TRAUMABEANS AU

[conning]

boop

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[abrightboy]

Malcolm considers that.

Well, the second part. It’s very unlikely he’d come here without him.

“I’d probably be reading? I brought some books…”

[conning]

"Pick a book." Neal kisses him. "I want to see you in your natural habitat. Or... natural-ish habitat."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm grins.

"You just want me to read? In the sweatpants I would be wearing if I weren't trying to impress you?" he teases.

[conning]

Neal grins in response. "You impress me every time you open your mouth."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm grins. "So what do you want me to wear," he laughs.

[conning]

This time, though, Neal actually considers the question.

“Exactly that,” he says, more serious. He brushes his hands back through Malcolm’s hair. “I want to draw you.”

[abrightboy]

Malcolm smiles at the carpet, then looks at Neal. "Okay."

He goes to the dresser and changes his trackpants for sweatpants and picks out a t-shirt he hasn't sweated through. Then he grabs one of his books and pulls the big arm chair back in front of the window from where he'd shoved it that morning for yoga, curling up in it.

"Like this?" he asks, looking over.

[conning]

Neal comes over to kiss him on the lips, then the forehead. "If you're comfortable, then yes."

[abrightboy]

"Do you want me to really read this?" Malcolm asks, looking up at him. "Or do you want me to, like, stay really still?"

[conning]

“Really read.” Neal brushes a stray hair back from Malcolm’s temple. “Relax. Be on vacation.”

[abrightboy]

"Okay," Malcolm says, watching him for a moment before turning his attention to the book. He glances at Neal, then looks at the book again.

[conning]

Neal busies himself doing little nonsense things until Malcolm is genuinely involved in his book. Then he goes to get the smaller sketchbook he bought, not wanting to look at the picture of Mathias from yesterday without Malcolm there with him, so to speak.

He settles in his own chair, pencils arrayed at his side, and picks up the lightest to start tracing light shapes onto the page.

[abrightboy]

After a little while - Malcolm doesn't know how long; he's been absorbed - he looks over.

"Am I still doing it right?"

[conning]

Neal blinks out of his own hyperfocused space, giving Malcolm a confused look for a moment before the words register. Then he smiles. "You're doing fine. You don't have to do anything in particular, really."

He looks down at his sketchbook, the faint etchings of Malcolm's surroundings, the action lines shaping his body. For some reason he's drawn in more of details of the room around Malcolm than Malcolm himself yet.

He takes a deep breath, pushing the squeeze of anxiety he can't explain down before focusing on Malcolm again. "Are you uncomfortable? Do you want a break?"

[abrightboy]

Malcolm shakes his head.

“No. I’m fine here. When you want lunch, there’s fruit and croissants left.”

[conning]

Neal nods, looking at the drawing more than at Malcolm. He can feel his hand starting to tremble. What’s wrong with him? Why can’t he do this? It doesn’t have to be some grand statement piece, as though he’d know how to make an original one if he tried. That’s not who he is. He’s a forger. A mimic.

Neal gets up abruptly, setting sketchbook and pencil down on the chair. “Lunch sounds good actually.”

It doesn’t, and he pauses, because a lie is a lie.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm looks over at him. He hears something in his voice.

"No it doesn't," he notes from his face. "What's wrong?" He bites his lip. "Did I mess it up by saying something?"

[conning]

“No! No. It’s nothing like that.”

He comes over to Malcolm, touching him lightly on the knee, the arm. Little butterfly grazes that Neal is afraid will pass right through him. His hand is shaking properly now, and he quickly clenches it and closes his eyes. “I don’t know what it is. It’s stupid.”

[abrightboy]

Malcolm watches his hand, then looks up at Neal's face.

"It's not stupid. What were you thinking about when that started?" he asks curiously.

[conning]

Neal looks at his clenched fingers, frustrated and anxious and annoyed that he's not sure why. "Nothing."

[abrightboy]

"You had a thought in your head," Malcolm says, setting his book aside and pushing himself out of the chair. "You were working on the drawing. What do you think about when you're drawing?"

[conning]

He makes an aggravated noise, though the aggravation isn't at Malcolm. "I don't..."

Neal stops himself. Tries to think it through. "I wasn't drawing you. I was drawing everything around you, but not you. And I wanted to know what was wrong with me. Why I couldn't just do it."

[abrightboy]

“You were experiencing an actual aversion to drawing me?” Malcolm confirms.

[conning]

"No! No." He slips his arms around Malcolm's waist. "I want to. I don't know why I'm... struggling with it."

[abrightboy]

“In the drawing of the town, I was the only thing you drew clearly. What was the difference between this and that?” he asks.

They’ll figure it out.

“Is it because that wasn’t really me?”