Poor Malcolm. I scared him half to death at breakfast, and his day's only got worse since then.

All propriety, he hates his captain asking about him—but I can't help it. I'm powerless against his vulnerability. This slight creature in my arms is a mass of contradictions: strength, weakness, courage, fear, humour, sadness—wanting to be independent: yearning to belong.

Determined to protect me, yet needing protection.

Let me in, Malcolm. I love you.

He tenses—searching. For me?

"Malcolm, I'm here. I'll never let you go."

I hug him and he relaxes.

Maybe the door is ajar.