Loving Newt is a truth he knows. Learning when it began would be impossible to tell.
***
Percival loves him. It's an unspoken truth that sits in the air, and Percival lets it stay for a while, and let it brush over the skin of his cheeks, gently touch Newt's lashes, linger on his lips.
He tries to remember when it began, but that would be impossible to tell. Was it at the first touch of their finger tips? At their first hello? Newt had looked into his eyes and Percival's breath caught in his chest, and it seemed right there, Fate already gave him a glimpse of his future. Their fingers had brushed then, and Percival held back a smile, his hand cold but for the sensation it left him, a feeling that would stay inside him even beyond his waking moments.
Was it when they first kissed? Lips sweet and chapped, taste of honey and tea and liquor, shared under a dim light in Percival's porch, after a night of dancing and Newt insisted to walk him home. Their eyes were closed but Percival huffed a laugh and it was enough to break them apart, Newt chuckling all the same, hand lingering on Percival's chest and pushing him to go.
Was it just the other week? When Newt came out wearing Percival's shirt and it was too big on his shoulders and hung right down to cover Newt's hands, his beautiful hands calloused, every sight of it reminds Percival of how it feels against his skin. Newt sinking onto his lap in a motion that spoke familiarity, and pushing his face in Percival's neck, their breaths intermingling, their hearts beating in sync.
Was it that horrible night when Percival had woken sluggishly to the sight of Newt crying in his hands, pleading for him to come back? Percival was stricken by a deadly curse and Newt had worked day and night to find a cure, restlessly as the others have told Percival. But he didn't need to be told. Percival saw it in the lines of Newt's face, the demise in his eyes and the awful sound that left him. Percival apologized when he was able to speak. When he was able to lift his hand, he brushed away Newt's tears and held his cheek. He never wanted to see Newt like that. He never wanted to hurt him in any other way ever again.
Or maybe, maybe it was just this morning? Walking together, holding hands, no words needed to be shared. Just them and the birds winnowing by the swaying branches, leaves rustling. The rain had come by unexpectedly, and they didn't part their hands, but had instead giggled and ran, like the years had been taken off of them and they were children tempted to play in the puddle. Maybe they would have, and Percival wouldn't have any other excuse but to say that they were just two men in love.
Perhaps it was even before all that's been said. Perhaps he's loved Newt before he's met him, a passing thought of who Newt would be in his life that he's already endeared with.
As a child he was a dreamer who, like others, would hope for their other half. And as he grew older, even through all that he's dealt, all that's been taken from him, he still craved, he still wanted… He's only a man with a beating heart, and a lonely spirit.
Meeting Newt and loving him didn't feel like a new experience. It felt like he's always been there, deep inside Percival like the other end of him telling him to wait until their paths cross, their souls meet. Like they've done it a thousand times before and just now they're doing it again with seamless inevitability.
And now he knows his name. And now he has the chance to touch him, to kiss him. And now he has the privilege to envelop him in his warmth, and to please never let go…
Newt smiled at him with his big toothy grin that crinkled his eyes and that old beating thing inside Percival squeezed. Percival smiled back, like a perpetual echo, a mirror that would never stop reflecting.
"What are you thinking so hard for?"
And Percival just brushes his hand through Newt's unruly hair, wet still from the rain, a brief smirk on his lips and said, "Nothing. Nothing at all."
[reposted from my ao3 account for safekeeping]
***
Percival loves him. It's an unspoken truth that sits in the air, and Percival lets it stay for a while, and let it brush over the skin of his cheeks, gently touch Newt's lashes, linger on his lips.
He tries to remember when it began, but that would be impossible to tell. Was it at the first touch of their finger tips? At their first hello? Newt had looked into his eyes and Percival's breath caught in his chest, and it seemed right there, Fate already gave him a glimpse of his future. Their fingers had brushed then, and Percival held back a smile, his hand cold but for the sensation it left him, a feeling that would stay inside him even beyond his waking moments.
Was it when they first kissed? Lips sweet and chapped, taste of honey and tea and liquor, shared under a dim light in Percival's porch, after a night of dancing and Newt insisted to walk him home. Their eyes were closed but Percival huffed a laugh and it was enough to break them apart, Newt chuckling all the same, hand lingering on Percival's chest and pushing him to go.
Was it just the other week? When Newt came out wearing Percival's shirt and it was too big on his shoulders and hung right down to cover Newt's hands, his beautiful hands calloused, every sight of it reminds Percival of how it feels against his skin. Newt sinking onto his lap in a motion that spoke familiarity, and pushing his face in Percival's neck, their breaths intermingling, their hearts beating in sync.
Was it that horrible night when Percival had woken sluggishly to the sight of Newt crying in his hands, pleading for him to come back? Percival was stricken by a deadly curse and Newt had worked day and night to find a cure, restlessly as the others have told Percival. But he didn't need to be told. Percival saw it in the lines of Newt's face, the demise in his eyes and the awful sound that left him. Percival apologized when he was able to speak. When he was able to lift his hand, he brushed away Newt's tears and held his cheek. He never wanted to see Newt like that. He never wanted to hurt him in any other way ever again.
Or maybe, maybe it was just this morning? Walking together, holding hands, no words needed to be shared. Just them and the birds winnowing by the swaying branches, leaves rustling. The rain had come by unexpectedly, and they didn't part their hands, but had instead giggled and ran, like the years had been taken off of them and they were children tempted to play in the puddle. Maybe they would have, and Percival wouldn't have any other excuse but to say that they were just two men in love.
Perhaps it was even before all that's been said. Perhaps he's loved Newt before he's met him, a passing thought of who Newt would be in his life that he's already endeared with.
As a child he was a dreamer who, like others, would hope for their other half. And as he grew older, even through all that he's dealt, all that's been taken from him, he still craved, he still wanted… He's only a man with a beating heart, and a lonely spirit.
Meeting Newt and loving him didn't feel like a new experience. It felt like he's always been there, deep inside Percival like the other end of him telling him to wait until their paths cross, their souls meet. Like they've done it a thousand times before and just now they're doing it again with seamless inevitability.
And now he knows his name. And now he has the chance to touch him, to kiss him. And now he has the privilege to envelop him in his warmth, and to please never let go…
Newt smiled at him with his big toothy grin that crinkled his eyes and that old beating thing inside Percival squeezed. Percival smiled back, like a perpetual echo, a mirror that would never stop reflecting.
"What are you thinking so hard for?"
And Percival just brushes his hand through Newt's unruly hair, wet still from the rain, a brief smirk on his lips and said, "Nothing. Nothing at all."
[reposted from my ao3 account for safekeeping]
