New Year, New You [OTA]

[abrightboy]

Who: Malcolm Bright and YOU
When: The first half of January.
Where: B1, ADI offices, around town.
Summary: Malcolm is aware that he has problems. Time to get rid of them for good! Because mental health works like that, right?!
Warnings: mental health struggles, vomit


There's a TV playing in the cafeteria at ADI when he goes down to get lunch after the new year. He's going to order soup; he already knows this. He's not even paying attention to the TV. He's lost in his own thoughts. But, as he waits in line, he changes his mind. Maybe he won't have soup after all. He's going to have a hamburger! And fries! Time to do like his mother says: stop all this nonsense. It's all in your head, Bright, he tells himself. That admonition is in a lot of people's voices from throughout his life.

He spends most of the afternoon in the men's room on that floor throwing up.

But Rome wasn't built in a day.

Back at B1 a few days later, he's staring at the tidy line of pill bottles on the kitchen counter. He's considering just throwing them away. He has to force himself to be normal; he can see it now.

At the coffee shop down the street, on another day, he orders his usual mocha and a big slice of chocolate cake. He'll try not to throw it up on the street but no promises. It takes time for a body to get used to new habits, is all. And if he's a little jittery, anxious, more unraveled than usual, well it's probably because he quit his meds cold turkey but he'll adapt. It's not to worry. He'll adapt.

Maybe he should stop relying on the restraints to sleep.

Maybe he should start going out to bars to meet people.

Maybe he should break curfew and crash with friends at Bonnie's.



Somebody stop him.

Comments

[conning]

Neal rubs his thumb over the back of Malcolm's wrist lightly, the motion almost unintentional. "I think you're already better than pretty much everyone who takes pride in being called normal."

[abrightboy]

"I was okay with it for a long time, you know. People not liking me. It rolled off me. But... a few days ago... suddenly it was important to fit in. I don't know why," he admits quietly, his eyes on Neal's thumb on his wrist without really realizing it.

[conning]

"People like you." It's a mix of shock and indignation. "Meredith loves you. I get the feeling Tim is the kind of person who would leave if he didn't like the company."

Another faltering moment, then he barrels through instinct and says, "I like you. I like you a lot."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm nods as Neal mentions Meredith and Tim. They’ve been a godsend. What would he do if he weren’t roomed with them?

Then Neal says that and Malcolm’s eyes snap to his face.

He feels like returning the sentiment would just be… awkward, somehow. Neal knows Malcolm likes him. Everyone knows Malcolm likes Neal. He’s sure it’s a joke in some quarters.

But Neal isn’t saying a nice lie to make him feel better; Malcolm sees his face in time to know that.

“I really couldn’t be luckier than that,” he says. He glances at the coffee and the cake, looking a little queasy. “Maybe… maybe this has been a mistake,” he admits uneasily.

Something in his head is screaming the opposite. A new year calls for a new you.

But what if Neal likes the old Malcolm?

[conning]

Neal's own relentless self-loathing, his internal monologue about weakness and dependence, quiets for a moment when Malcolm starts to change his mind. Relief washes it out. Relief washes it out enough that he lifts Malcolm's hand and kisses his knuckles without thinking.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm just stares at his hand for a moment like the kiss left a mark.

Was he just trying to be comforting? Was that just suave and comforting? Or did it mean something? It can’t mean that; Neal was very clear about that.

Oh god, say something. Or do something.

He takes his other hand and pushes the drink away from himself.

[conning]

He just--

Oh, God. He...

He just kissed Malcolm, albeit in a very tame way. He kissed Malcolm, and nothing came crashing down around them. Of course it didn't, his cynical self thinks. Don't be melodramatic.

But it felt like things might. He's not sure when the anxiety over his feelings built itself up that high, but it did.

He sits there for a moment, still holding Malcolm's hand, a little bit in shock, relieved to see Malcolm push the drink away and trying to figure out how to say that. He doesn't have a hard time with words. He shouldn't be having a hard time with words.

He's making mental calculations as he starts to move, only half-conscious of the decision.

Table's not too wide, shouldn't be an issue--Malcolm picked one of the little bistro sets in the corner. He's tall enough to make up the difference and moving around it seems like too big a pain at the moment.

Neal braces one hand on the table, narrowly missing the cake, and leans forward to tangle his free hand into Malcolm's hair and kiss him like they're alone in a bedroom.

[abrightboy]

It’s a bold move, not least because Malcolm has spent most of the week throwing up.

At least he has good oral hygiene and Neal caught him before he got into the cake. He’s safe this morning, in that respect.

Malcolm’s surprise is intense, but he returns the kiss. You don’t get everything you want without enjoying a moment before it changes its mind.

He blinks at Neal when it finally breaks, then swallows. He can feel his pulse racing. Is it visible under his skin? It takes him a moment to lift his gaze from Neal’s mouth to Neal’s eyes, because he’s not sure what he’ll see there.

[conning]

What he'll see is nerves. Genuine, junior-asking-a-senior-to-the-prom nerves. Malcolm kissed him back. That's not nothing. Even after all the pushing away Neal tried to do, Malcolm still kissed him back.

He shifts forward tentatively, his hand slipping from Malcolm's hair down to his jaw. When he goes for the kiss this time, it's a lot more like he's asking permission.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm tilts his head to meet it and there’s a new flip in his stomach that has nothing to do with nausea or anxiety. He doesn’t know where this came from - did he miss something? - but he’s not going to turn it down.

[conning]

When they draw apart this time, Neal studies Malcolm's face from an angle he didn't expect he would ever have. Malcolm has a scar. A little scar, marking his upper lip. Without thinking, Neal brushes his thumb over it.

Then he clears his throat and stands up a little straighter. God, Malcolm's eyes are so blue.

"Let me walk you home."

[abrightboy]

“Okay,” Malcolm says, quickly pushing to his feet, though he’s feeling a little dizzy and heavy from withdrawal.

It would have been his answer if Neal said “Let me take you up the volcano and throw you in” or “Let me take you on a romantic trip to a southern Californian B&B.”

He leaves the drink and the cake without a glance at them. He can still feel that itch tickling the back of his mind but it’s drowned in endorphins and Neal’s voice.

[conning]

Neal slides an arm around Malcolm's waist to keep him close as they walk, stomach still buzzing with nerves and the pleasantness of having someone so close. He kisses Malcolm's temple, his stomach doing another little somersault.

"I mean it," he says softly. "I've... liked you pretty much since the first time we talked. I tried not to, even, but it didn't work."

[abrightboy]

He is hallucinating, isn’t he? This is what happens when you go off your antipsychotics.

But no. That hand on his waist feels solid. He looks up at Neal.

“…Really?”

[conning]

"Really," Neal says softly. "I..."

I was scared is a little too much to admit to, right now. "I felt that about the man I met then. Feel that. No change required."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm looks up at him, sidelong.

“But you’re… likeable. People like you. You fit in. I’m… I make people uncomfortable, mostly.” He blinks. “Is that why you tried not to?”

[conning]

"What? No!" That question startles him out of his hesitation. Mostly. That doesn't make it easier to say. "I was... afraid."

Saying it, in fact, feels a little like reaching into his own mouth and pulling out his tongue. "Things don't turn out well when I like people."

[abrightboy]

Pale and shaky and off his meds though he is, Malcolm considers that a moment, then looks up at Neal again.

"For you or for them?"

[conning]

A crooked smile. "Either-or."

[abrightboy]

"...Well, I pretty much make my own trouble," Malcolm points out. Like... right now, for example? "Prepackaged for your convenience or something." He winces. "I didn't mean to sound like... I was... assuming anything about... your intentions. It's nice of you to... it's nice of you to be... nice about this."

[conning]

Neal gives him a blankly confused look. "Nice of me?"

[abrightboy]

Malcolm looks back at him, even more flustered now.

"I..." Oh god he's going to leave. "Just meant." He swallows hard. "I just meant 'thank you'. For. This. Being here. For me."

[conning]

That hurts, and Neal can't put his finger on why. Not that Malcolm would assume that Neal wouldn't be there for him. That it's such an apparently uncommon thing in general. Neal draws him to a halt at a corner as the light turns conveniently red, then shifts enough to kiss Malcolm gently. It doesn't have the same frightened eagerness as before--this time it's purposeful, lingering. Someone passes by muttering about getting a room, and Neal ignores them.

He brushes his thumb over Malcolm's cheek when he pulls back. "You deserve it. But you're welcome."

[abrightboy]

That draws a carefully happy smile, finally. A smile that thinks... maybe it can trust that this really did just happen.

"Do you w..." He takes a breath. "Do you think maybe you would want to have just... a normal cup of coffee? At the apartment? Nothing crazy?"

[conning]

That gets a genuine smile out of Neal. "I'd love to. Don't tell the baristas, but you have better taste in coffee than their boss."