Neal kisses his temple. "I'm pretty sure you can do anything."
As he helps buckle Malcolm in that night, he braces himself over the other man, looking down at him. The presence of the drawing--still turned over--itches at him from across the room, but he does his best to ignore it. Neal leans down and kisses Malcolm again, briefly.
"There's very little you couldn't talk me into," he says. He tilts his head to look at Neal. "And I like that I know - I know - they would never be things that would hurt me."
"Yes." Neal closes his eyes, savoring the feeling of Malcolm's fingertip against his skin. "I'll even try to participate. Or watch you being attractively bendy from the sidelines."
"You don't want to bend with me?" Malcolm teases with a pout. "Do you need me to show you some bends before we go?" he offers with a lift of one eyebrow.
"Early morning bending lessons followed by early morning bending. You're going to need a big breakfast," Malcolm tells him, leaning up to press a kiss to his forehead before snuggling up against him.
Neal hums a little note that's half-thoughtful, half-pleased. "I'll do my best with the terrible menu available."
Sarcasm, clearly.
They settle into quiet, talking off and on the way they always have--the way he did with the first Malcolm, the way he still does with this one. Malcolm is actually the first to fall asleep this time, which surprises Neal, but he's not unhappy about it. The soft sounds of his breathing, the distant noise of the breeze and what has to be an owl--there are things alive here. Alive and at peace.
He's starting to doze into his own fitful nightmares when Malcolm stirs.
"It's okay," Neal murmurs. He pulls Malcolm close. "You're okay, we're both okay."
He's never going to get used to those screams. It's not the first time he's thought as much, won't be the last time. Neal kisses Malcolm's temple. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"I didn't hurt you?" He looks at his hands like he's expecting to see something on them, but then frowns faintly and slumps against Neal. "It was. Um. That... weird... shadow figure that you showed me. It attacked you so... I attacked it."
Goosebumps rush over Neal's arms and he clings a little harder. "You--"
That thought terrifies him. Malcolm attacking the Shadow Man. What could happen if it isn't just a dream, what that thing could do if it manages to get inside Malcolm's head. Neal shivers.
"Next time run," he says softly. "Even if it does attack me."
He kisses Malcolm. "Thank you, though. For trying."
“Neal, he didn’t crawl out of the drawing,” Malcolm says gently. He runs his fingers through the hair at Neal’s temple. “Did you want to get some more sleep, or try your hand at some bending?”
“But he could,” Neal whispers, closing his eyes for a moment to focus on the touch before he opens them again in paranoia over the darkness. “I wouldn’t be surprised at all.”
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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As he helps buckle Malcolm in that night, he braces himself over the other man, looking down at him. The presence of the drawing--still turned over--itches at him from across the room, but he does his best to ignore it. Neal leans down and kisses Malcolm again, briefly.
"I think we should stay for a while."
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“Then we will,” he says simply. “You know… it’s easier, not having a case, with you around. I don’t feel lost. I don’t feel so… crazy.”
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"I'm glad," he says, shifting to lie down next to Malcolm. "I want to be... a good place for you. A good place to be."
He kisses Malcolm’s shoulder. “You’re my good place.”
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"Do... do you still want to draw me tomorrow?"
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"There's very little you couldn't talk me into," he says. He tilts his head to look at Neal. "And I like that I know - I know - they would never be things that would hurt me."
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"Can we go to the sunrise outdoor yoga in the morning?" he asks.
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"Early morning bending lessons followed by early morning bending. You're going to need a big breakfast," Malcolm tells him, leaning up to press a kiss to his forehead before snuggling up against him.
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Sarcasm, clearly.
They settle into quiet, talking off and on the way they always have--the way he did with the first Malcolm, the way he still does with this one. Malcolm is actually the first to fall asleep this time, which surprises Neal, but he's not unhappy about it. The soft sounds of his breathing, the distant noise of the breeze and what has to be an owl--there are things alive here. Alive and at peace.
He's starting to doze into his own fitful nightmares when Malcolm stirs.
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Disoriented in the still unfamiliar dark room, he casts around, eyes wide with terror.
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He's never going to get used to those screams. It's not the first time he's thought as much, won't be the last time. Neal kisses Malcolm's temple. "Do you want to talk about it?"
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That thought terrifies him. Malcolm attacking the Shadow Man. What could happen if it isn't just a dream, what that thing could do if it manages to get inside Malcolm's head. Neal shivers.
"Next time run," he says softly. "Even if it does attack me."
He kisses Malcolm. "Thank you, though. For trying."
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You should, he thinks. What he says is, "I couldn't either. If it went after you."
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“I know,” he says earnestly.
His hand, he realizes, his clutching Neal’s forearm. He lets go, but lets it rest there.
“It’s probably just because we were talking about it. You know. About how it got in Other Me’s head.”
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