If there was anything that Malachi was not worried about on this trip, it was Arthur disappointing him. He did not tell him that, though, and when the doctor’s light touch found his wrist, he watched it closely.

Malachi had not exactly been affectionate since he’d yanked him through the office door. Not in the way that had been typical of him thus far, at least. He had no intentions of changing that while they were on a train, surrounded by other people, no matter how much Arthur’s presence at his side might have tempted him to do just that.

He was hurt. It would pass, but it hadn't yet.

“They are,” confirmed Malachi, writing out the end of the letter.

But why was Arthur asking so many questions? Why did it… matter so much, to him? It came as a surprise to Malachi that someone like him would care to make a good impression, and not upset them, and – even more so, to care about his opinions on the matter. The priest tried to clear his throat, but the sound was still rough.

After quickly signing off his name, Malachi pushed the papers aside and turned in his seat to face the doctor slightly better, searching to meet the lovely green gaze behind his borrowed glasses. He had no idea why it was so important to him, but it was… cute. Terribly cute.

“Arthur,” he started, “they will like you just fine, love. If they want you to join in their insults, as I’m sure they will, then do so.”

You’ve done it enough already, he did not say.

“What if it was your family we were going to see? What would you want of me?”