Chapter Text
“What does love look like? It has the hands to help others. It has the feet to hasten to the poor and needy. It has eyes to see misery and want. It has the ears to hear the sighs and sorrows of men. That is what love looks like.”
— St. Augustine of Hippo
The living room was dim, awash in the golden amber of a single floor lamp in the corner. Rain whispered against the windowpanes, rhythmic and soft like a lullaby meant only for the three souls huddled together on the couch. The faint scent of peppermint tea lingered in the air, mingling with something sweeter—caramel popcorn, still warm in the ceramic bowl resting on the coffee table.
Steven was curled in the center of the couch, knees hugged to his chest, the hood of his gray jumper tugged halfway over his curls. His glasses had slipped slightly down the bridge of his nose, and he hadn’t noticed—too caught up in the animated film playing across the screen. The soft light from the telly bathed his face in shifting colors, brightening every time the characters on screen broke into song or adventure. His eyes were wide and glistening, laughter humming beneath his breath, quiet and childlike.
He was sandwiched between his twin older brothers—Marc on his left, Jake on his right—though the word sandwiched didn't quite capture the way they’d cocooned him.
Marc sat with one ankle over the opposite knee, his broad shoulders relaxed, a warm grin tugging at the edge of his mouth as he watched Steven more than the movie. His dark curls were still slightly damp from the shower, the smell of sandalwood soap clinging to his skin. He wore one of Steven’s oversized cardigans, sleeves shoved up to his elbows, revealing the old scars etched like maps along his forearms—ghosts of battles long past.
Jake, ever more subtle, sat slouched with an arm thrown over the back of the couch behind Steven’s head. His black leather jacket creaked softly with each movement, and the scent of tobacco and spiced cologne followed him like a signature. His hair was slicked back neat, and he’d traded his usual scowl for a gentle, almost unreadable look—his dark eyes fixed on Steven with something like reverence.
The film reached a moment of levity, a goofy dance number, and Steven burst out in a quiet giggle that made his shoulders shake beneath the hoodie. It was barely audible, but enough.
Jake and Marc exchanged a look over his head—Marc’s eyes softened, and Jake’s lips twitched into something bordering on a smile.
“¿Qué pasa, Stevencito?” Jake murmured, low and teasing, and without waiting for an answer, he reached out and tugged Steven closer by the waist. His grip was firm, but warm, protective.
“Oi!” Steven’s voice shot up, startled, a blush already spreading across his cheeks. “I was—Jake! I was watching that—”
Marc reached out and gently ruffled Steven’s curls, fingers brushing tender over his scalp. “You can still watch it, mate. You’re just a bit more...snuggled now.”
Steven tried to huff indignantly, but his voice cracked halfway through, and the redness in his face betrayed any resistance he might’ve had. He mumbled something unintelligible—something very British, very flustered—and let himself be drawn in.
Soon, Steven was buried between them. Jake’s arm had dropped down from the back of the couch to cradle his shoulders, fingers absently stroking the sleeve of Steven’s jumper. Marc, now stretched sideways, had tucked a soft knit blanket over the trio and let his head rest lightly against Steven’s, temple to temple.
Outside, the rain picked up, spattering softly against the windows. Inside, the warmth was palpable—not just physical, though the heat radiating from Jake’s side and the comfort of Marc’s slow breathing helped—but emotional. The kind of warmth that filled the chest and settled deep in the bones.
Steven sniffled quietly, not from tears but from comfort, his nose brushing against the collar of Jake’s shirt, where the leather was worn soft and smelled faintly of coffee.
“This one’s my favorite,” he whispered suddenly, almost sheepish. “The animation’s brilliant, and the story’s... I dunno. Makes me feel a bit less alone, I guess.”
Neither Marc nor Jake replied with words, but the silence that followed was full of meaning. Jake’s hand pressed a little firmer against Steven’s arm, grounding. Marc leaned in and nuzzled the side of Steven’s head gently before whispering, “You’re not alone, bruv. Not ever.”
Steven’s lashes fluttered, and he nodded once. His voice was too quiet to answer, but his body spoke for him—he nestled deeper into their sides, letting his head fall onto Jake’s chest, legs tangling with Marc’s under the blanket. His breathing slowed.
The movie faded into its final act, glowing with themes of family and courage. Jake and Marc continued watching, but their focus had long shifted to the boy curled between them—softer than either of them thought possible, but strong in ways they were still learning to understand.
When the credits rolled, Marc muted the telly. The room fell into the kind of silence only siblings knew—comfortable, present, wordless.
Jake glanced down and found Steven half-asleep, a smile still tugging at his lips. He exhaled slowly, brushing a thumb across Steven’s temple.
“Está bien, hermanito,” he murmured in Spanish, voice low and fond. “Sleep. We got you.”
Marc reached for the bowl of popcorn, now cold and half-eaten, and placed it on the floor. Then he leaned back again, arms looped loosely around both brothers.
Outside, the rain continued to fall. Inside, on a small couch wrapped in blankets and the hush of unconditional love, three fractured hearts beat in quiet, gentle rhythm.
Together.