Absolutely Lovely
"Married," Malakai marveled aloud, an odd smile playing over his face as they walked toward the tall stairs. "You don't seem the type."
Carlisle ignored his remarks and led him upstairs to his office. Shelves of books wrapped around the room, books not looked at for years, silently collecting dust. An intricately carved desk stood on clawed feet in the center of the room, darkened beautifully with age. The large west-facing window kept the room pleasantly warm on sunny afternoons. Carlisle offered him the leather armchair as he shut the door securely behind them. It felt strange leading Malakai around. Usually Malakai was the one dragging Carlisle everywhere: Manchester, Oxford, France, Russia, Africa once.
"She's absolutely perfect for you, of course," Malakai qualified, thumbing over the rows of books instead. Anything to delay what he knew was coming. "She's lovely. Absolutely lovely. I've never seen anything like it."
"Thank you." Carlisle sat behind his old desk, waiting for the man to run out of scapegoats. Now that he was here, Malakai couldn't find anything he wanted to talk about less. "I don't think I fully understand what you want from me, precisely. Why don't you sit down?"
Malakai sighed dramatically, dragged the only other chair across the floor, and sat it down directly in front of Carlisle's desk with a "have it your way" shrug.
He sat down. "My eyes are blue," he stated firmly as if he had just announced for the first time that the Earth was in fact round.
"Yes."
"Why are they blue?"
There was a tense moment of silence as they stared at each other. Malakai posed the question again, his voice strained. Carlisle chose his words carefully. "I don't know."
Malakai raked a hand through his dark hair and groaned. It was the first time Carlisle had seen him genuinely distressed. "Aren't you supposed to know about these things? You're a doctor, right?"
The doctor shook his head. "I work with humans. I really couldn't . . . Maybe you should start from the beginning."
"All right, all right, all right," Malakai breathed. He tried to think. "I wouldn't even know . . ."
"When did you notice something was different?"
"A few months ago. Maybe a year," Malakai confessed quietly, flexing his fingers uneasily. He couldn't sit still. He started pacing restlessly, trying to come up with the best words. "It's not only my eyes, either."
Carlisle turned his old chair to get a better look at him. He remembered the parking lot that morning. "What do you mean?"
"Touch me."
"I have. Your skin—"
"No." Malakai appeared suddenly very close to Carlisle's chair, his frustration radiating off him like waves. Carlisle sat very still (his first instinct whenever Malakai got uncomfortably close), his gold eyes never leaving the anxious blues that looked like they might start crying. "Here."
"I don't . . ." Carlisle started to protest.
"Just shut up and listen!" Malakai shushed, pressing Carlisle's hand close against his heart. "Please."
Carlisle listened. He waited. He looked up at Malakai, perplexed. He had no idea what he was supposed to be listening— He felt something move beneath his hand, and there was a soft noise, faint yet powerful.
Thump thump