His Only || Newt Scamander

A Case of Puggles

Oh it was such a wonderful dream, Newt thought.

He lazily opened his eyes and stared at his ceiling. His brain worked to pull those faint memories from his sleep; the ones that pulled him to rest easy again.

The smell of strawberries and roses, the comforting hold upon his hand, the tidal wave of color that looked down on him.

It made his fingers twitch to think about that hand in his.

But as he stared towards the sky he felt that familiar heaviness take position in the center of his chest. He desperately tried to hold on to that dream, one of a night spent by her side, of her holding him feverishly.

But it began to slip away, like many dreams he had had before. It forced him to close his eyes and sigh with regret and longing. Two fingers went to the bridge of his nose and he could feel the heat of his forehead.

That's when the aches set in, making his joints creak when he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The sun was trying to breach the curtains against his window, but was thankful it couldn't - as he stood he felt a horrid rush of a headache climb into his head.

Oh it really was such a lovely dream though. He wished he could've stayed under long enough to gain a few more precious moments with her.

He trailed to his bathroom when he heard a peculiar noise. Well, one that was exceptionally peculiar for Newts home. There was a strange hum coming from his kitchen, something that actually began to scare him. Various clicks, clacks, purrs, and mewls came from the same direction, which was what initially moved his achy feet towards the chorus of noise - it sounded like his creatures were involved.

"Now, now, Milo - this isn't food fit for felines." A few clangs of a metal spoon against a pot ensued, "That goes for you too, Ollie."

Newt furiously rubbed at his eyes, scrunching his face in an attempt to freshen himself; it seemed like he was still in his dream. But a series of chitters made him pause again.

"Basil, what did I just say? Felines off the counter or I'll send for the Fwooper to come scoop you up."

Trailing a hand against the wall, he made his way to the kitchen with a shuffling gait. That twinkling voice sounded like something flying out of his dream; could his fever really be that bad?

A peek around the corner could've been something out of a storybook: A beautiful girl stood at the stove top, humming something sweet under her breath. A trio of kneazles were mewling around her working elbows, attempting to get a taste of what was simmering beneath her wand.

It took everything in him to not stumble when she turned around and spotted him.

"Newt? I guess I forgot how quiet your steps can be," she whispered, noticing his flushed face and pale lips, "I went shopping for some groceries and made us a little something to eat. You've been asleep for hours."

She trailed on in her words, but they began to fade as Newt continued his shuffling towards her. Confusion was knitted into his brows as he neared her, a hand lifting to reach her arm.

"... and I didn't realize that the clawing was actually coming from the basement door. These three were near desperate for a scratch behind the ears; they're much like the alley cats back home - and I... Newt?"

He raised his hand enough to graze a few fingertips across the curve of her chin, "You... you're really here?" And her eyes became voided of any stormy clouds, revealing that ocean hue he missed so.

"Really here, and really hungry," she snickered, feeling a warmth flood her insides, "And you should be too."

He didn't appear to believe her as he trailed his fingers down her arm to reach her icy hand. He inspected it meticulously as she lifted an eyebrow, "Looking for something?"