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[abrightboy]

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[ployboy]

"Oh my god?"

What is wrong with you people.

The story is as ridiculous as Tim had expected, and the laugh bubbles out again, puckish. Tim releases Malcolm's hand with a light swat. Like it hadn't been his idea to grab hold like some skinny chimpanzee.

He swings his legs.

Apologies to the shelving his heels hit.

"You're both crazy."

A match made in heaven.

(Maybe.)

The kid sobers up just enough. "Hey, Malcolm? Congrats. I'm glad you found someone like Neal."

[abrightboy]

‘You’re both crazy’ makes him smile, and his face creases with warmth at the next part.

“I never thought I would,” Malcolm admits. “I never thought for a minute I ever, ever would. And marriage? …It surprised me when he asked. I mean. I know he likes me, but. There’s a difference between liking someone you meet in a… a pocket dimension and wanting to marry them.”

[ployboy]

Yeah, there is. There's empty wistfulness in Tim's very person; he'd been in love before, he thinks. He's pretty damn sure. And she had loved him back, he thinks. He's pretty damn sure. And then Time marched on and tainted the love and ruined them. And here's a pocket dimension where good men are doing good things for each other.

Tim thinks, in this pocket dimension, he might like- really like-- but love is off the table--- what Tim does to others isn't out of love. That's always a recipe for the inevitable tragedies. But he's captivated by the warm feeling of Malcolm. Here. Now.

Tim asks, "Would you have asked him? Or is it like, if Neal hadn't been the one to propose you'd've..."

Just let it go.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm looks at him for a long time.

“I don’t know,” he finally admits. “Maybe a time would have come where it felt possible and I would have? Maybe I could have come around to the idea on my own that someone like me could really end up with someone like him.”

[ployboy]

He's this close to adding that Malcolm doesn't have to answer, but past the silence is an answer Tim can relate to all too easily.

I don't know.

Maybe.

Tim kicks at Malcolm. From his perch, it means his foot taps Malcolm's hip.

"You have such a bad habit," he says, "of holding yourself back from what you want. And, uh, not to criticize your skills in the kitchen, Chef, but the kettle's been rumbling for a while now."

[abrightboy]

Oh.

He takes the kettle off the heat and takes down two mugs while shrugging a shoulder.

“What I want has never wanted me before. I guess I don’t know how to just…” He scoops chocolate powder into one cup and drops a herbal teabag in the other. “Give myself to the experience.” He pours water into the cups, then turns to hand Tim’s to him. “I get all up in my head.”

[ployboy]

He debates the masochism of gulping down hot hot chocolate, because Tim Drake is a bottomless pit of a person and food and drink will never not win him over.

In the end, he says his thanks to Malcolm and envisions Alfred looking on disapprovingly if he was to burn his mouth over a drink he just saw get off the stove.

"I think I get it," Tim mutters. It's not some mystery that he loses himself... constantly, now. He blows on the chocolate.

What would Meredith say about all of this?

"Marriage, huh... it's something you're supposed to give yourself to, like, entirely, right?"

Hell if he knows. Hell if any Drake knows. Jeff talked about a family, one that had sounded so nice, but.

"Neal thinks too much, too. And you're giving him what he always wanted for himself. I think you'll both have a lot of work with, like... what's it called? Grounding?"

And

Or

That whole,

I love you more

No, I love you more

No, I love you more

thing.

It's so freaking gross.

"I don't know."

[abrightboy]

They don’t argue about that. They’re open about that.

“Grounding.” He looks over. “You think we’re… dreaming?”

[ployboy]

Waiting period over, Tim takes a reckless drink out of his cup. He does indeed burn his mouth. He's fanning his half scorched tongue when Malcolm turns back to him. Elsewhere, Alfred Pennyworth despairs and knows not why.

"Nuh?"

Which is to say, "Nah. Not in a bad way? When you really care about someone, you really worry about them. And you're both worrywarts to begin with."

[abrightboy]

“This is a dangerous place,” Malcolm points out.

[ployboy]

Tim would like to kick at Malcolm again. But he'd like to keep his cup of hot chocolate in one piece even more.

"I don't want you guys to just feel worry towards one another."

He never really figured out why his parents would scream at each other so much. He had made it a point to tune out the noise. But even years later, Tim suspects the impending split hadn't been only because of business. Right? And it's killer. To just suspect things about people.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm looks at him, then smiles warmly.

“That’s not all we feel towards each other. It’s not even the most prominent thing.”

Malcolm is even less clingy lately, since their friends started coming back.

[ployboy]

Reason 273 why he and Steph never worked out. Reason 163 why he and Zo never worked out. Reason 313 why he and Tam definitely didn't work out.

"Okay."

Well, now he doesn't know what to say.

"Cool."

[abrightboy]

“You’re going to be in the wedding, right?” Malcolm asks. “We’d like you to stand with us.”

He hasn’t talked to Neal about it, but he’s sure he agrees.

[ployboy]

Oh.

His heart somersaults.

Large blue eyes search Malcolm, tiny voice begging him not to become Malcolm wouldn't make a joke out of this. He wouldn't be so cheap. And that's the story of the start of red on Tim's cheeks, and the pulling sour at the roof of his mouth that makes it a little hard to breathe.

Yeah, he wants to say.

He finds himself with the back of his hands wiping obvious at his eyes, fat tears that pool and fall contrasting the heat in Tim's face with cool tracks.

God, he hates insomnia. It makes everything... more.

God, he's such a sucker because he loves

"Yeah, but fair warning," he sniffles and oh my god he's sniffling and his voice is small and wet and

"I tried to get away with wearing a Reptar tee to my dad's wedding. I don't dress as good as Neal."

[abrightboy]

“Nobody does, so it kind of takes the pressure off,” Malcolm says. “He’ll let us know what to wear.”

[ployboy]

Oh. My. God.

"I want a hug, you jerk," he squeaks out, reaching for whatever napkin or towel is closest to him. The red has firmly planted itself on his face, splotchy and laughing at the total embarrassment Tim's feeling. "I already know Neal's gonna be the best looking guy in th'room."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm’s whole face lights up and he abandons his tea to step over to Tim, plucking the mug from his hand and setting it aside so he can wrap him up in a big hug.

“If that’s a ‘yes’, I’m so glad,” he murmurs into Tim’s shoulder.

[ployboy]

Tim latches himself to Malcolm, to his brother, and the moment contact is made he's giving in to sobs that tear through him. He clutches what fabric he can at Malcolm's back, nodding his head shyly against the man's chest. His brother is getting married in this hellscape and Tim wants to whine out some wordless noise of protest even now, because that is such a fucking stupid idea.

It's such a stupid, stupid idea.

Tim would be damned if he lets Malcolm face it alone.

He always thought he'd accompany Dick, maybe, on that grand day first. And then he'd thought he just

wouldn't.

Wouldn't dare. Wouldn't be asked.

Wouldn't be around.

And he came in through the window tonight and found a room with robot blankets on the simple bed and dark and lavender and gray walls. And he got invited to chat and hot drinks, was told nobody would mind the noise he's currently making, and he thinks that he and Jeff will never...

And Tim quiets down to more sniffling, but he's still hiding and holding on.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm rubs his back with one hand, not letting him go.

“You don’t always have to be a warrior, you know,” he says softly.

[ployboy]

He wants to lose it. Just absolutely abandon all he's worked for and agree. Tim forces in a breath, shaky and reminding himself that he's promised so many graves that he won't give up, can't give up.

He really wants to give up.

Another cry, muffled and hoarse and Tim is reeling from how alien it is to feel so much from a soothing touch. "I h've to be something," he argues unconvincingly. Calling himself selfish because this shouldn't be about him.

They were happy.

Malcolm is supposed to be happy.

Tim ruined it. He ruins things. It's what he does.

[abrightboy]

“You are something,” Malcolm tells him. “You’re a computer whiz and a smart kid and - most importantly - you’re my brother.”

Malcolm is happy, Tim. Listen to his voice. Look at his stupid happy face.

[ployboy]

He's had brothers. He has brothers, and once again Tim is drowning in homesickness. The veil is also lifting, and Tim feels the ache in the apple of his cheeks at the idea of being perched on a kitchen counter and holding on to Malcolm for dear life.

Family.

"But you're going to get married," he mews.

[abrightboy]

"Yeah. Unless Neal comes to his senses. So then you'll have two brothers," Malcolm points out. "Is that okay?"

[ployboy]

Tim gives himself permission to breathe. His chest hurts with that phantom weight, and his shoulders are teasing at an uncomfortable burn from the ridiculous position he has twisted himself into. The tears have dried- Tim notes that with some disappointment in himself.

It had felt good to cry, not just to cry out. He hadn't run dry of tears entirely as he had previously believed, they're just. Well. Hard to come by. There's another hard hitch of his breath at the fact.

His head hurts like a female dog.

And he's still holding to Malcolm. He wonders how long he can get away with it, sensitive to the rise and fall of Malcolm's chest. Tim nods against it again. Weakly he admits, "Okay."

It's as stupid as anything else he's done today but it's nice. This is nice.

Speaking of stupid, he laughs. A rough, tight sound.

See, since he's already... like, here, Tim says, "Jeff's back."

As if they hadn't already settled that matter.