❛ well, i don’t like any of those things, but i like you. ❜
softer world sentence meme ( molly & i would die for newt ): @animosus
Newt could be brusque sometimes in that particular Newt way of his, harmless, but as direct as a fist clipping the chin, surprising enough to stun, but not enough to hurt. When it isn’t aimed at Molly it makes him laugh with delight, and when it is—well, it still makes him laugh, but he laughs at everything ( life’s much more fun when you do ). This is one of those rare times where that earnestness pops Molly’s words right back into his mouth, cheeks and ears heathering a faint magenta.
The circus was family, but Newt is his friend, and that is a choice both of them have made, Molly thinks, childishly pleased and cowed by the realization all over again. The very tip of his tail jingles as it metronomes back and forth.
“I know,” Molly says with a rare gentleness. Not so rare these days, around Newt, he supposes. Lies are safety, but he’s learning that he’s safe here too. He pauses.
“Not how I expected you’d find out,” he admits with a sheepish grin as he perches on the edge of the wizard’s table. It’s bare now, copies of his book snapped up eagerly by witches and wizards alike. It’d been a treat to watch Newt field their deeply absurd questions about the creatures therein, their fascination both palpable and heady. A copy of Fantastic Beasts & Where to Find Them is heavy in Molly’s hands, and it’s a bloody gorgeous thing, leathered and embossed, the edges of the pages gilded in gold. Molly holds it reverently—that is to say, a bit scared, a bit honored, very awed—keeps looking down at it and tracing the letters of the title, the corners of his mouth crooking inexplicably.
Which he can read, thank you very much, he simply…can’t read much more of it.
He’s not particularly embarrassed by that. The print is small and a little complicated, though digestible, he imagines, for most people without his set of issues. Plenty of other things to do in life than spend it with his nose stuck in a book, and it’s not like his inability has any bearing on his intelligence, and yet.
This is Newt’s book. This is Newt’s bloody life in his hands, coming together after he broke his back for it, risked his life and career for it. It’s a testament to how much he loves these beasties of his, from the most minuscule and obnoxious, to the sharpest taloned and most dangerous, and gods above, Molly has never been one for apologies, but the compulsion scratches up his throat when the scant light catches the foiled script of Newt’s name. Embarrassment is alien to him, but he’s embarrassed he can’t do this one simple thing for his friend.
The words stick like something in his craw, but the expression he shoots Newt is plain, repentant, and for once he doesn’t bother masking it. Molly presses his lips together and thumbs the edge of the bound cover.
“I’ll learn,” he murmurs. His smile is soft, so very soft, “This’ll be the first and last book I’ll ever read. Cover to cover. Swear it.”
