“Thank you,” Malcolm says. He takes a breath, lets it out. “I didn’t… I didn’t do anything, Francis. I don’t know how to be if everyone thinks I need to be dealt with when I’m doing what I was told.”
“I’ve just… I’ve already struggled in the counselling office. I don’t… I’m worried if the messiness of… all this gets bandied about, the few people I see will drop me and then what am I doing? How can I be a counsellor if everyone thinks I’m a joke?” he explains.
Malcolm smiles a little. “Well, if nobody comes to see me anymore, you’re going to have to come talk to me so I don’t look like a loser,” he huffs with grudging good humour.
“If she keeps letting Will come over at the end of the day, I’ll be fine,” Malcolm tells him. “How are things going with your man? Still good? It was nice to talk to him for real.”
Probably best not to comment on that first bit. Crozier doesn't want Malcolm to be dragged back into that earlier state of mind, not when he's finally climbed the metaphorical hurdle.
"Still good, still good," he says, eyes crinkling. And that's all he really cares to say about him and Xingchen, but he'll throw Malcolm a bone. "I was pleased to see you spoke."
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“You think so?”
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"Still good, still good," he says, eyes crinkling. And that's all he really cares to say about him and Xingchen, but he'll throw Malcolm a bone. "I was pleased to see you spoke."
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