Sunlight.
He thinks, whenever he hears the word, of Faith, born as the first light of day touched the earth, as all the family gathered around to look into the emerald eyes of their late father.

He never thinks of the physical entity of sunlight. A ball of fire, orange light curling, hot and violent. The way it slashes through the air and down onto earth, burning up crops, drying up water, burning flesh so it becomes red, raw and angry. How when the sun comes up it is another day and no one cares what happened to you yesterday. Sunlight, he thinks and then moves on.

He thinks the word sunlight for one moment as it dashes to the end of the sky, succumbing the world into darkness, while Malachi simply looks on with those rare green eyes of his. The russet haired boy then turns his attention to the music, standing near the back, content to simply let himself be swept away by the sound of everything, a grin crossing his features. The music sweeps the chestnut haired boy away to his thoughts. He can almost picture it for a moment, his sisters besides him. Alia with her own russet tinted locks that, like Malachi's never seemed to be able to be contained and always lay messy atop her head or in a bun, he can picture her dancing like no one was watching. And then Lisabet with her obsidian locks, pale skin and those hazel eyes closed as she simply gently swayed back and forth, as if she had her own song playing in her head to accompany the concert. Despite their many differences between one another, whether it be their age, in the case of Lisabet being much older than Malachi and Alia, or their personalities, Alia being the wildflower that she was, and Lisabet being quieter than a church mouse, the siblings could not be closer. Regardless of whether or not Lisabet was related to them by blood or not.

Emerald eyes open beneath copper tinted lashes. And the green eyed boy is reminded once again that he is no longer home. He hadn't thought that it would be so hard leaving home. It would seem that everyone else in his dorm had adjusted to college so easily, those deep green eyes having watched as his many dorm mates heading out for a night of partying, Malachi hardly having any interest in the manner. He would stay up late studying, then see those same people come stumbling back into the dorm, clearly in a differently altered state than before. Malachi didn't even drink coffee or caffeinated tea, so certainly seeing people his age drunk was quite a shock. He too saw boys and girls escaping into the same rooms as one another, closing the doors behind them and Malachi had quickly turned away to peer back into his books, not wanting to think of all that went on outside of his little study area.

But as the music reaches his ears, a simper of that old Malachi smiles finds his face. He runs a hand across the hair he wears, encasing that russet hair, the same copper hair as his father's and both his younger sisters. And inside he laughs, because of course it would be his family, simply even just thoughts of them that would make him smile and comfort his thoughts. He can remember not very long ago, he had been left holding a bottle with the last drops of his happiness drying up quickly. But his family had gotten him through it and there wasn't a thing in the world Malachi wouldn't do for his family.

Multifaceted green eyes, like that of shamrocks, of the russet haired young man stare up at the band admiringly. Malachi's family had been quite musical, the red head not only having a gift for singing, but he knew how to play the trumpet and trombone as well. (Malachi had also went through a guitar and bass phase, and though he was talentedâ€"it was short lived.) And so he watches as the trumpets play their music, and the guy on the drums seems to lose himself in the beat and a smile tugs on his lips. The copper haired boy loved the sound of live music, but the chestnut youth has no idea who has spotted him amongst the crowd.

The coppery haired teen can feel almost that prickle on the back of his neck, but it is entirely forgotten the moment he turns around in response to a woman's plea for help. Now, Malachi was a fellow, who unless otherwise given reason, was kind and throughout and was raised to be polite and mannerly. A growing man with a gentle smile and desire to help those who could not help themselves. And the russet haired boy could certainly not simply ignore a cry for help. The auburn boy goes to the woman, his heart reaching out for her. His gentleman's smile replaced with a deep look of concern for her within those emerald eyes of his. "Of course I will help you," the statement from the auburn haired college kid is said without any hesitancy or doubt. But there is something in her eyes, that causes Malachi to almost want to flinch, despite the fact that all he sees is a woman who needs his help, there is something within him that is screaming danger to him. Call it instinct if you will, but Malachi ignores it all the same. His hand reaches out towards her own in the most platonic and helpful way possible, and though he recognizes her beauty, he is far too worried to even consider such a thought at a time like this. "What do you need me to help you with?" He asks, carefully tracing the planes of her face, while his own masculine face scrunches slightly in worry. He speaks once more. "What do you need me to do?"