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[abrightboy]

 This is Bright. Leave a message.

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[cacophonish]

"Me too," he says, flashing a wry smile. Something they've got in common. Jeff follows Malcolm to the kitchen, leaning against the island, his elbows propped up on the counter.

"Oh, sure. I'll have whatever you're having." He pushes the foil-wrapped leftovers towards Malcolm in offering. "Um... I brought stuffing. It's for Tim, but I don't know if he..." Jeff cuts himself off and forces a smile. "Anyway, there's enough for you and Mere, too, if you wanna try it. Um. It's stolen... by the way..."

Just in case Malcolm has any qualms with illicit stuffing.

"I think he's avoiding me, too," he adds. For the record. Another thing they've got in common. "What... what happened?"

[abrightboy]

“Stolen?” Malcolm says. “What, from Thanksgiving last night? I think they wanted people to take leftovers,” he remarks absently.

He turns to look at Jeff. “My father stabbed him too. And Gil. And Kate. And Neal. Anyone we ran into. I think that’s why he was avoiding me the first time. I don’t know what I said last night. He wouldn’t tell me.”

[cacophonish]

"Uh..." His hesitation alone is probably answer enough. No, definitely not from the ADI get-together. But it was from a Thanksgiving dinner, so he'll just keep it vague rather than explain how he and Kugrash staged a heist at a fancy restaurant doing some expensive prix fixe spread. "Sort of?"

Nailed it.

He blanches a little as Malcolm explains how far Martin's killing spree had spread, a little twist in his gut at every victim's name-- but, of course, the fact that Tim was one of them hits hardest. And, selfishly, a little part of him is upset that, of all of Martin Whitly's victims, he was the one to get singled out. He gets to relive the belittlement, the terror, the helplessness, the total fucking futility of his attempts at fighting and--

It's not fair.

He clears his throat a little and tries to find his voice.

"Well... what were you talking about? Before he left."

[abrightboy]

“I asked him if he anonymously texted someone I told him… sensitive information about. He lied.”

Malcolm looks at Jeff. “Do you know what he’s up to when he’s sneaking around all the time?”

[cacophonish]

Well. That doesn't seem like such a big deal-- from Tim's end, that is. Who cares if he sent some anonymous texts?

Not that Jeff will say that. But he does shake his head, answering truthfully, "No. We don't talk about..." He shrugs. "I dunno. We do our own things when we're not hanging out."

After all, he's sure Tim isn't keeping tabs on him when he's out buying drugs or mindfucking people or wandering Dogtown.

[abrightboy]

He’s probably wrong about that, but Malcolm doesn’t know it.

“Well, whatever it is, he’s been wound really tight and he won’t talk to me. We were in a good place before. We talked.”

[cacophonish]

"Maybe... give him a few days? I mean, you only had that argument last night, right? I don't think it's, you know, unfixable. You've just gotta let whatever it is between you guys breathe and, like, scab over. Like a cut."

He starts picking at a thread on the cuff of his jacket, looking down at it so he doesn't have to look at anyone else.

"Which is what I should do, too, I guess, so. I'll probably just head back to Bonnie's in a few."

[abrightboy]

“That’s not how wounds heal. That’s how they get septic. You should stay until he comes back. If he makes an excuse not to talk… well, then you know.”

He shifts his weight.

“He was really nervous and excited about going out with you, you know.”

[cacophonish]

Jeff doesn't look entirely convinced, and he shakes his head, still tugging at the loose thread on his jacket. "Nah, man, I don't wanna ambush him. If he wants to see me, he..." He shrugs a shoulder. "...you know, he'll know where to find me."

Then he looks up, smiling at Malcolm.

"Yeah?"

[abrightboy]

“Yeah,” he confirms. “And what if he thinks… if he wants to see me, he knows where to find me?” he asks.

[cacophonish]

How dare you use logic on him, Malcolm. Jeff pulls out his phone and wiggles it.

"Ball's in his court. I left him like twenty texts last night." Ugh, saying that out loud makes him cringe. He's being so fucking needy, no wonder Tim didn't respond. "Probably shouldn't have even come here."

[abrightboy]

“You can say you came here to see me,” Malcolm points out. “If you want to seem less needy.”

[cacophonish]

"Dude," Jeff laughs. "Even I would see through that-- I mean, if I was in his shoes." With a sigh, he taps the foil-wrapped leftovers. "I only came to bring this. Like. I thought if I pissed him off, it could be a peace offering. So I really should just..."

Leave. But...

"Um. But. It sounds like you're having a worse morning than me." Between whatever fallout there was with Tim, and the post about Martin. So rather than cutting and running, Jeff... actually tries something different. "You wanna get out of here?"

[abrightboy]

Ah. It’s not believable that he would visit Malcolm. Okay. Noted.

Malcolm takes the kettle off the heat and turns to look at Jeff again.

“Where to?” he asks, suddenly feeling 80 years old and like his body weighs a thousand pounds.

[cacophonish]

How dare your low self esteem interpret this idiot's words so painfully. Unfortunately, Jeff doesn't realize the hurtful implication in his own comment, so he shrugs obliviously.

"I dunno. Where do you... Um. Do you have a favorite spot in town?" He groans. "Was that a stupid question? Fuuuuck, I'm such a bad friend."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm takes a breath and nods and gestures vaguely… out-ish.

“I like this coffee shop down the street…” he offers.