The warmth that fills Neal is enough to drive out any lingering shadows from the drawing's activity earlier, and he kisses Malcolm more warmly this time.
"Good. I'm... that's good, I'm glad."
Another little kiss. "Could you bring the easel and sketch pad in? I'd like to pick our clothes for dinner, if you're okay with that."
Malcolm grins. “I don’t mind at all,” he says, practically bounding out of bed to fulfill the request, though he almost runs out onto the balcony naked before realizing and detouring to grab a robe before going outside.
He brings the items in, along with the leftover food and drink, then stands in front of the drawing, studying it while Neal riffles the closet.
Neal hums softly to himself while he coordinates their outfits, the activity as soothing as it is pleasurable.
The drawing is somehow more surreal-looking without direct natural light. Like if the watcher blinks at the wrong moment, something in it will shift, some unexpected and ugly detail will appear.
Which is, incidentally, what happens.
The people on the street, from the vaguest shapes to the very clear image of Malcolm, disappear. They leave smudges of color behind like they've been aggressively erased. The figure Neal saw earlier, the one he thought he imagined, that one is back, standing between those same two houses, a deeper pit of emptiness in shadows.
Neal glances over as he sets out tastefully paired suits, his own a bespoke three-piece, Malcolm’s a flawlessly tailored two-piece.
“1306.”
He smooths the suits down on the freshly-made bed. Smiles at them, at how far they are from anything available in Mathias. “Apparently Phillips, the street it was on, was the first street people had access to.”
The way Malcolm turns the picture over makes Neal's stomach do a somersault. Did he see it? Had it actually changed?
He crosses the distance between them and flips it back over--and the people are back, like they never left. Neal sets it down slowly, forcing himself to breathe. He orients on Malcolm. "I don't... know. Keeping people where it wanted at first, I guess. Did... was..."
"We'll work on that some more later. We're getting ready for dinner," he reminds Neal. "But you're not crazy, whatever you're thinking. What am I wearing?"
Neal makes a noise of protest, but--after a pause--draws Malcolm back over the clothes on the bed. Their suits don't match, per se. The styles are different, the cuts not the same, but the colors are in the same family, deep reds with very subtle patterns. They match without matching in an almost sleight-of-hand nod to the fact that they're together.
Neal is clearly pleased with the praise, feeling reassured that he did something right when very suddenly almost everything feels wrong.
It doesn't matter. That thing, the drawing, whatever happened with it, that doesn't matter. They're going to dinner together in a beautiful resort in the mountains. He pulls Malcolm against him lightly. "Should we shower?"
Neal can feel people looking when they walk into the dining room, and for the first time in a long time he feels a touch of the swaggering confidence that used to come naturally. These people aren’t looking at him—at them—in pity or confusion or suspicion. These people are looking at them wanting to be what they are.
Malcolm is used to being stared at. But not for that reason. Always the other thing.
This different and he’s not sure how he feels, though he’s pleased to be on Neal’s arm. There’s something in him pleased that other people in the room wish they were and can’t be.
They’re seated near the expansive windows and the view of the mountains. Malcolm hands the wine list to Neal.
Neal grins, relishing the list, the surroundings, the decadence of it all. He knows that Malcolm is as rich in the city as he is out here, but he’s used to the city displays of money. Out here, where things are new and different and it’s unerringly clear that they’re part of something exclusive, he feels…
Special. Significant. For the first time in a long time. He orders them a bottle of something tastefully expensive and then takes Malcolm’s hand. “Thank you. For this. All of this.”
“This is our life now,” Malcolm points out. “Living together. Working together. Traveling together. You don’t have to thank me; you made half of this.”
This is their life. Neal stares a moment, realizing with a jolt that he doesn’t have to study the menu with one eye and look over his shoulder with the other. Yeah, he enjoyed that, or he told himself he did—the adrenaline and risk of it, the glamor of being internationally pursued—but… this is their life. They can live it, enjoy it, without the hovering threat of an expiration date backed by metal bars.
He tries to clear his throat, but the knot in it doesn’t go away. Neal lifts Malcolm’s hand and kisses it, determined now more than ever to make sure he takes care of this man the way he deserves. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he replies. He gestures to the menu. “What do you think I should try?” He trusts Neal with something he’s always guarded closely and done grudgingly, in isolation, even when dining with others.
Neal considers the options, clearly delighted by Malcolm's trust. He decides on the seared Alaskan halibut for Malcolm (velouté on the side), and the roasted veal loin for himself. He looks out the window at the mountains, the slowly-fading day, feeling tugged toward some uncomfortable place he's not interested in going.
He shakes his head, pulling himself back to the present. "What do you want to do tonight?"
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
"If those things help you enjoy the meal, then by all means." He kisses Malcolm lightly. "Don't feel obligated, is what I'm saying."
no subject
no subject
"Good. I'm... that's good, I'm glad."
Another little kiss. "Could you bring the easel and sketch pad in? I'd like to pick our clothes for dinner, if you're okay with that."
no subject
He brings the items in, along with the leftover food and drink, then stands in front of the drawing, studying it while Neal riffles the closet.
no subject
The drawing is somehow more surreal-looking without direct natural light. Like if the watcher blinks at the wrong moment, something in it will shift, some unexpected and ugly detail will appear.
Which is, incidentally, what happens.
The people on the street, from the vaguest shapes to the very clear image of Malcolm, disappear. They leave smudges of color behind like they've been aggressively erased. The figure Neal saw earlier, the one he thought he imagined, that one is back, standing between those same two houses, a deeper pit of emptiness in shadows.
no subject
“Which one of these houses did we live in?”
no subject
“1306.”
He smooths the suits down on the freshly-made bed. Smiles at them, at how far they are from anything available in Mathias. “Apparently Phillips, the street it was on, was the first street people had access to.”
no subject
no subject
He turns properly toward Malcolm now that he's settled on their clothes and freezes, paling at the sight of the picture.
no subject
Not today, Creepy Shadow Person.
“The fog covered the town? What was the point of that?” he asks, like the picture was always upside down and there was nothing to see there.
no subject
He crosses the distance between them and flips it back over--and the people are back, like they never left. Neal sets it down slowly, forcing himself to breathe. He orients on Malcolm. "I don't... know. Keeping people where it wanted at first, I guess. Did... was..."
He looks at the picture again.
no subject
"We'll work on that some more later. We're getting ready for dinner," he reminds Neal. "But you're not crazy, whatever you're thinking. What am I wearing?"
no subject
"Thoughts?"
no subject
no subject
It doesn't matter. That thing, the drawing, whatever happened with it, that doesn't matter. They're going to dinner together in a beautiful resort in the mountains. He pulls Malcolm against him lightly. "Should we shower?"
no subject
“How did you know I was just thinking about how much my back needs scrubbed?” he asks innocently.
no subject
It’s a long shower.
For various reasons.
Neal can feel people looking when they walk into the dining room, and for the first time in a long time he feels a touch of the swaggering confidence that used to come naturally. These people aren’t looking at him—at them—in pity or confusion or suspicion. These people are looking at them wanting to be what they are.
no subject
This different and he’s not sure how he feels, though he’s pleased to be on Neal’s arm. There’s something in him pleased that other people in the room wish they were and can’t be.
They’re seated near the expansive windows and the view of the mountains. Malcolm hands the wine list to Neal.
“If you’d do the honours,” he asks.
no subject
Special. Significant. For the first time in a long time. He orders them a bottle of something tastefully expensive and then takes Malcolm’s hand. “Thank you. For this. All of this.”
no subject
no subject
He tries to clear his throat, but the knot in it doesn’t go away. Neal lifts Malcolm’s hand and kisses it, determined now more than ever to make sure he takes care of this man the way he deserves. “I love you.”
no subject
“I love you, too,” he replies. He gestures to the menu. “What do you think I should try?” He trusts Neal with something he’s always guarded closely and done grudgingly, in isolation, even when dining with others.
no subject
He shakes his head, pulling himself back to the present. "What do you want to do tonight?"
no subject
"They're supposed to have live jazz music and swing dance lessons tonight," he says, looking over. "How do you feel about that?"
no subject
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...