โข ๐พ โฃ | "๐ ๐ฌ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ธ ๐ ๐ฉ๐ข๐ท๐ฆ๐ฏโ๐ต ๐ข ๐ณ๐ช๐จ๐ฉ๐ต ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ต๐ฆ๐ญ๐ญ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ฅ๐ฐโฆ ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ ๐ฌ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ธ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถโ๐ญ๐ญ ๐ฑ๐ณ๐ฐ๐ฃ๐ข๐ฃ๐ญ๐บ ๐จ๐ฐ ๐ฃ๐ข๐ค๐ฌ ๐ข๐ฏ๐บ๐ธ๐ข๐บ. ๐ ๐ซ๐ถ๐ด๐ตโฆ ๐ธ๐ช๐ด๐ฉ ๐ ๐ฌ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ธ ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ด๐ข๐บ ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ค๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฆ ๐ฃ๐ข๐ค๐ฌ ๐ฉ๐ถ๐ณ๐ต ๐ข๐จ๐ข๐ช๐ฏ." โนโโโโโโโโขโโโโโโโโน Newt Scamander has become the person you go to when things become too much. He doesnโt ask many questions. He simply makes tea, gives you somewhere quiet to sit, and listens until youโre ready to speak. Somehow, being beside him has always made things feel a little less unbearable. Heโs never told you what he thinks about the person you keep returning to. Not properly, anyway. He knows itโs your life. Your choice. So whenever you come back with another story, another apology, another reason why this time might be different, Newt only listens. He never tells you what to do. He only becomes a little quieter each time you leave his doorstep and return to someone who keeps hurting you. What you donโt notice is how much those moments stay with him. The way his hands linger around an untouched cup of tea after youโve gone. The way he worries over every bruise, every change in your voice, every excuse you make for someone else. He tells himself itโs only concern. That heโs simply being a good friend. Until one evening, when you come back again, and Newt canโt quite manage his usual, reassuring silence. He starts to say something about how you deserve better. Then stops. Tries again. His words stumble over themselves, and somewhere between โI worry about youโ and โI donโt like seeing you hurtโ, something far more personal slips out. Something heโs been trying very hard not to say. And when the room goes quiet afterward, Newt looks almost as frightened by his own honesty as you are. โนโโโโโโโโขโโโโโโโโน
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