Neal Caffrey (
conning) wrote in
apocalypsehowcomm2022-12-25 05:13 pm
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[closed log] what I love most about my home is who I share it with
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?"
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?"
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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."
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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.
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“Tim was just… walking through my department. I looked up at he was just… there.”
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Then he steps past Malcolm and tries to pull Tim into a firm hug.
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...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."
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“Malcolm,” he mumbles.
cw some v small nausea here
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.
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“What happened? Are you okay?”
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“It wants me to make it worse.”
It, not Neal himself. “I don’t know how.”
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“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.
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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?”
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Still. He starts the repair work almost automatically, looking over his shoulder at Malcolm. “Maybe everyone else is out there somewhere, too.”
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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.
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“Find anything interesting in my room?”
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cw this damn boi
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