On a better day, Neal would be able to hear this without twisting himself up over it. He isn't sure how to tell Malcolm that he doesn't want him to be rational or fair, doesn't want him to give up his own feelings.

He fusses with the cup before taking a sip, shoulders relaxing a little at the heat and crispness and the way it finally washes out the taste of bile.

"I don't like him better than I like you. I want you to know that."