[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

[abrightboy]

Malcolm looks up from his chair, in front of his bowl of cold soup, when he hears the door. Neal is alone. Malcolm deflates a little. "What did I do?" he asks. "I said something, right? What was it?"

[conning]

Neal’s heart melts a little with affection and sadness and endearment and under it all there’s a simmering awareness of Malcolm’s heartbreak that he tries to ignore. He holds out his arms instead of answering immediately.

“Come here.”

[abrightboy]

He takes that as confirmation, so he expression crumples a little as he gets up from the table and sinks willingly into those arms, pressing his face into Neal's shoulder.

[conning]

Neal wraps him up tight, Malcolm’s warmth and presence finally driving back the relevance of those sixth sense feelings. “You didn’t do anything wrong that I saw, okay? It’s not that simple.”

[abrightboy]

"I don't understand. Why doesn't he want to stay with us? He said he didn't think any time passed, but he doesn't like me anymore. He didn't tell you why?" Malcolm asks desperately.

[conning]

Neal weighs how to explain.

“Don’t think about it as no time passing. Think about it like… time being stolen. Like being in a coma and waking up with an expectation of the world being one way and finding it totally different. He needs time and space and… maybe the knowledge that we’re waiting when he’s ready.”

[abrightboy]

Malcolm lifts his head to blink blearily up at him.

"But we're the same. Totally the same. It wouldn't be better to be with his family now? While he's hurting?"

[conning]

"We're not, love." Neal doesn't notice it's the first time he's ever used a pet name. "We're living together. I'm ostensibly in Meredith's old room. There's a stranger in Tim's space. Yes, he could have my room without issue, but it's not 'his,' it's mine. And it wasn't his. It was Meredith's. And she's gone, and he hasn't had a chance to deal with that, either."

[abrightboy]

It makes sense, what Neal is saying, and he still has a hard time connecting with it, for all the times growing up when he struggled to process things and would have given anything for anyone to want him around - really want him around - and not out of some sense of obligation. Maybe he wasn't clear enough about that? He doesn't know, but he can't argue with Neal's point because it doesn't sound wrong, either.

He looks up, his brow still creased but his face not the picture of complete misery it was a moment ago either.

"Did you really buy a house?"

[conning]

He smiles a little.

"Want to see it?"

[abrightboy]

Malcolm actually smiles a little.

Just a little, but it's something.

And nods.

"Is it far?"

[conning]

"Not too-too far."

Far enough to distract Malcolm from his bad feelings. Get a little bit of a walk, some fresh air or a coffee while they wait for a cab out of the cold.

Neal kisses Malcolm, digging into his own pocket and pulling out a set of keys that aren't from ADI. He holds them up. "I'm not done soundproofing the master bedroom yet, but I'm getting there."

[abrightboy]

"Soundproofing? Is that so you can stay in a different room when it's bad?" Malcolm asks, taking the keys to look at them with a sort of wonder that makes his question distracted.

[conning]

Neal shrugs. "It's more so you won't be worried about guests and neighbors hearing."

He kisses Malcolm again and leads the way back outside, one arm around Malcolm. He lets the other man hang on to the keys.

They do get a cab, because it is cold, but Neal is still excited when they climb out in front of the little white house with its bright blue shutters and the SOLD sign stuck to the FOR SALE post in the front yard. "So... welcome home."

[abrightboy]

Guests. They could have guests. He doesn't know who that would be, but it's there.

He leans against Neal for the car ride, clutching the keys so tightly in his hand that when they reach the house and he unclenches his fist, they're imprinted in his palm.

He holds them out for Neal.

"Do I get a tour?"

[conning]

Neal doesn't take the keys, instead guiding Malcolm toward the front door. "Of course. You do the honors."

This was supposed to be more of a surprise. It was supposed to be coupled with that other thing that Tim so clearly saw. He'll have to pivot, figure out a new lead-in. It was necessary and worth it to reveal this early.

The front door is as bright blue as the shutters.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm goes to put the key in the lock, then pauses and looks sidelong up at Neal.

"I like the colours," he says, then turns his attention back to unlocking the door. It swings open and he steps tentatively inside, like he's somewhere he's not supposed to be, but looks around with active interest.

[conning]

"I hoped you would."

He follows Malcolm inside, into a bright, airy space with hardwood floors and a tidy, rustic kitchen that he's been slowly populating with nice, affordable--often gently used--furniture. Estate sales and auctions are a many-splendored thing. Once Malcolm has seen the downstairs, which is almost one continuous open room sans the half-bath, Neal leads him upstairs.

More hardwood. Three bedrooms, two of them smaller, one of those with purple walls. The third room is the master bedroom, and Neal is midway through creating an elaborate geometric mural with soundproofing tiles in cool colors. A large window looks out at the snow-covered street, the lingering holiday lights not yet turned on. "This one's ours."

His excitement has given way to nervousness.

[abrightboy]

Neal calls it 'ours' and for a second, Malcolm can't breathe.

After a moment, he remembers how lungs work and he takes a shaky breath, tearing his gaze from the room to Neal's face, his eyes wide again, like when he first brought it up at dinner.

"Ours. You said 'ours'."

[conning]

His stomach turns over. Did he say something wrong? Did he give himself away? What did he do?

"Yes...?"

[abrightboy]

“I’ve never lived in an ‘ours’ with anyone,” Malcolm explains awkwardly. Does that make him sound like a total loser? “It’s…” He looks around the room. “That was for other people,” he murmurs. He looks at Neal. “When can we move here?”

[conning]

Relief washes through him and he smiles. "Soon. I want to finish with the paneling and we need an actual bed, but. Soon."

[abrightboy]

“Can I help? Can I find a bed? I can find a bed,” he rambles stepping over to the nearest partly panelled wall and reaching out to touch it very carefully, like he’s afraid he’ll break it. “How long does paneling take? Do we have to tell ADI when we’re going?”

[conning]

Neal's smile turns into a grin. "Yes. Yes you can."

He steps into the room and takes Malcolm into his arms. "I assume we have to tell them so they know about available space."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm wraps his arms around him.

“How did you do this?”

Money is such a finite asset here and he’s never known how to make it or use it effectively, trust fund baby that he is.