Neal watches the door shut at Raylan's back. Wants to go after him. Apologize. Punch him again. Both. Ten minutes ago he'd been terrified that Raylan would never look at him the same way he had before seeing that moment, and now...
Now, he knows he won't be able to come downstairs once Raylan comes back without trying to hit him again. And that won't do anything but make Malcolm want to know why.
You're in love with Malcolm too, aren't you.
Neal seizes a lamp from the side table, a wordless yell of frustration bursting out of him as he yanks on it hard enough to split the cord from the body of the lamp with a fit of sparks. Then he throws it. Hard.
It smashes against the wall next to the fireplace, rains ceramic and broken bulb onto the floor, but it's not enough. It's not enough. He can't help but think of Doc taking chunks out of that wall, of Raylan smashing windows and then setting an entire building on fire. But there's no resetting this time. No do-over, no automatic clean slate. Anything Neal wrecks in the house will stay so.
And again, people will want to know why.
"Fuck!" He shouts it, because at least it's something. "Fuck! Fuck!"
You're in love with Malcolm too, aren't you.
He drops onto the couch, bracing his elbows against his knees and digging his hands into his hair.
You're in love with Malcolm too, aren't you.
"Fuck," Neal whispers, and lets his head drop to his knees, curling around himself like that will make that not-really-a-question go away.
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Now, he knows he won't be able to come downstairs once Raylan comes back without trying to hit him again. And that won't do anything but make Malcolm want to know why.
You're in love with Malcolm too, aren't you.
Neal seizes a lamp from the side table, a wordless yell of frustration bursting out of him as he yanks on it hard enough to split the cord from the body of the lamp with a fit of sparks. Then he throws it. Hard.
It smashes against the wall next to the fireplace, rains ceramic and broken bulb onto the floor, but it's not enough. It's not enough. He can't help but think of Doc taking chunks out of that wall, of Raylan smashing windows and then setting an entire building on fire. But there's no resetting this time. No do-over, no automatic clean slate. Anything Neal wrecks in the house will stay so.
And again, people will want to know why.
"Fuck!" He shouts it, because at least it's something. "Fuck! Fuck!"
You're in love with Malcolm too, aren't you.
He drops onto the couch, bracing his elbows against his knees and digging his hands into his hair.
You're in love with Malcolm too, aren't you.
"Fuck," Neal whispers, and lets his head drop to his knees, curling around himself like that will make that not-really-a-question go away.