Work Text:
"Pardon?" Newt asks, feeling rather like he'd been hit with a Confundus.
"Dinner, Newt. With me," Mister Graves says. Newt senses nothing but frank sincerity, which just adds to his confusion.
"I've been duly reminded by my healer that I need to eat properly, regularly, to recover. I admit that I'm still struggling with it, after abstaining for so long," Mister Graves continues.
After being starved for months by Grindelwald, Newt translates in his head.
"Um, that's totally understandable, Mister Graves, but what...What do I have to do with...?" Newt stammers.
"I find food more palatable with excellent company," Mister Graves explains with a small smile. He's leaning slightly towards Newt, and his eyes are wider than usual. Even his eyebrows are raised in a hopeful slant.
Newt freezes in place.
He's not that oblivious. He knows what a proposition sounds like, has been on the end of a few over the years.
He's even dared to naively accept a couple of them. He regrets it every time.
It's surreal, Mister Graves asking him out, Mister Graves being interested in him.
He wants to bolt, wants to apparate out, wants to hop on the back of a thunderbird and never set foot on land again.
He wants to be sick. His stomach is churning, and he doesn't think he'll be able to keep anything down in his state.
His heart yearns to say yes. There's a tenacious hope inside him, whispering maybe this time...despite all the previous times his heart's gotten trampled on.
His mind is ruthlessly trying to suppress the memories that rise to the fore: a disbelieving laugh, a look of disappointment, a ferocious scowl, the back of a person leaving hurriedly. Hands reaching for him
"...Just dinner, right?" is what comes out of his mouth. He feels like he's going to faint.
"Yes, Newt," Mister Graves confirms.
Theseus said that the real Percival Graves was a decent person, a good man, and an even better Auror. He said that when he'd met Mister Graves in the past, he'd liked his MACUSA counterpart. He even said that it was fortuitous for MACUSA that Mister Graves had been found alive.
"Okay. Yes, I'll have dinner with you, Mister Graves," Newt blurts out, before the borrowed courage from his brother runs out.
--
Newt couldn't have told anyone where they went or what they ate or what they talked about during dinner.
He spends it in a nauseous haze of euphoria and anxiety.
Mister Graves laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners. It's not loud, but it makes Newt feel warm. Had it been because of something Newt said?
Newt can't remember what he said, or if he even spoke in the first place.
The laugh is happy and good-natured, and it doesn't seem like Mister Graves is laughing at him.
It's fine. Newt likes the sound of it anyway.
He glances down and away, catching sight of their empty plates on the table.
When did that happen? How did it happen without Newt noticing? Obviously it did, Newt can feel something sit heavily on his stomach.
"...Newt?" Mister Graves asks, eyebrows furrowed across his forehead. He looks concerned, but why?
Newt abruptly realizes that Mister Graves is waiting for an answer. He has no idea what the question was.
"I apologize, Mister Graves! I was merely surprised to notice that the food is gone. I completely missed your question," Newt confesses, gaze skittering away from the man across the table.
"Yes, you're right," Mister Graves agrees after glancing down at the table. "It is surprising. I've eaten everything on my plate without noticing. That's the first time in weeks, and I can't even tell you what it tasted like."
Newt gapes.
Mister Graves leans in, like he's about to share a secret. Newt mirrors him almost automatically.
"We should do this again some other time. I really enjoyed your company tonight, Newt," Mister Graves not-quite-whispers. Newt blushes under his intense gaze.
"I'd like that," Newt offers shyly. Mister Graves' smile in return is radiant.
--
They're standing outside the restaurant-- The Unicorn Horn, Newt discovers-- a few minutes later.
Newt's anxiety comes back with a vengeance. What if--
"Are you free next Sunday?" Mister Graves simply asks. Newt waits for a few moments, trying to see if Mister Graves would say or do something else.
Mister Graves stays quiet and still, content to wait for a response.
"No... I should be free, save from emergencies," Newt warily states. He's tensed and ready to apparate away at the moment Mister Graves makes any kind of unexpected movement.
Mister Graves does nothing of the sort. He just smiles. Newt's lucky to be the receiving end of so many smiles, really.
"Then I'll see you here on Sunday, at the same time. I do hope you'll consider us friends and call me by my name."
Newt nods, blushing to the tips of his ears. "I'm... I'm looking forward to it, Percival."
Percival nods before apparating away.
Newt can barely believe that nothing has gone wrong. He doesn't splinch himself on the way back to his hotel room only because he has years of experience with apparation.
That doesn't mean anything. That doesn't mean it won't go wrong next time.
Newt spends the night curled up in a tight ball and hugging his knees.
The weak morning light seems especially bleak.
--
--exhibiting behavior that often preludes human mating--
But under it, Queenie hears, I wonder how it feels, to just be held in Percival's someone's arms, without worrying what comes next?
Newt is on the couch, looking dazed as Tina continues her tirade about catching other students in various states of indecency when she was a Prefect at Ilvermorny.
As far as Queenie can gather from Newt's thoughts, he and Mister Graves had gone on several dinners already.
Queenie wants to reassure Newt so badly that yes, he and Mister Graves are dating.
She wants to hunt down whoever it was that made Newt think that dating equals sex. She wants to permanently transfigure them into a sea urchin for making Newt feel like this.
For making Newt crave simple touch like this. For making Newt scared of asking for it. For making Newt feel like there always has to be more, after. For making Newt feel like a freak for not liking sex, no matter how hard he tries.
She wants to hug him, more than anything. She doesn't. It would give her away, would make Newt aware that she was reading his thoughts.
Newt had asked her politely to stay away from his thoughts. She doesn't tell him it's impossible, that the best she can do is tune him out. He would never relax in her presence if she did.
She does her best to fulfill her promise, but in the face of the acute longing radiating from Newt, she can't help herself. She wants to hug him tightly.
He'll flee if she does, she knows. His instincts always go towards the flight response, when it comes to people.
She's so, so sad for this human who's more scared of other humans than beasts ten times his size.
Queenie stays in her room, tears dripping silently from her eyes, crying in Newt's place. She doesn't know Mister Graves that well, but she hopes he'd cherish Newt the way Newt deserved to be cherished.
--
"Would you like to come in for some coffee? Or tea, if you prefer?" Percival offers. They're at the doorstep of Percival's apartment.
Newt opens his mouth, intending to decline, instead blurting out, "Yes."
He feels like he's going to hurl. His mouth is suddenly flooded with saliva, and he swallows compulsively. He rubs his cold and sweaty palms on his pants.
Percival leads him to a small sitting room. He perches on the edge of the couch, desperately fighting his instincts telling him to vacate the premises with utmost haste.
"--down, Newt. Breathe."
Newt gasps, sucking down a lungful of much needed air. He becomes aware of how tightly he'd been clenching his hands and relaxes them slowly.
Percival is kneeling in front of him.
"I'm sorry, Newt. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I certainly didn't mean to make you panic so much," Percival murmurs, tone genuinely regretful.
He needs Percival's arms around him. The magnitude of his longing terrifies him.
A cup of tea slowly floats toward him, courtesy of Percival. Newt grasps it with shaking hands.
He can't find the strength to raise it to his lips.
"Newt, may I...?" Percival asks softly. Newt doesn't know what Percival wants to do, can't even take a guess, but he still nods.
He's slowly learning to get used to how his body does the opposite of what he wants it to do around Percival. His brain presumably has its reasons, but he feels disconnected from it right now.
Percival slowly moves his hands closer to Newt's own. Newt still flinches at the first touch despite having plenty of warning.
Percival gently cradles Newt's hands and the teacup in it, steadily raising it so Newt can take a sip.
It floats back to the kitchen, after. Percival keeps holding Newt's shaking hands.
"Do you want to go?" Percival asks. Newt's shaking his head before he can even think about it.
Away from Percival is most definitely not where he wants to be.
"Was it because I asked you to come in?"
Another shake of his head. Because Newt had been curious. He'd wanted to know what Percival's home looked like.
"Was it because of me? You flinched when I--"
"No!" Newt denies, finally finding his voice. He can't have Percival thinking that-- that Newt didn't want to be touched.
He wants it so badly.
Percival sighs in relief. "Good. Because I really want to hug you right now, Newt."
"Just a hug," Newt says, voice cracking. His eyes are tearing up too, but he tries to hold it for as long as he can. "Just a hug, please. No... No more."
Percival rises from the floor and settles on the couch before gathering Newt in his arms.
"Of course, Newt." Percival whispers. Newt's shaking actually worsens.
"And if... If I don't want anything more? Would you... Would you still...?" Newt sobs into Percival's chest, losing the battle against his tears. Percival can feel his shirt getting wet with Newt's tears. He tightens his hold on Newt.
"A hug is more than enough, Newt. For me, you're more than enough."
Newt cries, feeling safe and loved in Percival's arms, the first time in a long time. They stay in the couch for quite a while.