That startles a small noise of amusement out of him. Not that he’s trying to make fun of Malcolm—it’s just… a sweet answer. Not one he expected.
“I don’t hate dogs. I love dogs.”
Apparently sensing a disturbance in the force, George starts scratching at the closed veranda door. Neal grins over at the cat before getting up to let him out and pick him up.
“I just happened to end up with a cat-shaped one.”
“What if you hate me being one? You don’t like my boyfriend and now you don’t trust Lark and I don’t want to just… get further away from you. I… want to still…” He gestures between them. “This.”
He gently deposits George in Malcolm's lap, which the cat seems content to curl up on. Neal's follow-up impulse is to kiss the top of Malcolm's head. He doesn't, instead squeezing the other man's shoulder.
"I won't hate you being one, and I already didn't trust Lark. That has nothing to do with this, specifically. I don't want him to isolate you. Pull you away from the people who care about you that aren't a part of his 'pack.' That's what worries me."
As for Will... he doesn't have it in him to refute or qualify on that front. He doesn't like Will. He doesn't want to like Will. It's not an equation that can add up to anything different.
Neal smiles a little at that, taking his seat again. "That's true."
It does make him feel fractionally better.
He draws in a deep breath, studying the latticework underneath the glass top of the table. "Look. If it was me... I would be curious. I would be desperately curious. How often would either of us get that chance in our own worlds? We won't. If it was me, I'd do it, because here at least I know it's a change I can reverse if it's not one I want to keep. I don't want you to do it. But my only reasons are selfish."
He's not sure how much more honesty he can take. He's feeling raw, scooped out inside, feelings he knows mean he's close to the edge of how much he can handle in general before he needs to just be away from people for a little while.
Neal forces himself to drink some of his cold-but-not-cold-enough-to-be-refreshing tea, hoping it will make his throat feel a little less squeezed.
"Jealousy. Fear. Worry." The thought that Lark might decide to bring Will in too, and then Malcolm will have no reason to keep ties to anyone outside.
“I don’t know.” It’s honest, quiet, guilty. He would say if he could think of anything. He would say in a heartbeat. “It’s not fair. I do know that. But I don’t know how to fix it.”
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“I don’t hate dogs. I love dogs.”
Apparently sensing a disturbance in the force, George starts scratching at the closed veranda door. Neal grins over at the cat before getting up to let him out and pick him up.
“I just happened to end up with a cat-shaped one.”
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"I won't hate you being one, and I already didn't trust Lark. That has nothing to do with this, specifically. I don't want him to isolate you. Pull you away from the people who care about you that aren't a part of his 'pack.' That's what worries me."
As for Will... he doesn't have it in him to refute or qualify on that front. He doesn't like Will. He doesn't want to like Will. It's not an equation that can add up to anything different.
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It does make him feel fractionally better.
He draws in a deep breath, studying the latticework underneath the glass top of the table. "Look. If it was me... I would be curious. I would be desperately curious. How often would either of us get that chance in our own worlds? We won't. If it was me, I'd do it, because here at least I know it's a change I can reverse if it's not one I want to keep. I don't want you to do it. But my only reasons are selfish."
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Neal forces himself to drink some of his cold-but-not-cold-enough-to-be-refreshing tea, hoping it will make his throat feel a little less squeezed.
"Jealousy. Fear. Worry." The thought that Lark might decide to bring Will in too, and then Malcolm will have no reason to keep ties to anyone outside.
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