whatsoever and makes Newt feel like he’s walking into a film halfway through. He hasn’t played a Final Fantasy since failing to finish FFX as a kid, and the bunny girls are definitely new but not, he has to admit, unexpected.

He spends way longer than he’d ever admit at the character creation screen, trying to figure out just who he wants to be, as a brand new person in this brand new world. A cat girl? A beefy lion man? A cute little goblin thing? A weird tall elf?

In the end, he makes a twinky Godzilla gijinka dude with pastel green hair and charcoal scales and eyes that glow neon blue. He has to pick a birthday (the calendar makes no sense to him) and a god (Rhalgr, the Destroyer, to keep On Theme), and spends way too long staring at the class selection before going with Arcanist, because the idea of hitting people with books and summoning monsters is baller.

Then it’s more cutscenes that make no sense (a giant crystal is talking to him?), and finally, finally, he’s in.

He calls himself Goji Otachi.

When the sun comes up, Newt has to admit its time for bed. He still has no idea what he’s doing in the game but there’s so much of it to do—assholes with exclamation marks everywhere, man—and he’s got his weird little blue Pikachu thing and spends way too long grumbling at his ugly sack robe while everyone else stands around the giant teleport crystal in the seaside pirate capital looking like extras from Fashion Week.

He gets maybe five hours sleep before his buzzing brain shakes him awake again and demands he get back at it, and that’s basically how he spends his entire weekend. Newt has an obsessive personality, he knows this about himself, and it’s fine, really. If a dumb game keeps his mind off everything else that’s totally fine, and he even does a group quest (a “Duty”) with a bunch of other people and that’s basically like going out, right, even if the only thing anyone ever says is “ty for the run” just before porting out at the end. And yeah it’s Newt’s first time and he fucks it up massively—has no idea what to do or where to stand—but no one says anything or seems to even care, really. The bunny girl with the huge gun sword and the catboy with the tarot cards get them through, and Newt even gets a new pair of earrings for his trouble.

He makes himself log off and get to bed by midnight on Sunday, because despite everything he still has work to do and he’s An Adult and whatever, and he makes it through the week just fine. He’s still lonely but he’s always loved teaching and he’s young enough and tattooed enough and foreign enough that at least some of his students think he’s sort of cool (he’s pretty quickly worked out he gets better results if he tells people he’s from Berlin, not the States, and has even started letting his old accent creep back in, just a touch). Plus his doctoral work is still fun; it’s on cellular regeneration in so called “immortal” species like Turritopsis dohrnii and Arctica islandica, because Newt is totally going to live forever even if he has to engineer the method himself.

And then, every evening, he comes home to log into Final Fantasy XIV, and fights to save Eorzea and doesn’t have to think of how he doesn’t have any friends there, either.

At some point, Goji picks up a quest to go look at the pirate city “residential district,” because apparently player housing is A Thing. It’s not A Thing Newt really cares about so he kind of blows it off for a few levels, but eventually it’s 1am and he’s kind of too wiped for the Duty he needs for the MSQ. So he figures he’ll go check out houses quick before bed.

The district is called Mist and getting there involves taking a ferry and selecting from two dozen different “wards,” none of which mean anything to Newt. He picks one at random and zones into a place that looks like a fantasy version of a Mediterranean resort town. It’s sort of . . . nice? Actually? The sky is sunny and blue and the map says there’s a beach, so Newt wanders down, and it’s kind of like Bondi without the bullshit, and he just stands there for a little while, enjoying the view.

The only other people on the beach are a group of two catgirls and a lala (the little goblin people), all dressed in bikinis and seemingly doing a photoshoot. Newt suddenly feels creepy and awkward standing there, alone, in his shitty lowbie gear and bails before he can think too much about it. There are NPC shops on the boardwalk plus three player houses, and Newt’s curious so he checks them out. The one on the end, lot 19, looks sort of different to the others; the garden decor isn’t as ostentatious but it looks more like someone’s taken care with it, or something? Like, actually tried to design something sort of real, rather than just plonking down whatever wherever. There’s an information placard out the front that announces the lot to be called the Dome Cafe. Finest Hingashian import cafe, reads the description. Open all hours. The little icons proclaim that the lot to be an “Immersive Experience” with “Visitors Welcome” so Newt thinks, fuck it, and goes in.

The interior, when it loads, is like nothing Newt’s yet to see in game. It looks actually almost like a real cafe, albeit one overflowing with greenery and honest-to-god sun rays pouring in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. There’s even a mezzanine level and an ivy-draped staircase and Newt is so busy staring in awe that he almost misses that the dude behind the counter fucking says:

Welcome to the Dome Cafe. Please sit wherever you like and I’ll be right with you.

It’s another player, not an NPC. An Elezen, one of the weird-looking tall elves, and he’s wearing an actual fucking apron with an actual fucking logo on it like an actual fucking cafe worker. The nameplate above his head proclaims him to be Isaque Sur’trit.

“Immersive Experience,” said the tags and, well. Newt supposes this is that. So . . . he takes a seat. At one of the tables near the ivy-covered windows.

Mr Cafe Elf actually makes him wait a little while before wandering over, but when he does he says, How may I help you today? If this is your first time at the Dome I can highly recommend our house special.

Newt has never said anything more complicated than “ty all” at the end of a Duty before, and it takes him an embarrassingly long period of time to type, uh k lol in response. Which, okay. Maybe not the most “immersive” response, but Newt thinks it doesn’t deserve Cafe Elf (somehow) making an actual whole pissed-off facial expression at him, which Newt only catches because of the way he has his camera rotated from trying to look at the architecture. He’s also not expecting actual fucking food to appear on the table in front of him but, well. It does; a little cup of green tea and a plate of colorful balls on a skewer.

Our finest green tea, says Cafe Elf, apparently super-dedicated to his shtick despite Newt’s awkwardness. Imported straight from Doma. The bocchan dango we make in-house.

When Newt clicks on it, the food is even edible; it gives him a buff and everything. oh wow, he types. this is really cool. uh . . . compliments to the chef? lol

Cafe Elf gives an elaborate bow. Thank you, sir, he says. I’ll pass your comments on. In the meantime, please feel free to stay as long as you like, and let me know if I can get you anything further. Then he goes back to lurk behind his counter.

So Newt . . . sits. The whole experience is very weird and super dorky but . . . kind of in a good way maybe? Like, someone actually spends their free time running a fake cafe in a video game, legit seriously, right down to the choice of background music, and the fact the room’s lighting shifts as the faster-than-real-time game day progresses.

Eventually, curiosity gets the better of him.

Goji O.: hey so did you like make this place? its super cool

Isaque S.: The house itself belongs to our FC leader, but I did most of the decorations, yes.

Goji O.: they are so cool holy shit lol

Goji O.: they should hire you to do level design for the game

Isaque S.: You’re a new player, I take it?

(And, okay yeah. The role play stuff is cool but Newt will admit he’s relieved Cafe Elf isn’t going to keep it up the entire time.)

Goji O.: that obvious huh?

Isaque S.: You have a sprout icon next to your name. That’s what it generally means.

Goji O.: :O

Goji O.: oh snap snitched lol

Goji O.: but yea I just started playing like last weekend

Goji O.: gg steam sale lol

Isaque S.: How are you finding things so far?

Goji O.: dude this game is so fun? like idek what im doing half the time but lol

Isaque S.: Arcanist was my first main, too. It’s an enjoyable playstyle.

Goji O.: little pikachu dude is cool but could totally do without this dorky mumu

Goji O.: everyone in limsa always looks so cool when do i get the good clothes lol

Isaque S.: Ah. Yes. ARR’s aesthetics do leave something to desired.

Goji O.: got this dress from the noob hall which was kinda sweet but

Goji O.: doesnt quite go with my punk rock soul lol

Isaque S.: The, ah. Fashion sense gets a little better in the expansions, but if you give me a moment I may be able to assist you in the interim.

Newt sends a ??? in response but Cafe Elf, Isaque, is busy doing a magical girl sparkling transformation into a librarian sweater and a fussy little pair of glasses, and whipping out an enormous glowing spinning wheel from nowhere. He spends the next, like, fifteen minutes or so crafting stuff, and when he next walks over it’s to open a trade with Newt. In it, he puts the clothes he just made, plus a pile of Pink Floyd album covers apparently called “Glamour Prisms.”

Isaque S.: Take these to the Glamour Dresser at an Inn. You’ll be able to link a glamour plate to your gearset and it should help with the, ah, “mumu” problem.

Goji O.: holy shit dude thank you

Goji O.: I dont like . . . have anything to give you for these tho?

Isaque S.: Please, don’t worry about it. It’s just nice to meet new players.

So Newt completes the trade and jumps, several times, because he hasn’t exactly mastered emotes like Isaque has and doesn’t know how else to show his appreciation.

Goji O.: dude thank you

Goji O.: for everything

Goji O.: its like 2am here so ive gotta go to bed but I will totally put these on tomorrow to show you???

Isaque S.: I’ll be here, same time. Though that may be a little late for you?

Goji O.: no way dude ill be here for sure

Goji O.: c u then!!!

Isaque S.: Good night, then. I’ll look forward to it.

And he waves, and Newt logs out, and tries not to think about how that’s the most non-work-related social interaction he’s had with another human being (sort of) in weeks.

The outfit Isaque made for him turns out to be this: black leather pants with lacings down the side; black leather boots with turned-down tops; black leather gloves; sunglasses; and a vest-and-buttondown combo with big bell half-sleeves that should look totally ridiculous and actually looks fucking sick. Newt looks like a rockstar. In the yakuza. A yakuza rockstar, and at 1am he bursts into the Cafe Dome, yells tadaaaaa~! and then does the flex emote he totally didn’t spent half an hour choosing in the inn room.

He gets a round of applause, from more than one source, which is when he realizes Isaque isn’t alone in the cafe. There are two other people here as well; a blue-haired Miqo’te catgirl, Yuki Luna, and, Yukon Leigh, a dude who looks like he rolled a character by mashing the “next” button without changing any settings. It’s the girl who’s clapping, along with Isaque, and Newt has a sudden, powerful flash of gratitude they can’t actually see him blush. He covers it with a /bow, to show off his new Sick Emote Skillz, and types:

Goji O.: yo dude do I look sick or what???

Isaque S.: If by “sick” you mean “handsomely dashing”, then yes. Very.

(Newt definitely doesn’t not get a little jolting thrill at this. It’s not like Isaque is complimenting him; he’s complimenting the video game avatar he himself designed an outfit for. God, Newt needs to get laid.)

Goji O.: aw shucks you charmer

Goji O.: seriously dude I can’t thank you enough

Goji O.: mumu problem solved!!!

Isaque S.: Well, I’m glad you like it. It’s not much but it will get you started, and you’ll certainly acquire more acceptable gear as you level.

Yuki L.: As they say; fashion is the true endgame!

Goji O.: I can believe it lol

He definitely can; Yuki is wearing a sort of Japanese-style top and knee-length pleated skirt, both dyed pastel blue, and her earrings color co-ordinate with her red purse. It’s very Harajuku, and very very cute.

Both Yuki and Yukon are sitting on stools at the cafe counter and, after some urging, Newt joins them. Isaque lays out a really intricate novelty sushi set with a little folding screen and everything, and Newt marvels at the fact someone actually bothered to make all this food to put into the game. Then he eats his serve, and gets his buff.

He gets quizzed on what he’s been doing and where he’s up to by Yuki, and assured the game’s story “really gets good” in the expansions. The second time he uses “fuck” in chat Isaque PMs him to let him know Yuki and Yukon are actually minors, and to maybe tone it down a little. Newt’s query—once he’s figured out how to reply to tells—about how Isaque knows he’s not a minor, too, is met with a no one under thirty uses the word “dude” which . . . rude! And, also: Im 23!!! (So is Isaque, apparently. Or close enough.)

And then Newt says:

Goji O.: yea I wuz really hopin to get 25 done by bedtime but msq threw a duty at me

Goji O.: and its way too late for me to deal with pugs lol

And then Yuki says:

Yuki L.: Which one is it? We could take you, there’s four of us. It will be quick.

Yukon L.: won’t even tell you if you suck :P

Goji O.: woah is isa even allowed time off? won’t he get fired???

Isaque S.: Believe it or not, assisting community members with Duties *is* part of my “job”.

Which . . . wild. But, also . . . why not?

So Newt agrees, and thanks everyone profusely, and Isaque and Yuki do their magical girl transformations again. The latter ends up in this awesome kind of black Victorian gear with a huge, vicious looking gun-sword, while the former swaps out his barista apron for an enormous khaki green anorak with a fur-trimmed hood.  He looks . . . so weirdly dorky? Like, in a super-fashionable Final Fantasy sort of way, but . . . still. Like he worked really hard to put together the most awkward outfit he could. When he joins the party, his icon looks like a pair of cards, so an Astrologian (yeah, Newt’s been reading the wiki, so sue him).

Goji O.: thot u said u were an arcanist?

Isaque S.: I mained SCH until 50, then swapped.

Yuki L.: He got his PhD in healing!

Isaque S.: Certainly easier than the one I’m supposedly working through in real life . . .

Goji O.: o snap for reals? me too lol

Goji O.: what’s yours in? im doing marine bio atm

Isaque S.: Theoretical extrasolar astrophysics, actually. The field is technical, but related to the Yang-Mills existence and mass gap.

Goji O.: wow lol

Goji O.: goin straight for that millennium prize, huh? no messin around for my dude isa here

Isaque S.: Oh!

Isaque S.: I confess I hadn’t expected you to have heard of it. It’s a rather esoteric area of study.

Goji O.: yea yea okay calm down mr physics i noe wut u say but us bio guys aren’t totally stupid :P

Isaque S.: Ah, apologies. I hadn’t meant to imply as much. I’m simply not used to people having heard of my area of work.

Yukon L.: alright nerds get a room

Yukon L.: but later

Yukon L.: we got a bigass spider to kill

Newt is grinning by the time they zone into the Thousand Maws. So. Isaque is about his age, and also working on a PhD. That is . . . cool. Really cool. And, okay, the dude is obviously a fussy pedantic math nerd (stereotypes wut?). But. Still. He seems like a cool guy, right? And maybe, just maybe, someone who could think Newt was kind of cool, too.

So Newt falls into a routine. He wakes up, he goes to work. Teaches classes, grades papers, sometimes even gets in a bit of lab time. Then, when it’s done, he gets home, and logs in, and smashes monsters in Eorzea until about midnight. The he ports over to the Dome Cafe, and hangs out with Isaque until bed.

Mostly, they just chat. Isaque is, like. Smart. Really, really super smart, maybe as smart as Newt even, which, like, not to toot his own horn or anything (he’s totally tooting) is not something he’s used to? So that’s wild but, like. In a good way. A great way. A really, really great way.

They talk about the game, too. Isaque has been playing since, like, release and has 80s in every job—including all the crafters and gatherers, and even a maxed Blue Mage—and is like a walking encyclopedia of Hot Tips, plus the Macro King, plus has absolutely baller models for winning Triple Triad and the Mini Cactpot, which he happily shares. Newt gets the feeling Isaque doesn’t have a lot of friends outside the game which, like. It’s not like Newt does either, so that’s totally cool. Everyone else’s loss.

They run duties sometimes with Yuki, and either Yukon or another kid called Mixie M’toasus; a Viera bunny girl in lingerie very definitely played by a teenaged boy. The three of them are all apparently military brats, posted to some base in Japan, and Yuki’s dad is the leader of their in-game guild, a.k.a. Free Company, and the dude who owns the Dome. Mixie is kind of a douche, in the way teenage boys can easily be, but Yuki is definitely the boss of their little crew and she seems to like Newt for whatever reason, or maybe is just naturally super-helpful, and the boys will come along with whatever she tells them too. Meaning Newt starts smashing out the XP fast enough from all the Duties to invest in leveling Archer, too.

Isaque, Newt learns, is studying at Cambridge and, when he finds out Newt’s alma mater is MIT, they get into good-matured arguments over whose Cambridge is the “real” one. It does mean his hours don’t line up with Newt’s as well as the Brat Squad’s, and if Newt surreptitiously shifts his schedule around so he can stay up later? Well. It’s not like his students are going to complain about a lack of morning classes.

The other thing Newt learns about Isaque is that he absolutely will not, under any circumstances, use the Duty Finder to do any kind of game content with strangers.

I have MS, he tells Newt, sitting at one of the Dome’s cozy little tables, basking in the morning light. It means my reaction times are sometimes . . . not as fast as they could be. And I’ve no patience for apologising for it.

Newt, who’s never noticed Isaque’s healing to be lacking in any way, actually thinks before typing:

Goji O.: people’re assholes

Goji O.: its just a game, you don’t deserve to have to put up with that shit when your trying to chill out or w/e

Isaque S.: Truthfully, they rarely notice me per se. But I’ve quit too many groups over casual ableism. Eventually, I swore off PUGs entirely; for my own piece of mind, if nothing else.

Goji O.: yea i get that

Goji O.: for me its homophobia

Goji O.: first time i hear like “fag” or w/e im fukkin GONE

Isaque S.: Ah. Yes. I . . . feel similarly.

And Newt thinks: Oh. Awesome.

And what he types is:

Goji O.: its totally wild right?

Goji O.: like of all the houses in all the wards in all the areas on all the servers, my noob ass walks into the one that has the one OTHER 20smthin gay science genius nerd academic serving tea

Goji O.: and one with my own damn name to boot lol

Goji O.: it must be fukkin fate or smthin, u should ask ur cards about it :P

Isaque S.:  . . . your real name is “Isaac”?

Goji O.: no newton lol

Goji O.: the o.g isaac

Goji O.: (obvs thats why I had to go do bio, to like spite destiny or w.e)

Isaque S.: Oh. That . . . is very coincidental, yes.

Goji O.: call me newt tho

Isaque S.: Hermann. My real name.

Goji O.: oh sweet lol

Goji O.: not a name i hear much any more

Goji O.: ur ‘rents german or smthin?

Isaque S.: Well, yes. But I am, also. I was born in Bavaria; it’s the alpine region in the south.

Goji O.: holy shit

Goji O.: dude i know where bavaria is

Goji O.: berlin boy right here

Isaque S.: Oh!

Goji O.: whatre the odds, right?

Goji O.: small fukkin planet

Isaque S.: But perhaps a kind one. Just sometimes.

And if that line, right there, sends Newt’s belly tight and fluttering? Well. No one ever has to know.

The next day, Newt gets a tell from a Don Coyote, who introduces himself as the leader of Isaq— of Hermann’s FC, and asks if Newt would like to join.

oh HELL yes, is the answer, which is how Newt becomes an Official Member of the Pan Eorzean Defence Corps, a.k.a. <PEDC>. He’s given an enthusiastic welcome by Hermann and the Brat Squad, and invited to the FC house in Shirogane to meet everyone else, too.

Shiro is kind of amazing; it’s the residential area from the second expansion, with a kind of Japanese-Chinese aesthetic, and Newt gets distracted running around its market alley and side-streets. The FC house itself, The Shatterdome, is a straight-up mansion, overlooking the beach, and even more beautifully decorated than the Dome; all fountains and marble columns and an onsen and a library and, of course, plants cascading everywhere.

Don Coyote, who everyone calls “the Marshal,” turns out to be a tiny Paladin-main Lalafell. The FC’s other members include Dave Maxx, an enormous lion man, a.k.a. a Hrothgar, who mains Gunbreaker and is Mixie’s IRL dad. Vid and Vida Chernobog are a pair of giant snow-white Roegadyns, apparently married both in game and out of it; one mains Black Mage, the other Dark Knight, but Newt is convinced they switch up both classes and characters just to mess with people. Xinghong, Zhuhong, and Chihong Taifeng are a trio of female Au Ra, a.k.a. the girl versions of Newt’s character, who swap roles between Red Mage, White Mage, and Warrior and are basically a party in and of themselves. And, finally, Allison Choi, a Machinist main apparently named and modeled off her player’s IRL wife.

So not a huge FC, but they’re all really awesome people; super friendly and helpful, and Newt’s hitting 50 and the end of the base game before he knows it. He makes his Summoner artifact weapon, and unlocks flying for his chocobo, and even saves up enough gil to buy himself an apartment in Mist. (He stands in it, empty and undecorated, exactly once before he ports back to the FC house.)

Dave and Mixie turn out to be Australian, and the former gives him some things to see and do around Sydney. It doesn’t escape Newt that the more time he spends in Eorzea, the less he’s spending making ties in the Really Real World, but he’s not exactly sure he cares. He spends hours chatting to Hermann or just hanging out in the FC house, and even starts composing again. Or, well. Arranging; the FFXIV music totally slaps, and Newt sets up a YouTube channel of him playing metal covers of various songs. After feedback from Hermann, he adds in some piano arrangements as well, and the Taifengs turn out to be baller in-game videographers, and shoot him a bunch of awesome background footage. (Then teach him how to install GShade when he asks how their version of the game looks so damn good compared to his.)

In May, Vid wins a three-number jackpot on the Cactpot, and the whole FC spends the day in the Golden Saucer, celebrating. Newt gets a half dozen new Triple Triad cards and enough MGP to buy himself a new pair of horns, which is totally sweet, and Allison even sort of halfway manages to teach him chocobo racing.

By June, Newt’s finished the MSQ and hit 80 on Summoner, and joins in a raid for the first time. The first time they take down Eden’s Gate on Savage feels like they just saved the goddamn world for real, particularly once everyone who faceplanted has been rezed off the floor.

Hermann vanishes for a few weeks in July, and Newt nearly goes mental. When he comes back, he awkwardly confesses he had a “little spell” with his condition, but is “working through it.”

Newt doesn’t know much about MS (yet), but he knows it’s not the sort of thing you just take a pill and do some PT and get over. So he sits with Hermann in the garden of the Dome Cafe, and never has he wanted to hold another person in his arms so desperately.

In September, Newt’s the one who needs to take a bit of a break. His classes and his research are both getting on top of him, and he’s totally Adult Enough to know when he needs to knuckle down and do the work and, importantly, not drop out like a quivering freshman because he spent too much time in a video game. He can do discipline when he had to, absolutely.

(People are always shocked about this for some reason, though? Like he somehow lucked into his doctorates by finding them on the side of the road? Which, whatever.)

He’s got two weeks of enforced Eorzean sabbatical left when the Dean comes to find him and says:

“Newt”—one of the things Newt loves about Australia is that he has not been called “Doctor Geiszler” here once—“Newt, I know it’s late notice, but the Singapore keynote has opened up. They’ve reached out to see if you’re available.”

Newt’s head shoots in so fast he almost rams it right into his lamp. “Sing— isn’t that astronomy?”

“You’ve done work in astrobio, yeah?” says the Dean. “They want that. I know it’s not your current focus, but—”

“Hell yeah!” Newt’s on his feet as he says it, even though he doesn’t really have anywhere to go. He just needs to move; he always does, when the excitement gets too much to hold beneath his skin. “Yeah I’ll do it. That— holy shit that’s amazing.”

And so, that’s how Newt scores an invite to give the day two keynote at the Astronomy and Space Physics Conference, Singapore. It’s more work to prep—Newt drinks so much Red Bull he’s surprised his eyeballs don’t fall out—but, honestly, he loves it. He loves presenting, loves performing; music or science, it doesn’t matter. Being up on stage, being in the spotlight, being a rockstar? That’s what he was born for, baby. So he loses himself in the work, and every night before he passes out in bed he tells himself what an awesome story he’ll have for Hermann when it’s done.

Of course, that’s not the way the story goes. That’s not the way the story ever goes.

Newt flies to Singapore, and he gives his keynote, and everything goes great. Really fucking great. Astronomy isn’t his field, astrophysics even less so, but he goes to every session he can and takes all the notes anyway, just so he’ll have something to tell Hermann when they’re chilling in the FC onsen back home.

There’s a drinks mixer thing on the evening of the second day, and Newt’s getting shown off by Jason, the dude he came here with from Sydney’s physics department, who’s an old hat at these sorts of things. Newt’s less into networking than he is performing, but he’s grinning and bearing it like a champ, downing his second beer, when The Asshole appears.

Newt’s first though is The Asshole is some musty old professor, mostly because he dresses like an extra from a film about Bletchley Park, but Newt’s not introduced to him and at some point he works out The Asshole probably isn’t much older than he is. It’s the clothes and the glasses and that haircut and, well, the cane that fill in the illusion. Like The Asshole is some doctoral student playing dress-ups in his daddy’s clothes. The Asshole looks at Newt like Newt is a loogie spat onto his stupid cowlick, with an expression like a stone sculpture of a toad come to life—all thin, pale lips and cold black eyes—and Newt knows, just knows, he’s biding his time. Waiting for the right moment to open his asshole mouth and give his asshole take.

It comes when the conversation moves to Newt’s keynote. The dude they’re actually talking to, a Professor Stuart James from Cambridge (Newt makes a note to ask Hermann later if he knows the guy), is skeptical-but-curious which, fine. Newt can work with that, and it’s when they’re in the middle of a conversation about the Drake Equation that The Asshole bursts in with a:

“Well I think it’s a load of utter tosh, actually.”

“Now now,” says James. “That’s a little unfair.”

“No,” says Newt, staring down The Asshole as he does. “No, it’s cool. Let’s do this. Tell me what you really think, kid.”

The Asshole actually physically bristles—Newt knew the diminutive would piss him off but that is too good—and opens his asshole mouth and starts with: “I think the Drake Equation is no better than science fiction. Nonsense assumptions built on nonsense assumptions, trying to pass itself off as mathematics when it’s little better than pseudoscience. And your so-called astrobiology is no better; merely ill-informed fantasies. Every MIT alumnus should be ashamed their institution debased itself to the point of awarding a doctorate for such execrable work.”

And, well. After that? It’s on.

When asked about it later, Newt will have to admit he doesn’t really remember much of the fight, beyond those opening salvos. Too much . . . everything. Just him and The Asshole, screaming at each other in the hotel bar, to the growing horror of everyone around them. It ends with Newt, shrieking something along the lines of: “Not that you’d know anything about that. You stuck-up, pretentious, prissy little student.” And then throwing the remainder of his beer in The Asshole’s face.

As he storms out, he hears James mutter, “Well. I hope you’ve learned a valuable lesson here” but can’t even bring himself to give a shit. He flees to his room and slams the door, and spends the next thirty minutes trying (unsuccessfully) to get his flight moved up.

By the time Jason finds him, he’s calmed down enough for incandescent rage to be washed out by a wave of crippling shame, and a burning need to, like. Go buy a desert island in the middle of the ocean and live their like a hermit for the rest of his days. Or whatever.

“Dude,” Newt says, when he finally, and very sheepishly, answers Jason’s knocking. “I— Fuck, I don’t even know—”

Jason hands him a tumbler of whiskey, obviously walked up from the bar. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, then winces. “Well. It was a bit much. But Gottlieb’s got, uh. A reputation, y’know.”

So does Newt, he knows, but: “Who the fuck even was that guy?”

Which earns him a shrug. “Nobody. Some rich asshole’s son. He’s a miserable cunt with a superiority complex who picks fights with everyone he can. But Daddy’s a donor, so . . . what can you do?”

Newt groans, throws himself back on the bed. “I’m a fucking idiot,” he tells the ceiling.

“Mate,” says Jason, “you’re the one they asked to do the keynote. Not that kid. Don’t let him get to you.”

He does, though. Newt avoids the conference’s final day, pretends he has some urgent sightseeing or whatever to do in the city instead. Singapore is hot and humid and . . . too glossy, somehow, and Newt hates it. So he finds a bar and indulges in some day drinking, then walks around a mall and buys himself a new webcam, based on some sort of half-assed idea of maybe intercutting footage of himself into his next cover video. Other people do it, why not him? He can totally be a rockstar, even if only to videogame nerds on YouTube.

By the time he and Jason fly out, he’s feeling okay, so long as he doesn’t think too hard about The Asshole. It’s not like Newt’s never had people shit on his work, before; he got his first doctorate at fifteen, for freak’s sake, of course people were assholes about it. So why the hell did he let Gottlieb get to him so badly?

(He was kind of hot, a traitorous little voice whispers in the back of his mind. Well-hidden and, like, severe. But . . .)

(No, absolutely not, says the louder part of Newt’s brain. And that’s the end of that.)

He logs into FFXIV pretty much the instant he gets home, and tell himself he totally isn’t disappointed when Yuki lets him know Hermann hasn’t been on for a few days.

I think he had something for school, she tells Newt. He should be back soon.

So Newt waits, does some Duty Roulette and works on leveling his Bard. He doesn’t like the gameplay that much but he’s determined his rockstar persona needs a rockstar class, so he sticks with it.

Hermann reappears close to midnight on Thursday, and Newt immediately sends him HERMS!!!! in greeting.

Welcome back, comes the response. Apologies if I am less than coherent this afternoon; I’m rather jet lagged.

oh cool, types Newt, because he is an idiot. He immediately amends it to: well not cool obvs but cool you got to travel? where’s my fav jetsetting elf been off to???

And the response he receives goes:

Isaque S.: Ugh. An academic conference, sadly in Singapore. I don’t travel well at the best of times and the heat and humidity agree with me even less.

Isaque S.: Still. It was an honor to be invited. And it was . . . interesting, in parts. The entry-level observational astronomy was a bit naff but Drs. Edmunds and Vernon gave an excellent presentation on a new formulation for spacetime-collapsed hypsersurface modeling that was absolutely fascinating.

And Newt thinks, Oh holy shit! His fingers are halfway to the keyboard to type a reply (hey no shit dude you’ll never believe this but I was there too??? I can’t believe we missed each other!!!) when Hermann adds:

Isaque S.: Unfortunately the whole thing was rather marred by the second day “keynote”. They’d changed the programme at the last minute and invited some lunatic American to rant nonsense about aliens.

Isaque S.: What a dreadful little man. I did NOT attend his presentation, obviously, but we had an unfortunate encounter at a networking event. We got into something of an argument, I’m afraid to say, and he threw his drink at me.

Isaque S.: It rather ruined the rest of the

There’s more. There’s so much more but Newt can’t read it. He can’t see. Because while Hermann has been talking Newt has been Googling on his second monitor, something he maybe should’ve done a long time ago: herman gottlieb cambridge university, and oh fuck oh god oh no it’s him. It’s The Asshole. The Asshole is Hermann. There’s a picture of him on Cambridge’s website, accepting some nerd prize for some nerd math thing, looking like he’s watching someone piss in his beer while he’s at it and, oh fuck. Oh fuck. The one friend Newt’s managed to make since he’s been here, in his whole shitty miserable adult life, maybe, the one guy he’s kind of secretly been crushing on a little maybe and oh fuck no.

He can’t. He just . . . he can’t deal. Not with this.

He slams Alt-F4 on his keyboard, not even bothering to log out. Twenty minutes, it takes him, to control his breathing and his heart and calm down enough to focus his eyes again.

Then he opens Steam, uninstalls Final Fantasy XIV, cancels his subscription, and cries himself to sleep.

He doesn’t play again for nearly two whole years.

He finishes his secondment. In November, the Dean starts hinting she’d be amenable for him to stay on, but Newt spent so much time playing a fucking video game there’s nothing really to keep him here, so he politely declines, and packs his shit, and goes home.

Boston is miserable and cold and dreary in a way Sydney never was, but Dad and Uncle Illia greet Newt at the airport and he hugs them both way too tight and, fuck. He’s home.

He goes back to teaching, finishes his thesis and his defense, collects PhD number five. He also joins a band. Joins it, not forms it; he sees an ad on campus one day, some power metal act looking for a keyboardist and/or guitarist and/or male death growler, and Newt thinks, hey, what the hell and tries out. And go figure, he gets the gig. The band’s founder, Liwen, is some tech-industrial heiress from Shanghai, currently doing her MBA at Harvard, and Newt is pretty convinced the band is her, like, late-arriving teenage rebellion phase or whatever. They’re frienemies at best, but Liwen is classically trained; in the violin but, more importantly, in both Chinese opera and the guqin, which gives Uprising a really cool sino-rock sound Newt really digs. So Newt can respect her, like, skills or whatever, and vice-versa. Besides, the band’s third member, Alice, is basically the best person Newt’s ever met? Which he knew pretty much from the moment he walked into the audition and saw her there with her electric blue hair and “girlboss/malewife” t-shirt with the pictures of Mothra and Godzilla on it. She likes kaiju and anime and is doing a doctorate in electrical engineering at MIT and Newt would totally marry her, if she wasn’t the biggest les to ever bian. So they’ll be platonic BFFs5eva instead, totally fine by him.

The band does, like, really well, too. Newt knows the music biz is less about talent and more about opportunity, and Liwen’s got the latter in spades, and is also like, the most terrifyingly driven person Newt’s ever met. She’s getting them gigs in NYC within a few months, and invites to festivals by the end of the year. Newt even starts getting recognized in public, which is kind of wild.

And then, almost a year after their first show, Liwen tells them they’ve got a slot at Extreme Obscene Asia, in Tokyo.

“Holy shit!” Newt exclaims, even as Alice grabs onto his arm and squeals in his ear in glee. That is . . . that is huge. Like, legit rockstar huge.

So they go out to celebrate, to one of Liwen’s fancy-ass cocktail nightclubs Newt would normally never, ever be able to get into. But it’s amazing, what dress codes billionaire money can make vanish.

They all drink way too much sake for, like, pre-emptive mood-setting, and somewhere well into the evening Alice, leaning drunkenly against Newt’s side, says:

“Hey. Don’t you, like. Know people in Tokyo? From your MMO? You should look them up.”

Alice knows about FFXIV, and about Hermann, because Alice is amazing and knows basically everything about Newt’s life. Which is why she also knows:

“I dunno, man. I kinda . . . flipped out and bailed on them. I doubt they’d want to see me.”

Alice makes a pffft sound and shoves herself harder into Newt’s side. “C’mon, no way. You’re a big deal rockstar now! People love it when people they know get famous.”

“I dunno . . .”

“You should try.” Liwen’s put away more booze than Newt and Alice combined, but still sits perfectly coiffed and ramrod straight, the only indication she’s totally off her face wasted being the faint unintentional redness to her cheeks and the way her accent gets ever-so-slightly thicker. “The worst that will happen is they will not answer you. Then at least you will know for sure where you stand.”

Newt sighs, slouches further into the obnoxiously comfortable brocade lounge and says, “Yeah. Maybe.”

The next day, he wakes up with a raging hangover, a passed-out Alice drooling on his shoulder, and a burning desire to prove Liwen wrong somehow by, like. Doing exactly what she suggested he do? Which is basically how their entire relationship works.

He downs two Advil for himself and leaves two more, plus a glass of water, for Alice when she regains consciousness, and stumbles out into his apartment’s living-dining-kitchen room.

“All right,” he tells no one in particular. Then, for the first time since Australia, he logs into the Lodestone.

It’s FFXIV’s social media site, kind of, and within two clicks he’s got Yuki’s character page open. She’s still active, and her profile is linked to her Twitter, which is also active, so Newt shoots her a message. Hey long time no talk but it’s Goji? From FFXIV? I’m gonna be playing a show in Tokyo in a few months and I was wondering if you guys wanted to, like, meet up?

Yuki has photos on her Twitter, and she’s older than Newt remembers, which he supposes is a thing that happens. Nearly eighteen, and he has a sudden panicked though about that (is it weird, messaging her out of the blue? is she going to think he’s a huge creep?) when he gets a reply:

Goji~!!!

Yes that would be lovely. When will you be here?

And, well. That’s that.

The show goes really well. Uprising isn’t exactly a headline act, but people are curious so they get a good turn-out, and the crowd seems to be into the sound. Newt leaves the stage drenched in sweat (surprisingly good exercise, jumping around on stage under hot lights, screaming and thrashing his keyboard), with two people waiting for him outside Uprising’s little green room.

One is Yuki, actual name Mako, who Newt recognizes instantly from her photos. The other is an enormously tall black dude who introduces himself as Stacker Pentecost; information Newt receives with a completely straight face, given the man looks like a wizard cut the entry for “commanding” out of the dictionary and cast a spell to turn it into a person. It is, Newt has to admit, not at all how he’d imagined Don Coyote to look in the really real world, though maybe the whole “Marshal” title should’ve given it away.

Newt got them both the tickets and the backstage passes, and he introduces them to the rest of the band. Mako turns out a lot shier in real life than she is online, or maybe just more reserved, or maybe just in awe (or something?) of Liwen; hard to tell. The Marshal also chills out when he figures Newt really isn’t there to creep on his daughter (she is, like, totally not Newt’s type, and so long as he thinks no more about what is then that’s totally fine), and never before has Newt been so grateful to pass a test, for real.

He gets cleaned up and changed into his civvies, gives Alice one last high-five and Liwen an awkward nod of appreciation, then he bails out into the Tokyo evening with Mako and the Marshal.

They go to a ramen place Mako likes and that allegedly has the best tantan men in Tokyo, which Newt is totally hyped for. Truth be told, he’s almost cripplingly nervous about the whole thing—especially now he doesn’t have Uprising’s set to distract him—but the Marshal is, like, some military bigwig guy and has obviously been to the special classes important people take about how to do smalltalk or whatever (a fact Newt knows thanks to Liwen), so things actually go fine.

The Marshal’s posting is apparently ending soon, and they’ll both be heading back to London for Mako to study international relations at Cambridge. “Hermann helped with my application,” Mako says, with all the subtlety of a teenager, and Newt laughs awkwardly under her scrutiny.

“Mako,” the Marshal chastises. Then, to Newt: “He told us what happened. Why you disappeared.”

“Oh.” It kind of . . . hadn’t occurred to Newt that might have been a possibility. “So he, uh. Figured it out, then?”

“Mmhm.”

“How, uh. How did that go?”

“I’m sure you can imagine.”

“That bad, huh.”

“‘Furious,’ is the word I’d use.”

Newt sighs, pokes despondently at his (amazingly good) noodles. “Yeah. Figured.”

“I didn’t say who he was furious with,” the Marshal says, and Newt suddenly knows where Mako gets it from.

“I—”

“There’s a new expansion,” the Marshal adds, before Newt can figure out how to respond, “coming out later this year.”

“Yeah,” says Newt. “I know.” People keep pinging him about it on his old YouTube channel, ever hopeful for a cover of the trailer track. (And if Newt has one half-arranged? Well. No-one ever needs to know.)

“Eorzea’s last stand against the apocalypse,” the Marshal says. His expression is deadpan serious, but he’s definitely having fun; eyes bright and kind. “It would be good to have you back.”

“I . . . I miss it,” Newt admits, because it’s not something he’s ever said out loud before, not even to Alice. “Like, it’s dumb, but . . . playing with you guys. It’s kinda the most fun I’ve ever had? Wow, that sounds sad to actually say out loud.”

“Not at all. We find people where we find them.” Newt does not at all miss the way the Marshal’s eyes dart to his daughter, just quickly, as he says it. “And the PEDC always has a place for you.” A pause for dramatic effect, then: “On one condition.”

Newt totally knows where this is going. “I don’t think—”

“I don’t think,” Mako says, “anything is ever so broken that it’s not worth at least trying to fix.”

Newt bites his lip, and twirls some noodles around his chopsticks. “Maybe,” he lies. “I’ll think about it.”

The second he gets back to his hotel room, some hours later, he opens Steam on his laptop, and tells it to start a remote-install on his PC back in Boston. Eorzea will be waiting for him when he gets home.

Isaque Sur’trit is online when Newt logs in. He tells himself that was totally intentional and not at all a sign (he knows Hermann’s gaming schedule, and is totally unsurprised to see it hasn’t changed).

He also tells himself it isn’t a sign that Isaque is in the Coerthas Western Highlands, which Newt knows means Hermann’s camping the gathering spawn for Coerthan Tea Leaves, to make his fussy little tea sets, and . . . oh god. It’s been nearly two years, and it’s like Newt never left.

So he takes a deep breath, wipes his palms on his jeans, and flies out to wait.

For sixteen minutes a thirty-six seconds, in fact; something Newt knows because he looks it up on Teamcraft while his stomach is busy tying itself in knots. Sure enough, Isaque flies in on his sensible, goobbue grey chocobo (the yellow is just so garish) almost exactly as the node spawns, still wearing his ridiculous goddamn khaki parka.

Newt does a /wave, and Isaque’s head snaps to look at him in the way that means Hermann’s clicked on his character. Too late, Newt realizes he’s still wearing his own stupid outfit, the one Hermann made for him, way back in their first meeting, but. Well. Too late to change it now.

He sends Hermann a tell:

Goji S.: um

Goji S.: hey dude

Goji S.: I know its been a long time and things were kind of shitty but I been thinking and I just wanted to say some stuff

Isaque S.: No.

Isaque S.: No, I will absolutely not do this here.

And then Hermann sends Newt his Skype handle, and teleports away.

He doesn’t even pick his tea.

It takes Newt a good ten minutes to get up the courage to call. Well, courage, and also fixing his hair and putting on a nicer shirt and pushing all the trash in his apartment out of view of the camera.

He also sends Goji to Mist, on some kind of self-destructive, nostalgic whim. He’s not entirely surprised to see the Dome Cafe is gone from lot 19, replaced by some shittily decorated FC place. Newt sits himself outside it all the same, watching the stars, facing the sea.

Then, for the first time, he calls Hermann.

Hermann answers almost immediately and, shit. It’s him. Definitely the same guy Newt met in Singapore; same terrible haircut and fussy sweater vest (possibly the exact same one, in fact) and grandma glasses and weird, angry frog expression. Newt supposes he looks more-or-less the same, too, because for a moment neither of them say anything, too stunned or angry or awkward and then suddenly Newt blurts:

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I bailed on you and never told you why it’s just . . . you hurt me, man. You really fucking hurt me, you know? You were, like, my best friend? I thought maybe? Even though we didn’t really know each other all that well at all, I guess, just from a stupid video game but those were like the best months of my life, man, and then that stupid conference and—”

(“Newton.” Said like it’s a new food Hermann is trying out, one he’s not sure if he’ll like.)

“—and you know I spent the entire time taking notes about dumb shit I didn’t really care about, thinking ‘oh snap I’m gonna tell Hermann about this when I log back in’ and then—”

(“Newton.” A bigger bite this time.)

“—and then I threw my fucking beer at you except I didn’t know it was you, and then when I did, when I realized, it was just . . . it was too fucking much, man. I just . . . I couldn’t fucking breathe and—”

“Newt!”

Newt’s mouth snaps shut with a click. When he blinks, tears fall down his cheeks and he scrubs them away, angry and ashamed.

And Hermann says:

“There are few things I regret in my life more than our meeting.”

(“Fuck,” Newt mutters, bitter and small.)

“I was . . . I was unconscionably cruel to you, for no reason other than jealousy. It would’ve been inexcusable even had you been a stranger but . . . but when I realized what had happened, it forced to me . . . reassess. Certain things about myself. I know I am a difficult man and I am at peace with that. But I never wanted to be a cruel one. Never. The fact that it took me hurting someone I . . . I cared very much about to realize that is something I will never forgive myself for.”

And Newt . . . Newt just stares. Actually looks at Hermann, for real, for the first time. Dude . . . he looks like he’s waiting for a blow.

“I know it’s far too late,” Hermann is saying, “but, for what it’s worth—”

“It doesn’t have to,” Newt blurts. “Be your . . . your greatest regret, or whatever. It doesn’t— It’s not worth beating yourself up about, dude.” He laughs, awkward, scrubs away more tears. “Don’t even worry about it. It’s fine. It’s . . .” Oh shit. It’s fine. It might . . . it might actually be fine?

Hermann closes his eyes, and exhales, and . . . fuck. He’s just as terrified as Newt is; Newt can see it now, the tension around Hermann’s mouth and the stiffness in his shoulders.

This is my friend, Newt thinks, suddenly and clearly. He made me tea and clothes and taught me how to win the Mini Cactpot. We fucked up but it happens. It’s not the end of the world. Friendship apocalypse? Cancelled.

“I . . . thank you,” Hermann says and, wow okay. He actually has a really nice voice? Like, with his stupid little fake posh accent, and holy shit they should’ve been doing voice chat years ago. Newt would have a PhD in astrophysics by now, purely from listening to Hermann’s amazing voice rant on about it.

There’s an awkward pit of silence, after that, neither of them sure where to go now. At least, until Newt notices an awkward elf in a stupid parka, sitting beside him on the road.

“You, uh. The cafe’s gone,” he says.

Hermann bites his lip. His face is still totally weird but, wow. Mega in a good way. When he’s making that expression. “I have a house now,” he says. “In another ward.”

“Oh. Wow. Congratulations. How long did that take?”

“About a month,” Hermann admits. “I, uh. Did not like the auto-clicker on Github so I wrote my own. But the ping from here is still rather brutal.”

It occurs to Newt they’re making, like. Videogame small-talk? Wild. “I bet your house is awesome,” he says. “All plants and light and shit. You’re so good at the floats; no matter how many tutorials I watched I could never get them to stick.”

“It’s mostly just patience. Fussy and tedious work is my forte, I’m afraid.”

Newt laughs, just a little, not sure if he’s totally allowed. “Well. The results are baller, so . . . And, hey, speaking of; Yuki tells me you finished your PhD. Congratulations! Does this mean we all have to call you Doctor Sur’trit, now?”

Hermann smiles at that, actually smiles which, wow. Makes him look totally different. Newt’s into it. Super, super into it.

“Not such an achievement for someone with five of the things to his name, I’m sure.”

Newt scoffs, waves a hand and rocks back in his chair. “I was a precocious kid with over-indulgent parents and too much free time on my hands,” he admits. “It doesn’t mean shit.”

“I read your theses,” Herman says. “After, ah. I realized who you were. Your grasp of the Drake Equation is still abysmal, but I confess your theories on silicon-based life were . . . more compelling than I expected.”

And suddenly, it’s like every stupid conversation they’ve ever had, sitting in FC house or the cafe or out in the field, gathering Hermann’s stupid tea. “Geeze, dude,” Newt says, grin breaking out before he can think to stop it. “Damn me with faint praise why don’t you?”

“I have some more, if you’d like.” Hermann tries, more confident now. “About your band.”

“You listened to our stuff?”

“After Mako mentioned it, yes.”

“Not really your thing, huh?”

Hermann winces, obviously comically, then says: “No, but . . . it is definitely music I could see myself killing a Primal to.”

Which, okay. Um. Wow.

“Wow. That’s, like . . . the nicest thing anyone has ever said about our music.” Newt laughs, happy and real. “Thank you, for reals.”

Hermann gives a mock little bow, and they fall into silence again. Still awkward, but . . . but maybe not as much. Maybe.

On Newt’s monitor, the sun has started to come up over the ocean. He hasn’t gotten around to re-installing GShade so the godrays aren’t quite as impressive as he’s used to, but . . .

“Man,” he says. “I’d forgotten what a great view this plot had. It’s really beautiful, yeah?”

And Hermann, who isn’t even looking at his own monitor, smiles his thin lipped smile and says: “Yes. Yes, it is.”