Voicemail (IC Contact Post) OLD - at capcha

[abrightboy]

 This is Bright. Leave a message.

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[abrightboy]

“You don’t have to explain. I didn’t want to either… until I got my throat cut. After all that… I guess I was too exhausted to stick to something arbitrary,” Malcolm tells him.

[conning]

"It's not that I don't want to explain," Neal admits. "It's that I don't know how. I can't tell what bothers me about it."

[abrightboy]

"Do you not know intellectually or do you not know emotionally?" Malcolm asks curiously.

[conning]

Neal continues to give him a blank look. "I don't... know."

[abrightboy]

“That’s not completely unusual, you know. Do you need help identifying it?” Malcolm asks.

[conning]

"No," he says, sighing softly. "No, it's fine. I don't think I'm up for it right now."

[abrightboy]

“You can be not up for it right now without it being fine,” Malcolm tells him. “You don’t… seem fine.”

[conning]

"Fine was the wrong word," he says with a breathless little chuckle. "Force of habit."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm nods. "I know that habit." He pats Neal's leg. "Want something to eat?"

[conning]

Neal squints his eyes almost shut. "I think if I tried I'd throw it up."

[abrightboy]

"Yeah, I know that feeling. Maybe a little toast? With just a bit of butter? And if that stays down, we can graduate you to jam," Malcolm suggests.

[conning]

He grimaces, then nods. "All right. I'll give it a shot."

Neal breathes out a laugh. "You know you don't have to be my babysitter any more, right?"

[abrightboy]

“I know. I’m… being your friend,” Malcolm tells him, gives his knee a pat, then gets up to go to the kitchen.