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[abrightboy]

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[abrightboy]

That earns a watery smile.

“I love you,” he whispers.

[conning]

“What a coincidence: I love you,” Neal says, softly teasing. He sets the cloth aside and shifts around onto his knees to comb his fingers into Malcolm’s tangled hair. “Lie back. Let me shampoo you.”

[abrightboy]

Malcolm leans back, holding up one still crusty hand so he can look at it.

“Do you think it’s permanent? Death? Can’t he just… come from a different time in his life?”

[conning]

Neal wraps his damp fingers around Malcolm's bloodstained hand, skin prickling as he dips their linked hands under the water. "I don't know. I have no idea what's possible here."

He could plant that as a dream in Malcolm's head. George, back to life, stepping into the world anew--not knowing Malcolm every time. He tries not to heave at the instinct, forcing himself to get his mind back on the moment. "Don't lose yourself to wondering that, though. Please."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm is staring at Neal's hands scrubbing the caked dry blood off his own hand underwater, but then his gaze wanders up to Neal's face.

"I think I used up all the people who can like me now. I probably won't have friends anymore."

[conning]

“I understand that it feels that way.” God, he does, he does. Is that why the Lonely came to him the way it seems to have done?

The water is tinted a lovely shade of rusty red that makes Neal’s skin crawl. That’s blood. That’s George’s blood. That’s Malcolm’s good friend’s blood. He closes his eyes a moment to try and shake the nausea and goosebumps.

“I promise you, there’s not a limit on it. It might feel like you’ll never get that lucky again, but there’s not a limit on it.”

[abrightboy]

"I've never been that lucky before. I blame Dr Whitly for a lot but... I didn't really have friends even before that. I wasn't... shunned, like afterwards, but I didn't have friends. He didn't make me weird and... and off-putting."

[conning]

“Malcolm,” Neal pauses, reaching over to pull the plug on the bath and let the water run out so he can get fresh, clean water in to wash Malcolm’s hair. Something about washing his hair in blood-tinted water makes Neal’s stomach turn over. “I…”

How does he put this. How can he even begin to be convincing, when he feels the gnaw of the Lonely whispering about hot easy it would be right now to feed. Feed, that word, is what gets him to shake it off again. He’s not going to feed on Malcolm. “You maybe won’t ever have the most friends of anyone in the room. But you’ll have good ones. Me. Tim. People like Meredith and George. So you’re not everyone’s cup of tea. That’s why there are so many kinds.”

[abrightboy]

“I was alone for a long time. It was okay. I was okay with it. But. I don’t want to be anymore.” He realizes the water is almost gone and starts to get up.

[conning]

Neal puts a hand on his arm to encourage him to stay put, reaching over with his free hand to turn the water back on to a temperature he knows Malcolm likes. He waits to plug the tub again until the last of the red is gone. “You’re not. Not right now, not ever.”

[abrightboy]

“You… know how to stay?” Malcolm asks cautiously, settling back into the tub at Neal’s gentle urging.

[conning]

"No," he admits quietly. "But I'm here right now. And we can do everything in our power to make sure the Lonely--to make sure you're not alone."