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Contrary to the brave front he’s maintained throughout the entire bus ride here, Steven Grant is currently holding your hand hard enough to bruise.
From the brisk evening of the street outside, the seasonal attraction’s entrance looks perfectly intriguing: an LED light blinks on and off in shades of pumpkin orange and sickly green, while a performer dressed up like some sort of Victorian zombie hands fliers out to anybody who passes close enough.
One such flier is still pinned via magnet to your fridge at home—it was the beginning seed of your own idea for this outing, after all.
Originally, you had been planning on asking Marc to accompany you to the haunted house… But when Steven saw the flier first, he had seemed surprisingly eager to go.
So much has been different since the both of you returned from Cairo, and Steven himself has been no exception. He’s seemed to boast an insatiable appetite for trying new things, and you’ve hardly had it in you to deny him.
Still—as the delighted screams of tourists echo out onto the street outside, you find yourself darting nervous, protective glances at Steven.
Not too long ago, he bravely shoved his arm down a mummy’s gullet. Surely he could handle this…
Right?
“You know, there’s plenty of ways to enjoy October, Steven,” you speak softly, not bothering to disguise the fondness in your voice. “We don’t have to do this… We could just skip to that cute vegan bakery around the corner I told you about.”
With a scoff, Steven releases your hand only to snake his arm around your waist, pulling you close.
“C’mon, love, you’re mad about Halloween,” he reminds you with an affectionate smile.
“True,” you concede with a skeptical brow. “But even I know not everyone likes to be scared on purpose.”
Steven rolls his eyes. “What’s a few cobwebs and strobe lights at the end of the day?”
“...Right.”
Ushered inside by bargain-brand Jack the Ripper, the two of you are soon led to a waiting area where a guide pauses to take a headcount of your group. All the while, Steven maintains the comfortable proximity between you two—a hand on your hip, or fingers intertwined with yours.
Giddy energy begins to course through your veins in anticipation of the experience ahead, and you fail to suppress a laugh at the dubious glances Steven keeps throwing toward every strange and spooky decoration. The distinct smells of fog machines and latex waft through the air, setting your nerves alight as the tour guide opens the darkened entrance before you.
The first hallway is a gallery of classic scares, each isolated into rooms jutting off the corridor for guests to view through the doorways: a “mad scientist” cackling maniacally as he electrocutes some poor stiff… Another turn-of-the-century man splattered with blood, rushing toward you with a butcher knife in hand before the door abruptly slams in your face.
The sudden noise makes you and Steven both jump, and you let loose a nervous laugh as you dash to cling tightly to the steadying presence of his arm. For his part, Steven emits a yelp that you could only describe as “downright adorable”—but all the same, you can’t help but examine his expression to reassure yourself that he’s not overwhelmed. Satisfied by the slightly-dazed smile on his face, you continue onward.
The guide leads you to a point where the mouth of the hallway opens into a larger room. Colorful fog and drooping cobwebs intersect the space, creating a claustrophobic feeling despite the room’s size. For the first few moments, you hea, rather than see, the presence of more performers in the room: a rustling of costumes here and there, a menacing laugh in the corner. Beneath his jacket, you feel Steven’s bicep tense.
“You okay?” you whisper, just barely loud enough to be heard amongst the ambient noise. You pull your boyfriend’s arm close.
Steven only nods, though his eyes are as wide as moons.
You’re so focused on him, though, that when a costumed man with a seemingly-mauled, blood-soaked face pops up wailing in front of you, it catches you entirely off guard. You’re so startled that you don’t even think to scream—all the air simply vacates your lungs in a strangled exhale.
The performer grins wickedly at your reaction, though his eyes dart briefly to your companion… Before you’re able to collect yourself enough to laugh at your own panic, though, you’re being yanked away from the stranger.
Steven’s hands have a painless yet firm grip on your shoulders as he pulls you backward to press against him, and you turn your head to blink up at his face in the dark—it’s unlike Steven to react so physically…
But then, of course, you realize that the man squeezing you close to his side as you continue through the haunted house isn’t Steven at all.
You can’t suppress your smile.
“Hello, Marc,” you murmur, leaning in close enough to nearly brush his ear with your lips in an effort to be heard over the next guests’ screams behind you.
“Heya, sweetheart,” Marc grumbles, his dark brows knitted together above one of his signature frowns. “Having fun?”
Somewhere to your left, a performer shrieks in terror beneath the brutal flash of a red strobe light. You flinch.
“’Course I am,” you grin, though unease swirls in your gut…
But the midst of a haunted house isn’t the best place for conversation.
Pressed tightly together, you and Marc continue onward.
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After the muggy atmosphere of the indoor attraction, the chilly night air feels like pure bliss as you and Marc step out onto the street.
“God, I haven’t been to a place like that since I was a teenager,” you laugh in delight, shaking out your goosebump-covered arms. Marc responds with a low chuckle as his hand finds your hip, pulling you toward him to plant a kiss to your temple.
It’s odd to see Marc in one of Steven’s typical date-night outfits: a rusty-orange patterned button-up and heavy jacket. In the glow of the streetlamps, the sight sends a fresh feeling of guilt through you, and you frown in thought.
“Was Steven really that freaked out? I kind of feel awful,” you admit to Marc, running one hand down his arm in some futile attempt to soothe his other side.
Marc is quiet for a moment, eyes distant as if deep in thought—or perhaps, listening. At length, he shakes his head.
“Honestly, Steven lasted longer than I expected,” Marc says with a wry smirk. You can only imagine the objections that Steven must be voicing at this comment, but Marc continues in a more serious tone: “I think it was seeing you scared that got to him.”
As the two of you begin walking down the sidewalk hand-in-hand, you hum in thought… The idea that Marc’s presenting makes your heart sing with affection for your boys, and you find that you don’t particularly care that the night’s been seemingly derailed.
“Well, you know I’d never turn down the chance for a double date, anyway,” you smile, leaning over to peck Marc on the cheek.
With a slight shake of his head, he blinks exaggeratedly—and when he next turns to look at you with a sheepish grin, you know that Steven is back in the picture.
“Well, I gave it a shot, right?” His abashed chuckle is sweeter than ever.
Steven’s clearly a bit embarrassed by the whole ordeal, but you’re delighted as always to see him stepping out of his comfort zone with you. Laughter feels light in your chest as you plant another kiss on his stubbled cheek.
“C’mon,” you urge, squeezing his hand in your own. “Let’s go get pumpkin muffins."