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Chapter Text

It’s the crooked smile that catches Otto’s attention - not what he should actually be paying attention to – no his focus shouldn’t be on his features but rather on the whole of the man standing in front of the classroom presenting the preliminary version of his thesis.

Otto is sitting in the second row of the classroom. A small enough room for the environment to be called intimate. Meaning that he could clearly see the presenter and the presenter could see him. He has a pencil in his hand. A overly boiled cup of coffee sits on the small platform attached to his chair. The coffee is gritty - how the hell was someone so bad at making coffee that they got the grounds into it?

Norman Osborn is not nervous at all. He stands in front of the classroom, beside the projector and slides he is animatedly clicking through and the chalkboard that he periodically scribbles on.  Otto has to look down at the paper in front of him to verify Norman’s name. He drags his pencil under the letters making a dark underline. Otto looks back up. Norman’s not nervous or that almost manic grin is some sort of defense mechanism.

 It’s not that the thesis and presentation isn’t interesting, it’s just that there’s something about his face that he can’t look away from. The way his smile curves, his crooked teeth. He can’t quite name it. The feeling is irritating. It’s there and it’s not, and he runs another line under Norman’s Osborn’s name as if that will do it. That extra emphasis will make it all clear.

It is a face that is unique and hungry. And maybe that’s what it is. The thing he recognizes. After all, the man clearly loves himself. The way he talks about his research; how he downplays the amount of work he must’ve put into it and rather focuses on the results as if they were born out of nothing. He wants to hate him; he wants to hate that arrogance but there’s just something that is too familiar, that aligns with his own personality and goals and his worldview that he can’t. And he likes that he isn’t just simply messily human, that he strives to be something more than himself.

Otto understands that. He has always wanted to be more than the sum of his work. It is egotistical, he supposes, but in order to change the world one must move above their mere human reachings they must become something more god-like. That’s a lot to be thinking about on a Monday morning especially before he’s had his first coffee – and what an awful brew it turned out to be - and he figures that’s why his thoughts are so disorganized and his focus is locked on the man and not his words.

 And that he’s veering into strange territory regarding his own view of himself. It’ll take him about three more coffees before he can really truly focus on what Norman is saying. He’s seen him in class. He’s seen him at the library and he’s even seen him on the bus and yet he never knew his name before today. This whole exercise is a challenge in peer review. Emphasis on challenge, he thinks. In the seldom quiet moments, where Norman stops to gather his thoughts, he can hear the scratching of pencils to his right and left and in the front row, and yet his paper is blank besides for the underlined name.

There’s something puckish about his gestures and facial expressions and the animated way he talks about his research. The utter absorption he has. The passion that he’s clearly put into his project, the emphasis now - that Otto tunes back in - on making his research marketable. The man is an utter fucking flaming capitalist and Otto is conflicted. Marrying science and money has always been something he has abhorred. He definitely doesn’t know how to feel about how his heart is pounding and how he would like to grab Norman by those horribly confident future businessman shoulders and push him against the wall and what and what? God, he is disgusting. He pinches his leg through his trousers until the pain makes him focus. He can’t think about what Norman’s hands would feel like running through his hair. Or those lips and that crooked fucked up smile directed towards him. He won’t think about that. He can’t think about that. It’s a passing fancy and nothing more. On the other hand, isn’t it scientific to consider a situation from all angles? To try and understand the origins and destination of his feelings?

 It is clearly attraction he feels for the man’s confidence, for his abilities, for his keen way of speaking, of bridging concepts. He thinks he wants to be like Norman. Maybe Norman isn’t the Egotistical one.

His paper is still abysmally empty except for the underlined name and a doodle of a cat that weirdly has some of Norman’s features. He quickly grabs his pencil and scribbles over the top of it to hide the evidence. Instead he writes down “science equals marketing equals capitalism” and puts a big X through the three words. He’ll make it more eloquent when he actually speaks to Norman after his presentation and gives him his feedback. But that’s the gist of it. He decides he kind of wants to fight. He wants to see how Norman Osborn will defend his very skewed idea of how science should serve the world.

Chapter Text

Norman paces the front of the classroom and for the first time Otto sees the nervous energy, now not being dissipated through his overly exuberant presentation but made present in how he’s stopped behind the podium, and keeps tapping his pen, waiting in silence for their feedback. It looks like a position that he is not used to or particularly comfortable with.

 There’s some schadenfreude in watching him squirm. Norman stands with arms akimbo and stares them down but Otto can see through it. He sees the distress that’s there in how his eyes cannot stay on the person speaking. He keeps looking to the right of the podium, perhaps where he has concealed his notes.

Interesting, he thinks. The confidence is partially a front. Not that he didn’t suspect it. He would do the same thing in that position. He’s still about a year out, perhaps more from his thesis defense. He would put on his best face and absolutely believe in his research because that was the only way that you could stand in front of a group of people and seem authentic. You had to believe absolutely to engender the same feeling in them. Any sort of doubt and they will know that you are a fraud.

It is customary to introduce yourself when first taking the floor. “Otto Octavius,” he says. “I found your thesis to be well researched.”

Norman gives him that slightly crooked smile and he almost forgets what he’s going to say.

“Oh there’s a “but” in there I can hear it,” Norman says.

 It isn’t so customary for the defender to have any sort of retort before the question is given and Otto is momentarily caught off guard. There is definitely a lack of reverence that a lot of presenters often default to when being questioned after their defense, a lack of professionalism. Otto clenches his jaw.

“Well are you gonna ask me something or not?” Norman says resuming his tapping of his pen against the podium.  

What a little shit.

He looks down at his pitiful notes: the three words and the X running through them. He folds it, squares his shoulders, and locks his gaze on Norman Osborn. For a second, he sees his confidence wither; that same deflection to the side, unable to maintain solid eye contact. So he can be intimidated.

“I guess what I’m wondering about is the practical, real world application of your research. I mean beyond yourself. How do you interpret the sustainability of your proposal and – as far as I can tell – what do you have to say about the negative effects on society that your proposed research will cause? And if I can be as blunt as possible- ”

“Don’t stop now,” Osborn says with that same pointed smile.  

Otto doesn’t falter. “As far as I can tell what you’re proposing is nothing more than a get-rich-quick scheme. The research is viable and novel but your application of it leaves me cold.” So maybe it wasn’t as eloquent as he was planning originally. He wasn’t one to easily lose his cool but he can tell just by how he is biting into his words that Osborn has gotten under his skin.

“If I’m not mistaken, the feedback I should receive should be based solely upon the research presented and not upon any moral quandaries my esteemed peer seems to be drowning in.” He casts his gaze about the room and there is a general consensus that makes blood rush to Otto’s face.

 “I’m not talking about moral failings but rather the obligation we have as responsible scientists to find a way to alleviate and build rather than take and deplete. Clearly, you’re intelligent. Don’t think because of my critique that I don’t see the viability of your research. It is clear that you put a lot of time - and judging from your presentation exuberant energy into your discoveries. I would just hate to see such innovation go to waste in pursuit of cold hard cash.”

“How noble of you, Otto? Was it? Perhaps the funding for your research just falls from the sky and you have no need to monetize but for the majority of us we have to have an approach that is both feasible and lucrative in order to get by. I’m just being practical. You’re living in a rose-tinted world, so optimistic that the resources you need are just going to fall into your lap. We’ll see who’s living in a cardboard box in a couple years.”

 “All right. All right,” the moderator says standing up from her desk. “I think this discussion has been quite – well, something - I hope you have been able to take something away from this, Norman. It is important that you have opinions from all sides to help you better shape your thesis going forward. What Otto has said does have merit and you should consider that perhaps when considering your direction, the research should come first and the funding second.” She puts up a hand to stop Norman from saying something else. “Otherwise, if there are no further questions, we will wrap up for today and allow Norman to mingle and ask us questions.”

 Otto wants to say something else but she places her hand on his arm and he stops. Who would be living in a cardboard box?! God, he could strangle him.

Chapter Text

Norman makes the required rounds. Otto had thought about leaving right after the presentation but figures he’s already made such a fool of himself in front of his peers and advisers that leaving now would make him look even more incompetent. Now back at his desk, staring into the gritty grounds of the coffee, he realizes he has approached the situation in the wrong way and let his emotions lead him rather than simply focusing on what Norman had presented. So he stays. He stays, and he waits, and he listens vaguely to the feedback Norman receives.

The professors equivocate and give him nothing too trenchant, nothing that will change the direction that he’s approaching. Otto knows that he sees the opportunities and responsibilities of the position of being a scientist differently from the majority of his peers and even his professors which for a minute make him not want a coffee but I drink. A REAL Drink. Drinks, he corrects himself.

And when Norman looking smug, like he’s ready for round two, finally approaches his desk he can’t believe the first thing out of his own mouth.
“Do you want to get wasted with me?” Norman is surprised, instead of opening his mouth to say whatever asshole thing he’d been surely about to spout off about, he raises an eyebrow.

“I think I’m getting whiplash.”

“It was reactionary on my part. Let’s start over. Let’s go somewhere where we can sit down and talk and I can really understand what you’re trying to do.”

“Well if my defense wasn’t clear enough, I guess that’s a ringing endorsement that I should go back and rewrite it. That’s what you’d like me to say isn’t it?  But I happen to have more of a spine than that. I stand by what I said and I’m not going to change my mind.” He places his palm flat against Otto’s desk and leans forward.

“And if for some reason you think that you’re gonna be able to, I’m sorry to say, but you’re sorely misguided. What you’re getting at is not just a simple revision but a complete fundamental rewrite of what I’ve been working on for the past five years.”

Otto glances to the left, they are definitely being stared at. This was what he was hoping to avoid.

“What makes you think you coming in here and talking to me for five minutes - more like berating me in front of the panel - is gonna make me want to listen to you? I don’t even know who you are. I don’t know your credentials. You didn’t take the time to introduce yourself beyond saying your name in a haughty – oh look at me, I’m so superior way.”

“Oh because you’re so humble?” Otto tries to keep his voice low, but the whole room has turned their way. “Look, I think having this conversation in a different location would better suit both of us.”

Norman pulls back a bit and seems to contemplate it. This time his eye contact is unwavering. Otto feels like a cat with its hair bristling. He really doesn’t want to fight but something about Osborn just brings it out in him. “Look,” he puts up a hand hoping that Osborn will give him a chance to finish a sentence, “let me buy you a drink. We’ll say it’s a peace offering. I’m extending the olive branch to you.” The way Osborn’s eyebrows rise along with his smile seems to ask why. And Otto doesn’t know how to answer that unsaid question. I just want to talk to you outside of this environment. I legitimately want to start over.” He unclenches his fists under the desk, and lets the tension out of his shoulders. I mean it.” And he finds that he does to some extent. Though the irritation is still there underneath.

“Well, I can’t stand here all day arguing with you so where and what time?”

Otto hasn’t thought about that. He says the first place that pops into his head, a little dive not too far from the downtown, The Blue Sparrow. He doesn’t stop to think that they would probably have a live band there that night and it probably won’t be too favorable to conversation.  But he would think about that later, particularly on his walk back to his apartment. He would think about a lot of things and wonder just exactly how he had gotten himself into this situation.

Everywhere he goes they are talking about scandal and yet his thoughts keep coming back to Norman Osborn. Even with the country falling apart, Watergate, fuel shortages, the continued fallout from the Vietnam War, his thoughts are elsewhere. He wants to be present.

He goes to the lab first and organizes his notes. Looking them over, filing them, not really seeing them; he's running over that morning’s conversation over and over again trying to see what he must have looked like from Norman's perspective, but it doesn’t stop him from despising how monetizing his work comes before any sort of scientific integrity. Yet, the ideas clearly showcase his intelligence. He can respect that. Osborn’s intelligence is at least on the same level of his own, perhaps buoyed even higher by his business acumen. He thinks it but he doesn’t know if he’s ready to believe it. Osborn knows how to sell his ideas and in the end that will be what is important. Judging from how they had all lapped up everything he was saying he was going somewhere.

Otto doesn't want it to be that way. He wishes the world were different and that's what will keep him in a middling position - and suddenly he wants to understand how Osborn thinks. He might despise his methods or his core fundamental ideas, and yet there is something there that he needs for his own work, to get to a place where he can change the world. Osborn has deigned to give him an evening; he hopes he doesn’t end up wanting to kill him even more that he already does.

The first drink serves as the courage he needs to sit down and even consider staying - he doesn't have much time to make up his mind before Osborn enters the bar with a sweep of the doors that send a burst of cold air into the room. He's wearing a long stylish pea coat, a designer scarf judging from the minuscule thread count which he later observes - when he leans over and puts his hand on the back of his chair- that it is cashmere- confirmed a second time later in the evening when he questions Norman's sartorial choices and laments his own haggard scarf found in a lost and found box. “A villainous act, "Norman accuses him of and that's the first time he’s heard him genuinely laugh. These are memories he looks back on later - the evening started out so normally - nothing like he had expected. The man who shows up doesn’t give him the same toothy shit eating grin that had been directed outward towards the whole committee but rather gives him what he thinks must be an unaffected smile and for a moment, he wonders which version is true, but that thought is quickly lost as the man sits down.

 "Let's start over like you wanted to,” he says, raises his hand and orders an old fashioned. This ones on you, right? Are you buying yourself one too?”

He nods. He’s never had an old fashioned. He usually goes for something simple, whatever is on tap that he can make out through his short-sightedness.

“Honestly, I should make you a real one of these sometime. The ice is what really makes it, not this crushed shit, but a ball of ice.”

"Think I've only seen that in movies."

"I figured." He gives a wave of his wrist as if to dismiss Otto for being under cultured. Otto takes a long pull form his drink and almost hacks against the burn of the whiskey.

“Old fashioned with bitters. They don’t really know how to make these here." It sounds like an admonition.

"It's a dive, you know that right? You're expected to drink whatever they have. Honestly I'm surprised they could even make it for you?”

 "Us, you're having one too. I don't drink alone.” And as an afterthought tacks on, “It's not becoming.” Otto supposes he doesn’t want him drawing any other sort of conclusion. As to what though, he can’t think of in the wildness of the bar. Too loud for any sort of action not in the present. He thinks that’s why he likes places like this, so loud that his thoughts disintegrate.

 When he looks closer at Osborn he can see how tired he is - dark circles under his eyes that had somehow seemed earned in the light of the classroom, now only allude to exhaustion. He catches it in the quick glances to the side, how his features drop for a moment. Osborn reaches for his drink and then leaves a meager tip.

"It took too long.” He gives as an explanation to Otto, and tips the drink back, in what appears to be a practiced move, effortless, cool. Why is he idolizing this asshole, he wonders – a trust fund kid who can't even spare a reasonable tip.

"Now, I just might be able to bear this," Osborn says once he's finished the drink and raises a finger for a second one. The kid behind the bar rolls his eyes. Otto can tell he wants to tell him to fuck off, give him the bird, maybe even throw the drink his way. It's the snap of the fingers when he doesn’t get there fast enough that really makes Otto bristle. The sheer entitlement of the gesture.

"Is it all some sort of act or are you just this disconnected from the real world,” he hears himself saying as if he’s no longer in his body - normally he would have kept the thought solely in his mind, but he finds with a surge of horror, adrenaline, almost joy that he likes calling him out.

"What? People should pride themselves on their service? I want a drink now. I don't want it five minutes later.”

“Look at the bar. There's like fifty people in here.”

 “Well, he should set his priorities, serve the best dressed person the fastest. Obviously, they’re the ones who you stand to gain the most from. Get on their good side and who knows what will happen.”

 Is it aimed at Otto? His original assessment of the man seems to be correct.

“So, we're supposed to make up? Better start with an apology then." There's that tick to his smile again and Otto realizes that he's fucking with him.

"What are you doing? Do you even know who you're pretending to be?”

"What does that mean?"

He takes a sip from his drink too, trying to gain control of his own mouth. “I mean clearly this has to be an act, it's so over the top - it's like someone is writing you really badly - your dialog and your whole approach to the world.”

"Oh, and what you have a good writer at the helm? Sloppily dressed, poor choice of bar, clearly unable to recognize the opportunity in front of him,” as he says this, the band takes the floor and starts tuning. "At least we won't have to talk.”

“Great,” Otto says and watches the band for a moment.

There's a strange silence between them that makes Otto squirm even through the haze of alcohol. A different approach he thinks. He's been hostile, had been hostile and perhaps this reaction is due to that. Why had he agreed to come here if he wasn’t going to resolve it to some degree? Osborn must have a reason to act the way he is. "I-”

"I-” Norman starts at the same time.

"Go ahead,” Otto says thinking he will regret it. The next thing out of his mouth might be what sends him over the edge and he doesn't know how he'll react.

"I read your research.” Otto hadn’t expected that. "It- it wasn't bad." It seems to cost Osborn something and he puts up a finger for another drink, he can’t tell if he's teetering on the edge of drunkenness or not but he still seems put together. It takes two whiskey old fashions apparently for Osborn to say something that doesn’t make him sound like a complete asshole.

"Wasn’t bad? So a glowing recommendation then?

“I’m saying it has promise. You're looking at the issue from a completely new perspective. I respect that."

"Well what more could I want than that."

Osborn laughs at that.

Otto loses his line of thought.

"You're right; you have more expertise than me when it comes to scientific research. I'll admit it. It's your sole focus. Your sole passion and I suppose I pissed you off because how I look at it doesn’t really align with how you see it. But like I was saying early, with nothing to back it, with no funding, how will you complete anything? You can't rely on university funding to see you through. Especially with the amount of research and labor and time it will take for you to get started and not to mention the cost of the supplies, you think they’re going to support such an outlandish idea?”

Otto scoffs. “It’s not outlandish. It just hasn’t been tried. People are too cowardly; they think it can't be done.”

"I like that hunger, "Osborn says.

“What's with this one-eighty?”

“You were an asshole during my presentation, what do you expect? I can be equally as petty. The drinks help. They make me not hate you quite as much."

Now Otto laughs. "You seem so put together.

“What you don’t think I can let loose?"

"I don't even really know you. I can only make assumptions from what I've seen.”

“- and you hadn’t seen anything to the contrary to point to the fact that I might be fun. I have yet to see that from,” he cocks his head to the side, “Otto, was it?"

"You know my name, you read my research.”

There’s a flicker of something in his chest, pride that Osborn had read his work and seen something of merit. So that's why he’s here now.

"Otto Octavius. Sounds like the name of a man who would pull something out of thin air and change the world.” Now he knows Osborn must be drunk, there's a real light to his eyes, an effervescent glow that ups his features, exaggerates them to make that grin something otherworldly.

He holds up a finger to order a fourth drink and then looks at Otto. Otto shrugs. "What the hell? The night is young as they say isn’t it?”

“Who says that?”

"I don't know, Everyone." He isn't even really sure of what he is saying anymore. The words seem to leave his mouth without any form of inhibition. It's Norman's fourth drink, his third, no fourth too, he thinks. He’s lost count. The bar is warm and on the verge of looping about his head. If he closes his eyes, he'll feel it behind his eyelids, that the place has become untethered, and what small grip on the world he had started to have in these recent years will be absent. He finds himself staring at Norman now unabashedly. He doesn't even care when his gaze meets his for a moment. Obsorn’s bottom eyelids raise slightly as if assessing him, seeing through him he thinks. "Do you want to read my notes?"

Otto laughs. It seems to come out of left field, He almost falls off the bar stool, catches himself against the bartop and his other hand lands on Norman’s shoulder. He can feel all of his bones. "Okay, but your sure you don't want buy me dinner first?”

“Not here."

"Well, yeah I didn't mean here. I would expect at least something decent form the great Mr. Norman Osborn. He wouldn't settle for bar peanuts and stale fries. No we need filet mignon, the best red you have, and Oysters."

“Oysters, huh? I must really be serious about having you read my lab notes."

"The most serious."

"I have my keys here. We can get into the lab."

Otto stands, braces himself briefly against the bar stool to right the world. His heads spinning, but Osborn is already moving, his scarf tied deftly back around his neck and his coat buttons just right. Otto doesn’t even have the time to question what he's doing as he follows Osborn out into the cold.

Chapter Text

They work on different floors in the same building and Norman has to go through three different keys, one to get into the chemistry building after hours, one to key the elevator, and one to actually enter the lab offices, before they can enter Osborn’s laboratory. It looks much like the one where Otto works: fume hoods, work stations, and barrels of chemicals stored under the tables. There is a rusty looking centrifuge and a hood devoted to spectroscopy.

“So I was hoping I could get some insight from you about your research. I guess more precisely, your current thoughts on how you're planning to put it into action."

“Well, it’s mostly theoretical at this point,” Otto says.

 “But surely you’ve been thinking about how to go about it.”

Otto hesitates, swivels on the small stool. Honestly, he hadn’t been sure how to get it off the ground and had hoped that the answer would present itself while he was working on his research.  He laughs. Is Norman Osborn that opportunity? God, couldn’t it have been anyone else?

Norman moves about the lab like he hasn’t just had five old fashions. Is it something that he does every night or does he have a liver of iron? Perhaps a combo of both.  Whatever it is it seems to have mellowed him, Otto thinks.

Otto describes his research, tries his best to talk through it with his head buzzing warmly. He’s so tired that he isn’t sure what he’s thinking when he asks Osborn for a piece of paper and writes out the specs and draws a quick diagram. It’s of a machine that even he still thinks feels like something out of a science fiction novel, and yet he knows if given the time, he will be able to make it a reality. It will revolutionize energy production. Norman nods along with what he’s saying, jotting down notes, listening as if rapt, and Otto wonders if he really is. If this isn’t all some sort of put-on. He seems so different from earlier, but perhaps that had been a defense, and now that whatever edge and anxieties have been smoothed out by his excessive drinking, he seems almost normal. He doesn’t really see the problem until they get up to leave.

 Norman catches himself against the edge of the lab table.

 "Are you okay?"Otto asks, the spinning in his own head has stopped, but his mouth feels dry, his nose numb.

 “I’m fine, just –” and then he grabs a trash can and throws up.

"Fuck! How plastered are you?" Otto asks.

"Five old fashions plastered," he says, raises a hand, and heaves again into the waste basket.

Otto feels like he might be sick himself and turns away. “How can you act completely normal and then just turn around and throw up?”

 “A gift?" he says and shrugs.

"I wouldn’t call that a gift.” They head outside and Norman lights a cigarette and passes one to Otto.

“Smoking and drinking. Aren't we paragons of good habits?" Otto says, but he already has his own lighter in his pocket and lights it. The cigarette makes the buzz in his head ignite.

"You do this a lot?" Otto asks.

"Throw up in the lab? As much as any self-respecting overworked grad student.”

 “So, yes?" Otto supplies.

"You're telling me you don't?"

"Kind of hard to focus on my work in the morning after that sort of bender. I prefer to be clear headed.”

“So you went out of your comfort zone for me, then? I should be flattered.”

“Do you have any friends?" He means it as a dig.

"I'm a man of many acquaintances; you don't really need more than that. Have one in each sector, and you're set, but – ‘oh but what do I do for fun? How do I spend my evenings?’" He attempts an approximation of Otto’s voice. "Is that what Otto Octavius wants to know? Really who named you?"

“My parents."

"That's a given, I suppose. At least you didn't pick that name for yourself.”

“Hey it’s a name that means wealth and prosperity. Maybe it’s better suited to you.”

"Otto Osborn, not bad," he says and wobbles a bit.

They're still on campus but they're nearing the edge of the bounds. “And what does Norman mean?”

 "Man of the north."

“Sounds about right.”

“Hmm, in what way?"

"You're cold," Otto says.

"This is a Burberry coat, theoretically I shouldn’t be cold. But you meant my personality, right?"

 Otto suddenly feels slightly embarrassed, but decides he can't back down. Instead he doesn't say anything and the silence that follows makes him swallow thickly. He has a copy of Norman's lab notes tucked under his coat. Norman had insisted that he take them, so that he could read them in the light of day. He must have seen him squinting at the words, but he hadn’t commented on it. He couldn’t exactly afford to go to the eye doctor and had been getting by with his old glasses.

Norman stumbles again and Otto finds himself instinctively reaching out to stop him from face planting. He leans heavily then against Otto's side and he doesn’t know what to do. His heart is suddenly pounding frantically and Norman Osborn is pushing his face against Otto's coat.

"You're so warm.” He thinks he's saying, and Norman reaches out and wraps his arms around his midsection. Now he certainly doesn't know what the fuck to do. He had not expected this.

"And you're drunk.”

Norman only hums into his side and he can't reconcile this version of the man to the one who was just berating and insulting him earlier. Just a delayed reaction then? His words did seem to start to slur a bit more in the lab, he almost drops his cigarette, but keeps a hand on Norman's expensive English coat to keep him from sliding down onto the snowy ground.

"Look we can't stand here. We’ll freeze to death.”

 "My coats warm. I won't. You will though.”

 Otto doesn’t even know where to start with that and tries to move forward, hoping that maybe Norman will detach himself from his side and they can walk normally again. But it doesn't appear like that is going to happen given, how Norman latches on tighter and buries his head under Otto's armpit. Well at least he'll have some blackmail. Should he scoop him up? That thought makes him laugh and Norman looks up at him.

"What's so funny?”

“Head spinning?"

“Nah I'm fine, fine, Otto. I'm fine.” And he stands, falls, and Otto isn't fast enough to catch him. He sprawls on the icy sidewalk.

“Are you okay?" he kneels down next to him.

"Can't feel anything.”

“Well you're going to feel it tomorrow.”

 He grabs his wrist and pulls him back to his feet, this time he drapes an arm around his shoulders and Norman raises his hands, latches onto Otto’s wrist and pulls his arm down around his side. He decides, even if he could get Norman's address out of him that he's not going to know how to get there. Instead, he decides to take Norman back to his small studio apartment that he can barely afford to rent.