Work Text:
„I can't believe you live in this fricking mess.”
Steven can’t help but smirk, Marc’s jab annoyed but without heat. His body is not happy that he forgot to take off the ankle cuff but he doesn’t mind the pain. It’s familiar yet new. It’s weird to realise he doesn’t need it anymore. They don’t. He turns around on the floor and just lays there for a moment, staring at the ceiling with a dopey smile on his face before moving to unbuckle the cuff.
„We should probably get rid of the cuff and the sand now. Not like we need it anymore.”
„Not like it ever really did anything.” Marc snarks back, but it’s friendly.
„Oh, really?” Steven turns to stare incredulously at Marc’s reflection in the fishtank as he checks on their little wonders. „And whose fault was that?”
Marc has the decency to shut up and look somewhat ashamed. Steven feeds the fish and goes to the kitchen in a good mood, opening the fridge to start thinking about breakfast.
„Hey, actually, are you vegan too or do we need to start dividing the fridge somehow?”
„It’s fine. I’m vegan.”
Then Steven feels his hand - their hand - Marc reach into the fridge and grab the block of soft tofu.
„Is miso soup a breakfast food, by the way?”
Steven looks at the package they are holding and considers it. Not really, in his opinion, but glancing at the clock he sees it’s past noon and it’s delicious anyway so he figures it’s fine.
„Sure. But only if you make it.” He happily sinks into the back of their mind, the space he found constricting and scary once, now comforting and cosy. He watches Marc move around, confident with a knife, not using it to harm but to create. In the oversized pyjamas that belonged to Steven, rather than his own tight tees and shirts, he looks softer, more at ease and comfortable in his body than Steven has ever seen him. And although they haven’t technically known each other that long, they’ve always been there for each other even without being aware of it. Steven just knows, instinctively, that it’s not how Marc normally was. He’s much more relaxed now, with a newfound peace.
They enjoy the soup together, and Steven decides it’s a breakfast food alright.
„Do we have anywhere to be today?” He asks the reflection in the fridge. They don’t really need mirrors anymore, they don’t always use them, but it’s nice to direct his words somewhere, create an additional layer of eye contact. It feels nice. Marc shrugs.
„Not really. Why would we have anywhere to be?”
Steven wonders and for a second, he feels like no, actually, they probably should have somewhere to be. Maybe at work? Except they just got fired. He shrugs too and gets up from the table to go look at Gus 2.0 and Mr. Fish again. They’re both swimming smoothly, with a grace Gus never had, and Steven smiles at them before stepping over a pile of books to get back to the bed.
„Maybe we could use the day to clean up around here?” Marc suggests and Steven frowns, turning around to survey the mess. There’s a pattern to it. A pattern he knows his way around, but that must drive Marc’s military ass insane.
„Nah.” He smirks. „You need to learn to allow some creativity into your life.”
„You call that creativity?”
„Creative mess.” He grabs a book off the pile he just stepped over. They can use the day off to stay in and read. It’ll be wonderful, and he can actually talk to Marc about what he’s reading instead of rambling at Gus.
„We really should get rid of the sand.” He remarks, as he throws himself on the bed, skipping over the circle around it.
„Yeah.” Marc agrees. „We really should.”
Neither of them make the move to get the broom, opening the first page instead.
***
Marc opens his eyes, yawns a bit and stretches happily. Sleeping in is a treat and he will make use of it. He settles into the pillows for another while but it doesn’t really work - once his brain is awake it starts running and it’s over. He sits on the edge of the bed, still half asleep with eyes not quite open, puts his feet down and...
Sand.
„Steven! Ugh, we really need to get rid of this shit, I have sand between my toes now.” He groans, swiping the persistent grains from his feet and carefully stepping over the circle. „It’s not like we need it anymore, do we?”
Steven just huffs something in response, clearly not quite awake despite sitting up halfway through Marc’s rant.
Marc manages to get up, avoiding the sand this time and slowly makes his way to the kitchen, wondering idly what to make for breakfast. He’s not really hungry. He didn’t use to eat breakfasts at all, but Steven kind of taught him to, and with a day off and sleeping in it just feels fitting to treat themselves to something nice too.
He’s stopped before he even makes it to the doorway by a familiar thump. He turns around to find Steven sprawled on the floor, the cuff strip taut. Marc has to hide his snort behind his hand. Thankfully, Steven’s eyes are still closed, his expression pure resignation. He’s been through this before, he’s used to it, and it still sucks every time. But it is kind of funny.
„Why did you even put it on? You don’t need it. It never worked.”
„But I didn’t know that, did I?” Steven huffs, unlocking the cuff but still sprawled on the floor, coming to terms with being awake. „And honestly I don’t know, mate. Habit? I’ll take it off when I get rid of the sand too.”
Marc offers him a hand and helps him get up. They go to the kitchen together, Steven putting the kettle on and starting to take stuff out of the fridge despite the fact he looks less awake than Marc. Steven always takes his time to wake up but he’s scarily efficient even half-dead.
He makes vegan scrambled eggs and a salad and puts out a spread of different toppings and breads on the table, because Steven’s way of making breakfast is usually either forgetting it and getting a breakfast burrito on the way to work or a full on feast.
Marc loves when they have time for the latter.
They eat mostly in silence, interrupted every now and then with a mini rant from Steven about... something, Marc is never sure what Steven is talking about, but even mumbling with his mouth full he’s cute so Marc listens intently and nods in what he hopes are the right places.
„Hey, where is Layla?” Steven asks suddenly, and his words sound weirdly distant.
Layla?
„She’s still in Cairo. Should be back in a few days. Don’t worry about it.” He hears himself answering despite not consciously opening his mouth, words coming as if through the water. He swallows to pop his ears. It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. He blinks. Steven blinks back. They finish their meal and Steven gets up and kisses Marc’s cheek on the way to the sink and Marc doesn’t blush, shut up.
They have a day off, so they decide to jump back to bed with a laptop and a movie.
„We really should get rid of the sand.” He muses thoughtlessly as he steps over it once again.
„Yeah, we can get on that after the movie.” Steven agrees, but neither of them end up doing it. It’s fine. They have time.
***
„We should go shopping.” Steven mutters when he feels Marc stir in his consciousness, finally joining him in the waking world.
„Good morning to you too, Steven.” Marc huffs, clearly not happy with the topic. Or being awake. Likely both. Steven ignores it, getting up.
„Well, we need food and there’s barely enough for breakfast in the fridge, so we need to go shopping." He says, and then stops, one foot on the sand and the other frozen mid step. He’s not sure why until he realises Marc forced the body to stop.
„The cuff, Steven.” Marc says, pure amusement radiating through their bond, and Steven doesn’t get embarrassed - he’s too used to it - and more grateful instead. He frees their ankle, wondering why the hell they even put it on.
„We really should get rid of the sand.” He remarks, but doesn’t make a move to do it, getting it out from between his toes instead and turning to the kitchen. He opens the fridge door, the light softly illuminating the room, pretty dark with the cloudy weather outside.
The shelves are full, perfectly stocked with an array of veggies, eggs and bacon, different kinds of marinated tofu and even a few boxes of instant meals.
Steven browses through the nice variety for a while, eventually settling on a box of barley salad with hummus. It’s quick and doesn’t require actually making anything, but healthy and nutritious and filling, and above all - really delicious.
It’s a treat he used to get for himself on the days he was running late for work.
...which was every day.
Wait. Work.
„Marc? Shouldn’t we look for work? I got sacked because of you.”
„It wasn’t because of me. Pretty sure it was because of Harrow.”
„Harrow? Who’s Harrow?” Something unsettling in Steven stirs at the name. He should recognize it but... it’s not important. Work is important. „Whatever. Don’t we need money, mate? For, like, groceries and rent?”
„We just did the shopping, didn’t we? And paid rent. We have a few more days before we have to start looking, at least.” Marc says, and steals a bit of Steven’s salad. Steven lets him. Marc pretends not to like it, but he does. „Hey, we should feed the fish. If we’re hungry, they’re hungry.”
„Now you remember that.” Steven scoffs, fronting again, although he’s not sure why he’s so acerbic. Not like Marc ever forgets to feed them. He gets up from the table, throws the little plastic box from the salad into the recycling bin. It’s empty. He thought he needed to take out the trash today but apparently there’s no need. Good, they can stay in and have a lazy day. He trudges over to the tank. Gus and Mr. Fish are swimming peacefully between the little decorative pyramids. He taps some fish flakes into the water and they swim up to feast on them.
„Morning, my little one-finned wonder. Morning to you too, Mr. Fish. Taking care of your brother? Good, good.” He feels Marc’s amusement in the back of his mind at the chatter. He ignores it.
„Hey, do you ever feel like you’re forgetting something?” He asks Marc, something strange nudging his intuition.
„Not really.” Marc says, without hesitation. „That was your thing, wasn’t it? And we’re better now. We’re good.”
„We are.” Steven nods, because he agrees. They have each other. He likes it better this way.
It’s raining. The soft sound of the droplets hitting the roof soothes him. He turns to go to the window, wants to look out and observe the street below but the sight of the sand around the bed distracts him.
„We should get rid of the sand. And the cuff.” They already stopped taping the door. It’s a start, innit?
„We will.” Marc agrees, but by the time they go to bed that night, the sand is still there, carefully smoothed out and neither of them recalls locking the cuff on.
***
Marc wakes up to flash pictures of sand and white tiles and dark curls and fear. He’s hyperventilating, overwhelmed by terror and stinging pain in two spots on his chest. He grabs at it, trying to catch breath, to ground himself. The flat. The cuff around his ankle. Sand but... it’s just the sand around the bed. It’s good, safe, comforting. He’s sweaty and scared but he’s calmer now. There’s a hand on his shoulder, warm breath by his ear, a body encompassing his.
Safe. Comforting.
„Nightmare?”
Marc nods and leans back into Steven’s chest. Turns himself around to bury his face in it and breathe Steven’s scent. One hand rubs warm circles onto his back. Another expertly uncuffs his ankle and Marc immediately curls his legs up. Tries to become small. Tries to melt into Steven.
„Wanna talk? What was it about?”
Marc opens his mouth, ready to let the words out, let Steven take the fear away but he can’t find the source of his emotions anymore.
„I... don’t remember. There’s just this feeling of wrongness.”
„It’s okay.” Steven says, and Marc finds himself believing it. Believing him. „It’s okay.”
They get up, Marc still slightly shaken but more steady on his feet as he steps over the sand circle. Safe. Comforting.
„We should get rid of the sand.” Steven says. „We don’t need it anymore.”
I don’t want to. Marc thinks. I like the sand. I feel better knowing it’s there.
„Later.” He says instead. „What day is it?”
„Monday?” Steven’s answer is as much an answer as a question. That’s not what Marc meant. He goes to check the calendar by the door instead but it’s not there. Doesn’t matter. Monday...
„Don’t we have work, if it’s Monday?”
„We don’t.” Steven replies, a bit too cheerfully as he takes things out of the fridge, preparing breakfast. „We got sacked because of you, remember?” Oh yeah. But it’s okay. Steven’s voice holds only a note of amusement, no resentment. They’ll be fine, Marc has enough savings to pay the bills for a good while.
„Yeah.” He smiles back sheepishly and sits down to eat. „I remember.”
They don’t have anywhere to be, so Marc drags Steven to the couch after they fed the fish and dressed and holds his hands, looking at him expectantly. Steven’s eyes just sparkle with amusement.
„Tell me about yourself.” He asks, because he knows Steven, but he doesn’t really know Steven. He watched Steven like a falling star, from afar, with wistful wishes. This is different. This is Steven’s warm hands in his, and soft sweaters Steven likes and the minute differences between Steven’s smiles when they’re genuine, not forced.
„What do you want to know?” Steven seems a bit shy, but indulging.
„I don’t know. What do you like to do in your free time? Do you have any hobbies besides reading about Egyptian mythology? Do you knit? You seem like someone who knits, with all these sweaters.” Steven snorts at that. „Or maybe you like woodworking. Or cooking, since you’re vegan. Or dancing.”
„I don’t even know how to dance.” Steven answers, almost embarrassed.
„Really?” Marc wonders, but he doesn’t judge.
„Yeah. Do you know how to dance?”
„Of course. I needed to know for the wedding.”
„What wedding?”
Marc frowns. Yeah, what wedding exactly? It was just a slip of the tongue.
„Just... weddings, you know. I’ve been to some in my life. There’s always dancing.” Then, before he can shy out of it, he adds. „I could teach you.”
„Really?” Steven’s eyes sparkle in that way of his, all wide and lighting up his whole face. „You would?”
Marc nods, both of them uncharacteristically flustered suddenly. Steven puts on some music - a French love tune, on a vinyl record, because of course Steven has records, not new and snobbish kind of a recorder but an old suitcase one that crackles and sounds old and has a soul. Marc shows him the position, he’s in the lead, and Steven follows. He learns quickly, catches on like muscle memory and soon they’re just stepping to the music like an old couple, their movements natural. Steven pulls Marc closer, and rests his head on his shoulder, and Marc relaxes, cheek against Steven’s curls.
C'est la lune qui conduit la danse, the singer drawls seductively, and Marc wonders what the song reminds him of. It’s in French, and he feels like that’s important. There’s something about French, it feels almost like a recurring theme in his life, but it makes no sense - he doesn’t know any French people, he doesn’t think so. Never been to France, either. So why is French important?
It’s probably just because Steven speaks it.
They slowdance in the living room until night falls and Marc is secretly glad that it’s too late now to clean up when Steven mentions the sand.
„We really should get rid of it.”
„Tomorrow.” Marc answers, placating, and pulls Steven close, and deep down he knows they won’t do it tomorrow anyway.
***
Steven wakes up feeling lazy. It’s too bad he still has to go to work, because the bed is warm, Marc is still pretty much asleep in his mind and the sun is shining softly through the window. He smiles and stretches, like a cat soaking in the warm spot, then gets up, proud of himself to have remembered to unbuckle the ankle cuff but not vigilant enough to not step into the sand. He wrinkles his nose, and wipes the sand off against his pyjamas pant leg and goes to grab the bucket and refill the gap when he remembers he doesn’t need to anymore.
„We should just get rid of it, honestly.” He mutters to himself, because Marc is still not quite awake, and goes to wash up to wake himself up better and open the closet. There’s two neat sides of it now - or rather, it’s perfectly divided into Marc’s neat side, all military order and rows and folded monochromatic clothes, and Steven’s colourful, unironed mess. He eyes his shirts for a while, and then his eyes slip to Marc’s things, thick cotton that doesn’t scratch and smells of Marc’s favourite allergy-safe detergent and... Oh, to hell with it.
„Should have woken up if you mind it, buddy.” He mutters and smiles, and picks black jeans and a khaki shirt Marc likes so much he wears almost all the time. It’s a comforting feeling - wearing Marc’s clothes, even if they seem to fit slightly differently despite the same body.
He has no time for breakfast, he realises checking his watch, he never has, so he goes straight to the door and... oh bollocks, where are the keys?
He can’t find the keys, he’s late, of course he’s gonna be late, he always is. He puts his bag down on the rack - just for a moment, to search more easily - maybe he left them by the tank? Wait. The tank. The fish.
„Oh my poor darlings, I almost forgot to feed you guys!” He taps some of the flakes into the aquarium and watches them swim up to eat. „Yeah, good sprinkles, right?” Something finally stirs in the back of his mind. „And would you look at that, Gussie, Mr. Fish, guess who’s finally awake!”
„Yeah, yeah.” Marc grumbles. „I’m no longer in the army. No need to force me to get up at unreasonable hours. Hmm, are you wearing my shirt?”
Steven looks down at himself with a smug smile and then turns back to the tank, finding Marc’s face in the glass. The reflection isn’t wearing the same shirt, actually. He’s in his white pyjamas instead. Maybe not quite awake.
„Yeah, I am. I like it. It smells of you.” Even in the faint reflection he sees Marc blush.
„Were you going somewhere?” He asks Steven.
Was he? Nah, he just dressed up because lounging in pyjamas all day is unbecoming, and Steven’s ma raised him right. He settles on the couch, Marc’s face clearer in the pane of a turned off TV.
„Not really. We could go to the park later, or just stay in. Do you want to front?”
Marc doesn’t answer. He smoothly switches, finding himself on the couch opposite Steven, still dressed in his favourite shirt, in the reflection. It makes Marc feel all warm inside - Steven feels a lot of Marc’s emotions slipping through their bond these days, but he’s not sure Marc realises so he doesn’t mention it. Then Marc catches sight of something in the corner and gets up to investigate.
The wood is dark and polished, in perfect condition, the strings all taut. When Marc brings it up and tugs, they sound perfect, no need to tune.
„You play the guitar, Steven?” He asks, sounding surprised, although why should he be? He plays, so Steven could be able to do so too, right? He doesn’t but he could.
„Nah, mate. Isn’t that yours? I don’t remember owning one.”
Must be Marc’s then, echoes inside their head. He can’t recall having a guitar since he was sixteen. He sold it just before... just before what? He can’t recall when but he sold it. Except this one looks identical, there’s even a Pirates of the Caribbean sticker. He loved that movie. That was when he decided he wanted to go to the navy.
„It’s mine.”
„So you play?”
„Yeah. I was pretty good at it a while ago. Hopefully I didn’t forget.” He settles back on the couch, cradling the instrument reverently.
„Play something for me?” Steven asks, and Marc seems suddenly almost self-conscious, plucking the strings hesitantly.
„What would you like?”
„Dunno. Just, anything.” Steven looks at him from the reflection, open and expectant and patient.
Marc looks away. Steven’s used to it - Marc claims things are easier without the full force of the puppy eyes on him. He has no idea what Marc is talking about. None at all.
Marc plays a few chords just to make sure he actually still knows what he’s doing and trying to recall something he can play from memory. Eventually he remembers a song he taught himself a few years back, the chords coming naturally as he begins to play. It feels like coming home. He plays, and loses himself in the music, and just lets himself enjoy it. Steven listens with attention that feels like the heat of a thousand suns and Marc basks in it.
„That was beautiful.” He says once the last note rings out, simple but meaningful compliment. „It felt familiar. What was it?”
Marc shrugs. They both know what Steven means.
„Something by Eric Clapton. I don’t remember the lyrics.”
„Wait, does that mean you can also sing?” Steven’s eyes light up mischievously this time, so Marc stomps him down mentally.
„No, Steven. And never bring it up again.”
Marc can. He keeps the thought in check lest Steven asks for a little performance. They play a few more songs. Marc teaches Steven basic chords, and he even manages to play the beginning of that song, although neither of them remembers the name.
They go to sleep with numb fingertips and a stupid smile on their face.
„We should get rid of the sand.” Marc notes, but does nothing about it. Instead he grabs the guitar, and plays a few more notes, and then wistfully puts it back, a bit away at the wall where it’s safe from the ever-present grains.
„We should.” Steven says, but he goes to sleep without doing it. It can wait. They can do it another day. Or maybe he can get Marc to play again. That sounds much better than cleaning up.
***
It’s raining.
The droplets hit the roof of the attic apartment in a soft tap-tap-tap symphony of a cloudy day but neither of them has anywhere to be, so Marc just allows the sound to wash over him, buries his face deeper in the warm chest he’s resting on, and relaxes. The world out there is cold, but their bed and Steven is warm.
Steven is warmth.
The physical warmth of a snuggle in the morning and the emotional warmth of never being alone, of being understood, of being loved. Marc feels like he’s never been happier in his life.
The droplets keep falling. A soft tap-tap-tap symphony of the world blurring, the shapes with soft edges lacking focus even when Marc keeps his attention on the window. The rain keeps falling and the morning turns late and eventually Steven drags him out of bed to the sound of laughter and half-hearted whining and Marc’s body shivers with cold but his heart bursts with warmth.
They make a mess, falling off the bed into the sand, sending it flying into the corners of the room where once again vacuuming will do nothing to get rid of it.
„We should get rid of the sand.” Steven remarks, but neither of them do it. They just wipe it off their pyjamas, get up, feed the fish and get started on breakfast. It’s a practiced routine by now. Marc feels like he has never been happier.
„We have a day off. It’s raining.” Marc points out when they’re both done with the salad Steven whipped out for breakfast. „What do you wanna do?”
Steven ponders it for a moment. „Should probably clean up some.”
Marc snorts, getting up. „Really? That’s how you wanna spend your time? Besides-” he drags his finger over the top of the fridge, holding it up for Steven to inspect. „-look at this place, it’s spotless.”
Steven concedes, but not without a last word.
„You’re not wrong. Don’t know how though, it must be magic. You certainly never dust!”
Marc wants to quip back but it’s true. He hates dusting. Luckily the place seems to miraculously never gather dust even if they forget to clean for a while.
„Actually.” It occurs to him, at that thought. „If you’re so intent on tidying up, we could sort out your books. Maybe get rid of some.”
Steven glares at him, immediately changes the topic, and drags a laughing Marc into the living room.
They waste the day doing sweet nothing, and by the time evening rolls around they’ve changed into their pyjamas, Steven’s commandeered a blanket as a cape for himself and they’re both tired. Marc makes Steven tea - in his favourite mug, with a scarab...
What was that thing about scarabs? He just has this weird feeling that they’re important. Probably because it’s Steven’s favourite mug.
He hands it over, and hugs Steven from behind. The warmth of the blanket, and someone to share his days with, and the scent of Steven’s shampoo.
„We should call my mom.” Steven mentions. „She’s gonna be happy we’re getting along.”
Gus and Mr. Fish swim slowly in circles next to the postcards from Mrs. Grant, the flat is basked in peaceful silence, the tea and Steven are warm. The droplets keep falling, a soft tap-tap-tap symphony of a night in, and life is perfect.
They don’t end up cleaning up, unsurprisingly. Not even the sand, Marc realizes.
"We really should get rid of the sand, shouldn't we? It's not like we need it anymore."
Image: Steven is warmth. || Art by: kocuria