abrightboy | No One's Born Broken

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No One's Born Broken

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tinstar.

Gil came and went. Dani came and went. Ainsley came and then left with their mother, who refused to even hear him out about telling the truth. He stared through the window at the motionless man in the bed for some indeterminate amount of time, his hand clutching his phone in his pocket.

Finally he let his eyes leave the figure through the window and he took his phone out of his pocket. He stared at that for a long moment, then scrolled through his contacts until one name rolled onto the screen: Raylan Givens.

He looked through the window, then looked at the name. Then he pressed it.

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"....So she's saying she won't let you have her regularly until you quit a job she wanted you to quit before you even had a child?" he asked.

Raylan struggled to answer. "When you say it like that.. She's worried about what shows up at my door, showing up and somethin' happenin' to Willa and I know that that means she probably shouldn't be letting me see her tomorrow but something is better than nothing."

Nothing would hurt more than Raylan was willing to look at, honestly.

"I worry too."

Malcolm stepped towards him, setting his hands on Raylan's chest, on either side of his lapels and looking up into his eyes.

"Raylan, I'm saying this out of love, okay, not to... pressure you into handling things one way or another. It's your choice. But.... this thing with Willa? It has nothing to do with Willa. This is about the power dynamic between you and Winona and I really strongly advise that you get some legal recourse to your daughter. If you and Winona are on good terms, you don't need courts and lawyers. You can draw up a custody agreement between you, in writing, and get it notarized and if she decides she needs to tighten the leash... that agreement is still enforceable."

"Lega- Nah, Malcolm, you don't understand, she's not like that."

He was an idiot. Malcolm, you're dating an idiot.

"I know she wants me there and why isn't it right to let a mother dictate her child's whereabouts, considering?" But the argument had less structure, even in tone, than his other ones. There was a nagging worry in the back of his head, specifically around what Winona's mother would do.

Stiff Catholics tended to have an issue with homosexuality.

"What would that even look like?"

"If she's not 'like that', then she won't object to a written contract," Malcolm said reasonably. "But in terms of how it would be worded? That's really up to you and her. I can help if you want. But the gist would be a certain amount of guaranteed access to her and some sort of official guardianship. So Winona can't use her as a bargaining chip to control you."

Raylan had no response to that one aside from a worried downturn of his lips as his hands slipped around Malcolm's naked form under the robe.

"I guess so.. But she knows how much Willa means to me. And I know it means something to her." Winona cared if Raylan cared. The fact that she didn't question it seemed proof enough to him. Raylan wanted to believe they could do this without it getting ugly.

There was a knock at their door, snapping Raylan out of his thoughts. "Dinner." He looked back at Malcolm. "We were supposed to be celebrating." He sounded sorry for having introduced anything that diverted that.

"Raylan..." he said, holding on to his robe to prevent him going to the door straight away. "I know what she means to you and I don't want to see you get hurt. That's all." He pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. "Let me get that," he murmured, then headed to the door himself.

It was only Malcolm's grab that stopped him, dark worried eyes coming down to meet his and the soft kiss that he was given. He knew Malcolm meant well and wouldn't be saying anything if it wasn't important; it was a hard pill to even consider swallowing.

With the door opening, Raylan turned around and headed to the bedroom to slip on his boxers and jeans, leaving the belt on and unbuckled. He didn't opt for a shirt and didn't lose the robe, coming back into the suite room a moment later, trying to focus more on food than how he felt.

Malcolm brought the food in and started setting it out on the table, pausing as he glanced up and noticed Raylan had gotten... somewhat dressed. Not getting dressed had been his idea. Malcolm had made him feel the need to put his armour back on.

He'd started enough discomfort for one night; Malcolm did not point it out. He resumed setting the food out and slipped into one of the chairs, prying the lid off his bowl of soup, watching Raylan to see if he'd sit.

It had been his idea, but there was something deep in him that told him having these kind of tense arguments while he was all but naked wasn't the smartest thing in the world. Having pants on did great things for his general confidence.

He was planning on siting, but first -

The champagne bottle. He pulled it out of its ice bath and turned it over to look at the label, reading it out without any of the French rolls he assumed it was probably meant to have. He looked over at Malcolm.

"Should we still open it?" Were they still celebrating or had he soured the night?

Malcolm perked up a little when Raylan pulled the champagne bottle, smiling at his French, leaning forward a little, but his expression faltered into uncertainty when he asked if they should open it.

He didn't think it was Raylan that soured anything; Malcolm was the one known for that by means of being incapable of shutting up. He'd pushed.

He looked at the bottle and then at Raylan. "Do you not want to?"

Raylan smirked a little and pulled off the fancy tin wrapping from the cork, followed by the cork cage and, a moment later, successfully popped the cork without the rushing overflow that movies told everyone happened.

It wasn't his first time opening a bottle like this.

Glass by glass, Raylan poured them both out a measure and stuck the bottle back into the ice bath before setting Malcolm's glass in front of him, sitting down himself with his own.

"We're still moving in together tomorrow, aren't we?" His smirk spread into an easier smile. "What kinda soup are we eating tonight?" he asked as he opened and started to dig into his own.

Malcolm couldn't help breathing some relief as Raylan opened the bottle, tension easing out of his frame as he sat. He was trying to dispel the notion that he could ruin this with a misstep; by saying the wrong thing or by saying too much. His limbic system hadn't completely bought into it yet.

Raylan's easy smile laid the rest of his internal bracing to rest and he firmly nodded his answer to the first question. At the next he looked down into the bowl. "Vegetable," he concluded, dipping his spoon in for a tentative bite. He watched Raylan for a second while he swallowed it, his spoon hovering over the bowl.

"You're not mad at me?"

Vegetable. Good. Raylan nodded a little as he cut into his steak and popped a bite into his mouth, nodding again. Steak. Also good. He was still hungry, despite everything. Appetite waited for nothing. Most of the time.

"Hm? No," he said, face pinching in his earnestness. He didn't want to elaborate. "You're tryin' to figure it out and it's hard enough for us, bein' in it."

He shook his head, shaking away the topic.

"You really think you're gonna find a bed that suits us in a single day?" Raylan knew money moved things along but he wasn't sure how quickly that really was.

Malcolm smiled, letting himself fall into the deflection. It was much more pleasant and present.

And they were celebrating.

"Yes. I'm certain." He grinned. "I'm very determined."

"I figure most of it can be resold and we can buy again in Miami. Stuff that will actually fit whatever house we end up with. Except for pieces we like." Like the bed that would allow him to lay down next to Malcolm and all his restraints without one cutting into his side when Malcolm started thrashing.

"You'll have to remember the sound proofing. I can install that when I get home. Shouldn't have any trouble findin' it." He popped another bite into his mouth.

"Your mother isn't gonna have an issue with this, right? I know it's just a few days where you're not up there, but... the whole renting and furnishing an apartment.. Seems like she'd have something to say about it." And hiding things from Jessica was always 50/50, depending on what they were. Some things, she just didn't need to know.

Malcolm shrugged a shoulder. "It's my life." He took a bite of soup. "I want to be with you. She won't actively try to stop me from doing something I want to do or from, quite frankly, anything that removes me from proximity to my father."

Raylan watched him sidelong as he cut another bite, nodding softly. They had enough shit to worry about down here; neither of them needed Jessica coming down with her criticisms.

Even Raylan wasn't sure he could handle that gracefully with the stress of everything else.

"Good. I can't say I blame her, on the last part." But his feelings on Martin Whitly were already well clear.

"Will you be inviting Ainsley down at any point? Do I need to prep for that or are we keepin' everyone away until we're settled in Florida?"

"I haven't thought about it," he admitted. "Maybe we should wait until Florida. You're still... laying a little low here, in regards to us. It'd be a bit weird to have my family visit while we're keeping up the pretence of being just friends."

He focused on cutting another bite, trying to not feel guilty and failing.

"If you think so. Figured everyone's got family so it might not be a big deal. Maybe you're right."

"Based on how they reacted when I walked into the office to say 'hi', your friends already think it's weird that I come here," Malcolm told him.

He looked up from his bowl and caught the slow slide of guilt across his features.

"Raylan, I understand why you don't want them to know. It's okay. It's hard to break the conditioning of a lifetime. Not just your own, either."

"They're not going to be at our house, at any time," Raylan pointed out. He wasn't going to argue the friends part, even if he didn't really consider them his friends as everyone else understood the word.

He shook his head at the concern, neatly packing it back into it's box without another glance at it.

"It's just a situation I've gotta be careful in." More to Malcolm's point, anyway.

"Your job follows you home sometimes; they could conceivably be in our house," Malcolm said reasonably.

"I know you have to be careful. I understand why. I'd never push you to jeopardize your job. ...What's wrong?" he asked with genuine concern. It was okay with him. "It's not forever. And even if it were...being with you is worth it. It really is."

"Maybe."

Again, he wasn't going to argue it.

"Nothings wrong," he assured with a lift of his gaze and a little lift of his edges of his lips. "Let's talk about literally anything else."

"Is there anything you want in the apartment that we haven't talked about yet? Furniture-wise or... supply-wise?"

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