“You’d have more than a chance, you know,” he blurts out. “If things were… fair. Or. If things had gone differently. You’d have had way more than a ‘chance’.”
He presses his lips together.
“If we were from the same New York, maybe I wouldn’t have wanted to leave it.”
Impulsively, Malcolm hugs him. Clings to him, really, for a moment, then releases him and picks up his cup of cold tea, turning it around in his hands, looking down into it, grateful that he drank enough that the liquid isn’t sloshing out.
“Maybe you can come over tomorrow to. Do something.” He looks up. “Did you want to learn how to fight with knives or something?”
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
“You’d have more than a chance, you know,” he blurts out. “If things were… fair. Or. If things had gone differently. You’d have had way more than a ‘chance’.”
He presses his lips together.
“If we were from the same New York, maybe I wouldn’t have wanted to leave it.”
no subject
"Another time, another place," he says softly. "Another us."
That's the way it always goes, isn't it.
no subject
no subject
no subject
“Maybe you can come over tomorrow to. Do something.” He looks up. “Did you want to learn how to fight with knives or something?”
no subject
He’d like the learning, anyway. He’d like being taught. And it’s a bridge built toward normalcy.
no subject
no subject
He finally pops the apple and Brie into his mouth, crunching a moment before he can say anything. “That’s good cheese.”
He gives Malcolm’s hand one more little squeeze. “I’ll see you later.”
no subject
You better.
“Good luck.”