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He’s shoring up against a rising flood with sandbags. The water is coming in around his feet, rising up to his ankles. Every part of him wants to hunker in and wait to drown. He doesn't know what's waiting for him up there but he can't let it in can't let it in can't let it in—
“Marc.” Stevens' voice is soft and cajoling. His eyes are big and wet and needy — here comes the fucking flood — and his palm is warm on Marc’s shoulder. He doesn't need this. Not from Steven. He’s ruthless, a killer, a ghost haunting the fringes of the night and fading at dawn. He doesn't need this. Steven edges closer, close enough to smell (he favours a light cologne of pine and citrus, he smells like winter sunshine) until he slots himself in around all of Marc’s rough edges, fitting perfectly. He’s so warm, his breath fluttering light as a butterfly’s wings.
“No—!” Marc chokes, but he can't bring himself to pull away — the water’s up around his thighs now he can’t stop it all his measures until now have been nothing —
“I'm sorry,” Steven squeezes out, voice tight. He pulls Marc in for a gentle hug, cradling him close. Marc wants to make a cage of his ribs and pull Steven in and hold him inside him, right next to his heart where no one can hurt him, and the feeling seems to be mutual and Marc can’t breathe. “You’ve been carrying it all on your own…”
“You weren't supposed to see,'' Marc buries his nose in Steven’s neck. “I didn't want you to see.”
“I had to. I had to.” Steven’s fingers comb through his hair, gently carding through the dark curls until they frizz out, nails pleasantly scraping at the base of his neck. “I’m sorry I misjudged you…”
“No!” Marc snaps, and tries to pull away from the hug, but Steven holds on tight. “You didn’t, I’m not—!”
“Marc please. Let me. I need this. Okay? I need this.”
Marc settles at the whine in Steven’s voice like he flipped a switch. He can solve him as easily as ancient Egyptian puzzles, pull out the scraps of him and fold him into any shape he wants. He breathes through his mouth, shaky, and lets Steven hold him. If Steven needs this, he can give it to him. He can manage at least this.
“I said mean things to you without knowing anything. I’m sorry.” Steven's lips are against his temple. The water’s up to his chest, cold and dragging. Steven’s found his way in through all the cracks, knows just what to say so all the walls come crashing down, Jericho after the trumpet blasts, levies breaking in a hurricane. Marc can’t summon the strength to fight him anymore. A tear leaks from his eye, wets the cotton of Steven’s shirt.
“Never wanted you to see that.” Marc whispers. His arms, weighed down in the water, come up around Steven’s back, fingers twisting in his shirt. He's got to keep it together, hold himself steady, he’s the lighthouse in the storm, he’s the unbreachable gates of Troy, he cannot sink.
“I'm glad you did. Even if it hurt. I'm glad. Thank you.” His breath is hot and damp against Marc's ear, voice on the edge of tears. He's trembling, and Marc wishes he still had the strength to soothe him. But he sags against Steven’s support, crumbles into him like a cliff eventually crumbles into the tide. “I'm sorry you went through it alone. But I'm here now. I’m here now.”
Marc wants to say he wasn't alone. He always knew Steven was there, a bright and soft place inside him where everything is right, and good. An untouchable thing just for him, where life is made of chickpea sandwiches and used book stores and Sunday morning bus commutes. Steven was always there, existing carefree and untouched, the prize at the center of the maze he built, while Marc was the Minotaur stalking the edges. But he can't say any of that. Can’t let Steven know — the water is up over his head and he’s drowning, he’s drowning, and there's Steven in the murky dark, hair swirling in the currents pulling him down down down until his lungs burst, the most alluring siren —
“You protected me.” Steven whispers, almost to himself. “You protected me and now I… now that I know, I can protect you too, okay?” Marc opens his mouth to disagree, and Steven pulls away to look at him, all big pleading eyes, reddened with tears he keeps blinking back. His thumb gently traces the delicate skin below Marc's left eye, so tenderly Marc nearly flinches back. “I need that. Please let me.” Marc’s eyes skitter away from Steven’s, he can't find the breath to answer. But that seems to be all Steven needs anyway. He presses a soft kiss to each of Marc’s fluttering eyelids, it's so sweet Marc can taste the lingering nectar of it. “We can protect each other okay?”
— his head’s underwater but he’s still breathing. This is life at the bottom of the ocean, Steven's hand in his and there’s no more flood. There’s no flood. You’re not evil. You’ve worked hard. You’ve done so good. You’re good. How long…? How long…?
Steven’s ripping him all up, like a child with Christmas paper, and Marc doesn't know if he’ll like what he finds inside but he wants to believe him. He’s not a monster. It wasn't his fault. He wants to believe him. Steven’s lips press to his forehead, warm palms gently cupping his face like he’s the precious one and he wants to believe him.
“Okay?” Steven presses a little more insistently. “Will you let me do that for you?”
Marc takes a breath through lungs full of water. “Okay.” He whispers back.