#mal 03.

“Look, I get I shouldn’t be here. I don’t have a right to be.” The door had barely opened and he was just going. He’d blame it on being sober and having the conversation in his head for months. It didn’t matter if Mal had seemed to want to tiptoe around the whole thing, Lucian couldn’t just leave it alone and pretend things were fine. “I’m too fuckin’ tired at this point to just pretend we’re fine. I can’t do that shit anymore.” He’d spent too much time trying to make up for previous mistakes, he couldn’t just let this one go. The idea of such a thing was actually kind of funny. He’d actually followed through on kissing more people than he could count on two hands and he’d never really felt any distress or particular attachment to them. But this one, this one person he faked out, somehow he cared enough to at least try and get some damn closure. Mal deserved it, he deserved an apology, he deserved a lot better than-Breathe. Letting out a sigh and giving a shrug of his shoulders, he shot the shifter in his doorway an apologetic look. “I’m fine with being on my own, but I can’t sit on my ass at my fucking parents house and not think about how bad I fucked up with you.” He’d been here the whole fucking time, how much shit had he gone through that he could have needed help with? “I meant it when I said I wasn’t going to let anything happen to you. I’ll stick by that. But you don’t have to pretend to like me or some shit, you can tell me to fuck off and still call me when shit hits the fan, I’ll be there, I owe you that much.” @malchesterfield