comfort zone

Newt watched, careful not to distract Credence in any way, shape, or form. A dark, eerie cloud surrounded him, dramatizing his pale skin to an almost sickly shade.

He had to reassure himself that Credence, however much he might doubt himself, could, in fact, do this and had the situation, as odd as it may be, completely under control. Yet, he didn’t trust himself enough to keep from intervening. Intervening would only make this so much worse, Newt knew this.

Little by little, the dark cloud shrunk into itself as though it were destroying itself, but Credence remained untouched as he stared intently into Newt’s eyes.

Newt’s inability to hold eye contact was widely reported, an infamous thing in itself. As much as he would like to claim otherwise, staring into Credence’s eyes was no better, perhaps worse.

His gaze always seemed pained. Years of abuse echoed in his eyes. It didn’t make Newt uncomfortable, per se, and he wouldn’t describe his feelings as pity. The feeling, in itself, wasn’t particularly indescribable. The issue didn’t lie with not having the words to properly place the feeling; the issue was not being able to understand the feeling.

Yet, staring into Credence’s eyes, he felt he didn’t need to understand the feeling.

The cloud engulfing the boy fully disappeared, leaving no trace in its wake.

“You’re so strong,” The words fell from his lips before Newt could stop them. The words were spoken softly, but he knew Credence had heard, though he might be too tired to remember come morning. The boy slowly laid back down, and, without another word, he fell asleep.

Pages from Newt’s first draft lay spread around his sleeping figure. Newt tried to collect them without jostling the boy, however, most of the papers were on his far side. Though a difficult task, he managed to retrieve the papers. It was only after he had spent the better part of ten minutes wrestling some of the papers--some of which actually tore--out from under Credence, that he realized this could’ve easily been solved with a simple ‘Accio, papers!’.

Assuming Credence wouldn’t be sleeping for the next 72 hours like before, Newt would stay in the room the whole time. He picked up an apple from the table and made a mental note to have Credence eat when he woke up, if not for the boy’s sake then to make sure the little food Newt had stolen didn’t go to waste.

Newt sat down with his papers, his apple, and a muggle pen he had found (the pen was far more practical than the quills and inkwells they used at Hogwarts, though the ink dried rather slowly and had a habit of creating ink splotches). If he wasn’t to go and visit his creatures again, then he would sit here and, hopefully, make some progress on his draft. It had been months since he had last looked at it, surely some editing needed to be done.

It was silent, save for the faint sound made when pen met papers. The apple remained untouched as seconds turned to minutes and minutes to hours. Newt remained fixated solely on the paper in front of him.

At this point, his writing was beyond legible, though it wasn’t all that legible, to begin with. The editing marks were written was bolder, darker strokes, but there were so many edits that it was difficult to follow. Ink drips and splotches littered the margins, even becoming as bold to ambush some of the writing. Newt figured he’d have to rewrite the whole thing, but that didn’t assure that he had handwriting would improve from one draft to another.

Newt glanced over at Credence. The boy curled into himself in his sleep, almost as though he was purposely trying to take up as little space as possible. His back was to Newt. The only reassurance being the subtle rise and fall of Credence’s shoulders with each breath. Newt dropped the fountain pen on the desk and leaned back in his chair.

Writing was so much harder than it needed to be. Newt knew exactly what he wanted to say about each individual creature. He knew exactly which details he wanted to incorporate (all of them). He just wasn’t sure how to properly communicate it. Maybe he’d see if Theseus could help.

Newt got up and began pacing in what little space there was in the cabin. He thought briefly of leaving the cabin or escaping to his case, he hadn’t had as much time with creatures as he had hoped as of recent (his honest plan, in the beginning, was to spend the whole duration of the trip in his case.

Thoughts ran through his head at record speed. He didn’t have proper time to sort them all. So he simply classified them for later reconsideration. Newt allowed himself to hyperfocus on eating the apple. He spent an unmentioned amount of time keying out each minuscule detail about the fruit. The smooth, almost rubbery, exterior contrasted by the rough, equally rubber interior. The sharp crack as his teeth broke through the skin followed by a dull sound of the apple being ground against his teeth. The small bit of juice that escaped each piece every time he bit down.

A single, loud snore broke through the silence, startling Newt out of his trance. He glanced over at Credence again. The boy was still sleeping, but he didn't snore again. Credence had managed to twist his body into what appeared to be the least comfortable position Newt could think of. Newt's gaze softened.

Here was a boy, barely older than a child, who had managed to survive despite the cruel cards life had dealt him. Even when he tried to escape and claw himself away, the harsh reality of the magnitude of what he was dealing with had managed to catch up with him.

Newt envied his strength in a way. He didn't envy the circumstances, but Credence had a strength he envied. If he were half as strong as Credence, he thought, then perhaps the circumstances would have been different. Here Newt was, barely older than Credence (in that sense, Newt supposed he'd also be considered something of a child), failing at everything life had dealt him and Newt was dealt a fair deal, perhaps slightly better than fair, mind you.

Credence shifted again and the bed under him creaked in protest. Was he a restless sleeper? Perhaps the bed was just uncomfortable, Newt decided. He wouldn't know; he hadn't touched the bed since he boarded the ship. There was another bed in his case. Newt had added it recently after realising he spent most nights in his case anyway. Should he move Credence then? That would be over stepping many boundaries, especially if it turned out that Credence was simply a restless sleeper.

Newt tried to test how comfortable the bed was by laying on the side that Credence wasn't stretched out onto, however the bed was small so this left little room between the two. The mattress wasn't terribly uncomfortable, but it wasn't a luxury either. Newt could easily fall asleep on it, but that wasn't to say that he wouldn't wake up without pain in multiple places. Perhaps it would be better to move Credence.

Before he made a definite decision, Newt spent more time considering all the options. He narrowed it down to three choices. He could move Credence because this bed is uncomfortable or he could leave Credence here because moving him could risk overstepping a boundary. He could also just wake up Credence and ask him to choose but that had the risk of annoying Credence. So, he had actually narrowed it down to two choices. They were the same two choices he had started with so really Newt didn't narrow down anything, he just stalled.

A long sigh filled the room before Newt got off the bed, taking Credence with him. Carrying the boy bridal style down the ladder would be difficult and could end horribly for both of them. They wouldn't die, the fall wasn't that long, but they could break something. Newt had thought about dropping Credence as a serious solution. He still had some bone mending potion anything so the break would be temporary. Only problem is that the break would wake Credence and that was what he was trying to avoid.

The climb down was slow, even tedious. It was worth it as they both reached the bottom unharmed, Credence still sleeping.

Having Credence sleep down here had another advantage. Newt could spend time with his creatures without leaving the boy alone. They passed through what used to be Frank's habitat, a bit of nostalgia sobering Newt.

The mooncalves crowded around Newt as he carried Credence through the biomes of his case. He walked carefully as to not step on any one of them though he couldn't exactly see his feet.

They came to Newt's personal habitat, as he often referred to it. Careful not to jalt him, he laid Credence down onto the cot. The boy shifted but remained untouched in his dreamy state.

Newt paused, watching the boy briefly for any sign of distress, before getting to work. He fed each species individually, returning to his make-shift house to check on Credence before going to feed the next species.

Each time he returned, it was exactly as he had left it. It was his own needless worry that kept doting him on Credence.

He returned after having fed his last creatures. Running back and forth between Credence and his creatures was so much more exhausting than just going to creature after creature, only returning to get more food.

He stood facing the cot, where a merry surprise awaited him. Under closer inspection he noticed something green sticking out of the boy's black hair. It was Pickett! Newt's heart warmed at the sight of his small bowtruckle nesting in Credence's hair. After just one day, Pickett had already warmed up to the boy.

He would do just fine here.