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He didn’t know if Steven would want to stay.
Khonshu had given them their own bodies, not out of the kindness of his heart but because their third alter was his best candidate, and he didn’t need the other two in his way. Neither Marc nor Steven even knew of his existence, but had tried to convince him anyway that becoming the vessel was a terrible idea. Jake was aware of the consequences, but didn’t care.
Marc had no idea where he was now. For some reason Steven has his number, Marc not even remembering a time they exchanged it, and they chat every once in a while. Friendliness was always Steven’s thing. Marc had no problem with the guy, but he wasn’t the interested in blooming any more relationships. He was fine with just Layla and Steven.
And that was kind of the problem, wasn’t it? Someone as self destructive as him shouldn’t have so little friends. It’s risk.
Layla and Marc had finalized the divorce. No harsh reason, they just felt that friendship was more their style. Layla was warm and assuring throughout the entire divorce process. Telling him she’ll always be in his life no matter what they became. Marc didn’t know if that was better or worse. After everything he’d put her through, he didn’t think he deserved her kindness. And yet they remained friends. She updates him of her weekly travels, stunning photos from Russia to Cuba to France.
Marc chose to stay in England.
With Steven.
And he didn’t know if Steven would want to stay. If he would want to be around him after everything he put them through. But there was never a discussion. The moment the both of them stepped through the door Steven went straight under the covers and wished him goodnight. Like it was that simple.
True, Marc paid for the apartment, but it was still Steven’s. This was never his home the way it was Steven’s. Maybe Steven just let him stay for that reason, because he paid the bills. Even with that, Marc still felt as if he were trespassing, as if he were to be kicked out at any moment, or a vice versa of Steven walking out the door because not even the comfort of his book riddled apartment could make him want to be around Marc.
So Marc settled his own boundaries, ones he thought would benefit Steven. He slept on the couch.
Steven protested it for a few days, stressing about how uncomfortable that must be, but Marc being as stubborn as he was eventually Steven gave up. But that was the most conflict they had. Though their bodies were now separate, their routine felt as simple as one individual.
Marc would make their breakfast, Steven would make Marc’s coffee. While Marc would mumble a quiet thank you, Steven would boast his gratitude with maximum enthusiasm, always telling Marc how much he loved his cooking. And every time Marc would shrug it off and keep his eyes in the reflection of his coffee, always ignoring the way that little things like that flustered him. Steven would head out the door to job hunt, wishing Marc a good day. Marc would step out of his comfort zone just to say “you too”.
Marc was going to go job hunting too, just not yet. He decided to wait a bit, take a chance to just do nothing, something he hadn’t been able to do in a very long time. Steven agreed to this idea, saying that he deserved a break, so that made him feel less guilty.
Still, Marc wasn’t totally useless. He did the chores, and made a goal this month to figure out a way to de-clutter Steven’s catastrophe of books scattered in every corner of the apartment. He didn’t do much, little things like clean the bathroom and sweep the floor, but Steven noticed every time, once again overwhelming Marc with praise.
Marc made dinner too, not because he had to, he just liked to cook, and with Steven’s meals being burnt toast and store bought cookies there was no protest. They would have dinner at the table, or on the couch, and just talk. Steven would talk the most, and Marc loved to listen. Being with Steven felt so good, so safe. For once Marc felt good.
So of course if anyone were to ruin that it would be Marc himself.
He was aware of his nightmares. He’d either have a nightmare, or dream of nothing at all. Maybe they were easier with Steven in his head. He didn’t know how that would even work, but with his mind now alone the nightmares somehow felt worse. Like he couldn’t just sleep through them anymore. Throughout the first week he would have them, and they’d be terrible, but he would wake up with a slight gasp then be able to rest again. A few nights he dreamt of nothing. It seemed nothing to worry about, nothing to address, especially to Steven.
And then one night it was.
He was in his room, the room he had when he was a young boy. It was a replica from memory, except there were no doors. He was a young boy too, still his present mind, but in his younger self’s body. And there was his mother. Standing across from him, eyes flooded with indescribable rage. She was holding the belt in her hand.
He wanted Steven.
“It should of been you.” She trembled, taking a step forward. A step closer. He couldn’t move. He didn’t know how to move.
He wanted Steven. Where was Steven? He needed Steven.
“Steven,” he called out, hearing the crack of his own voice. No response. She took another step. Closer.
“Steven,” he tried again. No answer. “Steven please come here- Steven please” he began, becoming more desperate.
Why was he so scared? This happened before. She’s hurt him before. But before he had Steven. Steven made him feel safe. He couldn’t do this alone.
“Steven. Steven. Steven!” He began chanting over and over, rocking back and forth with his hands tangled in his hair. Steven wasn’t coming.
And still, as she cracked the first blow, he just kept crying out for him. Steven wouldn’t leave him like this. He couldn’t have. Where was he? Why wouldn’t he come?
Marc kept crying out Steven’s name, as if it would cease his mother’s punishment. He just didn’t want to be alone.
“Marc. Marc. Hey. Marc wake up.”
In a matter of seconds Marc was gasping, panting, startled and panicking and frantic. It was dark, and then he realized it wasn’t. There was a dim light. The lamp was on. He was on the couch, in Steven’s apartment. For the first few seconds he didn’t realize Steven was there too.
“Hey, hey. Just breathe, okay? You’re okay. I’m right here. It’s okay.” Steven spoke softly, one hand holding his bicep and the other palm pressed against his chest. Marc was shirtless, and typically the touch would catch his attention, but right now he was disoriented.
He wanted to say something, anything, but he didn’t know what. He just kept hyperventilating.
“Marc- take deep breaths. Breathe with me. Can you do that?” Marc shakily nodded in response. Steven gave a gentle smile.
After 5 minutes Marc’s breathing was regulated, and was aware of his surroundings. Steven finally pulled his hands away from him and kept them in his lap. Marc wanted them back, but didn’t want to ask. He was already vulnerable enough right now.
“What are you doing here?” Marc asked, maybe not wording it the best way, but he had to know. He didn’t have to be here. He could’ve slept through it. Marc had nightmares before.
“You were calling my name.”
Oh.
“What?” he asked, hating his voice for sounding so small.
Steven hesitated for a second, probably because he knew vulnerability stressed Marc out, but still repeated himself. “You were calling my name. I was sleeping, when I kept hearing you cry out ‘Steven’ over and over again. You sounded scared. So I came over to wake you up”
If the roles were reversed Steven would probably feel grateful for the assistance. Marc however? He felt like he was going to throw up. The last thing he needed was Steven thinking he was clingy, or needy, to the point where Steven can’t get a good nights rest without Marc calling out to him. He wants Steven to know he cares, just not too much.
“Okay. Thanks. I’m fine now.” Marc mumbled, beginning to lay back down so he can hide under the covers and pretend this never happened.
“Do you want to share the bed?” Steven offered. And he said it so casually. Meanwhile Marc froze in his place.
“No,” he said quickly. Too quickly. Steven’s eyes shifted, appearing hurt. Marc went to open his mouth again, but Steven beat him to it.
“I just meant for your nightmares. So when you need me I’m there,” he said, avoiding eye contact and sounding less sure than before. Marc wanted to smack himself for always doing the worst things at the worst times.
“It’s your bed,” Marc explained. “I’m not going to take up your bed. And I appreciate tonight, but I don’t need you to sleep. I’m okay. I promise.”
He hoped lying about not needing him wouldn’t hurt Steven’s feelings. From the looks of his face he didn’t take it personally. He just seemed worried. Marc rolled over, proving a point of going back to sleep. Steven’s eyes bore into his bare back for a good 2 minutes, saying nothing, then giving a soft sigh before heading back to sleep himself.
And it wasn’t talked about in the morning. Steven seemed wary, his eyes expressed worry, but Marc pretended to be oblivious to it. Steven never pushed, he knew the limits, but Marc knew he would want to be helpful.
“How did you sleep?”
“Fine.”
“I don’t have to go out today. Maybe I could stay and help you with the house-“
“It’s okay, Steven. You can go.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I wanted you to stop at the store anyway. If you need me you can text me.”
“… okay.”
And that was it. Steven knew better than to expect Marc to want to open up. The day went on, and they were back to their routine. When Steven came home he greeted Marc as if nothing were different. When they had dinner Steven would ramble as usual and Marc would input every now and then to show he was listening.
For Marc this was all an extreme relief. He was glad Steven let it go, he just wanted to pretend it never even happened.
Of course his mind felt differently.
He was back in the Duat, specifically the asylum. He remembered how it all went before, how he found Steven and they eventually escaped together. Except he couldn’t find Steven. The halls were endless, infinite, and every door he opened was empty. He would call out his name, hoping for any response to direct him in where to go.
It was quiet. Too quiet.
Bright white halls that went on forever. The only sound being his frantic footsteps and his own voice. And no matter where he looked he couldn’t find Steven. It began to irritate him- no, it made him anxious. He couldn’t get out and he couldn’t find Steven. He just wanted this to end. And if this were his eternity, he didn’t want to do it alone. He could bare an eternity if it was with Steven. The last thing he wanted was to be alone with himself. Steven made living manageable. He didn’t want to live without him. He-
“Marc. Marc I’m here.”
He stole a few quick breaths as he tried to sit up. He felt like he needed to get up and run, he had to keep moving if he was going to find Steven. But a gentle hand pushed him back into the cushions.
“Hey, hey it’s alright love. You were dreaming. It’s alright.” Steven spoke so softly. And there he was again, knelt by the couch, his hands on Marc, consoling him as if he deserved it. He knew that the term “love” was only apart of his British self, but it never ceased to make Marc’s heart skip a beat.
Marc groaned when he realized the situation he was in. It happened again. He buried his face in both hands, he wasn’t sure whether it was from humiliation or the fact that he was still a bit shaken up from his dream.
“What happened?” He muffled into his hands, already knowing the answer.
“You were calling my name again.” Steven murmured. There was a good minute of silence. Suddenly a hand was in his hair. Stroking. Marc unconsciously pressed into it.
Physical affection from Steven wasn’t new. Marc just wasn’t used to it. He would brush his fingertips against Marc’s arm while passing him in the kitchen. He would thank Marc through hugging. He would playfully kick Marc’s leg under the table whenever Marc had something snarky to say. But he was always gentle. Always fond. And Marc never told him to stop. He didn’t know if he wanted to. He didn’t know how to give it back either. He was selfish that way. Accepting all of Steven’s touches but giving him nothing in return. But Steven seemed to understand. Always so understanding, so gentle, so caring. The difference between the two of them was so drastic sometimes it could make Marc sick.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Steven asked, no louder than a whisper. He kept stroking his hair, just slower, more cautiously.
“No.” Marc stated, as if he was sure of that answer.
For a moment it was quiet again. Marc slowly pulled his hands away from his face and stared at the ceiling. The other kept stroking his hair. It was dark, Steven didn’t turn on the lamp this time. Still, Marc didn’t want to look at him and risk seeing an expression that might make his emotions spill.
Steven pulled his hand away to fiddle with his sleeves. Marc wished he didn’t. He wanted his touch. But once again he didn’t say anything. He kept his eyes to the ceiling.
He didn’t want to talk. He was afraid if he said more than 5 words he’d tell Steven everything. How scared he keeps feeling, how badly he needs him, how badly he wants him, how the more time they spend together the more dependent he feels. Steven couldn’t know that. He had already ruined his life enough.
Steven did the talking. “Marc, if I can help you, I’d like to-”
“I’m fine.” Marc interrupted, almost too snippy. But Steven didn’t flinch. “I’ll try not to let it happen again. I’m going to go back to sleep now.” And he rolled over, as if that was a decent way to conclude a conversation.
He could hear Steven’s silence, the worry in it all. In what felt like ages he eventually got up and crept back into bed. It sounded like he was purposely trying not to make a sound his entire journey back there.
-
He realized he slept in a bit longer than usual when he woke up to the sound of Steven scurrying around the apartment. Marc was usually the first to wake up.
Even with sleeping in, Marc felt exhausted. Drained. Ashamed.
He was feeling a bit dazed from before, so hadn’t really realized he was watching Steven in silence until he caught his eyes.
“Oh hello,” Steven breathed out with a small smile. There was still the worry in his eyes. “Did you sleep alright?”
“Why are you home?” Marc asked, ignoring the question.
Steven took a moment before realizing what he meant, how he likes to spend the day going out and running errands and handing out resumes. Marc preferred hiding at home.
“I thought it’d be nice to just stay home today,” Steven reasoned. His eyes still worried.
“You don’t have to do that.” Mark grumbled.
“I want to talk about what happened,” Steven blurted out, the topic obviously picking away at his mind throughout the day.
Marc didn’t answer. He just huffed, then dragged his body to the kitchen to get coffee. He needed it.
“I’m sorry for waking you up again. I’ll figure something out so it won’t happen again” he finally said. Steven had already prepared a pot of coffee for whenever Marc woke up. He was so sweet it was sick.
“It’s not about that- I’m worried about you.”
“You don’t have to be,” Marc refused eye contact. Focused on the coffee he was trying to swallow.
“Marc- if you’re struggling with something- with anything- you can tell me. I want you to tell me” Steven pleaded. Marc wished that was enough, that Steven’s ridiculously huge heart could finally break Marc free from his closed off, self loathing shackles. He wished.
“Steven, I don’t want to talk about it. Do you understand? I don’t want to talk to you about it. It’s none of your concern.” He barked. Too snappy than he meant for it to be. Too aggressive.
But Steven didn’t back down that easily. “It is when you’re calling my name.”
“Jesus Christ- I’ll sleep on the other fucking couch okay? It’ll be less likely for you to hear me then.”
“That’s not what I meant, Marc-“
“Just drop it. Please.” Marc had meant to sound more firm, more angry, but instead his voice cracked and the overwhelming shame seeped out.
Steven didn’t say more.
Neither of them spoke much throughout the day. Marc cleaned the kitchen, Steven read a book. Steven would have helped but he knew when Marc wanted to be left alone.
There was a continuous tension in the air. Not anger, not bitterness. But Marc could physically feel that Steven knew. He knew Marc was upset, worried, exhausted, embarrassed. He could feel Steven’s eyes following him around the apartment, even when no words were said.
Marc was unable to hide from it, he felt completely vulnerable by the way Steven looked at him like some wounded animal. Steven knowing he was upset just made him more upset. He needed to get out.
“I’m going out.” He mumbled after a few hours of bearing the suffocating silence. Steven wanted to be Marc’s support, but knew when Marc needed real space.
“Okay,” he said quietly. Even if he wanted to argue it, Marc was too anxious and hasty, stumbling to slip his feet into his sneakers and unlocking the door at the same time. “Text me though okay? Every now and then.”
Marc said nothing, just nodded, not even thinking if Steven was able to see that response when his back was turned. It didn’t matter right now, he couldn’t breathe, he didn’t like the weight of the air, he needed out. He slipped through the door without saying goodbye.
Marc told himself he was going out for a walk, so he could cool down by the fresh air and come back feeling better. Instead he wound up in a bar for hours, hopeful that each drink would wash away each awful memory.
Steven would always text first, things like “everything alright?” Or “are you coming home soon?”. Marc would reply with one worded answers, like “fine” and “soon”. And then that made him feel like shit, because he was giving Steven such a hard time, the only person besides Layla who cared about him. He felt he tarnished anything good that came his way, and hated himself for it, and for that he drank more. He was lucky he wasn’t driving.
As he struggled to walk back home he tilted his head up at the sky, feeling the urge to scream, but instead stared into it. The sun was setting, shades of pink and purple and blue and orange all streaking within one another. It was beautiful. It was so kind, so honest and bright. It reminded him of Steven. That made him want to drink more. He kept walking anyway.
He snuck into the apartment as if not to wake up Steven, even though it was only the evening and Steven was an insomniac. Most of the lights were off except for a few lamps.
Steven was still reading, a different book, with his glasses on the tip of his nose. Marc always thought he looked goofy that way, the way the glasses enlarged his eyes and never had the right placement on his face, always pushed in too close or about to fall off his nose. Not to mention the tangled unbrushed curls, his wrinkled oversized button ups with the ridiculous patterns, the way he wore patterned pajama pants to bed too. He was so absurd, and Marc loved it. He loved him. He just wasn’t good at showing it. Another reason to hate himself.
“Oh, hiya” Steven interrupted his thoughts with a tender presence. His eyes were still worried, maybe even more than before if Marc looked hard enough. He smiled at Marc at first, then frowned once he took him in. “You alright?” He questioned.
Marc was tripping over himself trying to take off his shoes. He was drunk enough to have a lot on his mind, but sober enough to know better than to say something. “I want to go to bed,” he slurred.
“Okay,” Steven replied, his voice low and calm. He got up from the couch and headed for the kitchen while Marc practically crawled to the couch. The blanket he’s been using was folded kindly at the furthest cushion, and Marc almost felt bad for having to unravel it. He didn’t take anything off, he usually stripped down to his boxers but tonight he laid in his jeans, shirt and jacket. Steven came back to the couch with a glass of water.
“Take off your jeans and jacket, love. It won’t be comfy to sleep in, hm?” Steven said as he gestured the glass on the coffee table, letting him know it was there.
What a fucking mess he was. Coming home blatantly drunk, having Steven witness it all as if Steven hadn’t witnessed enough. He wished he drank a bit more before coming home, because his thoughts just seemed louder. He huffed out a laugh at that.
“Marc, you wanna take off your jacket and jeans?” He repeated, perhaps Marc didn’t hear him right. With the second time Marc half-nodded and started to strip down. Once he was in just his shirt, boxers and socks, he groaned and rolled over, letting the blanket consume him. Steven rubbed his arm for a moment and sighed, not out of irritation, more like sympathetic.
As he got up to walk away Marc felt anxious, as if Steven was walking away out of disappointment and not because he had other things to do. He didn’t worry for much longer though, for the whiskey in his system made him drift off quickly.
-
He was back in Egypt. Not just any part of Egypt though.
The night his life changed forever.
He stepped over the bodies, his feet sinking further into the sand with each step. He didn’t have the courage to look at their pale, lifeless faces. He tried to find a way to breathe. It was just a memory. It already happened. There was no need to panic.
And then he heard a choked out sob.
It was familiar. But not from this memory. He moved further into Khonshu’s temple. There a body lay, sprawled out and injured on the sand drenched steps. It was all too similar, it should have been his memory. But it wasn’t him.
“It hurts,” Steven whimpered, both hands cradling his wound. Tears streaked down his dirt coated cheeks.
For a good second Marc stared at him, confused and shocked, not understanding what was going on. Why was it Steven? This wasn’t the memory. No, it was supposed to be him. He was supposed to suffer. Not him. Not Steven.
He quickly snapped out of it and rushed over to his side.
“Hey, hey. I’m here. It’s okay- you’re okay” he rambled, using one hand to cradle the back of Steven’s head and the other hand placed over top of where Steven held his wound.
“Marc I’m scared. I’m scared- what’s happening? It hurts really bad,” Steven cried out. He sounded so small, so childish. He coughed out some blood. Marc couldn’t help but wince, though trying to put on a brave face.
“Steven it’s going to be alright- okay? I’m going to fix this. I promise.” He assured. Steven looked up at him with watery brown eyes, but nodded.
“Khonshu!” He yelled. “Khonshu save him. You can heal him, you have before. Heal him.” He called out. He stared into the statues face. And there was no answer.
“Khonshu please!” He yelled again.
The statue loomed over them.
No answer.
Marc’s heart sank.
He called Khonshu a few more times, begged even. But it was as if he never existed.
“I’m sorry,” Steven croaked out, taking Marc’s hand on his abdomen and squeezing it as best as he could. The squeeze was weak. He looked so scared. Marc wondered if he looked the same.
“No, no don’t be sorry- don’t be sorry it’s okay. You’re okay. KHONSHU!” He shouted again. As if it would work. He didn’t know what else to do. He held Steven tighter.
“Marc I’m sorry- I’m sorry- I’m really sorry,” he began to stumble over his words, his voice breaking more in each repetition. He was having a hard time keeping eye contact. His eyelids flickered.
“Stop saying that. Stop apologizing. You’re fine.” Marc said. But his voice broke too.
Another tear fell down his cheek.
All of a sudden he wasn’t breathing.
It didn’t make sense. Why wasn’t Steven breathing? How did they get here? Why wasn’t Steven breathing?
“Steven?” Marc whispered.
Silence.
“Steven.” Marc spoke louder. The silence was overwhelming. Marc let out a sob, but quickly stopped himself. Stop it, he thought. He’s fine. Stop it.
“Steven, you’re okay. You’re alright. You’re okay. Steven stop. Stop, you’re okay. You’re fine. You’re fine Steven,” he assured the man in his arms.
Steven wasn’t breathing.
Marc sobbed again, he couldn’t help it anymore, and he pulled Steven’s body in closer. He held him tight, buried his face in the crook of his neck, as if to hide his tears. He rocked the body back and forth, when his cries made him shake, Steven shook with him.
“No, no no no no no,” Marc wept. He screamed out Khonshu’s name a few more times. Then he just screamed. He screamed until his voice was raw and fading. Then he went back to crying.
He mumbled Steven’s name over and over again, cradling his body, making sure he was held, that he wasn’t alone. He didn’t know how to stop saying his name. His voice hurt but he couldn’t stop. Why wasn’t Steven answering him?
He didn’t know how long he was there. The sky never changed. But it felt like hours.
-
“Marc-“
It only took one word from Steven to have Marc awake. But this time was different. Marc woke up screaming, arms flailing, eyes looking at every single direction at once. Steven pulled back for a moment, frightened by the response, before coming to his senses and gently grabbing Marc’s wrists.
“Marc,” he said, stern but gentle. “Marc you’re safe. I promise.”
Marc didn’t believe it as first. He was hyperventilating, almost heaving, he couldn’t stop shaking. He wouldn’t look at Steven’s face, too afraid to look over and see the light fading from his eyes, his horrified expression. He was so scared, and Marc did nothing. He couldn’t save him, couldn’t help him, just like the others. If it really was a dream, then why did he feel so guilty?
Without completely thinking Steven did what he thought may help. He took Marc’s face in both his hands, cradling his head.
“Marc, look at me. Hey. Look at me” he soothed. Marc finally looked, unable to move his head around much when Steven was holding it.
“You were dreaming. Okay? It wasn’t real. I’m real. I’m right here.”
Marc couldn’t take it anymore. Steven being unconditionally loving no matter how big of a pain Marc was. Steven’s patience. The shame that’s been building up in him throughout the week. The realization that Steven was okay. The exhaustion seeping through every bone in his body. It was too much. He was losing the will to push away, to mask it, to pretend. And something about hearing Steven tell him he was here, so reassuring, so gentle, so much love to give to a person who didn’t deserve it at all. It all just made Marc crumble.
A sob crept out of him. He thought he was imagining it at first, that it wasn’t out loud, but he saw something shift in Steven’s face and knew he had seen it. His hard demeanour was melting completely, his shoulders slouched, he curled in on himself, tears fell from his eyes, he held Steven’s wrists to keep the hands on his face.
Steven let out a small noise, one that sounded sympathetic, and pulled Marc into an embrace. Marc accepted it.
His arms once again wrapped around Steven, weeping in the crook of his neck. But this time it was real, and the body was warm, welcoming, alive and breathing. That made Marc cry more.
Steven didn’t say anything, didn’t judge him or pressure him. He kept one hand in his hair, the other wrapped around his torso, rubbing his back in slow, circular motions. Like he knew exactly what to do.
This time Marc was apologizing. “I’m sorry,” he whimpered.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Steven whispered. Marc didn’t believe that to be true.
“I don’t want you to go,” Marc managed to choke out. And the both of them knew that meant more. It meant stay. I want you to stay. Steven understood.
“Come here,” Steven insisted, standing him up, leading him by the waist as if he couldn’t walk on his own. “Don’t fight me on it. Just come.”
Marc allowed himself to be manhandled, just this once, too tired and upset to get embarrassed. He’d have time to feel embarrassed in the morning.
He was led to the bed, where he took the lead by crawling in first. Steven crawled in second, pulling the covers over the both of them even though Mark was sweaty. Maybe his shaking made Steven presume he was cold.
They laid on their sides, facing each other. But not looking at one another. Steven was analyzing every inch of Marc’s face. Marc was curled up, arms hugging himself, avoiding eye contact to stare at the fabric wrinkles of the sheets. He felt vulnerable. But he didn’t feel unsafe.
Steven respected him as much as he cared for him.
He reached a hand out, slowly, as if Marc were a frightened animal. He probably looked like it. He brushed a thumb across Marc’s cheek in an attempt to wipe away the old tear streaks. Then the hand landed on Marc’s arm, and he began softly rubbing it up and down. This was the best he could do. Marc was adjusting to physical touch, but he wasn’t fully there yet. He couldn’t be held for too long without feeling awkward, as if he’s not allowed to be in the position.
“Can I help?” Steven whispered. Steven saw in Marc’s face that he was dazed, off in a completely different area thinking of god knows what.
Finally, Marc’s eyes flicked to Steven’s.
“You’re helping,” he assured. The eye contact held more words than that. Gratitude, appreciation, love. Words Marc struggled to say, but Steven saw right through him.
They fell asleep that way. Neither of them knew when they did, just that the last things they remembered clearly was the looks they gave one another and Steven’s gentle touch on Marc’s arm.
Marc continued to sleep in the bed after that. Steven didn’t comment on it, afraid Marc would get the wrong idea and think Steven didn’t want it.
Marc wished he could be who he said he was. The lone wolf who could bare it all. But the reality was without Steven the world was unbearable.