@dyadeth noted: ❝ everyone hides who they are at least some of the time. ❞
a hum leaves Malcolm’s throat, through lips pressed shut. a soft sound ; it still pierces the still air, though the quality of it remains indescribable ( a thoughtful sound? disagreement? or, perhaps, more surprising yet, agreement? )
the crystal glass in his hand tips slightly, its contents licking up the sides in waves of amber and gold, as he sets it down. he’s slightly drunk, alcohol and sugar on his tongue, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. but when he turns to face him, his gaze is clear of any fog. unblinking. the silence stretches between them like an elastic, up to its snapping point. ( Malcolm refuses to blink. but he still does, eventually. the body is but a biological instrument, limited by its components. needs must. )
“ well. people do not always meet others in order to reveal their true selves, ” he replies eventually, a white finger tracing the rim of the glass, his gaze tracing circles around it. ( even if they did, what then? people love to place others in categorized boxes, preordained mental slots. they decide who you are upon first impressions, and then grow alarmed if you do not fit into their mental schemes. there is a power in that, however. shape how they think, determine what that mental image is – control it, and it’s clear sailing. ) “ although that is something you already know. ”
