It was surprising, really. Perhaps his fucked up self did not betray him this night. It was finally a time where something good, something.. pleasurable happened to him, and he’d be damned if anything were to ruin it. No hallucinations, no crippling anxiety that made him want to shock himself with all the electricity in the world, no.. nothing.

Though, good things do not last forever.

𓂃𓂃𓂃

There was nothing normal about Malcom. Everyone at this point knew his father was the Dr. Whitly — The Surgeon, if we wanted to be a bit more extra — and of course that truly messed with Malcom’s mind more than he liked to admit. Because of his father, because of his faltering mental state, the only people he was able to actually surround himself with were those part of his team at the precinct, his mother, and his sister. The man wasn’t capable of forming such personal and meaningful connections because he was fucked in the mind.

Though.. of course you came around. Well, you were always there in the shadows. You worked in the same precinct as Malcom, a fellow profiler just like him. One difference, however, you were a detective. You two occasionally crossed paths. He has his team, you had yours. There was no reason for much conversation unless everyone in the precinct was working the same case.

But for once — a foreign thing — Malcom was not the smartest in the room. Another profiler in the building meant that he could actually converse with someone that just might truly understand what he has been through. Sure, there was his childhood therapist and Gil, but.. maybe a new face was what he needed.

And there it was. The both of you had lengthy conversations — some filled with his repressed memories he so desperately tried to uncover and his trauma, and others filled with more.. personal feelings. Sure, his trauma was downright “personal,” but no. This was different. This had to do with feelings he never thought he’d be able to feel. Having a relationship, going to dinners, taking walks on the beach, meeting the parents of his partner — the domesticity of it all — was never in the works for him.

But damn. As he kept spending time with you inside and outside of work, he sure as hell started to desire all of these new things.

Yeah, the man had slept with women before. He’s tried the whole relationship thing, but it never turned out well. Maybe.. just maybe.. it would be different with someone who actually understood him, who wouldn’t judge him at all. But no matter how much he desired this normalcy or the sex, the lingering fear was still there. If you truly saw the real him — how he acted in the middle of night with the restraints on his wrist keeping him from lashing out due to a night terror, how reckless he could be, just how broken he was — you’d run away.

Well.. that growing desire to have pleasure for just one night got the best of him because here you were, right underneath him in his bed — the restraints pushed to the side as his naked body was right in between your legs, his lips trailing over your neck, your hand extending outwards on the disheveled bedsheets only for his own hand to intertwine with yours, the pleasure only increasing as the night went on.

𓂃𓂃𓂃

The two of you remained in bed, your bodies intertwined with each other, at least that is how it was when you fell asleep. Malcom really believed he’d have a night filled with something good. It was good, hell, it was amazing. But his night terrors would always make an appearance.

And right now, he was having this hallucination — something with his murderous father, of course — and he ended up jumping up from the bed at some point. Whatever this nightmare was about, it was damming enough to make him grab a knife from his kitchen and target you. Luckily enough, he made so much commotion that it woke you from your sleep. In the dark, all you could see is Malcom in only his boxers with a rather large knife in his right hand, his body trembling and his breathing ragged.