The End Of Love

[newtralize]

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

Comments

[periit]

Seconds tick away in his head and those seconds, whenever he heard a noise, were all he had to make a plan when waking from whatever rest his body could steal. Immediately his eyes are darting from the door to the windows, both on the interior and exterior walls. He doesn’t seem to notice Newt until the man speaks his name and it doesn’t matter how quietly he manages to sound, it startles Percival.

His head snaps to the other side of the bed and his eyes are nearly wild—anticipating. The entirety of his body is wound up, ready to spring in spite of the fact he doesn’t have the energy for much else. Unlike an animal in a trap however, he keeps still at the sight of Newt. Breathing is another thing, still heavy and unsure, but his eyebrows flinch at the words.

And in a few long moments Percival’s breath hitches and he shakes his head. Once. Twice. Hands that were clenched into the sheets so tightly that his knuckles paled slowly loosen, along side the rest of his body. “The noise. I thought it—” The words bob in his throat before he takes a half gasped breath, hands coming up to rub at his eyes. “Him.”

[newtralize]

Newt is also completely still. Percival isn't a beast, but the idea is the same. Any sudden movements could startle and the last thing he wanted was to cause the other more panic than he already probably was in.

Once the other seems to acknowledge and recognize him, he holds his hands out to the other with his palms up. A gesture that shows no signs of hostility. A silent offering for the other to ground himself and to be sure that he was real. He would give the other whatever he needed to hopefully find some form of comfort.

"It was just a door," Newt explains. "Nothing to be concerned about. You're safe here." Newt offers the softest of smiles. "You aren't in danger and you aren't alone."

[periit]

Dropping his hands from his eyes, now puffy and bright, he dries them with his blanket as he looks to Newt’s hands. It isn’t that he doesn’t trust the other man but something else tugs at him, gnawing at his mind and holding him back. It’s clear by the look on him, though more so by the hand he reaches out with.

When it meets Newt’s the touch is halting, as if he expected some static to jolt him, and when nothing adverse happens he tests it further, a hesitant and trembling hand feathering over before gently rest his palm over Newt’s. Touch was clearly not the problem, if the way Percival slowly clutched to the other was any indication, but the manner in which he expected it to turn.

“It doesn’t feel safe,” He mutters in reply, flexing his grip on Newt to check the reality of it. Looking up he catches Newt’s smile and immediately looks back to their hands. “That could be me, however.” Still discombobulated from captivity. Who did that, jumping from the sound of a door?

Sniffing in a breath he stops biting the inside of his lip. “Thank you. For staying.” He knows Newt promised but he's still grateful for it.