Newt remembered from a young age that the words on his arms appeared the most at night time. He'd asked his brother, Theseus, about it once and he'd patted Newt on the shoulder and told him he'd find out when he was old enough to understand. He found out the next day after some snooping around, it turned out that it was his soulmate. Newt had only been six at the time and the concept of having someone out there that was born to accept him made him giddy.
That night he'd used a permanent marker to write on his arm in big block letters, "I'm Newt, what's your name?" He'd spelled everything with the utmost care, wanting to impress his soulmate. He'd waited and waited, all night his arm was barren except for his own writing. Then as the sun started to peak over the horizon a single word appeared on his arm,
"Percival".
•••
Newt watched one of his new creatures, they were very hesitant to socialize. He took a pen out and jotted down a few words onto his palm, "Skittish, needs food- not children."
Newt's eyes fluttered as he felt his wrist tingle, the telltale sign that his soulmate had written on his own skin just as he had done before.
"New creature?"
Newt's breath escaped him, a small smile tugging at his lips as he picked up his pen and scribbled a hasty, "yes".
The creature had made it's way from under Newt's watchful eye and was now hiding.
The magizoologist pouted, picking up his pen, making his way towards where he'd last seen it.
"What is it this time? Not a Hippogriff again I hope"
Newt scoffed, it wasn't a Hippogriff but even if it was he could handle it perfectly fine.
"Its an erklings, which yes is dangerous but I can handle it", he wrote, the words now starting to spread onto his forearm. He'd have to erase it soon to make room for more.
As if reading his thoughts, the words from his soulmate disappeared, they smeared and smudged, then vanished.
"Those are illegal", came the typical response.
Newt put his pen in his pocket.
He needed to focus on finding the erklings and having Percival write him was only distracting him from his caretaker duties.
With a hesitant bite of his lip he scribbled a short message onto his arm:
"Can't talk, busy".
•••
"Good morning, isn't it a beautiful day," Newt wrote happily onto his arm.
Not a second later he found himself staring at ink that webbed over his pores as if wet. Then he actually read it, "it's raining".
Newt laid on his bed staring at the ceiling. So it was raining where Percival was at, Newt couldn't help but smile. They had never told each other where they lived, had never mentioned much besides what appeared in everyday life. Newt didnt even know his full name, nor did Percival know his.
And yet, it was with each detail that Newt slowly pieced together Percival's life. He had a job, a director at that, but Newt still didnt know what for. He knew he liked darker colors, completely opposite to Newt himself, and he knew Percival didn't approve of his animals.
Newt could lay awake for hours on end, he couldn't understand how he'd been stuck with a soulmate that didn't love creatures as much as he did, it made no sense. But Newt would never question fate.
