newtralize | The End Of Love

The End Of Love

We were reaching in the dark
That summer in New York
And it was so far to fall
But it didn't hurt at all
And let it wash away, wash away

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For all his worry about Newt possibly being Grindelwald, when he leaves him alone in the room Percival has to fight following after him—has to reign in his spike of panic of being left alone for days on end. He reminds himself this place doesn't feel like that small space. That this man is not him.

And yet for all his softness towards him, all the care he already gave Percival, he flinches at the gentle touch as his gut twists. But unlike before, he doesn't try to push away from Newt, as averse as he seems to touch—as if he expected more harsh than a brushing away of his hair. The confusion of it flashes over his eyes when he looks back up to Newt.

Percival feels odd speaking as little as he has here, and though he's already said it he says it again, even more sincerely: "Thank you."

It takes time for him to settle onto the bed. He has to resist that urge to follow the other man when he leaves again. After he has to tell himself this soft, noisy silence is good. Normal. Unlike the hunger in his belly. It claws at him slow, like sinking hooks, pushing at every wall of his mind to get something to eat something he doesn't want. His last thought, aside from that nagging emptiness, is the feeling of being watched over; benevolently.

And when the sleep finally takes him, he goes under for days—longer than humanly possible outside a coma. He sleeps without moving, without shifting, not even moving his hands, one tucked against his side while the other laid over his abdomen. Does it even look like he's breathing? And is it even possible he could have gotten more pale as the days went on? Is it really Percival Graves on Newt's bed or a body at this point?

Newt seems to pick up on the panic, the confusion, because he softly speaks to the other. "It's fine. You're free. You aren't trapped here and I won't hurt you." It's quiet and gentle before he moves away from him. "You'll be alright."

The Brit busies himself with his usual while the other rests. He does his best not to do anything too loud or disruptive to wake the other in anyway. Percival had looked so tired and he could only assume why. The other had certainly gone through hell and back he's sure. If Grindelwald had impersonated the other, Grindelwald would surely had put the man through the wringer.

He isn't surprised that the other sleeps for an entire day. On some of his more exhausting days during his travel, he found himself sleeping for quite a bit when he could finally take a moment to rest. It's when more than a few days pass that he starts to become anxious. Newt doesn't do anything the first day or two.

As more days pass and Percival's condition continues to worry him, he finally approaches the man sleeping. They were so pale and...were they breathing? Newt reaches out to just gently shake his shoulder. "M-Mister Graves...?" Merlin, please don't tell him the man had suddenly died or something.

He doesn’t dream, which is peculiar. What’s more is that he realizes that. The idea, like all things in his mind after he lays to rest and even the sounds around him, are faint. Percival thinks he fades in and out of sleep, or whatever this is, because some noises pull him out of it more than others. Newt is one of them. He hears him at the door, checking on him, or when the man comes in the room to fetch something. It doesn’t alarm him. Not at first.

Overall he feels safe. Newt’s reminder that he’s free, that he won’t be hurt here helps in his ease. And it must be true—he wasn’t woken to violence at all like he was before. Still, the silence is strange to him, maybe what keeps him that half sort of awake, and as the days pass the more attune he is to the happenings around him in a passive sense. Unless those things were Newt.

Being a vampire and having not eaten as he hasn’t works more against him than for. Because each check the kind man lending him his bed makes, the more an urge creeps in on his mind. Something ravenous and unforgiving. Percival hears Newt’s heart, the thrum of his veins. He hears when it pounds loudly at the door and louder still in his approach. Something now quiet fear asks Newt in the back of his mind to not touch him.

But as soon as he does Percival is awake, though far from himself. For a flash, his eyes don’t seem to be his, the grip he immediately has on Newt’s arms near bruising as he pulls the man down and flips them—hovering menacingly over the other as he pins him to the bed. For a flash he looks not himself and more someone possessed. Crazed.

Just as quickly as he opens up to bare his fangs he’s suddenly himself again, eyes their humanly darkness and skin pale not in hunger but embarrassment—in fear of the lapse he just had. His voice echoes it, the disbelief in his own actions as he checks on the man under him, and his hold loosens. "... Newt?"

Newt is certainly taken aback when he suddenly finds himself pinned down to the bed. A sharp intake of breath and he goes perfectly still as the other looms over him.

He isn't a stranger to the look in Percival's eyes. The other certainly looked like a man who was very hungry. He had seen plenty of animals who were near starving if not had one foot in the door so to speak and that was what the other looked like to him.

Though, it was curious to him. Why would the other attack him as he did because they were hungry? Why did Percival look at him as though he was prey? Whatever the reason, he doesn't ask. At least not right away. Percival looks more shocked by their position than himself and he tries to offer the man a smile. A tad awkward, given the circumstances. "Yes, sorry. I didn't mean to bother you, but... Well, honestly, I wasn't quite sure you were alive. If I'm being perfectly honest. It's a relief to know that you're quite the opposite." Or at least, the man certainly has the energy to suddenly pin him down. "Are...Are you quite alright though?"

Percival almost strains to hear the words coming from Newt, the sound of the others’ blood still continuing to hum through his ears and lingering in his mind. At least until he blathers out being unsure if he were alive. The kind concern would have been better acknowledged had his mortality not been in question.

The shake begins in his core, a mix of near starvation and complete fear, slowly trickling it way into his arms and legs. “No, that’s—“ The words are far too mousy to have come from a man as powerful as he was known for, a small reflection of how the tremble was working down into his hand, noticeable as he tries to control it. It only makes things worse as it suddenly strikes Percival how little they had known each other, and how he was putting them in a compromising situation to say the least.

A sickness fills him and he shakes his head adamantly. “I’m sorry...” Percival mutters out, shifting to let Newt go and climb off the bed, looking all the part of exhausted as he gets to his own two feet. “I’m quite alright,” The lie was calm, as if rehearsed, as he moves towards the nightstand to gather his things. “Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Scamander.” A default title for a default mindset despite having just called him by his first name; something to get him through whatever panic had clearly set into him.

Percival's behavior was rather concerning to Newt. He couldn't quite put his finger on why the other was acting the way they were. He did know that the other was keeping details from him, but it seemed out of self defense and not to be malicious.

It worried him. Percival seemed scared. Scared and hungry? But why? Newt tries to reach up to put his hand to Percival's cheek, but the man is climbing off the bed and onto his feet. Newt is quickly scrambling to his feet while the other suddenly decides to gather their belongings.

"Wait- Are you leaving?" Percival didn't exactly look any better than before and he was pretty sure the other needed food. "Wouldn't it be best for you to have supper before you leave at least? You're hungry, aren't you?" His voice was filled with concern. What was Percival afraid of?

He wants nothing more than to be able to blame all of this... sudden panic on Grindelwald. He likely will, anyway, but more than that he’s plain afraid—and he hates it. Hates the helplessness on himself, the loss of control that came with it. Newt was offering him help, yes, but it wasn’t something he could take from him. Or anyone.

The only way to get a clear head was to leave; get some air and sort all this upset out. The father away from Newt and his veins the better. Percival feels like he could faint from the lightheadedness of it all and he nearly does as he forces on his shoes, missing the way Newt joins him, making him stumble away.

Shoulder checking the door jam, Percival leans against it and holds up a hand to quietly ask Newt to stay where he is. His chest should be heaving with breath for all his exertion but all that shakes is his fingers. “I’m,” The swallow is thick. “Starving,” The word wavers, and he takes a long blink. He can’t stay.

“It wouldn’t be—“ But the rest of his thought doesn’t follow. “I have to go,” He barely manages to whisper. Percival shakes his head, keeping his gaze to the floor with an even: “Thank you, again,” Before turning and ducking out of the room. He couldn’t waste any more time. Newt’s heart was pounding in his ears and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could resist. The front door was so close.

There's a few things that Newt has easily figured at this point. Or at least one particular thing. Percival was a Monster. He can't honestly imagine the other to be a Witch at this point because of the other's behavior.

He just couldn't put a finger on what the other was transforming into, but just that they were. That was really the only way he could figure why the other was acting as they did. And he wants to help the other desperately. Wants them to know it's okay and help them through it, but Percival is pushing him away.

As quickly as they met, Percival seems to leave. Newt doesn't manage to get the other to stop before they leave through the front door. He stands where he is as he looks at where the other had been standing before. The Brit can't help but worry what might come to the other. If the other will be okay.

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The End Of Love

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