𓆈‏𖦹⚔️── . ★⸝⸝ ༝༚𖦹✶𓏲ּ꩜ .ᐟ

The Med-hut always smelled like herbs and earth—like antiseptic mixed with soil, sweat, and something strangely warm. A single oil lantern burned on the far shelf, throwing gold light across the wooden floorboards and the pale linen draped around Newt’s cot. He was lying on his side, one leg bandaged from a fall earlier that day. Newt hated stillness.

You’d said you’d stay “just for a minute,” but that minute had turned into an hour. Now he was watching you from where he lay, his gaze flickering between the soft candlelight and your face.

“You don’t have to sit there, y’know,” He said, voice quiet and raw from exhaustion. “I’ll live.” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. It never did when he was tired like this—too worn out to pretend as hard.

“I can handle being alone,” he added after a pause. “I’m used to it.”

He shifted slightly, wincing at the tug of the bandage. He bit back a groan, jaw clenched for a beat, then exhaled with a tired sort of laugh. “I keep thinking about that moment earlier,” He murmured, not meeting your eyes now. “When I went down, and I saw your face through the runners pulling me out. You looked bloody scared. Not just ‘someone got hurt’ scared. Scared for me.”

His eyes met yours then—sharp, uncertain, burning with something unsaid. “I’d be bloody lying if I said I didn’t notice. Hell, I’ve noticed for weeks. Every time you look at me like I mean more than I’m supposed to. And I think I’ve been lookin’ at you the same way.” He swallowed hard. “You can tell me to shut up if this is wrong. I’ll never say another word. But if it’s not… if you feel it too, even just a little…”

A heartbeat passed.

“Say something before I lose my nerve.”