Suzu: closest thing to a songfic I have every written. Can you guess the musical that inspired this chapter? Also, long distance relationships yo.
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Tina lays aside the newspaper that counts lifetimes come and gone. She lays it in the warm puddle of lamplight, next to his ticket and suitcase. The cast of its shadow melts into a soft darkness as she sets her wand down, padding across the living room to the balconette.
Through the border of iron trellises, she catches pieces of Newt, bathed in the glow of moon and starshine, gazing at the New York sky. She cracks the window, her feet leaving cool floorboard and matted rug to touch, barefoot, against the rusted iron. The rust underfoot belongs to several centuries of dreamers, movers, gazing at the cityscape where it kisses the horizon each dawn and dusk.
Newt is perched against the iron railing, very still. He doesn't turn as the cool early morning air wraps around them—Tina shivers—disturbing the only hours of peace in this city.
"You miss it," she breathes.
"No."
"—you do. Otherwise this wouldn't..." Be happening, she doesn't finish.
His breath catches anyhow, and she's so scared, scared he'll tumble down, or take flight, unreachable, scared he's no longer in need of her small nest in an unfamiliar concrete jungle.
"There's a lot that I can't find in England. Europe. Anywhere."
"Anywhere but here."
"Anywhere," he repeats.
She's silent. Her heart longs. But there's so much left unsaid because there's a right time to say it, and it's not right now.
The sky is melting, dark velvet into cordial, pink seeping into the edges Tina can't see from her seat. Her toes curl against the metalwork, and she wonders how long it will take her heart to rust over, once he's gone.
Newt's voice is suddenly urgent, spilling out like the morn.
"Say-say you'll share—"
"With you? Always."
As soon as it leaves her mouth she knows.
Too much. Tina shouldn't.
Newt, too, knows he can't receive this. The tear of his voice is palpable.
"I can't—"
"Stay."
Tina begs, and, oh, she's honest, fully.
The dam almost breaks. She's lost. She's always thought she was stronger than this, more patient. She's in love, a cage so powerful she would go anywhere, hold onto any ledge. It scares her.
"Just one request," she murmurs fiercely. "Those anywheres you're going to, let me go too."
Newt's eyes are wide, searching.
"One day. Doesn't have to be now," she says.
"Anywhere?"
"Say it. Promise me."
His touch is like a plea, a prayer. Tentative and reverent and unknown.
"I-I have no right."
Her tears will dry in the daylight, just not now. Dawn breaks slowly, sometimes. Tina's voice trips over the words she's not sure of anymore, reverently, like a plea, a prayer.
"Y-you said you lo—"
Newt's hand is against her hair, flitting to her ear. His voice is a whisper.
"You know I do."
Each night. Each morning.
A lifetime.
One day.
Just not today.
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