The warm, earthy scent of the case always felt like home. Inside Newt’s magical world, time seemed to stretch and slow, the sounds of bustling New York streets muffled to a distant hum. You knelt beside the habitat for the Bowtruckles, carefully placing fresh twigs for them to inspect. Pickett, of course, stayed perched on your shoulder, fussing over your choice with a tiny huff.

The creatures all had their quirks, but you adored them—each one a little puzzle of care and understanding. And, of course, you adored the man who trusted you enough to share this incredible space with him.

Newt was somewhere above, likely talking his way out of trouble again or chasing another lead for a missing creature. You’d stayed behind, as you often did, to tend to the magical menagerie, ensuring they were all fed, safe, and comfortable.

“Alright, Pickett, don’t be so fussy,” you teased gently as the little Bowtruckle tugged at your hair in disapproval. “It’s not like Newt’s the one down here helping you, is he?”

You smiled fondly, though your heart gave its usual ache. Working so closely with Newt every day was both a joy and a torment. His soft-spoken brilliance and unwavering kindness only made you fall harder, but he never seemed to notice how your hands lingered when you handed him his notes or the way your heart raced whenever he smiled at you.

A soft rumble came from one of the habitats, and you turned to check on the Occamy, murmuring soothing words as you adjusted its nest. As you worked, the ladder creaked above, and Newt’s voice called down.

“Everything alright down there?” His tone was warm, tinged with curiosity.

You glanced up, catching sight of his freckled face peeking through the opening of the case, his tie askew and his hair even more tousled than usual. Your heart skipped, as it always did.