[closed log] what I love most about my home is who I share it with

[conning]

Who: Neal, Malcolm, and Tim Drake (with potential Steve Harrington if he wants to face this awkward reunion)
When: Early December
Where: Apartment B1 in the ADI complex
Summary: Malcolm brings Tim home to B1 after his unexpected reappearance.
Warnings: N/A yet



Neal Putters. He called out of work today to make some plans and cook some food, the latter to restock the fridge once again after the uptick in how much is being consumed with the addition of Steve Harrington to their space. Neal very clearly labels the ones that are for Malcolm, also marking them with the dates they should be eaten by.

...He's OCD at the best of times, but lately he's been feeling overzealous.

When he hears the key in the lock, he glances up, sees the familiar shape of Malcolm entering, and starts with a greeting-slash-codephrase laced with affection as he looks back to his work.

"Where was our second kiss?"

Comments

[ployboy]

It's tricky business getting back to the (old) apartment. The doors don't cooperate well, and Tim and Malcolm's conversation doesn't deviate much from their respective worries. Malcolm worries over Tim, Tim worries over the state of reality-- but then, finally, the apartment number is visible just ahead and Tim feels his excitement swell.

Malcolm turns the key. Tim hasn't yet located his wallet.

The smell of food is both fantastic and a cursed thing to him, and Tim lingers back as he steels himself. Neal's voice rings through. Tim steps in behind Malcolm, eyes surveying the

old

apartment.

And then he furrows his brows, some childish expression crossing his face because Neal, contrary to popular belief, is a total loser, because who even has that as a password--?

"Trick question," he pipes up, because he can't not. "You two kissed twice at that coffee shop."

[abrightboy]

“Okay, we count that as one time,” Malcolm tells him, stepping over to give Neal a gentle, chaste kiss and point at a spot on the floor two feet away. “Right there.”

[conning]

Neal accepts the kiss with the air of someone finishing a habitual action, distracted by his own shock. He looks at Malcolm, then at Tim, then at Malcolm again, trying to figure out a polite way to ask half the questions crowding his head.

[ployboy]

Neal's unspoken question is purposely twisted, and Tim slinks forward with a serious look. "I promise I wasn't stalking anybody, I just happened to be picking up an order."

All in all, he's back to boarding school after a misprint in the new semester that left him in a new dorm. He's waiting for his father's attention on him, but it's all focused on a new physical therapist that visits Jack far too often. He's back in the damp Cave staring down his brother, the new Batman, and Damian Wayne comes slithering down the stairs to rub salt in a wound. He's trying his best not to glance this way and that-- he's already failed at not tracking his eyes to what... was the door to his room.

Snooping is... rude.

Tim's hands are stubbornly in the pocket of the borrowed jacket, and he turns back to Neal with-- caution. He ducks his head a little, he prays there's no interrogation, he says, "Hey."

It's not like he just saw the guy a day ago. It's not like he had a sliver of hope that the apartment would be untouched.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm, jacketless, looks up at Neal.

“Tim was just… walking through my department. I looked up at he was just… there.”

[conning]

Neal makes a shocked noise, kissing his boyfriend’s forehead gently. “Grab a blanket and warm up. I’ll make you some tea.”

Then he steps past Malcolm and tries to pull Tim into a firm hug.

[ployboy]

Malcolm's recap of events makes more sense than anything Tim can conjure up. He shrugs uselessly, a well-worn gesture of his today and one that accentuates the weight of the world on his shoulders.

...and then he's hugged. And he makes no effort to move away, to squirm out of the embrace. It's an alien sensation; Tim doesn't know Neal this well. But he does know he's all but burying his head into Neal's shirt. It's warm, it smells clean, and Tim can even wrap his arms around the man like the starving jerk that he is-- commanding attention. Or trying to.

But at the same time, not.

His breath never stutters, he doesn't clamber into the guy. His head is stubbornly held low, mop of black hair obscuring the clench of his jaw. And then that's that. That's it.

That's not so bad now, is it--?

Tim pulls off, shameless but needing an escape. Maybe not for the reason one would think. But.

"I-- can I borrow the restroom real quick? A toothbrush? It's been a long day, I really need to freshen up."

[abrightboy]

“You can use my bathroom,” Malcolm tells him. “There’s a new toothbrush in the package in the drawer,” he explains. Tim probably gets it; last time he was in there, Malcolm was puking copiously after his failed attempt to be normal. “Mouthwash by the sink.”

[conning]

Neal lets Tim go, starts to step back. And then it hits him. The wave of tangled feelings from Tim, the overwhelming isolation behind them. He catches himself, one hand grabbing the kitchen counter as the emotions of a whole building of the displaced wash through him. It feels good, makes him feel anchored and real and strong in a way he can’t articulate. God, Tim’s presence is like a swirl of neon in the middle of the apartment, bright and mesmerizing.

“Malcolm,” he mumbles.

cw some v small nausea here

[ployboy]

The moment Malcolm offers up his room is the moment Tim makes a break for it, nodding with steely determination because of what needs to be done. His attention is everywhere and nowhere as he trudges off--

he doesn't think Steve Harrington is around, noting no loud shadows or lights under closed bedroom doors.

An indecipherable noise makes him turn worriedly back to the pair of men, but... Tim opens the door to Malcolm's bedroom and closes it behind him with a click. Sorry. Sorry; he'll undo the lock in a minute. Once in the locked in-suite bathroom, Tim even keeps the heaving and retching silent. He's considerate like that.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm turns towards Tim as he leaves, but his attention is drawn back to Neal at his name. He frowns in concern, reaching out for his shoulder.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

[conning]

“He’s not okay,” Neal says, his eyes a little unfocused. The whirl of emotions at close proximity, Tim’s being the most intense, is highly distracting. Concern bubbles underneath the sick headiness of it all. There’s something else, too, a sense that he could make it worse if he wanted to. It would be so easy to make it worse. If he wanted to.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm nods. “I know,” he confirms. Tim isn’t as subtle as he thinks and Malcolm is gifted at reading people. “He’s probably searching my room right now. Is it whispering to you?”

[conning]

Neal nods, relieved that Malcolm can tell both that Tim is not well and that the little murmurations are back.

“It wants me to make it worse.”

It, not Neal himself. “I don’t know how.”

[abrightboy]

“Remember the breathing exercise I taught you?” Malcolm asks him. “Want to do it together?”

[conning]

He nods again, automatically breathing in slow, holding, breathing out, following the count Malcolm taught him. It isn’t going away, that weird psychological map around him, but the breathing refines his attention. Turns the mental static from a wash of emotions bleeding into each other to concentrated blots of loneliness and loss.

“God,” Neal whispers. “It’s awful.”

It’s awful and he doesn’t hate it. But fatigue chews at him, an exhaustion that somehow runs deeper than bone, and he realizes he’s losing his grip on the emotions. They’re fading. For a wild second he tries to hang on to that extra sense, realizes what he’s doing, and lets go of the effort.

[abrightboy]

“I feed it, don’t I?” Malcolm supposes guiltily.

[conning]

“No,” Neal says, lifting a hand to Malcolm’s cheek. He’s still a little distant, a little unfocused. “Or maybe, but it’s not your fault. Everyone in this building does.”

[abrightboy]

“I don’t want to be the thing that pushes you over,” Malcolm whispers desperately. “I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want you to come home like you but not you like that thing that was here.”

[conning]

That gets Neal to orient on him properly. “You are the last thing that would push me that way. You’re the thing that keeps me here.”

[abrightboy]

Malcolm can’t help searching his face.

That’s true. That’s the truth.

He slides his arms around Neal’s neck and clings to him.

“Tim was gone and he’s back; he wasn’t dead,” Malcolm points out. “Maybe everyo…” he frowns faintly, pulls back a bit, points at the stove. “Is that burning?”

[conning]

Neal blinks, turns, and half-mutters a curse before drawing away from Malcolm to tend to the pot on the stove. It’s not unsalvageable, but the thought of the extra steps involved in doing it sends another wave of fatigue through him.

Still. He starts the repair work almost automatically, looking over his shoulder at Malcolm. “Maybe everyone else is out there somewhere, too.”

[ployboy]

"Somewhere... like in California?"

Not the best idea to come back to the world of the living (ha) with a bitter retort like that. Tim is immediately regretful, hanging back by the door of Malcolm's room before sucking it up and venturing into the realm of the kitchen. He says a genuine Thanks to Malcolm and Tim helps himself to a seat at the table.

...where he drops his forehead to thud against the wood. There's only one drop of water or so that flies off his freshly washed face-- chill.

He wonders if throwing an honest to God tantrum will make him overstay his welcome with these two men, or if that ship's already sailed.

See, sometimes people just put up with him outta habit. Especially when he's being all-- dramatic. Tim, a moment later, resolves to stop... being dramatic.

He lifts his head just enough to slip crossed arms under it. Good, proper manners are for another day. He peers up at Neal. "What are you making?"

And just like that- normalcy.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm slides into the seat across from him, folding his hands on the table.

“Find anything interesting in my room?”

[conning]

Neal smiles a little Malcolm's words, focused as he is on saving his soup. He can't help answering the related question from Tim. "Lemongrass shrimp soup with spaghetti squash noodles. I've been working Malcolm up to light-but-flavorful."