It felt like an eternity, waiting for Arthur to speak.

It provided Malachi the chance to regain a semblance of composure, if only in the release of tension through his limbs and the smoothing out of his expression. He couldn’t kick the slightest furrow of his brow, but he looked up at Arthur less like a cornered animal and more like the careful man he was.

Funny. Right. Somehow it wasn’t near enough to make him laugh.

There was no protest as Arthur moved his legs.

Malachi simply stared, and willed the annoyance that bristled within him not to grow. He was telling the truth, what did he have to prove anything for? Of what use was a leash when he was bound to him already, willingly?

“I suppose it would,” came his answer, unaffected and low.

Was his love, so freely given, not enough? Did it taste sweeter for being fake and forced out of him instead?

“Find it, then, if you need proof.”