#Sleep in my bed instead of this uncomfy hotel

[funkzpiel]

It's five in the morning I just woke up AGAIN and my body has been doing this to me for the past week I am exhausted :(

I’m so sorry, lovely! I meant to respond to this WAY EARLIER - but fucking LIFE™ got in the way. Have some teeth rotting fluff (edit: whatever this ended up being) as my apology. I hope you’ve been able to sleep well since.

[EDIT] As a quick side note now that I finished writing it, I am super tired and just realized I changed tenses a million times - please forgive me if this or the characterization OR THE ANYTHING doesn’t make sense. XD I tried.

It’s common knowledge that Percival Graves does not sleep. The aurors tell Newt that the man’s blood is made of coffee. He ingests more cups of black, soul crushing coffee than he does water; or food, for that matter. One might even call it an addiction, if they really didn’t give shit about their job or their life. 

He takes his biggest cup in the morning - it is also his strongest cup. The sharp, heady stench of black roast can be smelt all across MACUSA every morning from Graves’ cup alone. From there, he has another two before lunch time. Sometimes, he’ll eat a sandwich or hotdog. Usually, he’ll forget. He’s only got time to brew a cup or grab a bite before his 1 o’clock meeting, and everyone knows what he’ll pick.

There’s another large cup that comes around 3. Another before the end of the day, and finally - after his most painful Wednesday meeting - a cup of blonde roast with just one dollop of honey, to soothe his enraged throat after a meeting of enraged interdepartmental fighting.

Everyone knows that Percival Graves does not sleep.

But everyone also knows that now more than ever, fresh from his measly two-week recovery vacation (in which he barely vacated MACUSA at all, let alone rest), Percival Graves needs to sleep.

They can see it in the dark, waxy skin under his eyes and in the way his cheeks are drawn and tight, jaw clenched in an eternal struggle to stay awake and present. They can see it in the dull, muted shine of his hair and the tremble in his hands that no one dares mention. They can see it in the way his suits aren’t exactly wrinkle free, not like they usually were.

He misplaces files he never used to misplace. He loses track of time. He enters a room, blinks, then exits - and everyone knows he’s forgotten why he came. 

And most worryingly of all, he doesn’t go home. They thought he was just working late, but Tina’s tried to outstay him. He doesn’t go home. He just doesn’t. Instead, he stays in his office and makes a bed of his rather uncomfy (but very beautiful) black leather couch. No blanket to warm him, no pillow to ease him away.

And even then, he doesn’t sleep. He just reclines, resting his aching bones, and goes over more documents - a warm cup on his belly, soothing the cramping of his empty belly.

He’s thin. His clothes are beginning to drown him. 

Tina’s beside herself. All the aurors worrying they’re watching him slip away, unable once again to save him. They try to bring him food - and he accepts graciously - but always forgets to eat, too quickly absorbed into another document, another meeting, another case. They’ll find the sandwich on his desk - a perfect row of teeth through the corner and no more.

They try to give him water. They try to walk him home.

Then finally, sleep comes in the form of one Theseus Scamander. He comes as a favor to MACUSA to help consult on a case, as well as discuss more opportunities for partnerships between the aurors of America and the aurors from the Ministry of Magic. Long time friends as they are, it takes Theseus one second to recognize what’s wrong.

He leaves Graves’ office after their first greeting to return to the hotel and settle his things, but not before spotting Tina and stopping at her desk.

“How long has it been?”

Tina blinks.

“Excuse me?”

“Since he slept. How long?”

Tina blinks again, even more surprised.

“I–” she trails off, her mouth a long, pursed line; unsure of how much to reveal. Hopeful that if this man knew the director well enough to notice within moments, that he might be able to help. She had heard stories of their friendship, after all. Maybe… “Weeks, just a few hours here and there.”

“Of course,” he muttered, then slung his case atop the empty desk next to Tina. She balked, wide eyed and captivated as Theseus then opened his case and began to sort through some of his possessions, muttering all the while very much like his brother - and that made something in Tina’s heart flutter. Finally, the man pulled back from his case with a candle and a book-sized parcel in hand and let loose a small, victorious noise before turning back to Tina. “Would you mind terribly if I left my case in your care for a moment?”

“O-of course not,” Tina stammered.

And with a wink, Theseus disappeared back down the hall and into Graves’ office.

Graves blinked up at him mildly from over the rim of his cup - full, Theseus noted, when he had just finished one during their chat. 

“Did you forget something?” Graves asked blandly, the faintest hint of concern at the edge of his question, poorly disguised. Theseus waved him off and smiled.

“Nothing of grave importance–”

“–wasn’t funny in the barracks, isn’t funny now,” Graves groaned.

“But my darling brother did want me to pass this along to you, as a thank you for backing his book. As I understand it, you went in on a deal to jump start the publishing until such a time that its proceeds could cover the costs of production and turn profit.”

Graves blinked.

“I did no such–”

“The publishers told us, Percy,” Theseus said, hushing him as he handed over the brown papered parcel. “Take it.”

He watched as the man took the bundle with the slightly flush and gently unwrapped it, muttering all the while that ‘it was the least he could do, considering,’ and whether he meant that in reference to Newt recognizing Grindelwald as an imposter or because Grindelwald tried to execute the man while in his skin, Theseus didn’t know.

What he did know was that he had a small opportunity to set the candle he had behind his back upon the table behind one of Graves’ very few knickknacks and light it before the man would notice. It was a testament to the man’s exhaustion that he didn’t catch Theseus cast the “notice me not” spell upon the little thing, nor the spell that activated the scent within. 

“Percival Graves,” he murmured to direct the spell, and unfortunately that caught the man’s attention.

“Hmm?” he said, fingers just about to open the little book he had been admiring.

“Look for yourself, right inside the cover,” Theseus said quickly, “Special Thanks to Percival Graves.”

Graves flushed a little darker.

“He didn’t have to–”

“–he wanted to. It was a kind gesture you did for my kid brother, Percy. Really helped get the ball rolling for him.”

Graves gently closed the book, a softness in his eyes Theseus hadn’t seen in a long, long time.

“I’m glad I could contribute in some way.”

“Once you read it, do send him a letter. He’d be overjoyed to know you read the blasted thing. Even more so to hear your feedback.”

“Of course,” Graves said. “I’ll try to carve out some time.”

And then he did something that made Theseus smile. He yawned. A long, suffering yawn that put tears in his eyes and made him look twice at his coffee cup.

“Strange…perhaps that was decaf,” he said as he stood, no doubt of a mind to refill it, only to suddenly plop back down in his seat with wide, adorable stunned eyes. 

“You alright there, Percy?” Theseus asked, mock concern as he watched the man’s lids flutter, then jerk open, only to flutter again. He slouched ever so slightly, fingers digging into his arm rests as though to anchor him.

“Theseus, I think I’ve been–”

“Drugged?” Theseus asked, and those brown eyes flicked lightning quick to focus on him. Stunned, betrayed - a little afraid. Something in Theseus winced, but in the face the man’s exhaustion, he found he didn’t regret it. “No, not directly. It’s a candle my brother made. Helps the lighter sleep - or in this case, helps the lighter put someone else to sleep.”

He lifted the tiny, flickering candle to Graves’ gaze.

“Theseus, what the fucking hell?”

“I remember how you used to get during the war, Percy. Used to run yourself ragged. Had to pin you to a bunk or spike your drink to get you to take a wink. It’s not good for you. I thought you had overcome it.”

“I had,” Graves croaked, and he didn’t need to say another word for Theseus to know what had changed. Instead, the redhead merely nodded.

“I’ll stay with you,” Theseus said. “Nothing will happen to you, I swear. Will you let me do that, Percy? Let me watch your back, like I used to?”

And slowly, but all at once, Graves sagged - exhausted, relieved.

“You giant fucking git.”

Theseus smiled, then rounded the desk to sit on its edge beside Graves and lean down to straighten the man’s rumpled tie.

“Wanker,” he said back with a smile, and waited for sleep to take his friend. When it had - when Graves was finally limp in his chair, hair tickling his brow and wrinkles finally slack and smooth as they should be - Theseus gently gathered him up with a softly muttered ‘too fucking light, Merlin's balls’ and disapparated them to the address Graves had been writing to him from these past years. 

He’d collect his luggage later. It’d be safe with the woman that had stolen Newt’s heart.