Not his fault? That was almost laughable, really. If it weren’t for that gentle touch and honest voice—if it wasn’t Zelos who had uttered those unbelievable words, Malba might have given a derisive scoff, but he... He couldn’t do that to Zelos. Not Zelos.
“You think so, huh,” he quietly sounded, his focus drifting down to the hand at his waist, hesitating. Not for the first time—to say the fucking least—he felt a twinge of fear and self-doubt. After another round of dreams reminding him of all the reasons why he shouldn’t—shouldn’t let himself get so close, let himself want to be so fucking close, he—fuck if he wasn’t the worst.
“Thanks. For... for thinking that,” Malba whispered, casting Zelos another faint smile, dim, but genuine. He placed a hand on his companion’s arm in a silent sign of permission to give him that undeserved but so very wanted touch, before tilting in closer, just as requested.