The darkening sky outside was nothing compared to the darkness of Malachi's eyes.  Not now, not ever, not even on the blackest nights.  One could stare into the sky and find God, but looking into Malachi's eyes, Arthur could see infinity and his own tiny, broken reflection.

And really, what was the difference?

It felt like a blessing, to be touched by a man with never ending eyes.  Like a baptism.

How could Arthur be himself, and ever compare?

"Alright," he said, watching Malachi's hand fall.  Arthur wanted so badly to kiss up and down the length of his arms again and again and again, and he wondered if Malachi would let him.  The doctor was drawn to cruelty, but that didn't mean he was incapable of softness.

Anyone that knew Malachi and still chose not to like him was not deserving of his presence.  Not deserving of life, Arthur wanted to say, but he held back.

"Do you think we'll arrive in time for dinner?  I don't think I've eaten all day.  I hope it won't be much of an inconvenience for her."