Chapter Text
Leaving Steven and Marc’s apartment was always difficult. It wasn’t because you would miss them- though, that was very much true- or for any reason of your own. It was difficult to physically leave because the boys never wanted you to. You had started toward the door fifteen minutes ago and had been wrapped in Marc’s embrace for the last fourteen. He parted from a kiss you hadn’t timed and bumped his nose against yours as he went for another. You stopped him by pulling away slightly.
“I don’t have to leave,” you said, softly. “I could always wait here until you guys get back.”
Marc sighed, a long exhale from his nose as he rested his forehead against yours. He seemed to be contemplating your suggestion, weighing the pros and cons before pulling his face away. He shook his head.
“No,” he decided. You could tell he hadn’t wanted to say it. “Khonshu has given us practically nothing to go off of. I don’t know how long you’d be waiting. Or who would even be here when we got back.”
You immediately knew what he meant. Jake Lockley. The boys hadn’t told you much about him; you weren’t sure they knew much about him themselves. All they ever said was that he was dangerous, the only one of them who continued to work with Khonshu willingly and almost only ever spoke to Khonshu. If Khonshu sent them to do something especially violent or life-threatening, it was usually Jake who would be dragging himself back to their apartment, and the other two never wanted you to meet him by chance.
Without realizing it, your lips had formed a slight pout as you cast your eyes away from Marc’s. He took your chin in between his thumb and index finger, lifting your head back up to look at him. He was smiling.
“I’ll be back in no time,” he assured. “Or Steven will. And one of us will call you as soon as we’re back. Okay?”
“Okay,” you nodded.
He pressed one last kiss to your lips before you decided that you really should leave. You were at the top of the stairs when you heard a door open and Steven calling out for you.
“Love,” he half-shouted, afraid of bothering his neighbors. “You forgot your bag!”
You all but ran down the short length of the hallway, eager to say goodbye to Steven as well. Your hands wrapped around the back of his neck and pulled him in for one last kiss before you even acknowledged your bag in his hands.
Where goodbyes from Marc were lingering and wanting, goodbyes from Steven were soft and warm. He always smiled into the kiss as he pulled away and this time was no different. The smile on his face was almost enough for you to want to stay, so that you could be there as soon as they got back, but you knew Marc would never have it.
“I’ll be back before you know it,” he said. His reassurance was a mirror of Marc’s, settling deep into your heart, becoming a promise.
“I know. I’m just going to miss you,” you said.
“To bits,” he added. He offered your bag to you. “But it really won’t be long.”
You took your bag from him, the added weight to it not going unnoticed. Because this was the bag you carried with you every day, you could tell that whatever else was in there wasn’t big, but there was definitely something. You eyed Steven, a notoriously bad secret keeper, but he gave no indication that he was hiding anything. Had Marc put something in there?
Oblivious to your silent inquiries, Steven walked you back over to the stairs, giving you a quick peck on the cheek before sending you off.
The entire bus ride to your apartment was filled with the agony of not knowing what was in your bag. You thought about opening it on the way there, but you feared whatever it was would only make you miss them more and you’d jump out of the bus before it even got to your neighborhood. For both your sake and theirs, you knew better than to do that. However, your anticipation did not stop you from running off the bus as soon as it got to your stop. You sped your way into your apartment, hardly remembering to lock the door before you were searching through your bag for what had been left to you. Your deft fingers quickly found the foreign object, pulling it out less than gracefully to reveal a book.
No. Not a book. It was a journal. It was no bigger than your typical paperback book, but it was a lot thinner. The once hard cover of it had been battered and worn, leaving the structure of the entire thing almost flimsy. It didn’t help that nearly a third of the pages had seemingly been pulled out. It didn’t look like something Marc or Steven would leave you as a parting gift. You flipped open the front cover and saw two initials written on the bottom.
J.L.
Jake Lockley.
One of the boys must have seen it and recognized it as not belonging to either of them before ultimately throwing it into your bag. And here you thought Khonshu had given them enough of a notice to plan a goodbye gift this time…
You were about to toss it back into your bag when you noticed something on the first page. Jake’s handwriting was so different from Marc or Steven’s. It was small and sloppy, like he only ever wrote in short bursts and never bothered to lift his pen, but it wasn’t quite cursive either. Despite the unusual font and the slight smudging to the page, you could clearly make out your name in part of the writing. Your heart started to race. It would be an invasion of Jake’s privacy if you were to keep reading, but you couldn’t stop yourself. What made him so inclined to write about you if he wanted nothing to do with you? You sat on your sofa, leaning back as you began to scan the pages of the journal. The first entry was dated to a couple weeks after you had first met Steven, around the time you were introduced to Marc. Your name was punctuated with a rather thick period, almost as if he had held his pen there for a moment too long, deciding what he wanted to stay.
You are such a distraction. The idiots have been too busy with dates, I’ve hardly had time to breathe. If I ever meet you, it’ll be the last time you see them.
The entry being directed at you was surprising. For someone who never wanted to meet you, he sure seemed to be forward when it came to talking to you. You weren’t expecting love letters, but was this really his first impression of you? No wonder Marc never wanted you to be around him.
The next entry was a little longer, dated a week later.
This is getting ridiculous. My clothes smell like you now, too. Everything is you. Khonshu keeps calling and they keep ignoring him for you. But they never talk about you. Not when I’m near the front. Who are you? What are you doing to them?
That one made you laugh. You had gone over to their place one weekend and smelled something entirely unfamiliar in the flat: cigarette smoke. You had asked Steven if he had started smoking- a question that sounded ridiculous the moment it fell from your lips. Under the impression that he might be in trouble for the smell, he told you about Jake that day and how he was a cab driver who had the tendency to let his patrons smoke in his car. Steven had been trying to get the smell out of his closet before you showed up, so you offered to wash Jake’s clothes with your detergent instead. It worked better than you thought it would at removing the hazy scent of ash and tobacco. Steven bought your same detergent almost immediately after. He only ever used it on Jake’s clothes (and anything you happened to leave at their place).
After that, the next couple entries were fairly similar; they were all short quips about things that had changed about Marc and Steven while you were around. Jake seemed to not like anything about you. He didn’t like the way you smelled. He didn’t like the food you packed for Steven to take to work. He didn’t like the fuzzy dice you brought over as a joke, telling Marc that Jake could hang them in his cab. Jake Lockley didn’t like you, so why was he spending so much time writing about you? You could understand the stuff about Khonshu and taking them away from their duties, but your detergent? That was just being mean for the fun of it.
You’re on the nightstand now. That idiot got a photo printed- he even framed it. Marc likes to flip it down if he thinks I’ll be around. I don’t know what he thinks I’ll do with the only photo I’ve ever seen of you, but I like moving it around just to mess with him.
The only photo he had ever seen of you… Did he not know what you looked like before?
You shook your head, dispelling the thought. It didn’t matter. Jake didn’t know you, what did it matter that he hadn’t known what you looked like? Still… It was interesting to think about. After all the time that you had spent with Marc and Steven, you knew that- while they were both very distinctly their own person- there were times when they could hear and communicate with each other at the front of the brain. When Marc said Jake wanted nothing to do with you, you hadn’t realized that that included not even looking at you. It didn’t matter, but should it have?
Turning the page, you were met with the first gap of many within the journal. Judging by the remaining tufts of paper along the center of the book, you would confidently guess that it was about eight or ten pages. You hadn’t paid attention to the ripped-out pages before you opened the book, but there was a story that was begging to be told here. All of the entries were written to you directly. He wasn’t talking to the book, the pages, or even himself. He was writing them as if he wanted you to read them too. What could have been on those pages that he didn’t want to look at them anymore? Or did he not want you to see them? Despite telling yourself that you should stop while you were ahead, your eyes began to scan the next page.
I almost met you today. Khonshu was trying to summon me. I ended up at the front, but not in control. I could hear Steven, not just inside our head, but from the body too. He was asking what you wanted for dinner- a stupid, mundane question- but you never stopped smiling at him. It was pretty, like a vase full of flowers. It suddenly made sense why they didn’t trust you with me.
Your heart twisted in your chest. What did he mean by that? The boys had always made it seem like Jake was the one who decided he wanted nothing to do with you, and up until this point- this entry- you were sure of it. Had they told him to stay away? Or was knowing what they thought and felt enough to keep him away? Your head began to swim; you could only imagine how much theirs had as well.
Another ripped page, and then the next entry.
We talked today. You thought you were talking to Marc; thought he woke up on the wrong side of the bed as you served me his coffee. I could see how worried you were, how much you tried to hide it when I couldn’t respond with more than a few words. I didn’t want you to know it was me. I thought you might want me to leave. Even when you’re worried, you smile at them just the same. Your voice is sweet. I could tell you were urging me to respond with how soft your words fell on my ears, like you were afraid of breaking me more than I’ve ever been afraid of breaking you. Did you know it was me, cariño? Would you care if it was?
Did Jake think he’d break you? Steven and Marc always said he was dangerous, but was that because he was? Or because he told them that he was?
There were a few more entries after that one, all the dates spread farther and farther apart as if Jake was trying to convince himself to stop writing to you. They were all about the same thing: times where you assumed that either Marc or Steven was in control when it was really him. He wrote about how good it was to hear your voice being directed at him, how at home began to feel whenever you smiled. He wrote about the first time he held your hand and how much softer yours felt compared to the hands they shared. You had always believed this man was indifferent to your presence in their lives. Maybe he had been at first, but now…
You were certain these were love letters.
There was one last entry before the journal plateaued into a strip of pristine pages pressed tightly together, never meeting the light of day. It was dated to just a few days ago. Short and simple, it read:
I kissed you today. I could have stopped myself, but I didn’t. I’m sorry.
The journal nearly fell out of your hands. A few days ago? You struggled to remember when it could have happened, and then it hit you.
Steven had come over to your place after work and had promptly fallen asleep on your bed. You decided to sit on the bed next to his sleeping form, bringing your laptop with you to send off a few work emails while he slept. You had anticipated Steven waking up, expecting his cat-like yawn and stretches before he threw his arm around your waist, pressed a kiss to your cheek and asked about your day. Instead, someone who you assumed was Marc at the time woke up abruptly, his body going rigid. You had sensed his change in demeanor and glanced at him, brushing his hair from his face, and inadvertently bringing his gaze to yours. You studied him for a moment, trying to figure out what was wrong: did Steven have a nightmare, or did Marc not expect to be here? Before you could ask, he had sat up completely and pressed his lips to yours. His hand went to the back of your head, pulling you in further as if you had any reason to back away in the first place. Now you realized that you technically did have a reason to. The kiss had felt different from how the other two would kiss you. It was desperate and wanting and… scared? Neither of the others had kissed you like that since the beginning of your relationship with them, but you didn’t think that hard about it at the time, not with how feverishly Jake had been pressing toward you.
You remembered how he pulled away, like he had almost been electrocuted. He looked into your eyes with something unfamiliar- or maybe that was just him who you hadn’t recognized- before his eyes fell to your lips once more. He went in for another kiss, this time chaste and gentle. When he pulled away, he mumbled something about needing some air and stepped out onto the small balcony of your apartment. Marc seemed grumpy when he came back and, at the time, you couldn’t tell why.
You knew now.
Tossing the journal next to you on the sofa, you found yourself not knowing how to feel. Over the course of a few months, Jake had fallen for you without you even knowing who he really was. Reading what he had to say to you pulled at your heartstrings in a way that was strange and unfamiliar- different than how Marc and Steven expressed their feelings- and yet exciting at the same time. It was decided. You had to talk to Jake.
Because you thought you might be falling for him too.