Chapter Three: No, I'm With Him? 

The night had taken a turn between Malik's omission and Levi's charm. 

The feeling of smiling and laughing with Levi was starting to feel too good, and in the back of her mind, La'niia knew there was a lot of processing she needed to do about tonight. 

The hallway, just beyond the ballroom, was quiet; cream molding trimmed the walls, and low golden sconces flickered with a gentle glow, making the space feel intimate. There are no windows here, which means no camera flashes from outside. The plush carpet muffles every step, and the mirrored walls enhance the space's tranquil atmosphere.

La'niia stands in the corner, unseeing.

Her arms are loosely crossed, she's not defensive, but her thoughts are taking place in all directions. The thought of leaving early crosses her mind, but she knows the night is too important for Malik, and that's why she's alone. She feels guilty for being so self-absorbed on a day that's so important to him, and that's what hurts her. She's trying to understand why she wasn't deemed important enough to mention.

La'niia leans against the cool, smooth wall, her weight distributing evenly, a silent comfort in the echoing quiet. The rhythmic pulse of the music from the ballroom fades to a soft murmur, allowing her to focus on the turmoil within. Her breath comes in shallow, unsteady patterns, each one a testament to the conflicting emotions swirling around her. The cool stone offers a stark contrast to the heat building in her cheeks, a heat fueled by the intoxicating charm of Levi and the nagging silence of Malik.

I just need to take a breather. 

One, no maybe two, and then return to the public. 

But, she hasn't moved. 

Her fingers are cold from the chilled air, and she regrets not having a wrap or knowing Malik's whereabouts so she could borrow his jacket. She rubs her hands up and down her arms, attempting to generate some warmth.

Malik notices La'niia, and when he looks at her, he feels something that he can't place a finger on because he'd seen it. 

He'd seen the entire interaction between Levi and La'niia.

He didn't hear them or whispers, but he'd seen just enough to feel this empty feeling in the center of his chest. 

He can't get the way Levi sat, relaxed, familiar, too close, with his body angled towards her. He noticed the way La'niia leaned away from Levi in the beginning, but at another glance, he saw her posture change and her cheeks glow; she angled towards Levi. 

She hadn't moved away. 

Malik's perception of the interaction shifted dramatically because of La'niia's expression, which, though indecipherable, revealed a softer side to her than he had seen throughout the evening.

Malik can't put a finger on what it is, but something about the two together stays in his head longer than it should have. He's not feeling threatened, but he's feeling something like an unwelcome interruption. He's been looking for her, and now he's found her. 

Malik's measured, confident footsteps echo as he enters the hallway. 

Malik's resolve is evident in his steady, purposeful stride, his focus entirely consumed by La'niia's presence. 

"I didn't notice you leave," he says, the first thing that seems sensible. He's not good with small talk.

"You were busy." She gives him a gentle, wry smile that brings him a little relief. "You did amazing tonight. I hope you know that. I'm proud of you and the way you've been working the room is perfection." 

Malik's hands remain stiffly at his sides, a silent testament to the conflicting emotions churning within him. He desperately wants to reach out, to offer comfort or reassurance, but a cautious hesitation holds him back. The urge to touch her, to bridge the subtle distance between them, is almost unbearable, a physical manifestation of the unspoken words and lingering questions that fill the air.

Is it appropriate? 

Am I able to? 

He nods, quick, slight. 

For a moment, the ambiance of the room and muffled music from the ballroom are the only sounds between them. 

"I was looking for you. I couldn't find you anywhere." He's trying to express something he doesn't know how to place into words. 

"Peek-a-boo." La'niia's playful response is a small, comforting spark in the room. 

Her soft murmur, barely a whisper, carries a hint of amusement and warmth. 

Her kind eyes, usually guarded, soften, reflecting a genuine connection and a brief respite from the evening's tension. There's a tender understanding in her gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the shared space they occupy, a place where vulnerability and affection dance. His eyes scan the space around her, touching her shoulder, eyebrows, her jawline, and the curve of her mouth, but not her eyes. La'niia keeps her gaze down, and despite her warmth, something feels amiss.

He knows this behavior. 

She used to do this in bed, when she didn't say what she wanted from me, what she may need. 

"You left the table." 

"Mhmm." 

"Was it too many people?" He asks, collecting data. "Was it too loud in there?" 

"I guess it was a little of everything tonight." She sighs the reply. 

He licks his lips, a little nervous, but not a long hesitation. 

"I saw you." He almost blurts the words out, but quickly completes the thought. "I mean, with Sloan, I saw you." 

He watches for something he doesn't know. 

She doesn't give any particular answer. "Oh, did you?" 

"He didn't seem to be a bother." He states, but it's a question. 

"Would you have done anything about it if he were?" 

He pauses and almost frowns. He hears something in the question that is confusing. Although she isn't angry or seems to blame him for anything, there is a flatness that says she is let down. He tries to think about what may have caused this. 

"I-I don't really like the way he looks at you." He says whispery. 

It feels awkward to discuss the turmoil he's experiencing, as she hasn't done anything wrong. They had a conversation, and that's what everyone in the ballroom is doing, but the image of them together keeps replaying in his mind, a persistent and unwelcome guest. The more he tries to push it away, the stronger it becomes, leaving him with a strange, unsettled feeling that he can't quite name.

La'niia looks away. "But you didn't step in." 

"N-no." He stutters just a touch. 

"Why, if you felt uncomfortable?" She pushes. 

"It didn't seem right." His brow furrowed. "I didn't know if you would be happy about that." 

She looks up, not right away but carefully. 

"Baby, you're not just some acquaintance." 

"I know." He feels a little better. 

"You say that a lot." She chuckles, and the mood feels a little lighter. 

However, the air around them still feels distant. 

Malik doesn't understand how they can be only a few inches apart and yet they feel like they are in different rooms. He takes three small steps forward, drawn to the closeness but uncertain about the propriety of the gesture. He almost sighs in relief when she doesn't move away, but is still confused by why he anticipates that she would move away from him. 

"I-I'm sorry. I should h-have s-said something." He murmurs, rubbing the back of his head as something is beginning to make sense to him.

Something he says is right because he sees her move a bit closer, her body language more open. "Yeah, it would have been nice if you had." 

He nods. 

"Sometimes, it doesn't feel right mentioning like that. You and I, we don't belong there. That's..." He feels a little frustrated, but he takes a deep breath. "It would've felt like I was giving them too much. I didn't think I should give them something so personal. A room full of people..." 

"Who already made their minds up anyway?" She gently finishes for him, with a question in her voice, and he wishes he hadn't placed it there. 

"Yes." 

"You know that they don't need my name to do that?" She offers with a calm voice. 

She sees that he's trying. He is understanding the best he can, and while he doesn't feel guilt, she can see the way the truth he hadn't considered changes how he saw things before this moment. 

She fully steps away from the wall and takes his hand. 

"I only needed a little breather; I took the five minutes I needed." She smiles a little for him. 

"I understand." 

But he doesn't, not yet, and she doesn't think this is the right time or place to delve into what she's still processing herself.

He looks down at their hands and holds onto hers. She already knows he's trying to make the moment count before they go back out there. He drops his hand. 

"Are you ready now?"  he asks. 

"Ready." She follows him back towards the ballroom doors. 

________________________________________________________________________________

Entering their home this night feels particularly comforting. 

There is a different silence here, a clean, comfortable one that doesn't need to be filled and puts La'niia at ease. 

Stepping out of her heels, she leaves them in a neat pair at the edge of the entrance rug. Malik seems to linger in the foyer space a little longer than usual with his keys in hand. He places them on the table with the precise mannerism he has, which makes her smile a little bit. She loves his little perfection tendencies. 

He doesn't ask how she's feeling, she doesn't ask him to speak deeper on why he didn't say her name, why she wasn't seated with him, why he feels this is something he can't give her, but she's grateful for it not being the topic of discussion tonight. 

I am emotionally worn out. 

This was a big night for him, and I'm sure it took a lot out of him to do as wonderfully as he did. 

La'niia moves first, and she feels his eyes on her as she moves into the kitchen. She pulls down her transparent, glass teapot and fills it. She sets it on the stove, and then comes the click of the glass burner as the fire makes the gentle whooshing pop sound of sparking as she turns the flame down a little. 

His tie is still on, and he lingers here because he's close to her, but he isn't good at knowing when to approach. He isn't always good at picking up on the subtle things. He understands emergencies, but navigating moods is much more challenging for him.

Malik loosens his tie and rolls up his sleeves. 

He feels a sort of aching to connect with her. 

"The mayor left kinda early, huh?" He asks from the doorway, attempting small talk. 

"He never really stays late. You had him feeling engaged. I'm telling you, you were great out there tonight." She doesn't turn but once again expresses pride, which makes him feel good about the night, despite his many worries about being "normal" enough.

He nods, mostly to himself. 

The steam rises from the kettle, and he watches her retrieve two mugs. He loves how she never asks if he likes tea; he doesn't care for it, but he knows that she does. So every time she makes any for him, he drinks it, and she has no clue how much the little moment matters to him. 

Once again, he feels a sort of relief, but wonders why things feel so tense and what's causing this edge between them.

"I don't like this type of night." He rubs the back of his head. "I mean, the events, I don't like them." 

He steps into the kitchen, leaning against the fridge. He watches her movements and, in some way, marvels that she's here and that he gets to share a life with her. These little moments mean something he doesn't know how to put into words for her. Malik cherishes these moments and wants to protect them, but he feels like he's failing to do so.

She's scooping out leaves and putting them into strainers, which go into the mugs. "You always say that, but it comes with the job. I know it's not always easy to do and that it takes a lot out of you." 

Malik clears his throat. 

He understands that she's speaking about his autism, and she's always been supportive when it came to that part of him. He never thought he would meet and love someone like her. Someone beautiful, intelligent, and could have anything or anyone she desires, yet she's here with him.

"I don't like what they do to you." His voice is even, sure, and holds finality. 

The unspoken concern etched on his face speaks volumes, a silent promise of unwavering protection against any perceived harm.

He notices the pause in her movement. 

He notices the way she tucks her bottom lip under her top teeth and the sharp intake of breath. 

He doesn't understand the wall she puts up, when there is obviously 'something' that these events do to her, and it affects them, but he needs that wall down to understand it all. Yet, he doesn't know how to bring it down. 

"I'm fine." She shrugs and returns to the tea making. 

He feels a little frustrated. 

He still doesn't have her eyes, and that's saying a lot because he still struggles with eye contact time to time. 

"La'niia, they make you..." He struggles for the word. "It's like you shrink." 

Now she does look at him, and he knows something has been said wrong. She's not angry, but there's something there, something he hasn't understood all night, and he doesn't know what words to use to confront it.

"Whenever am I small, Malik?" She seems frustrated by the comment. "I can't stand in a room without someone remarking on how I look or am dressed. Small is something I know nothing about." 

He can only try to express himself better. "I didn't mean it like that. What I'm trying to say is you get very quiet, and I don't know what that is." 

La'niia moves the mugs to the table, and he follows cautiously. 

"I'm sorry." She finally speaks. "Sometimes I'm figuring out the feelings, and quiet is the only thing I know how to be." 

She pushes the cup toward him. 

It's one of the teas that is blueberry, and it almost makes him smile because it's become the flavor of La'niia, trying to lift him or ease his stress. 

His eyes linger over her features and her flesh. It isn't in the glib and light way Levi did, but it's like he stamps something in her heart as he memorizes something about every part of her. La'niia removes her necklace and sets it on the table with a gentle clink, raising her tea cup and relaxing into the feeling of being home. 

"You looked so beautiful tonight." There's something in his voice that makes her ache. 

Heat rises over her body as she flushes. So many people said the words tonight, and yet none of them mattered, only him and his voice. She tucks some hair behind her ears, sipping her tea slowly and hiding a small grin. 

"Oh yeah?" She raises the question with a deeper, measured tone. 

Malik's eyes move over her, slow, like honey. 

"You're always so beautiful, and maybe I don't say it enough because I don't want to add to the frustration I see you feel when everyone tells you." 

La'niia's breath catches. 

Sometimes he sees nothing, and other times he sees it all, so clearly. 

"You aren't them, you're you." She reaches across for his hand, and he readily gives it. 

"I don't want this to keep happening." There is a raw passion in his voice. 

La'niia chews her lip. 

"Hey, enough about tonight." She squeezes his hand. "Let's celebrate how wonderful it went. This is your night, baby. This isn't my night or about me. You've done some amazing things, and I don't want that getting lost within whatever this is." 

"You know that all of that stuff doesn't matter to me." He murmurs as she stands, moving towards him with a deliberation that makes his body throb. 

The unspoken tension in the air crackles, a magnetic pull drawing them closer. His voice is a low, husky whisper, a stark contrast to the earlier awkwardness, carrying a raw intimacy that ignites a hidden fire within him.

"Oh, I know." She speaks with a feminine husk. "But I'm talking about the man who delivered the speech, who used to freeze up in public. I've witnessed the amazing progress you've made on the public side. I'm proud of you."

When she enters his space, sitting on his lap, Malik buries his face into her neck, inhaling her clean scent mixed with the mature and spicy scent of her favorite perfume. Her skin is warm in his hands as they smooth over the skin that's exposed, his fingers finding the zipper of the dress and pulling it down with careful savoring. 

"Just look at me." His voice, raw with vulnerability, as she touches the side of his face.

Her intense, dark brown eyes meet his, and the feeling is an overwhelming impulse, a compulsion. He can't imagine a life without her. And he doesn't have to use words to express that as he sinks into the kiss she initiates, wishing he could share her every breath.