Malcolm Bright

"Yeah," he said, one shoulder lifting up with a tentative curl of his lips. "I vote flattered," he managed before Malcolm kissed him, earning a tightening of his hand around Malcolm's waist.

And as much as Raylan would have liked to just linger in that moment, hopeful that they wouldn't really have to dig into things, Malcolm continued and the slant of easy amusement that had started to creep into his features crept back out. Serious hazel eyes watched the man leaned above him and he worried that saying anything more would fuck up the nice even ground they'd found again.

"Her blaming my job is only half not reasonable. The other half is dealing with the threat of getting gunned down in her own home or in mine, or at work. I can't blame her for that. It hasn't happened with us, with you, yet. But Winona saw a lot. People aren't meant to live with a constant fear like that." Of course, that statement was laughable when applied to Malcolm; he'd overcome so much, but he was unique in more ways than one.

"You deal with enough fear. What's gonna happen when my job puts more on?" It wasn't a family friend murderer in a basement - it was people that would strike when guard was down. When it was meant to be down, at home.