[The past few days, it's been mild. Small actions. The urge to want York happy. Clean a little more than usual, cook a little more. Tidy, clean, everything just so, and perfect for his boyfriend. Maybe tunelessly humming to himself, seeming content. Nothing wrong with that, right?

Right. Exactly. And what's so wrong about cuddling up to his boyfriend and giving him a little peck on the cheek? Absolutely nothing. Malcolm settles in with a sigh and some light reading. What is he reading? Wedding magazines. He'll never tell. There might be all of five minutes of this peace before:]

What do you think of children? Having them of your own, I mean. Having a family to call your own. Ever thought about it?