Doc doesn't particularly want to be left alone again. He was fine on his own before, in whatever loose definition of 'fine' he could have gotten away with, but having Malcolm keep him company for the last little while now has lifted his spirits just a few inches away from rock bottom, enough to make him quietly crave a reprieve from his self-imposed solitude.
The old ways prevent him from saying as much and he is very much a man of the old ways. Stuck in these habits that don't allow for him to be even more vulnerable than he already has been. There is hesitation when he dries himself off, takes the clothes, and he even goes as far as letting his lips part audaciously before he breathes out through his mouth, swallows and nods.
He will be fine, on his own. As will Raylan, wherever he's wandered off to in this shit weather.
"Okay," he says simply, letting the towel stay draped over his hair so he has a fluffy, fleecy veil behind which he can hide his neediness and accords him the space not to have to make eye contact.
He'll be sitting in Malcolm's bed shortly, waiting for his hair to dry, listening to the sound of the rushing water trying to shut out those nostalgic, century-old halcyon days of fantasies drowning in the well by shaking his snowglobe and gazing into it like it's a magic 8 ball with all of life's answers hidden in the flurry of little white plastic flakes.
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The old ways prevent him from saying as much and he is very much a man of the old ways. Stuck in these habits that don't allow for him to be even more vulnerable than he already has been. There is hesitation when he dries himself off, takes the clothes, and he even goes as far as letting his lips part audaciously before he breathes out through his mouth, swallows and nods.
He will be fine, on his own. As will Raylan, wherever he's wandered off to in this shit weather.
"Okay," he says simply, letting the towel stay draped over his hair so he has a fluffy, fleecy veil behind which he can hide his neediness and accords him the space not to have to make eye contact.
He'll be sitting in Malcolm's bed shortly, waiting for his hair to dry, listening to the sound of the rushing water trying to shut out those nostalgic, century-old halcyon days of fantasies drowning in the well by shaking his snowglobe and gazing into it like it's a magic 8 ball with all of life's answers hidden in the flurry of little white plastic flakes.