Work Text:
Layla loved the duo more than words could describe. Sure, they had a questionable beginning, and a rough reunion, but they had grown closer with the events that Harrow brought on. Honestly, she couldn’t be more thankful.
She loved Marc and Steven with her whole being. Marc was stubborn, cunning, protective, while Steven was inquisitive, gentle, kind. They were such opposites, but quite similar at the same time.
They loved very differently, Layla had found. While she had gotten decently good at picking up on switches, she always knew exactly who she was waking up to.
Steven, ever the touchy, found solace in laying on her chest. He would sleep with his ear over her heart, a hand gripping at the loose shirt she wore to bed. On the nights he craved more skin to skin contact, that hand would travel to rest against her soft stomach or her waist, holding her close.
Those mornings held a special place in her heart, for the sole reason of how domestic it felt. Most, if not all, mornings she would wake up first, to find her love still fast asleep, taking her captive as his human pillow. She would take those moments to brush her fingers through his dark curls, working as gently as possible to detangle any knots. Layla also took to brushing the pads of her fingers over his face, admiring how relaxed he looked. She would oh-so-carefully trace over the fine, near nonexistent, lines beginning to form. Whether they be from Jake’s constant scowl or Marc’s inability to stop scrunching his brows together, she would never know, but she loved them nonetheless.
Marc, on the other hand, was possessive even in his slumber. Most nights he’d sleep with his chest pressed flush against her back, his arms loosely caging her in. He held her close, while still managing to prevent her from feeling claustrophobic. He’d snuggle his face into her neck, or bury his nose in her hair, always wearing a soft smile on his face as he did so.
Opposed to Steven, Marc was usually up before Layla. She would be woken by calloused hands brushing over her arms and stomach, and a pair of lips pressing kisses along her neck and jaw. Unbeknownst to her, Marc would spend most mornings counting her freckles, or seeing what shapes he could imagine them making. The highest he ever got was 106, before her eyelids would flutter open and she would give him a soft, dopey smile. Of course, she would never find out he did that, no matter how many times Steven tried to snitch.
This very morning, she woke to the person behind her- Marc -rolling over and spatting out lord knows what. Layla made a noise of disapproval, her brows furrowing as she rolled onto her back.
“What’re you doing…?” She grumbled, her eyes barely open as she stared at her husband, who had sat up.
Marc spat, pulling a face. “Your goddamn hair is in my mouth.” He huffed, eventually pulling the singular hair free.
Layla scowled, rolling back onto her side to turn her back to the dumbass she had married. “You should be used to it.” She yawned, pulling the blanket closer to her chin and tucking her arms against her chest.
“I am, until it tries to kill me.” He scoffed, soon laying back down. He gazed at her, his hand coming to rub her back.
She all but melted under his touch, a smile curling on her lips. She inhaled deeply, then rolled onto her other side to face her husband. Gingerly, she stroked his cheek.
When their eyes met, all she could feel was the pure adoration that radiated off Marc. Stars littered his eyes as he stared at her. Layla knew she didn’t look her best. Her hair was a mess, there was crust decorating her inner corners, she even had a feeling there was dried drool up the side of her cheek, but she could never get tired of how Marc looked at her as if she was some sort of goddess.
He brushed her curls away from her forehead and replaced them with a kiss. “Morning, baby.” He whispered, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
“Morning.” Layla echoed, tracing her fingers along Marc’s jaw. “Steven still asleep?” She asked, despite knowing the answer.
Marc snorted, nodding his head fondly. “I think he’s trying to catch up after months of me taking the body at night. I don’t blame him, he deserves some rest.”
Layla hummed with a nod. Her hand traveled down to brush gently over the two circular scars that decorated her love’s chest. She tried not to think about it too much, knowing it would drag her into a dark place. She broke her gaze from him, looking over to the clock hung on the wall.
“Well,” she began, sitting up and stretching her arms above her head. “I should wash up, I’ve got a few errands to run.” She threw a small smile at him before tossing the blankets off her legs and getting up. “I told Steven I’d get some fresh produce from the farmers market when they opened, I know he’s been patiently waiting.” She said as she ventured into their on-suite. “Do you want to come? You’re more than welcome to.”
Marc’s face seemed to fall, not that she could have seen it with her back turned. Being separated had been…less than optimal, since the whole “Ammit situation” and since they had been freed from Khonshu, mostly on Steven’s behalf. He sighed, pushing himself back upright.
“I think we’ll stay back.” He said as he stretched his back. “Steven’s still out cold, so I think we’ll be fine.”
Layla nodded, at least as best she could as she tied her hair up. “Well, I won’t be far. You can always call me if something happens.” She flashed him a smile. “Or have Steven call.” She added with a wink.
——
They were not fine.
——
Layla was gone for an hour and a half, maybe two at most. It wasn’t even 11AM last she checked her watch and her phone hadn’t buzzed once, so she thought she was in the clear. Besides, Steven was usually out until at least noon, and he had Marc to keep him company if he woke up.
She thought everything had been fine, until she stepped foot into their small, cozy apartment.
One of the first things she ever learned about Steven was that he was a worrier. He fussed over Marc, over Layla, over the fish, even over Jake. If there was a soul to be taken care of, Steven was the guy to do it. On top of being a worry-wart, his anxiety was all but crippling. He put up a strong front for her, she knew he did, but she could see right through it. The way he tucked his arms against his chest and under his chin when they watched shows together, the way his fingers twitched and his eyes darted down to determine if her hands were free for holding. The way he would lean against her back in public, itching to be as close as possible so they wouldn’t be separated.
He just wanted to be close to her, she knew that. Layla knew she was his safe person, and it was an honor. He flourished from her validation, his face lighting up tenfold whenever she complimented him or congratulated him. It warmed her heart, but she sometimes just needed to get away. She never blamed either of her husbands, knowing neither of them could control it, she just needed a breather every so often.
That’s why she usually would get out when Marc fronted, especially in the mornings, since both of them knew Steven wouldn’t even notice. Marc was usually alright on his own, he had done it for so long he wasn’t phased. Although that didn’t mean Layla wasn’t swooped off her feet the moment she walked through the door, her husband pressing his face to her hair and thanking the gods she got home safe.
Apparently today was different.
She stepped into the flat, pushing the door closed with her foot. “I’m home!” She called as she placed bags on the counter. She paused, awaiting an answer.
It never came.
Layla frowned, cocking her head to the side. Marc couldn’t have gone out, his shoes were still by the door. As were Steven’s and Jake’s.
“Marc?” She called, turning the corner to their small shared bedroom. “Honey?”
There was a lump under their duvet, suspiciously husband-shaped. For a moment she would have believed he was asleep, until she saw the slight hitch in his breath. Layla’s frown deepened as she sat beside her lump of husband. She placed her hand on what she assumed was his head, patting gently.
“Marc?” She spoke gently, so as to not spook him.
No response.
Oh. Oh.
“Steven?”
That’s when the lump moved. Slowly, the Brit poked his head out. His eyes were red rimmed and heartbreakingly glassy. Oh how the sight broke her heart.
“Hey, bubba.” Layla said softly, brushing his curls away from his forehead. “What’s wrong?”
Steven brought his sleeve-covered hands up to rub his eyes, probably doing nothing more than irritating them further. He sniffled, his eyes drifting away from hers.
“Woke up and you were gone.” He said quietly, his eyes fixated on Gus and Gus II’s tank. “Marc said you’d left, didn’t tell me where you’d gone.”
Of course Marc didn’t tell him, it was no surprise. Knowing the host he probably tried to talk Steven back into going to sleep, but the alter was already wide awake with the knowledge that their wife was absent.
Layla nodded slowly, leaning down to kiss his temple. “I was a few blocks over, at the farmers market.” She said as she tucked a curl behind his ear. “I got us loads of goodies. We can even try to make those cauliflower nuggets you’ve wanted to try.” She told him, brushing away a tear that fell down his cheek.
Gods, she felt awful.
“But you came back…” Steven mumbled, mostly to himself.
“Of course I came back, I’ll always come back.” Layla was quick to say. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”
Steven nodded slowly, pushing himself up to lay his head on Layla’s lap. He sighed, pressing his nose against her leg.
Layla continued to brush through his hair, smiling softly down at him. “I’ll make sure Marc lets you know where I go next time, okay? And you can always come with me, Stevie.”
“Steven.” He was quick to stay.
“Steven, not Stevie. Sorry.” She chuckled, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “Is there anything I can do for you, bubba?” She asked.
The corners of Steven’s lips quirked up slightly. “Just stay.” He whispered.
Layla could do that, she could stay. She felt awful for having left Steven, but they would talk about it more later. Right now he just needed her presence, and she was happy to oblige.
She would go on to help Steven make some strange vegan alternative for lunch, even if Marc butted in half way through to tell them how gross it looked. She would then indulge herself in Steven’s ramblings, with his dramatic hand gestures and the way he would bounce on the balls of his feet.
Later that afternoon she would settle on the couch with Marc, tucked under his arm as they watched Breaking Bad . She would even have a quick conversation with Jake, the alter being peeved at the theatrics of the show.
That night would go as they always did. She would fall asleep with her husband, no matter who may be fronting. They would fit together like puzzle pieces as they always did, and in the morning they would do everything all over again.
Layla, despite all the hurdles to be jumped, wouldn’t have it any other way.