Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The fear motive challenge was something Mal had been expecting for a while. He wasn’t particularly worried about it,  given he had been excessively careful not to reveal any information about weaknesses in the past seasons. 

Some of the others had gone already- Gwen’s had been a bit different then the last time, as she ended up buried alive but with a snorkel to breathe. Mal supposed they had to step it up a bit, given the first season and fourth season they had already used the “burying her alive” trick.

Hebichi’s had been a mix of a few basic phobias- obviously, she also hadn’t shared her fears with the group, so Chris had to resort to defaults. Putting a tarantula on her neck (really? This was Hebichi, after all. She enjoyed having reptiles crawl all over her, a spider was just stereotypical), putting her inside a dark coffin, having her stick her hands into mud. Hebichi had stayed calm the whole time, only getting a little repulsed by the muddy part of the challenge.

Next had gone Alejandro, who got berated by his brother over the TV live in front of the other campers. Alejandro had mainly kept his composure- Mal could tell he was more embarrassed and upset about the whole thing than actually scared. He hadn’t missed how Hebichi tensed up when Alejandro had gone up, though. How classic, that her first response of fear had been when her boyfriend-friend-ally (Mal didn’t really know what they were supposed to be and didn’t care) was put in potential harm. He noted that down as something for later.  When Alejandro was done, he went back to Hebichi, who took his hand and whispered something to him Mal couldn’t hear. It seemed to soothe him, whatever it was, and Mal resisted a sigh. It would have been fun to see what messing with Alejandro’s frayed nerves would be like- then again, it wouldn’t have been a great idea. It wasn’t like he had many allies in this game anyways- Chris had foiled that when he revealed him as Mal right away. It was a shame too, he probably could have imitated Mike again and gotten away with it. It wasn’t like Mike was original enough for people to miss, after all- if no one recognized Mike was gone, what right did they have to get mad when they found out it was him? It was their fault for being so weak and Mike’s for being so..pathetic.

He tuned out one of Chris’s dramatic monologues again- he wasn’t saying anything important. Eventually, when he heard his name, he focused once more and went up to see what Chris had in store for him.

…The host was grinning an unusual amount. It was a sad attempt to intimidate him. As if Mal hadn’t seen and used every trick in the book. He sighed, staring Chris down.

“Let’s get this over with, shall we? So, what will my challenge be.”

“Wellllll, you, Mal, will be going in a box!”

That was all? He masked a scoff and nodded, already starting to walk over. Before he had quite reached the box, though, Chris stopped him with a black piece of fabric in his hand.

“I’m not done, dude! Not cool. You have to wear this blindfold, and you can’t come out before I tell you to unless you call uncle. Got it?”

Mal nodded- Chris was transparent. Refusing to tell him how long he would be in the box was a tactic designed to make him nervous- what, did Chris expect him to start shaking at being left in the dark for some scary undefined number of minutes? Mal was the one who haunted other’s nighttime fears and dreams, a little bit of DARKNESS wasn’t going to scare him. Chris had had all season last time to learn about Mal, and he was still pathetically underestimating him.

He stayed still for the blindfold, then regretted it as Chris walked away to mess with the box. He moved towards where it had been, and realized a moment later that Chris had moved behind him.

“Do you mind showing me where the box is?” He grumbled, turning his head towards where he thought Chris was.

“Sure thing buddy!”

Chris’s overly cheerful tone hit him right before the shove, and without his sight to keep his balance, Mal went toppling forwards, grunting as he hit his shins on the box and scraped his hands on the bottom. His shins and hands stung, and Mal really hoped he hadn’t ended up with splinters from the wood. That would be remarkably annoying.

He rolled over and delivered a sarcastic “Thanks” to Chris, and then the light shining through his blindfold and eyelids went dark with the thump of the wooden lid.

The box wasn’t big- he didn’t have enough room to sit up, just to try and raise his torso a bit and hit his head. With a groan, Mal laid back down. A claustrophobic box, how original.

Then the thumping sounded, of a…hammer? Were they seriously hammering him in here? It was a bit overkill, wasn’t it. Still, it didn’t bother him. He’d done worse (and had worse done to him, but he wasn’t going to think about that). Chris shouldn’t have chosen the juvie kid for the claustrophobia challenge.

When Chris began laughing, Mal got a bit unsettled. Then he got irritated he had fallen for such a basic trick- evil laughter? Really?

And yet, some part of him still felt off balanced. There was nothing he was missing from this equation, was there? There couldn’t be.

And then the grating of wood was heard again, and something in the lid opened up.

“So, Mal! There’s actually a surprise part to this challenge. Have fun, and remember that all eyes are on you!”

Mal didn’t bother trying to squirm into a position where he could see whatever was happening- he didn’t have enough room for that.

Something scraped the wood, like it was being lowered in. Next came a click, like that of an unlatched box- and then out poured a pile of something that felt weirdly full of poky bits onto his stomach.

Then they start moving. Mal started to feel uncomfortable- they’re bugs. With a lot of legs. Centipedes? Some of them skitter off him, crawling off to who knows where- the walls, probably. Some crawl down to sit on his pants or shoulders. Soon enough, the prickly little legs and slick shells falling on him chill his blood.

It’s a coincidence, only that. Bugs are a normal fear. Mal isn’t afraid of them, that would be weak and pathetic. They’re just.. disgusting. That’s what it is, yes. He’s only repulsed by them.

How long is he supposed to be stuck in here again? Mal doesn’t remember. Oh right, Chris didn’t tell him. Has this box always been so small, his breathing so loud?

Everything was dark, and he couldn’t get out. Mal shifted and one of the roaches crunched under his shoulder, forcing a pathetic noise out of him that he decided he was never going to think about again. 

Breathe, yes, breathe. He’s stronger, scarier, smarter. This was different. This was a challenge to win the game, for control and money. He wasn’t sneaking up the stairs late at night, listening to his parents yell, stepping on something disgusting and yelping and then there’d be a pause and a yell and stomping and-

Mal will not stoop to such a pathetic level. Chris’s challenge will not get to him. To be afraid is pathetic. The others would be scared about this. He is above their level, right? So he needs to stop thinking. He is in control. In control of part of it.

This is ridiculous. He is ridiculous, and Mal reminds himself to breathe, to calm down, he’ll get out of here and take a shower. He’s in control of this as long as he stays calm. He’ll win this challenge, and enjoy the luxuries of his team in first place. So this is fine. Really, this is fine. He’s better than this, stronger than this.

He can’t get out.

It’s a thought that creeps into his mind and makes his lungs feel tight. Mal is not in control of the situation- no, no, he’s in control of himself. Chris can’t leave him in here for that long… he’d starve after two weeks or so. But anytime between now and then was technically an option, as unlikely as it was.

No it wasn’t. The challenge would be finished by the end of the day. They couldn’t just leave him here while the others continued to compete- that wouldn’t be fair. One team would be at a disadvantage they had not earned. That had to be against the rules, right?

Mal breathes slower, keeps his eyes shut because it’s useless to try and see in the dark. 

Then, one the reprehensible creatures runs up into his shirt, and Mal is almost certain he bit his lip hard enough to split it. He’s shaking- he hates that. They’re scurrying around and there’s nothing to be done and Mal can’t breathe in this small space.

Locked alone in the dark in a box teemed with roaches. One scampers along his neck and he swears it’s in his hair, and Mal tries not to shudder but a shaky little breath too similar to a sob escapes him.

No. He will not cry, not with the others outside. Are they even outside? Do they know what’s happening? Has he been left alone? Can they hear him? 

He feels sick to his stomach, something in his chest is tightening up. Being scared is being pathetic and weak, crying is pathetic and weak, he is…he is…he is…

He is pathetic and weak, failing at the simple task of controlling himself just like back then .

Mal’s eyes are wet, and his body itches with hundreds of little legs crawling on his skin, some phantom, some real. 

This is pathetic. He’s childish. He should be above this, but he’s not. He hates his weakness. He hates the way he’s tensing up to hide from a fight. He hates the wetness on his cheeks that he can’t understand. He hates the fact he’s powerless again, weak again, when he promised himself- he hates himself.

Mal feels disgusting, and utterly worthless. The next roach against his bare skin triggers a cry he can no longer hide, and then Mal realizes with horror that the others can hear him. They’ll be able to hear him. Did they hear him? 

It’s the thought of the humiliation, of the hard work lost and his reputation shattered on national tv that makes Mal tremble. Is he being recorded right now?

That thought brings a mortified sob from him, and Mal chews his lip to stop.

A speaker crackles, and Chris’s voice cuts in. Mal breathes a sigh of relief- it’s ove-

“Hey Mal! Enjoying the family time in there, buddy?”

There’s no way he knows, and yet it hits too close to home. Chris is only calling him a roach, right, not…not…

“Say hi to your dad for me!”

His shallow breathing becomes unbearable, the tears boil over. How did he know? How did he learn? Who told him? It wasn’t Mal. Why is this happening to HIM? His plans were crashing down, just because some stupid Tv show host had decided to fucking humiliate him on camera. It wasn’t FAIR. He HATED Chris.

One torn sob escaped him, then another, and to his horror they wouldn’t stop. His chest heaved as he gasped for air, the only noise in the awful box his crying and WERE PEOPLE LAUGHING OUTSIDE? LAUGHING AT HIM THEY WERE LAUGHING AT HIM-

-and it wasn’t FAIR and he was BETTER then them and it was all because of Chris, stupid, stupid Chris cackling and saying things that Mal could no longer understand between his sobs and the ringing in his head. He shook against the wall, eventually bringing his hand up and pressed his wrist to his mouth. It only muffled him a bit- his cries went to hiccups and choked sounds. He would have bit down, but he was almost certain there had been at least one roach to scamper across there.

Chapter Text

He thinks he’s going to lose it. How long has it been? The raspy breathing filling his coffin, the brief laughter that he’s not sure is coming from outside his head, the disgusting creatures scampering all over him and-

“Man, the audience is gonna eat this up! The Malevolent one, reduced to a crying wreck!”

He was going to scream, he couldn’t, he was going to kill Chris he was going to-

“This isn’t a phobia challenge anymore. Time’s up.”

“Hey, you can’t just ruin the fun like that- HEY! Don’t LISTEN to her!-“

There was a creaking, and then a crack of light. The vermin scampered out of it’s reach, some brushing past him, and then the lid was cracked open by Chef and the blindfold pulled off.

Mal didn’t move, blinking in the light. Tears still stuck to his cheeks, the disgusting creatures still on him.

“Buzzkill!!”

Mal hugged his knees and ducked his head, desperate to avoid the gaze of the others as someone stepped forwards.

“Hey, he’s not so scary anymore,” went someone’s nasally voice, and Mal saw red . How DARE he.

“YOU SHUT UP. I’LL KILL YOU! I’LL BASH YOUR STUPID, THICK HEAD IN WITH A ROCK SO EVERYONE CAN SEE HOW HOLLOW YOUR OVERSIZED SKULL IS AND HOW THIN YOUR BRAINS ARE!”

He just about threw himself out of the box, only to realize everyone could see him and the bugs were still on him and-

-and-

-and-

everyone could see him and they were looking at him, some amused, some surprised, some smug and he HATED it, hated the way they were looking at him so differently and he couldn’t speak or else he would cry and crying in front of them made him want to gouge his eyes out, and he COULDN’T-

Mal turned tail and ran, straight into the forest. The world blurred around him, tears turning objects into a smear of color.

He runs and runs and runs and the branches tear at him and he claws at the scampering bugs on him and he can barely see, can’t hear apart from his own labored breaths- and then something catches his leg and he pitches forwards, shrieking, the ground looms up and-

“Gotcha.”

-stops. The fabric of his shirt digs into his neck and legs scamper over him as the bugs still cling to him.

He’s pulled upright and sees a smear of white, purple, and gray when he turns. Hebichi.

“Wh..what are YOU doing?”

He hides the fear behind a glare, barely able to meet her gaze. Mal is filled with loathing- for her, for himself, for being in this situation and being vulnerable. He hates that she followed him, hates that she found him, hates that she caught him. Why did she follow him? To laugh at him? Watch him cry more? What does she want?

Hebichi only looks at him blankly, then clears her throat.

“You ran away.”

She looks over him, taking in his messy hair, tear-stained cheeks, the crushed bugs on his clothes and the ones still on him.

His lip is bleeding.

“Take off your shirt,” Hebichi tells him, in perhaps the flattest tone he’s ever heard, and a knot of revulsion builds inside him. He takes a staggering step, looking in the woods around them- they’re all alone, he feels sick.

“W-why?” He questions, stalling.

“You still have roaches on you. You want them off, correct? Besides, it’s all..stained. You can have my hoodie instead. If you want.”

His shoulders slump ever so slightly, and Mal loses the tenseness of an animal ready to flee. He doesn’t want her help, he doesn’t need her help, but in the end, Mal does as she says. He wants the roaches OFF him, they’re disgusting to the touch, and his own state makes him feel maddened. So he drops his shirt on the ground and tries not to shrink away from the cool air and his multitude of scars being bared. Hebichi quickly plucks the bugs off him, flicking them to the ground- although Mal has to fight the urge to snap at her through tears when one of them scampers up his back and runs around for a few seconds on him.

..He supposes he’s grateful she didn’t crush it against his skin. She pulls back then, and in a very choked voice, Mal asks her to wait.

“-some of them..ran around on my neck and near my hair-”
“I see. Don’t worry, then.”

Hebichi combs through his hair while he slumps, arms crossed against his chest in a sorry attempt to hide the symmetrical scars there. When she pulls back without finding anything, Mal breathes a sigh of relief, then snarls at the gesture. He shifts uncomfortably as she pulls her hoodie off, and wastes no time in putting it on to cover himself up, still trying to shrink out of her gaze.

He should be more angry at Hebichi, but all he really feels is disappointment and disgust towards himself for accepting her help. He wants to hurt her, to scare her, but he remembers how that went last time and that only makes him feel more pathetic and helpless.

Hebichi leads him to a log and sits down with him, and Mal doesn’t fight her the way he should when she touches his arm.

“Are you alright?”
He glares back at her, unwilling to speak. He knows his voice will come out raspy and weak. He knows he’ll be giving her more ammunition, he knows he’ll be ruining things further (and how is he supposed to pick up everything how? No matter how many people he hurts, this will be remembered. He had spent so long working on everyone, ensuring he was in control and he was scary enough that no one could mess with him, and now look what he would be remembered for.)

“I thought you’d like to know, Chris got that whole information through retrieving your- well, Mike’s therapy notes.”

Mal had never spoken to the therapists- did this mean one of the others had told them?
Someone had betrayed him, one of the other alters? One that remembered things, and Mal’s gut twisted and he felt hurt despite himself. He hated all of them, but one of them had ended up betraying him and now Chris had-

“You know, you could probably sue him for that.”
Mal looks up at Hebichi, and struggles to find his words. She blurs before his eyes once again and Mal feels like screaming.

“-What?”
“It’s not legal for a therapist to share that sort of classified information. You could probably sue the therapist, at least. Chris might get away with it.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I thought it might make you feel better.”

He glares at her, pulls himself away.

“What, do you think you’ll learn something useful about me through this? Do you think doing this makes you a good person? I don’t NEED anyone’s help, much less yours.”

“I figured you’d want revenge, or something. It’s some form of it.”

“I don’t NEED revenge on some stupid, stupid therapist, I need to hurt Chris!”
He wants to destroy whatever that stupid old man cares about, to break him down and publicly broadcast it and maybe stab him a bit while he’s at that-

“Then move on.”

He glares at her, and Hebichi doesn’t seem phased.

“I don’t need to move on, I’m not bothered by it-”
“Yes you are. You’re mad at Chris. Perfectly understandable, but he’s a sadistic fucking bastard who likes that sort of thing. What YOU need to do is go back. Act like nothing ever happened, right? Punch anyone who tries to bring it up, scare them back into docility or whatever you like to do. Maybe even suck up to Chris a bit or something. Record the shit he does. If you win the show, you can turn on him and use some of that money for an exposition lawsuit, because I can guarantee there’s a ton of shit he has to hide. Like his ‘fondness’ for Lindsay. If you get voted off, expose whatever dirt you manage to get on him. Destroy his reputation. That’s a more effective strategy than allowing your hurt feelings to let him win.”

Mal stares at her, fists balled.
It makes sense, and yet he’s overcome with the urge to scratch and hit her until she stops speaking so CALMLY to him, and it’s not like he CARES if she values his feelings but he doesn’t want this “patience” bullshit, Mal wants a solution and revenge NOW.

She reaches out to him, tugs him closer with an arm and Mal lashes out, tearing at her skin with his nails.
“Get OFF me, leave me alone, I’ll-”

“Mal. Calm down.”

She’s still as calm as ever, ignoring the red leaking lines in her flesh and Mal is so angry, so so mad that his feelings do nothing and-

“I understand that you’re mad. It’s difficult to be calm, right?”
He goes limp in her arms, trembling, and this time Hebichi lifts him into her lap with ease, strong arms wrapping around him and his thin waist.

“See? It’s alright. You’re good. Just relax.”

Mal’s not going to admit it helps. Not going to tell her.

…The knot in his stomach loosens a bit, as a lump forms in his throat.

“Why does it matter to you, anyways? What do you care?”

He’s supposed to be accusing, but instead he sounds raspy and awful.

Hebichi blinks at him, then clears her throat.

“I already know what you sound like, you know. You can speak normally.”

“This IS my normal voice!”
She shrugs, then leans in on his back.

“I don’t hate you, you know.”

“That doesn’t mean you care about me.”

He’s nearly buckling under her weight- everything’s foreign and strange and he feels scared and angry and tired and soothed and none of it makes sense, and that distresses him further and-

“You’re right. I just do not.. Think what was done to you was deserved.”

Mal chuckles, a sardonic sound.
“You wish. I’ve done horrible things you could never dream of.”
“I severely doubt that, Mal, but very well.”

“It’s true. Part of the reason I never talked to that therapist, you know. People all love to help the wicked until it turns out the evil one feels no remorse. Then you’re written off, unfixable, insane, because everyone pretends to be a good person until they meet someone born twisted like me.”

Hebichi looks down at him, then hums.

“I don’t believe that-”

“-You SHOULD.”

“-that you were simply born this way.”

“Then you’re wrong.”
“Am I, Mal? If you were simply born lacking the empathy people felt, Mike would be just like you. You’re in his body, after all. And yet, all of the other alter’s defining qualities are based on feeling , are they not? You feel things just like everyone else.”

“-So now you want to play therapist?” His face feels hot, his eyes filling up once again. Mal is angry again, so angry, and almost agonizingly embarrassed by the fact he can’t control his tears (it’s just like him to make the mistake of talking to someone only for them to turn against him, again, again, again-)

“No. However, while it’s uncommon for someone like you to have simply always been that way, there’s a variety of reasons why you could be like this. Coping mechanisms are quite common, and perhaps you’ve simply been this ever since you were young, and that’s why it’s the only thing you’ve ever remembered being like.”

He sniffles, looking down at the ground, and Hebichi’s chin rests on his messy hair.

“I doubt that whoever told the therapist whatever caused you to develop that phobia of roaches had harmful intentions. They likely only wanted to better understand you.”

“I’ll destroy them.”

“No you won’t. You don’t have that ability.”

Hebichi sighs, and Mal trembles against her, filled with frustration and hurt and hatred and sorrow.

After a quiet moment, he leans back against her.

“So what do you want. I know..that you’re doing this for something.”

“I’m not.”

“You ARE.”

“No, Mal, I’m not. I just..didn’t want you to be left alone.”

“That’s not true. People don’t care about me. I’m all messy and fucked up, remember? I like lighting things on fire. I like hurting people.”

“If you were evil, you wouldn’t care about that.”
Hebichi is sturdy against him, and she tightens her arms to be more snug around Mal’s waist. He’s light against her, his breathing fluttery and..frail.

“Do you not want to believe people don’t hate you? Do you feel as though you deserve to be hated?”
Mal stiffens as though he’s been struck, and Hebichi tilts her head, noticing the obviously flayed nerve.

“Do you convince yourself you are evil because people don’t care about you, or do you decide to be evil so people won’t care about you? Is that what you are afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid of anything.”

Mal’s voice is thick with anger- and Hebichi takes the obvious lie in stride with only a slight sigh and her fingers nestling into his hair.

“Alright. Well, just because you think yourself to be horrible doesn’t mean you don’t deserve companionship or care.”
And Mal can’t even contradict her, because he’d never admit the disgust he carries within himself for every little slip up, every mistake, every show of weakness like this one now.

He sinks into her, her broad shoulders and her strong arms, and he thinks he might cry.

“-Do you want to talk about why you’re scared of roaches?”

“I’m not scared of them.”

“I mean, why you don’t like them.”

“…”

He doesn’t want to, and yet a part of him just..feels compelled to. It’s a stupid, self destructive urge.

“-I used to see a lot of them at home. I ended up pretty grossed out by them.”

That says more than he’s willing to tell- Hebichi, he’s sure, can infer a great deal of the rest.

She softens a bit, gently turning him around in her lap so she can look at him. Mal doesn’t meet her eyes.
Hebichi pulls him in, surprisingly gently as she cradles him in her arms. Mal’s chin rests on her shoulder, and he closes his eyes when she places a hand on his head.

“I’m sorry. Your reaction is a perfectly normal one.”

She traces little circles on his back, and Mal lets out a shuddery gasp, ducking his head to wipe the rest of his tears off on her hoodie. For a moment he only shakes against her, and then, hesitantly, Mal’s hands come up to cling to her.

Hebichi doesn’t stop him, instead quietly murmuring to him. Eventually, Mal’s shaking stills.

“Better?”, she asks, and Mal can’t bring himself to answer further than pressing his face closer into her shoulder.

“You want to go take a shower now?”

“...Yeah.” He whispers, voice hoarse.

“Alright.”

He scoots off of her, and Hebichi picks up his shirt to carry to the wash. They walk back in silence, until Mal stops her before he enters the showers.

“-Hebichi?”
“Yes?”
“You won’t..tell anyone, right? About the..”

She tilts her head at him, and Mal wonders if he’s giving her the information on accident.

“The scars? No, I won’t. Although..if you are embarrassed about them being shown, you should probably know that in the fourth season, Vito fronted a few times. So..people saw.”

“-Oh.”

Mal winces just a little, and Hebichi shrugs.

“There’s still multiple reasons people have those, though. You could claim a medical condition, or tattoos.”

“...Hebichi?”
“Yes?
“...”

Mal finds himself pausing, the words hard to get out.

“-Thank you.”

She smiles at him, eyes gentle.

“It’s nothing. You…don’t let Chris get to you, okay?”
He nods, and then walks inside.

Chapter Text

Mal turned on the shower and stepped in, keeping the water as hot as he could bare. The memory of little legs scampering over him made him shudder, and he was quick to start washing away that memory. He scrubbed at his own skin till it was nearly raw, rinsing off in the water and then scrubbing with soap again. Then he washed his hair as thoroughly as he could, standing under the water with his skin burning. 

Eventually, Mal felt..not quite clean, but he knew that he was, so he turned off the water and dried himself off. The heat of the water stayed with him even then, and Mal wrapped himself in a towel. Upon a quick glance around to ensure he was alone, Mal realized fresh clothes had been dropped up for him right inside the door to the communal washroom.

…He was guessing it was Hebichi, and even if he didn’t really like that idea, it was better than putting the roachy clothes back on. 

Mal got dressed and dried off his hair as best as he could relatively quickly, reluctant to pick up his own dirty clothes. Eventually, he opted to use Hebichi’s hoodie as a sort of glove, since no roaches had touched it. He felt a little bad, but he had worn it after the roaches ran all over him anyway, so it should have been washed either way. Mal left, then, doing his best to avoid anyone who might be there as he headed to the laundry. When he dropped the clothes into the piles, Chris announced his team had won the challenge.

Mal headed to the spa hotel pretty quickly- they hadn’t been penalized for campers who had completed their challenge leaving afterwards, it seemed, and if it was open he wanted to get to his room before he could run into anyone else and have to deal with them. Despite talking to Hebichi, Mal still felt..sickened by the idea of having to confront what had happened. He walks through the halls, glancing around to make sure the other campers haven’t poured in yet, and-

“Hey.”

He turns, seeing her again, and Hebichi moves up to catch up to him with a plate and a glass.

“I figured you wouldn’t want to come back down to eat,” she tells him by way of explanation, and Mal hesitantly takes the items from her. She follows him anyways, up to the room he claimed as his when they won, and Mal, for some reason, doesn’t stop her. He also, for some reason, doesn’t stop her when she follows him in through the door.

“Here,” Hebichi offers, holding out a black leather jacket. Mal pauses, looks at it, not quite sure what she wants him to do with it.

“-I figured you might want it. Uh, if it’ll fit you.”

It dawns upon Mal, and after a moment, he takes the jacket, sets it down on his bed where he sits.

It’s probably too big for him, but the gesture is..nice. Maybe. He’s still not sure why exactly Hebichi was doing this for him. Still, at least he has something…similar to his own preferred wardrobe on hand now.

Hebichi still hasn’t left. She stands in front of him, and after a moment, Mal clears his throat. He’d like her to leave- he thinks- but for some reason what comes out of his raspy throat is “Would you like a seat?”, and now Hebichi’s sitting beside him and he feels strange.

Her presence brings its own sort of weight. He feels it draped across him like a blanket, and he feels..odd. Sort of fuzzy, foggy in his chest. Her being so close reminds him of her arms wrapped around him, and his much more unpleasant weakness in the woods.

He’s not sure if he believes her over what she said, about why she went after him, why she talked to him. But when he tries to summon up irritation at her, anger at her for presuming to follow him and stay and what she said before, the only thing in him is hollowness. He’s not mad at her, and he can’t work himself up to be for some reason.

His food sits untouched on the desk- Mal isn’t really hungry. At the same time, he feels..odd at the thought of Hebichi watching him sit there and ignore it, so he reaches out for the glass and sips at the cool water, his eyes tilting to the side to glance at Hebichi for some strange reason. 

He still feels her eyes on him, so slowly he reaches out to set the water back and takes the place of food, shifting his shoulders just a bit as he avoided eye contact. He looked down at the food and the utensils, picking up a fork, prodding at the plate, then setting it back down. There were rolls brought along, so he hesitantly takes one- his hands still don’t feel quite clean even though he washed them- and bites into the bread. It tastes good. Hebichi is still there beside him, her body warming the air around them.

Her hand comes to rest on his shoulder, and he startles, then shudders a bit, glancing over to look at her and then look away, down at the half eaten roll. He tries to ignore it, tries to ignore the way her hand makes him tense up and squirm inside. He knows her hands are clean, and yet he swears he can just..feel the echoes of the roaches where they touched their hands.

“How are you holding up?”

Hebichi’s voice is soft, and when he dares a glance up from his bread, he finds her eyes on his in an oddly soft way. It makes him feel weird, scrunched up and loose at the same time inside his chest.

He glances away, and tingles prick down his neck. He can still see her looking at him through his peripheral vision.

“..Fine.”

It’s not really true, but…

“Alright.”

Her hand rests on his shoulder still. She doesn’t pull back, and she doesn’t leave.

…Mal knows she knows he’s lying. But he can’t pull himself to shrug her off, and he can’t get angry at her. If he keeps pushing the issue, he’ll seem like more of a liar. The fact Hebichi is just being patronizing, though..

It feels strange. She thinks he’s weak. She knows he’s weak. Mal doesn’t have anything to say, though, so he just sits there with her. They both know what he said wasn’t true, which might be why Hebichi is still there. It makes him wonder if she means it, what she says.

She doesn’t necessarily care for him, but she cares about what happened and doesn’t want him to be alone. That’s what Hebichi said. Mal..doesn’t know if he believes it or not.

Warmth spreads out from her hand on his shoulder, and he shivers a little at the tingling, warming creep up his neck. Hebichi draws him closer, then, and he can hear his heartbeat and his breathing as her shoulder bumps against his.

He finishes the roll. 

The silence is near suffocating, but it’s all warm and fuzzy and his shoulder pulses with the beats of Hebichi’s blood.