abrightboy | Voicemail (IC Contact Post) OLD

Neal gives a startled little laugh.

Studies Malcolm’s face.

Weighs each word for truth as he says it and knows he isn’t lying, to himself or Malcolm.

“I wanted to be with you. Even then I wanted to.” He grins at the floor briefly. “Christmas in New York with a smart, attractive man who likes me—I wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

Malcolm looks at him.

"You... did... did you remember something?"

Because Neal did a good job of telling him he didn't want that.

“Nothing specific.” He feels like he said something wrong, provided an incorrect answer on a test, but he has no idea what the right answer is.

So he flounders on. Slow, considering, still testing his own reactions to his words. “I told you I didn’t… that I couldn’t be with anyone?”

His hold on Malcolm tightens a little. They’re next in line, but he doesn’t want to be interrupted yet. He’s so close, he can feel it. It’s maddening.

“…I told you I didn’t think I would be a very good partner.”

He does remember that. Like a ghost of an impression. Malcolm asking him out, the words muffled and fuzzy, and his own shock at being asked.

His throat feels tight. “I—”

I was scared.

The memory of the feeling is as choking as the feeling itself.

“Oh hi boys!” The barista behind the counter grins at them when they step up, and Neal automatically smiles in reply, trying not to panic at his inability to call up any details about this person.

Malcolm presses his lips together.

"We're still trying to decide," he tells her. "Give us a minute?"

He doesn't wait for permission before walking Neal back away from the counter.

"That's exactly what you said," Malcolm tells him. "That's what you said. But I... I mean, you were nice about it. You said it wasn't that you wouldn't, but... I thought that was what it was. Being nice. I didn't know you... had... any interest. Before." He wasn't sure Neal had real interest the first time he kissed him at first. He wasn't sure if it was... sympathy more than anything. Until they were together for a little while. "I thought you were keeping enough distance to not."

“Abby,” he says suddenly, and her appearance in his mental landscape hits almost as hard as a physical blow. He forgot her. She’s vanished, and he forgot.

He exhales a little shocked sound. “She cornered me. Asked me what was going on, why we weren’t together when it was so obvious I liked you.”

Neal closes his eyes, throat feeling squeezed. “I told her I couldn’t take it if we tried and then something happened to you.”

"You're a better liar than I am," Malcolm tells him, huffing a breath at the floor. "I didn't know." He looks up at Neal's face. "I didn't know you liked me like that."

Neal laughs, but it's a choked sound. "Lying is what I do."

He lets go of Malcolm's hand, but it's only to take his face in gentle hands and tilt the other man's head up toward him. His throat is too tight for the words, almost. "Hey, you."

It feels like his heart stops. He watches Neal’s face a moment.

“…Do you remember everything?” he asks cautiously.

Neal shakes his head. “Not everything. Not yet. But more. Enough.”

Malcolm slides his arms around Neal’s neck and holds on to him like a life preserver.

“Do you want to get a coffee or go home?” he asks, muffled into the crook of his neck.

“I want to get a coffee and go home,” he says against Malcolm’s hair, tone amused and strained.

It’s coffee! And they came all this way!

Malcolm smiles softly against his neck, then lets go of him, stepping back to gesture towards the counter. He can grab the coffee.

Malcolm will stay here and fidget.

Neal gets himself something that, for him, is on the unusually sweet side--an americano adulterated with a shot of full-sugar flavoring. (Hazelnut.)

Malcolm he gets a turtle mocha, offering it when he returns. "As promised."

The words are soft. He's watching Malcolm's face, practically drinking him in.

Malcolm takes it, looking at it, then he looks up at Neal, his expression teetering on a knife’s edge between relief and apprehension. This feels normal. Right. Will it stay that way? Will Neal remember more? Or forget again?

“Thank you,” he says softly. After a second, he offers his hand. Coffee and home, right?

Neal takes Malcolm's hand and leans in to kiss him firmly.

When he draws back, he pulls Malcolm toward the door, wanting to get away from all these people and back where they can't be as easily listened to before he says anything else.

Malcolm's eyes are on Neal while they walk; hopefully Neal watches where they're going.

"...I missed you," he finally says.

Neal is only sort of watching where they're going. Enough to keep them from running into anyone. Enough to avoid tripping, and to catch Malcolm when the other man does.

He tugs Malcolm gently out of the primary traffic on the street so he can kiss him without causing a back-up. Neal lets go of Malcolm's hand, but it's only so he can touch Malcolm's face. His other hand is still holding his too-hot-to-drink coffee.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

Malcolm shakes his head.

"It's not your fault. I just. Didn't know if you'd come back. Like this, I mean. I didn't know if you'd still like me like this if we had to start again."

"I would," Neal says, perfectly confident in the assertion. Not only because of the infatuation he felt while trying to remember who Malcolm was.

"You're..." He looks for the words, strokes his fingertips against Malcolm's temple. "For you, I have saved poems under my skin."

The words clearly aren't his, but they're more true than anything he can think to say.

Malcolm looks up at him, eyes a little watery.

"...Really?"

It seems like too much to hope for. That he could be with a man like Neal? That it could happen more than once? That they belong together?

"I liked you the day we met." He kisses Malcolm lightly. "Both times."

Malcolm’s breath catches as the kiss breaks.

“I love you,” he offers back, just above a whisper. Quiet, but not uncertain. The truth.

Neal feels a giddy little tangle of fear and happiness. Inhales slowly. Exhales slower. Manages a shaky smile.

"I love you too." It's just as quiet.

“I wanted to tell you,” Malcolm says, “but it didn’t seem fair. It didn’t seem fair to put that on you. To make you feel like you had to reciprocate.”

Neal presses a hand against Malcolm's cheek. "Stop being so fair to everyone but yourself."

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