Work Text:
Thinking back, he guesses he should’ve figured it out sooner.
There were too many things this person knew about him for it to be anyone other than someone who could see the intimate inner workings of his life. What was the saying? The devil’s in the details?
It had started before… Well, everything , really.
Before realizing he wasn’t alone- before realizing he didn’t actually sleep walk and that he wasn’t imagining his fish grew back its fins overnight. Before discovering what all the lost time really meant, and that his purpose was much greater than he could ever have imagined it being.
Before Marc Spector .
Steven had woken up on a very regular morning with the inexplicable fatigue that always caused him to drag behind a bit. He’s rubbing the grogginess from his eyes while going through the motions; undo the ankle restraint, check the sand, check the tape and locks , before padding to the bathroom and starting his routine.
He brushes his teeth while fighting off the sleep that was still calling to him. His reflection in the mirror showcased to him just how exhausted he felt- and was. The bags under his eyes were seemingly not getting any lighter; no matter how many times he turned in early.
It didn’t help that the previous day had not been very pleasant.
He was late to work that day, having spilled his hot tea on himself and his new shirt in the rush to catch the bus. Donna had stuck him with doing inventory most of the day with no minimal amount of berating to accompany it. There was a group of teenagers that were pointing and snickering at him when he dropped a box of little wind-up scarab toys that skittered all around the giftshop. He chased them down; no doubt that he had a furious redness on his face caused by the immense amount of embarrassment he felt.
To top it off, he had missed his bus home so he ended up back in his apartment late; having the energy to only fasten the restraint to his ankle before falling face first into bed, letting sleep overtake him rather than really falling into it comfortably.
So, yeah, he was incredibly knackered this morning.
Steven finishes up his morning routine- getting dressed and eating a bowl of oatmeal before grabbing his pack to head to the museum. There was a sadly familiar sense of dread pooling in his chest as he gripped the knob on the front door. He shuts his eyes and leans his head against it, sighing heavily.
“Come on, Steven, you can do this.”
Eventually he straightens up, jaw set and nodding to himself with a new determination to crack on. He flings open the door and goes to take a step.
Cursing, he stumbles on something that’s sitting right in front of his apartment. He whips around in annoyance before freezing in place.
This was the first time it happened.
It’s… succulents. They’re placed into a vase resembling a bowl, delicately wrapped in ribbon. It’s filled with decorative stones and dotted with Hens and Chicks, Yucca and Strings of Pearl cascading down the side.
Steven picks it up, turning the vase in his hands curiously before he spots a small card tied to one of the succulents. It was stamped on the front with the name and logo of a local flower shop that Steven vaguely recognizes passing on the way to work. Confused, he opens the card and reads the written contents out loud to himself,
“Hope you have a good day today, you deserve it.”
Steven feels himself flush at the words. This is so touching; It must’ve been for someone else and was just delivered here by accident. He’s certainly never received something like this before.
He flips the card and blinks when he sees his address and name printed there… but with no return address or name- no indication of who could have possibly sent it to him. He glances down the hall to his left and then to his right; not a soul in sight. Maybe it was Mum? No, she usually only sent postcards. A cake, once or twice on his birthdays but not flowers- and she always made sure to sign her name on the post.
He bites at his lip, unsure of what to do with himself and the succulents before carefully bringing them inside. Who could have sent this? Nobody really came to mind as he thought about it. Certainly no one from work; he didn’t pop up on anyone’s radar enough to warrant such an act- unless… maybe Donna… No. It simply just was not possible. She wouldn't even give Steven a genuine “Good Morning” let alone something so… thoughtful.
Despite the fact that he should probably be worried this person knows where he lives, he couldn’t keep the small smile from forming. It was meant for him, regardless of who sent it, and it would be rude to refuse such a charming gift. He sets it down next to his Aloe and Cactus plants, keeping them company by Gus’ tank. He admires it fondly; flicking one the Strings of Pearl before turning and heading out for work.
Some of the dread from the day before seemingly fades, the warmth resonating in his chest and making him feel fuzzy. He carries the feeling with him throughout the day and couldn’t help smiling to himself every time he pictured the vase on the table keeping ol’ Gus company.
❋❋❋
The second time it happens, he’s on his way back home.
It’s incredibly crowded for a non-eventful Thursday. Steven shrinks in on himself tighter as more people cram into the bus. At the very least, he’s used to it by now- the crowd. There’s some idle chattering but nothing that disturbs the general peace of the ride. The sun is setting and cascades light through the windows, painting the bus’ occupants in pretty orange and golden hues.
He huffs at the tight spot he’s squeezed into, having given up his seat to an elderly woman who pinched his cheek in thanks. It made him beam just a bit, feeling lighter in the way grandmother-like affection and being a good samaritan could.
He’s pressed between the railing, holding onto the handle above his head as the pack from the person in front of him presses against his chest. Trying to make sure he disturbs as little of the surrounding crowd as possible, he goes about awkwardly maneuvering his body to rummage through his bag for his phone. Steven doesn’t really feel like cooking tonight, opting to order some takeaway that won’t take too long to get to his flat. It feels like one of those nights where he wants to relax; turn in with a good movie, maybe even have a glass of wine–
A pause. His fingers graze a piece of folded paper. It’s slick like a receipt.
He pulls it out a bit faster than intended, jostling the arm of the person reading a newspaper next to him. It’s an older middle aged fellow who shoots him a look.
“Sorry, mate.” Steven apologizes, smiling placatingly. The man rolls his eyes and straightens the newspaper with an annoyed thwap .
He turns his attention back to the object in his hands. It is a receipt- but it’s wrapped around something else. He carefully unwraps it with one hand- the other still keeping him steady on the bus ride.
It’s a keychain.
Upon closer inspection- it’s not just any keychain. It’s the absolute silliest looking keychain he thinks he’s ever seen. It’s a worm with glasses sitting atop a stack of books. The worm has little beady eyes and a small smile indented into its face. It’s clearly handmade; the endearing imperfections of its shape are laid into the clay it’s made of.
Steven stares at it dumbfoundedly for a moment, turning the receipt in his hands and catching some red ink written across the bottom in very familiar handwriting,
‘ For the bookworm himself.’
It takes a minute for Steven’s brain to process just what he’s reading- let alone the million questions that start to overflow in his brain. Who knows- or thinks I read a lot? Am I being watched? How long has this been in my bag? How did this even get into my bag? He continues to stare- feeling a bit like he’s been shut down and rebooted with such a surprise.
Even with the exuberant amount of questions it spurs inside his head and the concerns he absolutely should be having about this person knowing his address and possibly his place of employment; the same warmth from the day he received the succulents returns to his face. He breaks into a grin that he has to bite his lip against to quell so he doesn’t creep out the other passengers.
Gods, he knows he should be worried but- he just can’t bring himself to feel anything other than immensely flattered. He feels no imminent sense of danger from this, even though he’s never been exactly renowned for his danger sense in the first place. Still- he could tell this was harmless. He just knew it in his bones. Besides, it was nice to feel almost… seen , like this; to be known to someone other than his pet fish.
The bus calls out his stop and he’s politely maneuvering through the crowd, albeit a bit desperate for fresh air and the ability to move his limbs. He has a renewed pep in his step, still holding the keychain around his finger as he gets off the bus. He stands there looking at it with almost childish delight- revelling in the generous attention from this mystery person.
He starts to walk in the direction of his flat; passing windows of buildings nearby on the way. Just as he’s attaching the keychain to his bag, he gets a prickle up his neck, the feeling of being watched.
He glances around but the strangers that pass don’t meet his eyes. No possible mystery person in sight. Maybe he’s just been hyper conscious since these gifts started to appear.
Still, he doesn’t shake the feeling even when he returns to his flat. It should be worrying- but Steven never finds himself doing so.
He pulls out his phone and clicks the number on speed dial.
“Hi mum, It’s me. You’re never gonna guess what happened again! I think I might have a secret admirer.”
❋❋❋
So it goes like this: Steven goes about his normal day to day life- his flat, the store, his job. Sometimes he stops to talk to the living statue in the park who he tells about this mystery admirer. Throughout all this, gifts addressed to him continue to pop up. They’re mainly stuck in his travel bag- but sometimes they're in his jacket pocket, or in the mail when he goes to grab it in the mornings. They’re all just as charming as the rest, and all gifts he adores. He’s also started to keep the notes that accompany them, sticking them next to the postcards his mum sent above Gus’ fish tank. He’ll stop and read them more often than he likes to admit, and is always reminded of the gifts- and thought- put behind each one.
‘ Thought you might like this’ attached to a poetry book left in his bag.
‘Heard this is a good spot. It’s right up your alley.’ taped to a gift card for some vegan restaurant.
‘Hope you’re doing well.’ slipped inside a box of ginger tea left in his mailbox.
He looks over each one fondly before continuing to pad around his apartment. Although they fill him nearly to the brink with fuzz and butterflies, he can’t help that he’s getting a little antsy. Throughout his day to day, he has also started to actively look for the ‘Mystery Person’. At work- he watches passersby and his co-workers like a hawk; especially those who go near the break room lockers where he keeps his things, or those near him on the bus. Some look at him, but only because he’s staring and it weirds them out. He gets the right amount of embarrassed about it- but the anticipation and want to see this person eats away at him.
“Ugh, you think a person who watches me so much- or at least, knows so much about me would fess up at some point. At least maybe get sloppy and cock up but no- this admirer is real James Bond stealthy-like.” He wipes his hand down his face as he continues, “I just…really want to meet them. I know it’s mental, we’ve never even spoken– or at least I’ve never even got the chance to tell them thank you. They’re so thoughtful! They have me chuffed like a schoolgirl with a crush- it’d be nice to know they’re in the same boat. They know so much about me and I know nothing about them. And I know, I know- that should be worrying but I promise mum, I’m safe. Really.”
He pauses- eyes catching the notes above the tank again. He’s suddenly filled with a sense of longing for someone he’s never even met.
“I hope I get to meet them soon. Of course, if I do, you’ll be the first to hear about it.” He chews his lip against the yearning still eating away at his heart, feeling silly and a little lonely, “Anywho, I’m sorry I missed you again. I hope you’re well and I'll call again soon. Love you, mum. Laters gators.”
❋❋❋
It was raining tonight.
Steven spent the day faffing around for the most part; it was his day off. He was cooking some spicy parsnip soup for dinner and swaying to the low music playing from the radio on the counter. Singing along with the music, he scooped some of the simmering liquid into a bowl.
Grab your coat and grab your hat, baby.
Leave your worries on the doorstep.
Just direct your feet,
On the sunny side of the street.
He went through the motions of setting up the coffee table in front of the tv to eat- swaying into his movements as he travelled about the kitchen. The apartment was cozy and warm, filled with the scent of soup and the droning jazz in the background.
Overall, it was a nice day. Steven had gone to the park, fed the ducks some grapes; he even had a chat with a lovely woman around his age. She had asked for some grapes so her niece could feed the ducks as well, fidgeting with the ends of her silky looking red hair. He obviously obliged and they had gotten to talking a little while her niece was preoccupied.
She worked as a secretary at an insurance agency. No kids of her own- she watches her sister’s kids every other weekend so her sister can have some peace. Her eyes were a pretty brown color that caught the light when she looked the other direction.
Sometimes Steven would find himself imagining the people he crossed paths with as his Mystery Admirer- or so they have been dubbed. He hadn’t gotten a gift in a little while, and now he got caught up in the idea that the people who approached him may be The One, as silly as it sounded. He just really wanted to meet them.
When she had shown him her business card though- it had her signature. Pretty swooping cursive lines made up her name, Emily.
It wasn’t the same handwriting as the notes.
He couldn’t help the feeling of disappointment but he still had a pleasant conversation with her. She parted ways with a sweet goodbye and had pointedly not taken the business card back.
He went pretty much the entirety of the conversation without blundering or going off on too much of a tangent- so all in all he considered that a win. Besides, it’s not as if he’s tied to Mystery Admirer. Steven is also allowed to admire.
Still, the thought of Mystery Admirer persists.
As he’s just about to sit on the couch- he feels a familiar feeling crawl it’s way slowly up his back. Being watched.
He swallows but ignores it- as he usually does these days. Everytime the feeling comes there's never anyone there, and sometimes that realization makes him lonely; so he sets his sights on sipping his water while flipping through some tv channels.
Settling on some reruns of ‘Blackadder’, Steven starts to slurp up some of his soup. He chuckles absently at some of the things happening on screen- but his mind drifts back to the feeling of being watched. It’s still tickling at his neck.
Slowly setting down his spoon, he glances around the flat. It’s empty, save for him and Gus. He would say maybe Gus is just a really attentive fish, but this has happened outside the flat as well, and Gus was swimming in the complete opposite direction.
Steven let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. The feeling of being watched has been persistent ever since the first time he felt it. It’s like once he noticed he couldn’t stop noticing.
He leans back against the couch, closing his eyes and sighing. The feeling sweeps up his back, like a soft breeze is blowing up his shirt. It’s distant, the feeling of eyes on him.
Steven focuses on it; using the tv's low volume and crooning jazz from the radio as white noise to tune out everything but the feeling. In his mind, he reaches for it- where he feels the eyes coming from. He does this sometimes- tries to just… feel it. Being seen . It’s similar to the feeling the gifts and notes give him. Being known.
Steven flushes at the thought trail he goes down. The last time he had felt watched like this- he was in bed. It was late, and he hadn’t been able to sleep. The feeling had struck suddenly and with his frustration of sleep deprivation, he had gotten a bit hot under the collar about the idea of being seen in such a vulnerable way. He let his hands travel down, down to the waistband of his pants before he–
Suddenly, he felt all the hairs on the back of his neck stand, like someone was right behind him.
Steven whipped around with a gasp, wide eyed and bewildered. Nothing was there, just his flat yet again, but his heart was like a stampede in his chest. It felt– there was– no . It just wasn’t possible.
He laughed, half relieved and half hysterical, “I’m going bonkers.”
He turned back to the half eaten bowl of soup while biting his lip anticipatedly- before ultimately deciding he was finished. While wrapping up his food and washing up- the spike of adrenaline slowed but didn’t leave, neither did the feeling of being watched.
Turning in early seemed like a good idea. Maybe, if he slept it off, it would stop.
Steven walked over to the bed- a little self conscious and feeling silly for it since it was just him in his flat.
Just as he was fastening his ankle restraint, a knock at the door makes him nearly jump out of his skin. He stares at it, wondering if he was imagining the noise before it comes again, a little louder this time. He jumps up and tries to hurry over but curses as his leg is still half belted to the ankle restraint. Quickly undoing it, he rushes towards the door; hastily unlocking the locks and ripping the tape off. He swings it open.
At first, his eyes immediately zero in on the bouquet in the guy’s hands- and then his heart jumps up his throat as he turns to the man standing there. His hopes are quickly dashed though, as he sees the man wearing a hat with the logo of the same flower shop that delivered the succulents. Just a delivery guy.
The guy raises an eyebrow. He seems to be in his early twenties with blonde hair and light colored eyes that look a little taken aback by Steven’s sudden rush and breathless form. Steven flushes in embarrassment- realizing the guy probably heard his scuffle to get to the door.
“Uh… Grant? Steven Grant?” The guy asks, looking at the card attached to the bouquet.
“Oh- yes, that’s me. Steven… with a v.” He says the last part like it’s a question. The awkwardness of the situation is suffocating him.
“Delivery for you.” The guy motions the bouquet towards him.
“Right, right, let me just grab that from you.” Steven says as he grabs it by the vase it’s in.
They’re white lilies. The vase is clear and cut in a tall, triangular, pyramid-like shape. Steven fumbles for the card and reads it in his head,
‘Im sorry.’
Confusion bubbles up inside him, “ Uh… Do you- oh.” Steven looks up to see the guy is half way down the hall. The sense of urgency Steven feels pushes him to call after the guy.
“Wait!” Steven winces at just how loud it is.
The delivery guy turns around- looking at Steven like he lost the plot.
“Um, sorry, weird question. I know you’re the delivery guy and whatnot- and I’m no florist so I don’t know how exactly your job works… if you’re just the delivery guy or if you make them yourself, that is. It’s all quite beautiful, by the way…” Steven laughs awkwardly before clearing his throat at the guy’s increasingly unimpressed expression, “Right. Did you happen to see the person that ordered this?”
The delivery guy blinks, “Nah, mate, sorry.”
Steven swallows against the disappointment that overtakes him. He deflates, “Right, yeah. Thanks anyway.”
He shuts the apartment door with his foot, staring at the lilies in his hand. Gingerly, he sets them down on the kitchen island. He keeps re-reading the card- trying to decipher its meaning. There isn’t anything else written on it, but it’s the same handwriting as all the other notes he has.
Untying the card, he brushes his finger against the words, as if they'll reveal their meaning to him. He wonders what Mystery Admirer is apologizing for. It feels like he should know, but he doesn’t and that bothers him. Are they hurting? He can’t place a face to the worry he feels.He couldn’t help them even if he wanted to, and that realization makes him profoundly sad.
Steven carries the card with him as he goes through the motions of relocking and retaping the door, and eventually to bed as he restrains his ankle. He lays down on his side, looking at the card placed by his head on the pillow next to him, imagining reaching out to a face he can’t see to give them a hug.
❋❋❋
The next day, Steven wakes up somewhere he doesn’t completely recognize.
“What- Where am I?”
He looks around the area. It seems somewhat familiar but is definitely a part of London he hasn’t been to before. “Bloody hell- what?”
Steven immediately rifles through his pockets, pulling out his phone. “Oh, bollocks. Not again.” His sleepwalking had been getting worse recently- so this wasn’t entirely a shock but it still rattled him to see himself in such a completely different area.
A familiar tone picks up in his ear and he speaks, “Heya mum, yeah, you alright? Yeah, um…would you believe it? I am totally lost again… don’t know where I am. What an absolute muppet! No, I know, I did it again! I’m looking down a street… Kind of looks a bit like Mayfair…”
❋❋❋
Ugh, it's hot in here.
Steven kicks off the sheets with a huff, feeling a bit overheated this morning. He also has a splitting headache. It’s warranted, he supposes, considering everything he’s been through these past few weeks.
He lays there for a moment, psyching himself up to start the day. There was a lot he needed to get done. After losing his job at the museum, he had been out searching for new jobs. It had taken a back burner to, well, the whole world ending thing.
“Hey, buddy, you okay?”
Steven shivered- still not totally used to the feeling of someone else speaking to him in his own head. Marc’s voice was nothing like his either; deep and grittier, with what he now knows is a Chicagoan accent.
“Yeah-” He clears his throat from the grittiness of sleep that clung to it, “Yeah, mate. Just a bit of a headache.”
Marc hums a concerned noise, “If you want, I can take over today.”
The concern makes a small smile bloom on his face.
“Mm. Let me feed Gus 3 and Bruce first, then I’ll let you know.”
Marc had named their other new fish, with much difficulty and prodding on Steven’s part.
“I don’t know, Steven- I’m not good with names.”
“Well you have to choose something! It can’t just be Gus 4!”
“I mean you’re naming yours Gus 3.0. Didn’t wanna break the tradition.”
“Marc.”
“Ugh, fine.”
“...”
“... Hey, have you ever seen ‘Jaws’?
Henceforth, Bruce he was dubbed.
Steven starts the task of undoing the ankle restraint. It’s probably not needed anymore but even still, with finding out another person had been inside his head the whole time, he didn’t really want to take chances that he’d wander off again. He knows now that he doesn’t actually sleep walk but… if he did- he’d feel responsible for putting Marc in harm's way.
As he’s feeding Gus- er- Gus 3.0 and Bruce their food, cooing and making small talk with the fishes, his eyes catch on the notes above the tank. Steven freezes, his eyes automatically shooting to the succulents that are still thriving tankside.
The thought of Marc being Mystery Admirer had come up a few times ever since he had met him. It was a small thought niggling the back of his mind in the more quiet moments of the sheer Hell they went through. A thought he kept pushing away- there were bigger things to focus on, after all. When they had gotten back, he was so focused on rebuilding his life- getting back to some sense of normalcy. But now…
Steven slowly puts the lid back on the tank and sets down the fish flakes. He chews his lip anxiously, before making his way to the kitchen. He feels Marc’s presence following him.
“Marc?”
“Yeah?”
He glances to the mirror they had set on the kitchen counter. There were mirrors popping up everywhere now. It made Steven feel better to have the ability to see Marc when he spoke to him. He thinks Marc enjoys it too, even if he won’t admit it.
It’s a bit nerve wracking; the thought of Marc being Mystery Admirer. It would make so much sense though, wouldn’t it? The knowledge of his address, his place of work, all the things he enjoyed- even if he didn’t know, know. He still tried to show him he cared. Steven had even kept the postcards up, despite Marc saying they should be thrown away. He knew Marc was mildly uncomfortable with their implications, but Steven still thought the care put into them was so sweet. After he let go of the hurt of being lied to and saw it for what it was- Marc crafting a life just for him to be content, to be happy, something he never got the chance to have, he couldn’t let them go. It meant arguably more now than it ever had.
“Steven?” Marc calls, sounding concerned by his nonresponse.
“Uh...” Steven tries to word this in a way that won’t make Marc stonewall him out. He was like that sometimes, if he got confronted with emotions. Steven goes about making tea instead to make it feel casual, “Did I ever tell you about the fact that I had a secret admirer?”
“Oh?” His voice sounds unassuming.
“Yeah.” Steven swallows against his nerves, “It was a strange thing, really. Never knew the person, but they would send me things- in the mail, or stuff it into my pack.”
“You didn’t find that to be… creepy?”
Steven snorts, “Well, yeah a bit I guess- but… at the same time no.” He chewed at his lip, stirring the tea in his mug, “It was all just so thoughtful. The gifts were lovely- they each had their own handwritten notes attached to them. I never imagined someone would notice the clothes I was wearing on any given day, let alone my interests. I never felt unsafe. Only ever… noticed.” Seen. Watched.
Steven sits down at the kitchen island, staring into his mug instead of meeting Marc’s eyes.
“That’s a bit mental, innit?”
It’s quiet for a minute- Steven refusing to look up and giving Marc some time to process his thoughts. He doesn’t know what he expects- maybe for Marc to say it wasn’t him, or say how stupid Steven was for feeling flattered by someone who knows so much information about him. Maybe even just let the conversation die out or run for the hills, deciding existence in oblivion is better than this conversation. He even braces for the possibility of being slagged off for hinting it was Marc at all.
Marc’s eventual response isn’t what he expects.
“Noticed, huh?”
Steven’s eyes flick up to Marc’s face in the mirror. He looks guarded, but not completely walled off which is a good sign. Cautious for sure, but Steven can see him deep in thought. His eyes are cast to the side, not meeting Steven’s eyes. Marc even looks a little… nervous. It’s so uncharacteristic for Marc that Steven stops stirring his tea. At the silence, Marc glances back to Steven’s gaze. He feels caught, for some reason and his face heats up.
“Yeah well, again, it was really thoughtful. The gifts were all things I quite liked- or fell into the area of things I quite liked. They seemed very keen on my interests. All the little bits and bobs that I’d enjoy, they seemed to know exactly what those were. I honestly thought a bloke like me didn’t draw much attention- the security guard at the museum barely knew my name y’know, calling me Scotty or Simon and what-not. I suppose there was Dylan but that was all you, wasn’t it?” Steven takes a breath, babbling from the embarrassment, and when Marc just gapes at him he continues to word vomit everywhere; glancing everywhere but Marc’s face, “Yeah, no, you know you’re a bit of a bev. Which is kind of sad, innit? We share the same face but all I seem to do is get pied off-”
“Steven.”
Steven abruptly shuts up, his face undoubtedly red. He stares into his cup, slightly humiliated.
“...So, you liked the gifts.” It’s not a question.
Steven’s voice is small when he speaks, “Very much, yes.”
He slowly chances pulling his eyes to Marc’s. Marc’s expression is unreadable and it makes Steven want to get swallowed up by the earth.
It feels like a lifetime- but what is in actuality only a few minutes, Marc seems to come to some sort of conclusion in his mind and offers a small smile that makes Steven flush for completely different reasons.
“Glad you liked them.”
Steven bites his lip and nods. He almost asks, ‘Did you do this for Layla too?’ but it feels too personal, so he refrains.
His mind briefly strays to the bouquet of white lilies that were tossed once they were wilted, amongst everything else. “Can I ask… why?”
Marc’s brow furrows like he’s searching for an answer within himself before he replies, “I wanted to.”
Steven almost rolls his eyes at the vagueness, which is so very Marc, but to his surprise Marc continues.
“I guess I just wanted you to know that you weren’t alone, even if I didn’t plan to show myself.”
Steven's eyes flutter against the startling fondness that washes over him. There’s a million things he could say-
I’m so happy when you’re near me I could burst.
You make me feel so safe, you always have even when I didn’t realize it.
I am so thankful I can exist with you.
I adore you.
Instead, he bites his lip against a grin and says, “Glad you did, though.”
Marc looks surprised for a moment before slipping into that soft smile again, making all of Steven’s insides mush.
Steven feels so greedy, he wants all of Marc’s affection for himself, “Can you keep doing it?”
“What, buying you stuff? We’re kind of broke.” Which is true, but Marc is still smiling at him.
“You could get a job- or I could find a very rich mistress.” Steven puts his hand up next to his face, presenting and pretty.
“And have me do all the work? No thanks.”
Steven laughs, knowing they’re skint right now but still feeling like the richest man in the world.
❋❋❋
The bus is pretty crowded again.
Steven is sitting against the window, head leaning against it. Marc talks at him about another job Layla had messaged him about. He’s really happy they’re talking again after everything that’s happened. Steven can’t help but adore Layla as well- she’s just such a lovely woman.
They’re on their way back from his shift at his still slightly newish bookstore job, and Steven feels content as he listens to Marc’s voice. He rifles through his pocket for his earphones so he doesn’t look totally crazy talking to his reflection- when his fingers graze something foreign.
His brows furrow as he pulls it out- Marc suddenly quiet as he watches Steven study it.
It’s a folded up piece of something that Steven unfolds. His eyes get wide when he reads the contents. He inhales sharply before remembering himself, fumbling his earbuds into his ears before whisper-yelling,
“A ticket to Cairo?!”
Marc shrugs, acting nonchalant but the corner of his lips are ticked up, “Figured I’d take you to see the pyramids- the right way, this time.
His heart bursts with immediate affection and excitement, absolutely chuffed. “Gods, Marc, this is so wonderful. Thank you.”
“‘Course, baby.”
Steven bites his lip at the endearment- a new addition to their also new relationship status. It should’ve been weirder but it just felt right. Just like receiving those gifts in the beginning of everything. And really, who could be a better match? Marc truly knows Steven. All his quirks and interests, his hobbies- and in turn, Steven knows Marc. He tries to say ‘I adore you’ psychically at him through the glass with the force of a thousand suns, and with the look Marc gives him- he thinks he gets it.
❋❋❋
“Bloody hell!”
Steven rights himself after stumbling on the threshold into his flat. He’s been a little out of it- it’s been pretty quiet for a day or so. They had just gotten back from one of Marc’s jobs with Layla, and Marc usually needed what they now called, ‘Void Time’ for a day or two. He usually drew back into the subconscious to rest- just needing to be away from it all. Steven understands. Still, it gets lonely sometimes. He tries not to remember that it used to always feel like this for him.
He sets his pack down and takes his shoes off by the door.
A glint on the kitchen island catches his eye and he pauses, brows furrowing. He quickly takes off the other shoe before skidding over and blinking at the object.
A single red rose. It’s in a small opaque vase.
Steven breaks into a grin, filled with warmth and delight before he sees the folded napkin underneath. He lifts the rose, pressing it to his nose to breathe in the scent fondly. Marc is always so sweet and thoughtful like this. Steven spins it in his fingers before picking up the note and reading the contents. His brows raise and his lips part at the scribble,
‘Para ti, mi vida.’