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Legolas Thranduilion (mirkwoodscout) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2013-01-01 22:28:00

Who: Spencer and Malcolm
When: Sunday before Christmas.
Where: Out on the town in Vegas.
What: A kind of sort of maybe second date-ish thing, with flowers and a vegan dinner.
Warnings: Just cuteness. And Messiah. But only if you can Handel it.



Spencer was really looking forward to seeing Malcolm perform and he wasn’t the least bit bothered by the prospect of sitting through Handel’s Messiah if it meant getting to see the other man in his element. Dressed in the only suit he owned, a navy blue one with a light blue shirt and navy tie, he arrived just a few minutes before the show was set to start. He picked a seat in the middle, off to the side so that he had a clear view of where Malcolm was sitting. It was easy to see how in his element he was and Spencer was excited all over again just as the lights dimmed and the orchestra began to play. He couldn’t differentiate between the cello and some of the other instruments, but he watched Malcolm intently, envious of the passion the other man obviously had for his work. It only took a few minutes for Spencer to get completely lost in the music and watching Malcolm. Not once did his attention waver, even during the solos when he didn’t play, or when the focus was clearly on the violins. Even when the focus was on the cellos as a whole, Malcolm was the center of his attention. Beautiful, he thought. Absolutely beautiful.

By the time the performance was over, Spencer was at a loss for words. He was glad he’d brought a single flower, a poinsettia in honor of the holiday, and he waited for the bulk of the audience to trickle out before approaching the stage. Thankfully, Malcolm was quite close to the one set of steps, so Spencer simply waited at the base, at the bottom of the stage and offered the man a warm smile accompanied by a slight wave to say hello.

It had been a long performance -- Messiah was a demanding two and a half hours, and the orchestra scarcely rested at all. Handel’s score demanded such technical precision that it did not allow for any slacking -- how different from his day job, lush and repetitive theatrical score, and even if Phantom was difficult, he played it so many times in a week that it became almost mechanical. But there was a delight in the technical, demanding work, in pushing himself harder and feeling, in his bones, that he still had the skill. He was not a pit orchestra hack. It was good to remember that.

Once the cello was put away, carefully tucked into its hard case and latched safely closed, Malcolm turned to look at the stairs, and felt a giddy little leap of his heart. Spencer looked so handsome, and he was holding such a pretty flower, a poinsettia to boot. Malcolm’s face split into a wide, delighted grin as he came down the steps, a sharply tailored line of crisp black and white. His performing clothes were always well-tailored, well-fitted, and the less formal black suit and tie was no exception. After all, impressions mattered. And right now, that felt doubly true. “What did you think?” he asked, a little breathless, and perhaps his face was a bit flushed, too.

The grin he got from Malcolm made it all worth it as far as he was concerned. There was a small pang of guilt at that, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Tim coughing the name Nick in the back of his mind. Spencer wasn’t going to think about his ex though, not tonight. He was having fun with his new friend, supporting him in his passions, and he wasn’t going to worry about how Nick was doing because he’d promised himself he wouldn’t push. His own smile was wide, more confident after seeing Malcolm’s, and he greeted the other man with a friendly hug. “It was beautiful!” Spencer complemented, obviously very excited about the piece. “God, I haven’t heard it in forever but it was just. It was amazing. Thank you so much for inviting me! Really, and you were just-” Spence couldn’t find the words but his exaggerated hand gesture would have to do. Which reminded him about the poinsettia and he tinged pink just slightly.

“Here, I...I thought it’d be appropriate, for the holiday,” he explained, holding the single stem out and somewhat embarrassed, second guessing his choice in gifts. “Really, just...spectacular. Thank you,” Spencer repeated honestly, still smiling. He glanced up at the stage, where the cello lay in its case. “Do you need to do anything else, or can I steal you away now?” he asked, finding his teasing tone quite readily. He had his car, of course, and reservations at the Wynn, where there was certainly a very impressive vegan friendly menu. He was excited to try some new food as well.

Malcolm accepted the flower with a boyish, almost shy smile. “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he said softly. He glanced back at the stage, and his voice turned playful, a light kind of teasing. “I’m free to go, I just have to haul my cello off, that’s all. It’s my favourite beast, but a beast it is. So you may certainly commit theft, but you’ll have to steal us both.”

“Well, if it’ll be a real theft, I think that means I’ll be doing the heavy lifting,” he replied with an easy grin, taking the stage steps in two easy strides to pick up the case he’d seen Malcolm with just moments ago. Still, Spencer looked for approval that it was, in fact, the right one, before lifting it and making his way back down to the musician. “My car’s just outside. I can pull it around for you if you don’t mind waiting a few minutes,” he offered, already leading them toward the front entrance and the parking lot just beyond.

“You don’t have to,” Malcolm demurred, but he couldn’t stop smiling. That seemed a normal occurrence with Spencer, and one he hardly minded at all. There was just some fantastic charm to how easily he took control of a situation. It was gentlemanly, Malcolm decided. And he liked it. “I can manage. A little bit of a walk wouldn’t hurt at all, honestly. It was a long nearly-three-hours up there.”

“No, but I want to,” he quipped back, and then nodded when Malcolm decided he wanted to walk. “I’ve gotten used to it over the years, especially when it comes to sitting in some really uncomfortable places. Honestly, sitting is just awkward sometimes with all the gear,” he explained, leading the way. His car wasn’t that far away, maybe two minutes walk max. His mother had always joked that he was a lucky parking spot finder and that particular skill had stayed with him after all those years. He carefully set the cello down and then opened the passenger side door for Malcolm. “Is it okay if I put this in the trunk? I don’t want anyone getting any ideas once we get to the Wynn,” he explained, though he’d go along with whatever the man wanted, as it was his instrument and likely very expensive.

“Trunk is fine, it’s well padded in there. I’ve had to check it into cargo when flying overseas, so believe me, it’s been through a lot, poor old thing. I’ve had it since I was 18 or so, it’s been through the bloody wars, really,” Malcolm explained. He eased his way into the passenger seat, his back popping in protest, and he winced. Pain pills, he thought. But only after dinner. He wanted to have all his senses, every last one of them, for this. Something in his gut told him all of this was important, or it could be. Men like Spencer didn’t come along every day, after all. Maybe it was time to give a new one a chance?

"Is that so?" He asked with a smile. It must have been some fairly difficult times if Malcolm referred to his previous years as war, something he was well versed in. He waited until Malcolm was inside before shutting the car door and then made his way to the trunk, where he carefully set the instrument inside. It hopefully would be okay, but Spencer was always a very careful driver, so he wasn't too worried. He got in the driver's side a moment later and smiled as he buckled himself in. "This restaurant at the Wynn has a really impressive vegan menu," he explained as he began to drive. "I'm excited to try it out!"

“I’m surprised you found anything, honestly,” Malcolm admitted. “Not that it was easy to eat vegan in southern California, but it was easier, to a degree. Vegas hadn’t seemed really interested in the whole thing. I suppose something’s changed, and luckily for me! I’m just glad it’s not too much of a trouble. I’m fully aware of the difficulties of my dietary choices, and am entirely prepared to apologise profusely.” That was almost a joke. Almost. He buckled his seatbelt carefully, trying to relax into the passenger seat.

“I am too. Apparently Steve Wynn, the guy that owns the place, is vegan, so he made all of his restaurants carry an extensive vegan specific options. He got some world renowned chef to create the menu and stuff,” Spencer explained as he began to drive. It was too far, but there was a bit of traffic. They weren’t in any rush though, he didn’t think. “There’s no need to apologize,” he added, giving Malcolm a reassuring smile. “Just let me know what’s up and I’ll make sure it’s exactly what you’re looking for.” Another smile, and then he was back to focusing on the road. Both hands were firm on the wheel and he was being more careful than usual because he had Malcolm in the car. “I don’t think it’s possible for you to request anything that would be any trouble at all,” he said after a minute, and he thought it’d be impossible for him to smile any less than he was already.

“I’m always really conscious of making demands on people, I hate to do it,” Malcolm said, his tone conversational, and he was relaxing more and more into the seat, watching Spencer drive with lingering sidelong glances. “I feel almost as if I’ve made it a life goal to be a low bloody maintenance as possible, you know? I just hate inconveniencing people, really. So many musicians are drama whores, and I never want to be that. The art’s more important than my ego.”

Spencer found Malcolm’s reasoning rather attractive and it was just another reason he found himself wanting to spend more and more time with the musician. “I can absolutely understand that. I’m the same way and I try to go out of my way to help people because everyone deserves that much, at least,” he replied, navigating the traffic easily. “There’s nothing wrong with being in the spotlight yourself though, considering you’re a brilliant musician,” he complimented easily, turning to give Malcolm a wide, slightly flirtatious smile. “I wish more people thought the way you did though. I see it all the time, kids just wanting the fame and money and whatever. And most of them don’t want to put in the time or the effort to get to the top. It’s just sad, honestly,” he expanded, somewhat passionate about the entitlement feelings of many of the college students he talked to. “You’re really just...an amazing person, and that’s probably a bit forward considering we haven’t known each other very long.” He offered a sheepish smile at that.

“Well, I hardly mind a bit forward. Terribly forward, now, that just wouldn’t do, but a bit forward’s all well within appropriate boundaries and all,” Malcolm replied, but he was smiling widely, obviously pleased. His curls kept threatening to tumble in his face, resisting the way they’d been tidily combed back. “I used to be a spotlight hog, when I was younger and stupid, and it just was draining, led to me making ridiculously stupid decisions. It’s easy to be greedy for fame and experience and attention when you’re eighteen, nineteen, no sense of the world or what you can give to it, you just want everything you can swallow and then some, no matter if you choke. Dreadful way to live. So mostly, I’ve decided to focus on the art and the people who make it, and if that makes me a decent person, God, I’m grateful for it, really.”

“Oh, as long as it’s within appropriate boundaries,” he laughed, amused in the best way possible. Malcolm really was just very sweet. Spencer was looking back between the road and the man in his passenger seat far too much, so he was rather pleased when they came up to the front of the Wynn. “There’s that moment with everyone, when they grow up. I feel like some of the kids I see at UNLV are just waiting for their handouts, which is probably just the same thing when it comes to what the pundits talk about, you know? But yea. It’s just refreshing. You are, I mean.” He turned just a little bit pink at that. “You’re more than decent, I think,” he added, setting his car in park before getting out. The valet was there to open the doors for them, but Spencer was there a moment later to offer his arm at the very least.

Malcolm took his arm once he’d carefully swung out of the car, and he looked up at the façade of the hotel, his eyes going wide. “Oh, this is posh,” he breathed, and he felt every pang of a lower-class childhood in the sentence as he glanced from Spencer to the hotel again. “I feel like I’m supposed to pop ‘round the side and go in through the staff entrance.”

“You’re plenty posh yourself,” he reassured, leading the way into the hotel. The Wynn was beautiful, no doubt, and they looked as though they fit right in with the high rollers and show goers. Las Vegas tended toward the dressed down and the dressed up, so Spencer hadn’t been worried. He was slightly worried now, but with a reassuring squeeze of Malcolm’s arm, he led him through the lobby. “Nope, definitely the front entrance. Everyone should see how handsome you are,” Spence complemented, trying to make things comfortable for him. It was easy to get to the restaurant since it wasn’t too far from the lobby, and he gave his name at the stewardess. They were escorted to a table for two on the main floor, which was fairly busy, and Spencer held out Malcolm’s chair for him before taking his own seat. “Trust me, you fit in perfectly.”

Malcolm’s face flushed, but he didn’t falter -- what good was a performer who couldn’t perform occasionally, who couldn’t find some inner resource of poise and a show of confidence? Besides, Spencer obviously wanted him to be here, this wasn’t some weird imposter scenario where everyone would know he wasn’t quality enough -- American’s didn’t give two whits about class, anyway. Spencer thought he was handsome and talented, and moreover, worth showing off. There was no humility to be found in treating all that as meaningless. So Malcolm smiled, and let Spencer help him into his seat, and even found some dignified carriage for his head, tipping up his chin with some inner measure of grace. “I’m trying,” he admitted at last, but he was smiling. “I’m trying. I suppose my origins betray me. They usually do. It is absolutely lovely here, though, it really, really is. I’m rather floored.”

Spencer had gotten the feeling, over the last few weeks, that Malcolm was very much the person who tried to be as unobtrusive as possible and never really had anyone (likely not a family member) make a big deal about him. He thought the other man was very much someone to make a big deal about and what better reason to celebrate than new friends, playing quite beautifully, and generally just because they wanted to. That was the kind of man Spencer was. “There’s nothing to be worried about,” he promised, reaching across the table for Malcolm’s hand. “And I’m glad you like this place. You haven’t even looked at the menu yet!” It was meant to be a joke, to diffuse any lingering awkwardness. His hand pulled away then, to open his menu and take a look. There were a few things that looked very very appealing and he hoped Malcolm found them just as appetizing.

That momentary grasp of his hand made Malcolm flush, his face going pleasantly pink. And then, it was over as quickly as it had happened, and Malcolm felt such a pang of regret. Little things. Little things often built up nicely. There was no hurry. He opened the menu and was pleasantly surprised by the options. “They’re quite serious about being accommodating,” he said, smiling again. He couldn’t stop smiling. “It’s not second-thought, here’s a salad food, either. That’s ... marvellous, God, really bloody marvellous.” He laughed a little and shook his head. “More like LA, really.”

Spencer’s grin was wide and all too pleased at how accommodating the hotel was to vegans. It meant all of this was worth it, on so many different levels. “It all looks really delicious. Well, sounds really delicious I guess.” He laughed just a little, more self deprecating than anything else. “I’m really curious about the clam chowder and the mushroom risotto, mmmmmm!” He loved mushrooms of all kinds, and both of those had mushrooms, so Spencer was thrilled beyond belief. “What do you think you’re going to get?” he asked curiously.

“I’m curious about the risotto, too -- it’s something I love and never make at home, too much work, too much standing in the kitchen endlessly stirring until your arm’s likely to fall off.. And maybe the arugula-apple salad,” Malcolm said. The prospect of a good meal after a long concert was really marvellous, and it made him feel warm down to the soles of his shoes. That endless smile wasn’t fading as he closed the menu, looking up at Spencer, his expression open and warm. “I see you love mushrooms, am I wrong?”

“It’s always better when someone else does the cooking, isn’t it?” he teased lightly, very glad that he could provide this for Malcolm after his performance, but also after they’d struck up a rather good friendship. Malcolm was doing so much for him just by being exactly what he needed most: a friend that didn’t know about his past. There were things he’d tell of course, as they got to know each other better, but he got to dictate the when and the how and the what. It was more of a relief than he could possibly express. “I love mushrooms. So much. It’s really probably bad how much I love mushrooms, but I do. I really really love them. It’s hard sometimes to find them prepared the right way, but they’re delicious. So delicious.” And then he realized how silly he sounded and blushed. “Sorry,” he apologized. “I...really like mushrooms.”

“No, no!” Malcolm assured him. “Love them. They’re delicious. I’m pretty bloody taken with them myself. Clearly, I’m going to have to share my stock of mushroom recipes. They have such a great texture and hold flavours so well -- what’s not to love?” Spencer’s enthusiasm, he could see, was contagious. That was so refreshing. It was so different from Chris, The Ex. Was it harsh to think of a person in such stark ways? But Chris had been stark, he blew hot, he blew cold. When he was happy, nothing else on earth could compete with his glow and vibrance. When he was miserable, the world was dark and nothing mattered. When he was angry, he could rattle the stars down. But none of that had ever been like Spencer’s genuine enthusiasm. Spencer was interested in the world. Chris, Malcolm realised somewhat belatedly, had only ever really been interested in himself. And wasn’t that the critical difference, in the end?

Spencer couldn’t help but laugh in relief when it became clear that Malcolm wouldn’t hold his odd love of mushrooms against him. He’d always been that way, since childhood, in that if there was ever an opportunity to eat mushrooms, Spence would go for it, no questions asked. He’d never been afraid to try new things, from food to places to people. It had driven his father crazy, but it was impossible to reign it in. Now that he was an adult, it worked much better. “I’m not so great at cooking? But I’ll give anything a shot once and I’d love it if you did share some of the easier ones,” he replied happily. Really, it wasn’t every day he met someone who had recipes like that. “Do you do a lot of your own cooking?” he asked curiously.

“Almost all of it, really,” Malcolm said. “I’m so picky about my food, and being mostly vegan thing is really kind of demanding, you know? So I do my own cooking, so I can really control what I’m eating and the quality of it. Nobody wants to suck down a ton of chemicals, and it makes me feel like rubbish, honestly. So I cook. And I like it. It’s kind of a zen mindfulness thing.” The waiter came, took their orders, poured them drinks, and suggested a white wine, all of it so unobtrusive and professional.

Spencer found the waiter very obtrusive because he was taking away from their conversation about mushrooms and cooking and he was all too impatient for the man to leave. Once he did, it was right back to the conversation. “Oh wow, that’s got to be a bit difficult. I mean, I know there are some days where I’m absolutely just ready to faceplant into my bed and then to have to cook on top of that? It’s a good thing you enjoy it at least. I’m not very good. I always end up burning something or undercooking it. Very rarely do I get it perfect, but there are some things I can go that are pretty good. All of it meat though,” he explained, a bit apologetic on the last part.

“It’s okay,” Malcolm said with a smile, the waiter already forgotten. “I’ll just have to cook for you once. If you’re amenable.” He paused. “I, er. Meant what I wrote on the gift tag in the stockings, you know. That I’d love to spend New Year’s Eve together. I mean, I don’t have any plans or anything, but I can make something to eat, and ... well, beyond that, I’ve got nothing.” He wasn’t sure what was going to happen with Gemma in that hypothetical scenario, but they’d talk about it, surely. She was going to go back to England eventually. Right?

The offer was absolutely wonderful and Spencer found himself wanting to immediately jump for joy and say yes, but he was also a little bit hesitant. Wasn’t New Years a bit potentially romantic? And then there was Nick to consider too because despite them not being in a relationship, there was still a lot of history there. He still loved him. It felt unfair to both men and that made Spencer a little uncomfortable, but he tried not to let it show. “I’d love to experience your cooking, I’m just not sure what my plans are for New Years,” he explained, trying to let Malcolm down as gently as possible because it honestly wasn’t quite a letdown just yet. It wasn’t a yes or a no. It was a ‘we’ll see’ and that was the best he could do at the moment. “I’ll try to find out as soon as I can though, okay? I won’t leave it to the last minute.” He could promise that with absolute certainty.

That had been too much. Malcolm sensed it immediately. That offer had been too much. But he smiled, gracious to a fault. How could he be anything else? Slow. Everything had to be slow, or he’d ruin it. Lovely things were so often like soap bubbles, burst with too much speed and carelessness. “Of course,” he said, nodding. “I understand. I just had thought that if you were at loose ends, well. It’d be me and my sister and my dog, most likely, and I’d be glad to cook, watch a film, maybe have a decent bottle of something sparkling. Just let me know, yeah? Otherwise, Gems might make plans, she’s on a long holiday from England here with me, and I don’t know what she might want for her first American New Year’s.”

Spencer couldn’t help but feel like they’d just taken a gigantic step back, but he hoped they could make up for it. Holidays were always a little weird and it would’ve been dishonest to say he didn’t think he’d be tempted to kiss Malcolm for the New Year, even if it was just on the cheek. “Oh man, that sounds great,” he replied a bit wistfully. He snapped himself out of it though and latched onto the idea that it was Malcolm’s sister’s first New Years here. “You know, if it’s her first New Years, you both should go out and celebrate. There’ll be plenty of parties all around. Your sister would probably get a big kick out of it and you don’t have to do anything totally crazy,” he suggested. “There’s always something for everyone. It’s basically the tagline for this place, after the typical what happens here stays here thing.”

“Embarrassingly, I wouldn’t even know where to begin,” Malcolm admitted. “It’s not really my scene, the whole partying thing. But maybe somewhere she could dance. Gems is a ballet dancer, a good one, professional, even. She’d probably enjoy the chance to go dancing with people who have rhythm and it even makes it to their feet.” The last came with some self-deprecation, and a laugh to go with it. “Maybe I’ll look into it. Not a bad idea. And, you know, if that’s your speed, you’d still be welcome.” Casual. Friendly. He was being casual and friendly.

“I’m sure whatever you settle on doing, it’ll be a great experience for the both of you. Really, if it’s her first one here you should definitely spend it with her. If we don’t get to spend New Year’s Eve together, I”m sure we could maybe have lunch on New Year’s Day if you don’t have anything planned?” That was a good compromise and there wouldn’t be any pesky temptations screwing anything up. The waiter came with their appetisers and Spencer was grateful for the distraction, waiting for Malcolm to take a bite of his salad before he tried the soup. It was de-licious and Spencer made no attempt at hiding it. “Oh god, you should try this. Seriously, it’s amazing.” He slid the bowl forward so that Malcolm could use his spoon to take a taste.

Malcolm happily acquiesced, dipping his spoon into the chowder and having a taste. “Oh, wow,” he agreed, his eyes widening. “That is so rich and deep, that’s fascinating. Not clam at all, and I think it’d be ruined with clam. It’s just gorgeous.” He smiled, nudging the bowl back. “Is that mushroom heaven, or do you think that’s the main?” His own salad was perfect, really clean and a perfect blend of sharp and sweet, the nuts crunchy and adding the right richness to it.

“Absolutely. I’m not even a big clam person honestly, but I can’t ever say no to mushrooms,” he replied, a teensy bit embarrassed but more glad that Malcolm wasn’t judging him for being weird about some things. “I’m hoping the main course is way better just because this is so freaking yummy and it’s only the appetizer. It’d be kinda disappointing if the appetizer was way better than the entree, you know?” That much was common sense as far as he was concerned. “How’s your salad? Delicious?” He certainly hoped so, and it seemed that way.

“It’s gorgeous. And produce this amazing in December almost seems like a crime. I suffered my way through British attempts at salad in winter, and this is night and day,” Malcolm enthused. “The candied nuts are amazing, really. Those taste like Christmas, if that makes sense? I think the main will live up to the appetizers. They really know what they’re doing here.”

Spencer was so so pleased that Malcolm was enjoying his food because that had been the whole point of choosing this restaurant. “We’ll have to try some of the other restaurants here to see if they’re all awesome,” he replied before enjoying more of his soup. It really was just amazing and he finished it off rather quickly for him. “I guess if anything, the food around here is an incentive to stay for a good while, voices aside,” Spence joked.

Malcolm chuckled. “I think mine would be absolutely bloody insufferable if I left this city,” he admitted. “He is determined to go through his door as much as possible, which ... I don’t know if that’s a very good idea. I don’t know if I like it. Which is selfish. I’ve read some stuff about his whole world and thing, I know how bad it is. But God, I feel like rubbish when he comes back through.”

Spencer got serious at that, because the last thing he wanted was for Malcolm to be in pain after going through his door and he could understand that. He and Tim had gone through a rough patch there but they’d talked it out. Malcolm though, he just didn’t have the same kind of experience with that (as far as he knew), so he was more than willing to give some advice. “He’s definitely got to know that what he does has an impact on you, and I think he’ll understand. Talking to him, explaining where you’re coming from, that’s a good thing. You shouldn’t be feeling awful after going through and it’s not like that’s a big motivator for you to cross again. I’m sure you guys will find a balance and I’ve found that open communication is really the best,” he advised sincerely. The waiter came a moment later, switching out the finished appetizer plates for full entree plates. It was mouthwatering. “Okay, this looks amazing and I’m kind of glad we got the same thing, otherwise I have a feeling I’d beg to split with you,” he admitted with a laugh.

Malcolm laughed, nodding, and his curls tumbled against his forehead, having apparently given up all pretenses to being orderly or tamed. “It’s amazing, isn’t it? The onions are so sweet and the mushrooms are so perfect. I think I have made the world’s worst risottos in comparison,” he enthused, apparently just as shameless in his delight over the food as Spencer was. “But I know I have to talk to him, it’s just ... difficult. I don’t think he understands that I’m not some immortal elf thing, or some super fit, super healthy medieval warrior. I’m really not that fit at all, yoga aside -- there’s a reason I go to the gentle and therapeutic classes!”

The risotto really was just one of the best he’d had in a long time and Spencer swore to himself that he’d eat slowly just so he could enjoy it for as long as possible. “It’s really good. I’m really glad I’ve gotten this chance to try something so new,” he said honestly. He always tried to try new things but he usually tended toward meat as opposed to vegetarian or vegan. He ate some more as Malcolm talked more about his Alter. “Translating it is hard sometimes. If you think it might help, I can try to talk to him. Otherwise, withholding door visits helps if you’ve got that kind of control,” he replied, not exactly liking the latter idea, but it was a valid one.

“I don’t want to. It’s the whole, world could end, evil will triumph, thing. It feels really petty to say, no you can’t go do your super-heroic elvish duties because my back hurts more when you get done for the day,” Malcolm sighed. “Or I’m a pushover, which is an equally valid response. And then there’s the problem that I work 6 days a week and will blow through my little vacation time quickly if he wants to go all the time. How the hell does anyone manage this? It’s like the world’s most aggressive timeshare with the worst contract possible.”

Spencer couldn’t help smiling at the comparison, but he shook his head. “Honestly, it’s a bit exhausting, but everyone figures out how to make it work. I go some days after work and I go during most of the day on Saturdays and Sundays. I’m used to the long hours with little sleep just because that’s kind of standard issue with the Army, but it’s not for everyone. There are a couple people from my door where the people here just don’t work so they can go through whenever their counterparts are needed. If the pain becomes unbearable or the amount of time you spend across there starts negatively impacting your job and your life, then you really need to work on finding a balance,” he asserted as nicely as possible. He didn’t like anyone taking advantage of anything and Malcolm wasn’t exactly helping being a bit of a pushover, and willingly admitting to it. He frowned slightly. “I don’t want to see you hurting yourself trying to make him happy. It’s important that you stand up for yourself about this because it’s your health and your livelihood.”

“I know,” Malcolm admitted. “It’s just hard to feel like being a cellist in a Vegas hotel is important compared to saving the whole world, ending evil in their time, getting his friend crowned king, et cetera, you know? It makes my life seem entirely insignificant, which really doesn’t help at all, I know.” He sighed, and took another bite of the risotto, letting himself focus on the creaminess of it, the richness.

Spencer reached for Malcolm’s hand again, his very very serious face still looming. “Hey,” he said, waiting until Malcolm was looking at him before continuing. “Your music is important. You are important. No matter what’s going on in his world, you can’t think less of yourself. Imagine how boring and awful that performance of Messiah would’ve been if you hadn’t been there to play the cello!” Maybe it was a tiny exaggeration, but he hoped it would get his point across. “There’s a way to compromise. There always is.” He let Malcolm’s hand go and back to the fork, but he didn’t start to eat again just yet. “Would it be at all possible to cut back on your hours working on the show? That might be a good place to start,” he suggested. It was very very hard to stop himself from being so protective and Malcolm was drawing it out in spades.

“I’m reluctant, I admit,” Malcolm said, and immediately, he missed Spencer’s steadying hand as soon as it was gone, like a falcon anxious without the hood and jesses. “If something happens, I don’t have any kind of guarantee I’ll have my job when I recover. I have to keep socking away as much money as I can. Being a musician is a really unreliable gig. I got lucky this time. Luck will run out.” He rolled his lips together in a tight, thin line. “I had my life pretty well balanced and in hand before this. And now I’m afraid I’ll miss too many shows, or have to have my back worked on again, and that’ll be it, the pieces will start to fly apart. Which might be melodramatic, but I don’t think it is.”

“It’s not,” he reassured, shaking his head lightly. “It’s an honest fear you have, and not an unreasonable one.” He didn’t know what happened with Malcolm’s back, but he didn’t want to push because injuries were personal. “It’s just an adjustment, just like an injury. It throws a kink in the plan at first, but then you adjust and move forward. I have all the confidence in the world that you’ll figure it out and you’ve got me and your sister here to help, plus I’m sure there are other people that you might meet over the journals that could offer help as well. Who knows? Maybe there’s someone else out there with a difficult injury trying to manage everything,” he encouraged, finally returning to his risotto.

“I almost hope not, for their sake,” Malcolm said. But he took his cue from Spencer, and set back to eating. The food was too good to let go cold for all his ridiculous and delicate feelings. “I suppose I just have to be up front with him, and hope he’ll deal fairly with me, and we can make it work. It feels so overwhelming because really, he’s not human, I have no idea what his expectations are, and he seems to waffle between acting like I’m useless and frustrating to acting like I’m a delicate flower and frustrating. At least the frustrating is constant.”

“Frustration isn’t all that uncommon, and honestly we’ve all gone or are going through something similar, so at the very least you’ve got people that understand.” He hoped he’d been helpful, but he didn’t want to linger too much on the serious. They were celebrating after all. “Up front is the best way to go in everything. I’m sure it’ll work out,” Spencer reassured, but after a bite of risotto, it was time for a change of topic. “Okay so, slightly less serious question, but what do you think your favorite musical is? I know you work on Phantom, but is there one show that just is the be all end all for you? Or not so much?”

“Oh,” Malcolm said, chewing on the question. “Well, I think as far as score goes, West Side Story is one of the best. But I have a ridiculous fondness for Les Misérables, which is probably amongst the most annoying when tackled by amateurs, but I still love it. I can’t decide if I’m looking forward to the film or not, either. What about you? Do you have any preferences?”

It was easy to get lost in the conversation with Malcolm and Spencer was intrigued by that alone. Very few people had that effect on him and he was looking forward to developing a strong friendship with the musician across from him. “I’m looking forward to it. I’m kind of hoping it’s better than the one with Liam Neeson, only because I didn’t really get it at the end, when the other guy...the one who played Barbossa in those Pirates movies? When he killed himself. I didn’t get it,” he admitted with a shrug. He wasn’t exactly the best at getting stuff like that. “I’ve never seen West Side Story, or any plays or musicals or anything. Just hasn’t really been time, you know?”

Malcolm laughed and shook his head. “No, that film was dreadful. There is a film version of West Side Story that’s really worth watching. Really 60s, and really American in a way that I think goes over my head at times, but gorgeous. Natalie Wood is stunning, and Jerome Robbins, the choreographer who did the original on Broadway, choreographed the film. It’s worth it. I have it at home, if you’re ever interested,” he offered.

“I’m glad it’s not just me then,” he replied with a grin, before finishing up the last of his risotto. It really had been quite delicious. “I’ll definitely take you up on that offer, just a matter of when,” Spencer added easily. “I’ll even explain the parts that are really American.” It was the barest of teases, meant in jest and good will. “Do you want to give dessert a go?”

“Oh, God, I don’t know if I can handle more food,” Malcolm protested gently, something of a groan in the words. The risotto had vanished, dense and rich and delightful, and he felt so full, pleasantly full. “It’s all so good, though, that I almost don’t want to say no because what if I miss something delightful? Hedonistic at heart, I suppose!”

Spencer just laughed. “Well, you can always take something home to have for later. And something for your sister too? I bet that’d be a nice surprise,” he suggested as a waiter came to clear their table away and offer them the dessert menus. “Compromise is best, have I mentioned that?” he asked with a chuckle.

“What did Julia Child say? Moderation in all things, including moderation,” Malcolm replied, smiling. “Maybe a bit of hedonism and decadence does a body good once in a great while. And I can’t recall the last time I ever went out for a meal this nice, honestly.” Everything looked lovely -- vegan ice cream and pastry, too, and he wondered just how lovely a strawberry Napoleon could be.

There was a sort of blank look on Spencer’s face for a moment before he remembered the movie Meryl Streep had done. “She’s the lady that taught herself to cook right? Revolutionized the whole thing?” He really needed to get up on his pop culture if he was going to do any kind of impressing. “Get whatever you’d like. Or we can pick a few that we both like and share?” That was harmless really, and he’d said as much about dinner too.

Malcolm chuckled and nodded. How was Spencer so entirely endearing? It almost wasn’t fair. “Yeah, made French cooking chic, really,” he said with a nod. “It’s not my speed, but people love it, so. And there was a film, I remember it ... vaguely.” He glanced at the menu again. “I’d be up for splitting. Strawberry Napoleon, maybe?”

“With Meryl Streep, yea. That’s where I knew the name from,” he admitted sheepishly, his cheeks turning just the lightest shade of pink at the admission. “Vaguely is probably good. The Napoleon looks amazing, and I kind of want to try the ice cream. That work for you?” Seriously how did they make vegan ice cream? The milk made the ice cream, didn’t it?

“Works for me,” Malcolm agreed. Was Spencer always so easy to get along with? Malcolm hoped so. He was the absolute opposite of high-maintenance, and it really was a delightful thing. He didn’t feel pressured at all. In fact, he was fairly certain he was the one who’d done the rushing. But this was nice. Slow and easy. He could do slow and easy. Tea after yoga. Occasional dinners. He could do this. “I wonder if it’s a coconut ice cream? Have to find out, really.”

“Is coconut your favorite?” he asked with a grin, but the waiter interrupted to take their order. Spencer ordered both desserts and then a cup of tea for himself before deferring to Malcolm about what he wanted to drink before the man disappeared to get their things. “I’m partial to chocolate myself, but I don’t know what the range is for vegan ice cream,” Spencer offered.

“I just know you can use coconut milk to make ice cream, I eat it at home, sometimes. You can get it at the grocer’s and everything, any flavour you want. I usually eat strawberry or raspberry, things like that. When chocolate ice cream is bad, it’s terrible, and vanilla is institutional to me. So strawberry seems safe, you know?” Malcolm explained. A cup of coffee and dessert seemed perfect. Strong and sweet together.

“Oh, that makes sense,” he replied, leaning back in his seat to just relax in the aftermath of a very filling, very wonderful dinner. “I’m sure it’ll be delicious either way. Everything here has been fantastic so far,” Spencer admitted. “I really had a good time tonight, both listening to you play and having dinner. It’s...probably the best time I’ve had in a long time,” he said with a smile.

“Same’s true for me,” Malcolm said. “I haven’t done anything this nice in ages, never mind with such agreeable company.” He smiled with that last, a brilliant, lovely thing, and his curls threatened to fall in his eyes, the whole effect rather sweet. “Who’d have thought those weird books could lead to such nice things? This has been ... just really marvellous. Special. But that’s likely you, I think.”

Spencer was glad to hear that Malcolm was having fun because that had been the goal of the evening, as well as spending time and developing a friendship with him. He was just too adorable in the way he smiled and how his hair looked like it was about to fall and make him even more adorable. “It’s definitely a great way to end the year and head into the new one,” he agreed easily. “But I won’t take all the credit for how great this has been. It takes two to tango after all.” Teasing just came so naturally and he was obviously having a great time. The waiter came a moment later with their desserts and Spencer immediately helped Malcolm shift the plates so that they were both able to reach both desserts. “I hope you like these just as much as the risotto,” he said, before digging in.

“I think I’ll like everything, really,” Malcolm said. He looked at the plates, at how pretty they were -- it was as if dessert had to be pretty, moreso than anything else. The napoleon was beautiful, layers of flakey pastry between layers of deep, rich strawberry, all topped with a dark chocolate drizzle, and it was perfectly elegant. Carefully, Malcolm edged his fork into it, as if unwilling to put a dent in such a lovely presentation. But when he finally took his first bite, it was all worth it, and his eyes went wide with surprise and delight. “Oh, God, this is exquisite.”

While Malcolm dug into the Napoleon, Spencer helped himself to the ice cream and discovered it was actually very tasty. Whatever flavor it was, it wasn't strong enough for him to immediately discern exactly what it was. "I've never had coconut ice cream before so I'll let you be the judge of what flavor it is," he decided, before taking a forkful of the pastry much less delicately than Malcolm had. "These are great. I definitely want to come back to the Wynn to eat again. Maybe we can try one of the other restaurants next time?"

Next time. Next time was an encouraging sign. Maybe this wasn’t a date date, but it had gone well. Or maybe it even was a date-date, and it had gone well. No sense in rushing. Even still, Malcolm smiled at him, warm and brilliant. “I’d love to,” he said. “It’s nice to have a reason to go out somewhere. Better still when it’s a really lovely reason.”