TRAUMABEANS AU

[conning]

boop

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[abrightboy]

"I can't run away if something is hurting you," Malcolm says, his tone calm and matter of fact. "I could never."

[conning]

Neal strokes Malcolm's hair back away from his face, studying Malcolm's tired blue eyes like he's about to get a pencil and paper right now.

You should, he thinks. What he says is, "I couldn't either. If it went after you."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm gives him a small, watery smile.

“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.”

[conning]

Neal makes a noise of agreement, but he doesn't feel remotely convinced. Without meaning to, he looks at the still-turned-over drawing of Mathias.

[abrightboy]

“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?”

[conning]

“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.”

[abrightboy]

“He can’t. You left him behind. You’re here with me now,” Malcolm murmurs.

[conning]

Neal shivers lightly. He nests his face against Malcolm’s neck, trying to let that feel true, but it’s harder in the dark with Malcolm fresh from a nightmare. “You’re right.”

He says it again, like that will make it more real. “You’re right.”

Deep breath.

He shifts to kiss Malcolm. “I think a little light bending might do me some good.”

[abrightboy]

Malcolm smiles, then kisses him, once and then again, before untangling from Neal and the blankets and opening the curtains to the pre-dawn view of the mountains.

“Come on,” he beckons, waving Neal over to the floor between the bed and windows. He pushes an armchair out of the way.

[conning]

Neal pads quietly over, observing Malcolm nudging the furniture around.

“I was never actually much of a yoga guy. Before Mathias.”

[abrightboy]

"How did you get into it there?" Malcolm asks, pulling a spare blanket out of the closet and throwing it on the ground. "Did someone do a class?"

He should probably be able to guess the answer, but he really doesn't see himself as any kind of an influence.

[conning]

“Yes,” he says fondly. “You did. Wasn’t anything as formal as an actual class, but you still showed us how.”

[abrightboy]

"Me? You've done this with me before? I hope I'm as good as me," he jokes, stepping into downward dog. "Did we do a sun salute?"

[conning]

“Probably. I don’t remember what anything is called.”

He bends over to kiss Malcolm’s cheek before mimicking him with only a little less grace.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm grins. "Okay, we'll work on the breathing next time, then." He shifts down into plank and looks over at Neal. "Did you find it relaxing?"

[conning]

Neal considers that, mimicking Malcolm again—a plank is a plank, after all.

“…You were. Relaxing. Doing it with you. So I guess I must have.”

[abrightboy]

He shifts into cobra.

"It does help me keep my head clear," Malcolm says. He looks over. "It helps me calm the... buzz."

[conning]

Neal eases into that position, wincing a little as his back twinges, trying to ignore the way the stretch tugs at the leathery patches of scarring around his torso. Pretending to ignore it.

He closes his eyes and makes an affirmative noise. “Meditating does that a little. Sometimes. You showed me that, too.”

He hasn’t done much of it since Mathias. Almost any, except by near-accident.

[abrightboy]

"You meditate?" Malcolm says. "What sort of meditation do you do?"

[conning]

Neal winces internally, feeling suddenly guilty and ashamed, like he’s lied without meaning to.

“I… haven’t really, since waking up here. Not on purpose.”

[abrightboy]

Malcolm shifts to cat.

"How... how do you meditate by accident?" he asks curiously.

[conning]

Now he feels stupid. “I guess it’s not really. Meditation, exactly.”

He shifts back to his hands and knees rather than imitating Malcolm’s pose, watching the other man with a little twist of anxiety knotting into his gut. “I’ll just… focus, or lose focus, and it’s like I’m watching someone else use my body. It’s peaceful.”

[abrightboy]

Malcolm sits back on his knees.

"Neal... meditation is an intentional act. It's literally an act of intention," he explains gently. "What you're describing is a psychological defence mechanism known as dissociation. It's a way your brain protects you from trauma by separating your... consciousness from your emotions."

[conning]

Dissociation.

“I don’t do that,” he says, a soft protest. “I know what you’re talking about. I…”

Does he? Is that what that is?

He sits up as well, fighting something that feels like shame.

“…I should really talk to your therapist, huh,” he says, trying to make it sound like a joke.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm shuffles over on his knees, reaching out to slide a hand up and down his arm.

“You can. But if you’re not ready, you can start by talking to me,” he points out. “When’s the last time that happened?”