People didn’t kiss him like that. That was the kind of thing that El and Peter did, that casual brush like a tiny affirmation. People made out with Neal Caffrey, the pretty face and the flirt. First kisses were always an affair, with him, that kind of contact made safe with repetition. Neal’s relationship with touch, with intimacy, wasn’t as healthy as he would’ve liked to believe. The stronger he felt, the more he cared, the better (or worse) the odds of him giving himself over physically because he wasn’t sure what else to do.

He would have been fine with Malcolm’s gesture if not for the rest of this conversation. If not for the way Malcolm had looked at him when he said Neal had a choice in who he wanted to be.

He didn’t hear Malcolm’s question. He was busy chasing the shorter man’s lips, pressing his mouth to Malcolm’s, noting absently how long it had been since he kissed a man.

Neal draws back after a moment, two things striking him at once, his stomach dropping.

He just kissed his housemate.

He just betrayed Daisy, without even stopping to think about it.

He just kissed his housemate. Suddenly, Neal was glad he hadn’t moved all his things over from the boarding house.

Daisy was at the boarding house.

Neal looked directly into Malcolm’s eyes, his own huge. “...Shit.”