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[abrightboy]

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[conning]

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."

[abrightboy]

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

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

[conning]

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

[abrightboy]

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.

[conning]

“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!

[abrightboy]

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.

[conning]

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.

[abrightboy]

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?

[conning]

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.

[abrightboy]

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

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

[conning]

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.

[abrightboy]

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."

[conning]

"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.

[abrightboy]

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?

[conning]

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

[abrightboy]

Malcolm’s breath catches as the kiss breaks.

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

[conning]

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.

[abrightboy]

“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.”

[conning]

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

[abrightboy]

Malcolm presses his lips together.

"I also didn't want you to love me if it was because you felt like you had to," he admits uncomfortably. He looks up at Neal. "Because it means everything to me. Your love."

[conning]

How is it that Malcolm can slip so neatly between the gaps in Neal’s emotional armor? That isn’t fair.

“Let’s go back to your place,” he says softly. “And I’m going to hope really hard all the way there that no one else has come home in the interim.”

The kiss that follows hopefully illustrates Neal’s plans for the immediate future.

[abrightboy]

It’s so thorough that Malcolm gasps softly in its wake and almost drops his coffee, fumbling to keep a grip on it.

“Meredith works late every day and Tim doesn’t come home half the time,” he reports almost dreamily. “Can you stay tonight?” he asks as they start walking.

[conning]

"Yes."

He should tell his roommates. Granted, it's not like they report to each other by requirement, but ever since Abby and Thackery...

Neal shakes his head to shed the thought of them. Or try to anyway. The guilt of having forgotten they were ever there.

He shivers. "I'm not a fan of memory loss."

[abrightboy]

"Our memories add up to make us who we are," Malcolm points out softly. "Stealing memories is a theft of our selves," he muses. He's thought about it a lot. "It's the ultimate violation."

[conning]

Neal shivers. It doesn't hit him right away, why Malcolm might have done a lot of thinking about this particular thing.

Then it does. He shifts enough that he can kiss Malcolm's temple as they walk. "It's a theft," he says softly. "It's a violation. The ultimate violation if it's deliberate."

He goes quiet again, weighing his own thoughts, trying to figure out what he wants to say.