This is the sequel of my other Rayne/Malcolm story, though it's mostly friendship. But worry not, I'm planning on several one-shoots of moments that narrate their story. You'll get romance.
DISCLAIMER: I think nothing has changed since the last time.
WARNING: Still OOC, mostly friendship, and an important lack of romantic actions.
The coffee in her hands is probably cold by now, but she finds herself not caring. For the first time in many years, she allows herself to relax and not worry about every stupid little thing, like a cup of cold coffee.
She stares at the wall in front of her, the awful peach tone already burned into her mind, giving her a sense of familiarity she hasn't felt for a long time (until now), like slipping into an old jacket you lost years ago and found recently.
Yeah. Life is better now.
It's only been six weeks since she found out that Malcolm, her best friend's brother -the guy that ran away after his graduation- lived in New York too. And well, she isn't even sure they are friends, but they don't have anyone else near -or anywhere-, so they spend all their free time together. Not that she minds much, the company could be much worse.
They hang out so often that it has come to the point where Malcolm spends the night at her house sometimes.
"It's more comfortable than mine," he'd say. "Besides, it's closer to the school."
Reyna knows that's not the real reason, but she always lets it go. She suspects Malcolm craves affection, and sleeping in her couch probably makes him feel like he belongs. Besides, she needs some human interaction too (not like she'll ever admit it). They make their arrangement work. He'll spend most of the nights in her house, while she will always make sure to put as much effort as she can in their conversations because, let's be honest, she isn't very good in that area.
The soft sound of bare feet against the cold marble floor makes her smile unconsciously. After a few days, she knows the sound of Malcolm's steps better than her own name.
Suddenly, a pair of lips are pressed against her right cheek and an arm is around her shoulders. She found out that, even if they aren't dating, Malcolm is a sucker for physical contact.
If a month ago, someone told her how often she would hold hands with an almost stranger, she'd have punched them square in the face.
But this is Malcolm. And, somehow, it's different with him.
"Good morning, Rey," he mutters against her skin, his breath warm and familiar.
"Morning, Malcolm." Even if she's always trying to not suck at light talk, it's still too early to think about what she's supposed to say.
"So I assume you're not in the mood to talk this morning," he announced, stepping back. Reyna hears the sounds Malcolm always does when he's trying to prepare breakfast -he isn't really what you call a 'silent person'-, along with a song he hums under his breath. "Coffee? I'm sure yours is cold by now."
"Please."
And just like that, they fall into their routine. Reyna sips her coffee lazily immediately after Malcolm offers it to her, too lost in her own thoughts to do anything else, and Malcolm glances at her from the corner of his eyes when he thinks she doesn't notice (but she does, she always does) while he stuffs his scrambled eggs or his toasts or his bacon into his mouth.
At first, Reyna tensed up under the weigh of his gaze -old habits die hard, she guesses-, but now is but another essential part of her daily life.
"You know, I never thanked you for what you did," Malcolm's voice suddenly pierces the air.
Reyna has never been a morning person. There wasn't a day she didn't complain about waking up early when she was little. If she were, she would have wiped her head to the side and glared at Malcolm until he explained what he meant.
But, instead, she blinks slowly and tries to focus her gaze on the pale figure of Malcolm, too soft against the aggresive colour of the wall behind him.
"What?"
It's ironic, really, how a lawyer -the master of all words- can be so incapable of uttering a coherent phrase outside het job.
Malcolm starts playing with his breakfast -she resists the urge to scold him but, honestly, it's too early for that-, pushing his scrambled eggs with his fork.
"You know. For, uh, for not- for not being an, ah, an-"
"Malcolm, you've sleeping on my couch for weeks now. I though we went past the awkward state."
Her words are blurred with tiredness, but she pronounces them with conviction. If there's one thing she hates more than waking up early, is stuttering.
Malcolm looks down, ashamed.
"Thank you for sharing your umbrella. And, thank you for letting me into your life after all this time. I wasn't very... happy before, as you may know. I never felt like I belonged. I tried to run away more times than I can count, but I never went too far away. What could a kid like me do wondering around the streets of San Francisco? I could get murdered; and although I was young, I wasn't stupid enough to do that. So I just tried to suck it up and wait until I would be able to get out of there. But turns out it wasn't much better than back then."
Reyna is speechless, and not only because of the early hour. She knew that Malcolm never felt comfortable back in San Francisco. Who would? The only family he had was a sister he met when he was ten and a mother that ran away as soon as she could. Malcolm didn't have the easiest life.
"So when I saw you at the cemetery, I thought that my almost ten years alone had made effect and that I had gone insane." Reyna wonders for a second if there are tears in his eyes, but convinces herself that she's wrong. "I'm just so glad that you're here."
Suddenly, Malcolm throws himself at her, a solid mass of mucle and vulnerability, and Reyna is more lost than she has ever been. Because, Malcolm, being the older one, was the one that consoled and held her every time she felt her world falling apart.
She'll have to return the favour, she guesses.
Wrapping her arms tightly around him, she lets him bury his face in the crook of her neck.
It's awkward, and uncomfortable, but Reyna doesn't let go. She's a grown up woman, and awkwardness won't stop her from returning a favour to the only person that is still on her side.
They just stand like that for what could be seconds or centuries, the tick-tock of the clock echoing in her ears and mind, with the steady rhythm of Malcolm's heart pounding hard against her chest.
The peach colour is now a tired shade of the dull pink she always despised.
Even with strong arms around her and the calming presence of the only person that cares about her -the only one she thinks that matters-, Reyna has never been more scared. Malcolm, the big and brave Malcolm, the hero that always saved Annabeth and her from all dangers -imaginary or not-, is now in her arms, crying more than she believes physically possible.
She's holding tightly against her chest the broken pieces of a lost man, maybe hoping she will be able to put him back together.
The cadence of their mixed breaths -ragged sobs and short, distant intakes of breath- is now dancing with the rhythmic melody of the clock, and it all feels so surreal right in this instant. Suspended away from time and space, in somewhere that doesn't follow the laws of nature.
For a moment, she wonders if Malcolm's cologne is some kind of hallucinating drug.
Everything ends just so abruptly, because Malcolm is pulling back and looking at her directly in the eye.
She's sure her face shows no emotion -not that it surprises her-, but not even she knows what she feels inside.
"I'm sorry." His voice is raspy and his eyes are filled with tears. "I know it's too early for you and I just start crying like a baby when all I wanted to do was to thank you, but apparently, I'm too much of an idiot to even control what I do, and you shouldn't put up with this because you are and awesome person and I'm sorry."
Malcolm utters all those words in just one breath, crying and still too defeated to do anything that isn't sobbing and whispering apologies under his breath.
She doesn't even realize when her hands start combing his hair until Malcolm looks at her, a strange look in his eyes. Reyna Avila Ramirez-Arellano does not show affect.
(But she does now, and she doesn't care. Not if it's for Malcolm.)
"It's okay," she says, even when they both know it isn't. It's not going to change the fact that Malcolm had a shitty childhood, or that her parents are dead, or that Annabeth never received that call, or that it's just the two of them against the universe because they don't have anyone else. It's not okay.
But they can work with that.
(After all, "okay" wasn't a word that defined them.)
No more words are pronounced that day, both of them eating hurriedly their breakfast because they are late to work; the moment they shared doesn't seem to exist anymore.
When Malcolm is about to run through the door, half of his toast still in his mouth, he turns around and hugs her tighter than he ever has; and that's when Reyna knows that the moment between them wasn't in her mind and that neither of them are going to forget it.
She also learns, as she watches the running figure of Malcolm and closes the door of her flat, that yes, they are undoubtely friends.
(The cold coffee remains, long forgotten, in a kitchen that will never tell its secrets.)