"Bonnie's. She's rooming with Jeff--apparently ADI is very strict about their no pets rule, even though Thackery was cat-shaped to begin with. She took her gremlin there with her."
Another pause, because he's trying not to worry too much about Thackery, either. His tone still doesn't change. "Are you at your apartment?"
Neal signs off with a tiny smile, shaking his head. It's a quick walk to Malcolm's place, after he boxes up a few of the (very small) welcome cookies he made when the new people moved in. The rest of the batch wasn't small. These ones were... targeted.
He knocks "Hot Cross Buns" on the door of B1 and waits, rubbing his arm with his free hand. Even in a coat, it's cold.
Malcolm answers the door with the energy of someone eager to do it but makes himself do it Without Eagerness, but fails at it.
“Hi.”
He steps aside to let Neal in, pushing the door closed behind him.
“It’s um… it’s good to see you.”
Understatement. His heart is definitely fluttering. It started as soon as he heard the knock on the door.
He hasn’t seen Neal since that day, the morning at the cafe. Walking him home.
He absently wrings his hands together, noting the dish in Neal’s hands.
“Oh. You didn’t have to. Bring anything. Do you want coffee? I made coffee.” He looks towards the kitchen, where the french press sits next to a tidy row of pill bottles, the labels slightly smudged from being sterilized by Tim when he rescued them from the garbage can. Then he looks back at Neal. “It’s fresh.”
God, he can’t remember the last time he was this nervous.
God, how does Malcolm manage to make him melt inside just by being the way he is? Fidgety and nervous and charmingly earnest. He goes to the kitchen, setting the bowl of tiny cookies down on the counter before he turns back toward Malcolm.
Then it's an arm around Malcolm's waist and a slow, lingering kiss. "Fresh coffee sounds great."
After that kiss, Malcolm needs a moment of grasping Neal’s sleeves - which he doesn’t recall grabbing - to remember how to blink and how to swallow before he can contemplate remembering words and how they work.
He manages not to show that the kiss stings a little on his split lip, manages not to be too ginger about his bruised jaw and black eye. The bruises on his ribs are at least covered up. If he acts like it's nothing, then it's nothing. And from the look on Malcolm's face, he's convincing.
Neal reaches up to touch the one on his jaw lightly, as though remembering it’s there. He winces, then makes an ironic noise. “A gentleman’s disagreement. Though there was only one gentleman involved.”
Another quick kiss, an attempted distraction. “You weren’t sure if what?”
Malcolm blinks at him in the wake of the kiss, then takes his prompt.
“Oh, if you still…” he gestures towards his mouth. “Um. That. I wasn’t doing well last time and… I mean. You don’t have to… feel… like you have to. You know? I’m… doing okay now. I’m… coping again.”
And if the hand gripping Neal’s arm tightens slightly as Malcolm provides him an out, he’s not intentionally trying to cling to what he wants to be real more than anything.
Neal can’t help noticing it, the way Malcolm’s hold tightens a little as he stumbles through his explanation. He lays his hand against Malcolm’s cheek, other arm around Malcolm’s waist.
“I wasn’t lying when I said I liked you since we met. I had…”
He dabs his tongue against his lip, a nervous gesture, but flinches from the sting. “Every other conversation I had to remind myself of all the reasons you’d be better off, safer, if I didn’t do anything.”
“Safer?” Malcolm asks. “You’re… not what makes this place dangerous. You’re… light. In the dark.” A beat. “Thank you, by the way. For stopping me the other day. I… relapsed a little the next day, but… I’m good now. New year, old Malcolm.”
"Safer," Neal repeats, with quiet irony. "I'm not really good at avoiding trouble."
And sometimes he brings it on others whether they're involved or not.
This time when he kisses Malcolm, it's gentler, a physical you're welcome. "Good. I wasn't kidding when I said I like you better than 'normal' people anyway, either. Normal people aren't the kind of people who leave anything important behind."
Neal makes a longsuffering noise. "I suppose I can put up with that opinion, since I'm going to be around it from now on. The nickname, though. There I draw the line."
"Oh!" He doesn't know why that takes him by such surprise. The idea of Meredith having a birthday, that is. Occasionally it feels like she walked out of a natal chamber of ruthless intelligence fully-formed. "When does she usually get home? What kind of timeline do we have?"
"She's pretty much a workaholic. If she doesn't leave early because she's tired from all the... jail... things... then we probably have until, like, six," Malcolm tells him.
"So we can assume we have until four, is what I'm hearing." Contrary to the statement, he looks even more enthusiastic now. "Shortest notice I've had in a while, but I think we can manage it. My best friend's wife is an event planner. I picked up a few things."
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"Abby moved out? Where did she go?"
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Another pause, because he's trying not to worry too much about Thackery, either. His tone still doesn't change. "Are you at your apartment?"
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He knocks "Hot Cross Buns" on the door of B1 and waits, rubbing his arm with his free hand. Even in a coat, it's cold.
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“Hi.”
He steps aside to let Neal in, pushing the door closed behind him.
“It’s um… it’s good to see you.”
Understatement. His heart is definitely fluttering. It started as soon as he heard the knock on the door.
He hasn’t seen Neal since that day, the morning at the cafe. Walking him home.
He absently wrings his hands together, noting the dish in Neal’s hands.
“Oh. You didn’t have to. Bring anything. Do you want coffee? I made coffee.” He looks towards the kitchen, where the french press sits next to a tidy row of pill bottles, the labels slightly smudged from being sterilized by Tim when he rescued them from the garbage can. Then he looks back at Neal. “It’s fresh.”
God, he can’t remember the last time he was this nervous.
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Then it's an arm around Malcolm's waist and a slow, lingering kiss. "Fresh coffee sounds great."
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“I, um. There’s cups. In the. Thing. Cupboard.”
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"Do you have a favorite? Cup, I mean."
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“You know, I wasn’t sure if you would st…” he frowns faintly, then gestures towards the bruises on Neal’s face. “What happened to you?”
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Another quick kiss, an attempted distraction. “You weren’t sure if what?”
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Malcolm blinks at him in the wake of the kiss, then takes his prompt.
“Oh, if you still…” he gestures towards his mouth. “Um. That. I wasn’t doing well last time and… I mean. You don’t have to… feel… like you have to. You know? I’m… doing okay now. I’m… coping again.”
And if the hand gripping Neal’s arm tightens slightly as Malcolm provides him an out, he’s not intentionally trying to cling to what he wants to be real more than anything.
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“I wasn’t lying when I said I liked you since we met. I had…”
He dabs his tongue against his lip, a nervous gesture, but flinches from the sting. “Every other conversation I had to remind myself of all the reasons you’d be better off, safer, if I didn’t do anything.”
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And sometimes he brings it on others whether they're involved or not.
This time when he kisses Malcolm, it's gentler, a physical you're welcome. "Good. I wasn't kidding when I said I like you better than 'normal' people anyway, either. Normal people aren't the kind of people who leave anything important behind."
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"I wasn't kidding, either, when I said you're a good person." He smirks a little. "Robin Hood."
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“I’ll keep the opinion quietly. In secret,” he promises. “Unless you forget you’re good. Then I might have to remind you.”
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“Right!” he suddenly recalls. “We found out it’s Meredith’s birthday. We need to plan a surprise party for her. For today. Before she gets home.”
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