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“I don’t… I don’t need anything. We just want to go home.”
Although Marc can’t see Osiris, he can feel the dissatisfaction in the air. No one said anything for a moment, and then, “We decided. In exchange for stopping Ammit and her avatar, we’ll grant each of you your own body.”
“What?” Steven choked out.
“Wait, hold on—” Marc tried to say before their vision lit up in white and then pain. But as quickly as it came, it disappeared. Marc finds himself on his knees, gasping soundlessly, not dissimilar to the state he was in during his first time in the chamber of the Gods.
Marc blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of what had happened. There was no voice in the back of his mind, no one pressing against his consciousness like a humming bee.
Steven. Oh god, Steven, where—
“Marc?”
His head jerked up, and familiar wide eyes stared back at him. Steven curled in on himself, trying to keep his dignity in his nudeness. Steven was out of his body. What the—
“May you be well, avatar of Khonshu.”
The light from the statues whisks out, leaving them in silence. Steven shivers, launching Marc into action. He quickly takes his jacket off and throws it over him.
Steven grimaces, but it may have been an attempt at a smile. He looks between them, licking his lips nervously. “They could have the decency to give me clothes.”
A string of curses reached their ears, and they turned toward the sound to see another person with their face, in a similar state of nakedness as Steven.
Steven was the first to speak. “Who are you?”
++++
It’s been nearly a month since the gods separated them as a gift. A gift they never asked for. Well, he never asked for it. Steven seems to be handling things well enough. And Jake…
Marc comes back to himself, feeling a prickly sensation. He snatches his hand out of the steaming water with a hiss. It was red, but not enough to be concerning.
In the background, he can hear Steven talking to the fish as he feeds them.
Marc shuts off the faucet as Steven comes into view. “When are you going to be home again, Steven?”
“Around 6:30?” Steven slings his bag as he glances over his shoulder at the person shuffling out of the bathroom. “You’re getting off later, yeah?”
Jake gives him a vague wave of his hand. “Eh, earlier or later. Depends.” But Marc knows he’ll be out until the dead of night. He always does. Jake doesn’t look back at them as he snatches his jacket off the chair and makes it for the door. “Adiós.”
“Oh, have a nice day, Jake!” Steven calls out. But the door had swung shut behind him before he finished his sentence.
Marc busies himself with washing the dishes so he doesn’t have to see the disappointment in Steven’s posture.
“Oh, he forgot his lunch.” Steven snatches the sandwich from the fridge and hurriedly slides into his shoes. “Do you want anything after I get off, Marc?”
Marc gives him a small smile and shakes his head. “Nah. I’ll see you later.”
Steven grins, all blinding and full of life, even as he’s hurrying out the door. “I’ll be back!”
And then it’s just Marc.
He sets the last dish on the drying rack and sighs, looking around the apartment. It’s spotless, of course. Marc’s been doing nothing but cleaning since they’ve been separated. By now, he’s sure he got the last sand out of their floorboards.
He glances at Steven’s desk and shakes his head in exasperation.
The first time he tried to organize Steven’s books, he insisted on leaving them be. Finally, they settled on leaving the books on his desk alone. So even when there’s a mountain of books on the desk, begging to be put away, Marc isn’t going to touch it.
Marc huffs, grabbing the broom to clean for the nth time this week. As he moves across the room, he spots a newspaper draped over the lounge chair and a puzzle book opened to an unfinished crossword puzzle. He glances at it briefly before turning away.
Marc still finds it hard to believe he was unaware that there was another alter. After all, he knew about Steven for as long as he could remember.
Where did Jake come from? Why did he come to be? Marc isn’t sure he wants to know, and Jake isn’t upfront with answers.
Steven’s been trying to get to know the man for the past few weeks. He doesn’t know why he keeps trying. Jake has made it clear that he doesn’t care to interact with them. He’s not sure why Jake is still here, actually.
Marc brings it up later over dinner when it’s just him and Steven.
“Do you want him gone?” Steven asks after swallowing his spoonful of tofu and barley.
Yes? No? He isn’t sure. On the one hand, he wants him gone, out of sight, so that he can forget about him. On the other, he wants him within his sights so he’ll be ready when something inevitable happens.
(And the little voice, one he’s trying to ignore, wonders if Steven would choose Jake over him and kick him out instead.)
As if reading his mind, Steven continues on. “Well, he’s a part of us, yeah? He can’t be that bad.” Good, reasonable Steven, always wanting to see the good in everything.
Marc can’t answer him because while Steven is everything good and pure, Marc is all blood and dirty work—so, where does that leave Jake?
“Give him a chance, Marc. He did save us.”
“By killing.” Marc couldn’t help but spit out.
Steven gives him a look, pursing his lips in a way that there’s a retort on his tongue, but he’s decent enough not to voice it. Instead, “If Layla is forced to… put someone out of commission to save us, would you hate her?”
“What? No!” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Listen, I don’t hate… We barely know him, Steven.”
“I’m not thrilled with how he deals things either. But…” Steven takes his hand, smiling gently. “I don’t want this to be like meeting the man-in-the-mirror take two. Give him a chance?”
He wants to tell him how this could go so wrong. How bad of a choice this is. But a rational part of him points out that the worst offense Jake did in the past month was eating one of Steven’s prepared lunches.
“How can you be so calm about this?”
Steven gives him a wry smile. “Does it help if I say that meeting you gave me some insights on handling this?”
Marc sighs, slumping in resignation. “Alright. I’ll try.”
++++
Marc’s body jerks awake before his mind does. The soft sliding of the window opening echoes in the silent room like an alarm as his gun jumps to his hand. Positioning himself between the window and Steven’s sleeping form, he racks the slide and aims the gun toward the threat in one fluid motion.
A curse is hissed between clenched teeth before a voice pipes up. “Put that away, it’s just me.” Due to the moonless night, it was hard to see his face, but Marc recognized the voice.
“Jake?” Marc glances at the digital clock on the bedside table. “It’s four in the morning. Why—were you out all night?”
Jake rolls his eyes. “Yes. Can I come in without the risk of being shot?”
Despite asking, Jake finishes pulling himself through the window. Marc hastily points the gun down and safely stashes it away as Jake walks by without a care. After ensuring Steven hasn’t woken up during the fuss, he slides out of bed and follows the other man to the kitchen.
Jake typically has that confident, sleazy air about him, with a smirk that makes his face very punchable. Now, though, his hair is messy with curls falling over his eyes, his brows are furrowed, and his lips are turned downwards in annoyance as he digs around in the fridge.
With Jake like this, he could almost hear Steven saying how identical they were.
His face is still punchable, though.
“So…” Marc begins, carefully adjusting his tone to be more neutral. “Where have you been?”
Jake snorts, finally closing the fridge and shoving a sandwich (that Marc’s sure is Steven’s) into his mouth. “What’s it to you?”
“I just… you know… Was it work?” He tries as Jake stares at him blankly, taking a slow bite of his cold sandwich without batting an eye at Marc’s floundering. “You’re usually not out so late, so…”
A smile pulls at Jake’s lips, sardonic in nature, as he wags a finger at him. “Hm, you would know, right? Full offense, Spector,” Marc grimaces as Jake speaks through a mouthful of food. “Since when are you so invested in my life? Shouldn’t you go back to playing house with Stevie?”
“It’s Steven—playing house? Look, I’m trying to make a truce here.”
“Ooh, did Steven put you up to that?”
“Lockley.”
“Spector.” Jake mocks, brushing crumbs over the sink. “I appreciate the ‘sentiment,’ but we both know you’d rather shoot me than kiss and hug me.”
“Maybe I have the right to worry when a certain someone sneaks through the window at four in the morning like a fucking burglar!”
“Maybe I prefer to climb through the window instead of waiting for the elevator. Ever thought of that?”
“I ain’t stupid, Lockley.”
“Could have fooled me,” Jake mutters loudly. He reaches into the top cabinet for a glass with one hand and reaches for the kettle with the other.
The first time Marc has seen Jake navigate the flat with ease, it makes him uneasy to realize how long he has been around. Even now—with how Jake knows to close the left cabinet door first, then the right so it doesn’t swing apart—it makes something squirm in his guts how well Jake knows every nook and cranny of their lifestyle.
“It doesn’t matter.” Jake doesn’t look at him as he leans against the counter. “Whatever I say, you’ll find a way to villainize it. Because I’m not everything good and rainbows, like Steven.”
Marc almost flinches back. “I… I don’t—”
“I know you’ve been keeping an eye on me.” Jake continues on, stepping closer with each word. “You’re waiting for me to mess up, for a reason to justify your hate.”
“That’s not true!” Marc shoves him back, creating distance.
“My, my,” Jake chuckles. “Does your lies help you sleep at night?”
If it wasn’t for his promise to Steven, he would have already launched forward with a right hook. He forces himself to calm down. Waking Steven up five hours before he needs to get up is a sure way to piss him off.
“I don’t—I don’t hate you.” The sincerity behind his words shouldn’t surprise him, but it does. He doesn’t hate Jake. Wary, yes, but not whatever Jake believes.
Is that why Jake never complains about sleeping in the chair? Is the reason why he stays out so late was to avoid talking to them? His chest pangs with guilt.
“Oh,” A look of mocked surprise crossed Jake’s features. “Jealous, then, when Steven always try to talk to me? Or try to do his silly connecting thing? I’ve seen you hovering around him like he’s a kid.”
His fists clench at the accusation. He’s not hovering, at least not anymore. “Steven can do whatever he wants.”
Jake’s lips quirk up humorlessly. “You say that, but you like it when everything’s under your control. You’re scared people will disappear, so you trap them in a box, pretending nothing is wrong.”
“That’s—this isn’t about me!” Marc hisses, frustrated once more. It’s unnerving how viscously Jake hits, pushing Marc back every time he tries to take a step forward.
Defensive.
“Exactly.” The empty glass clicks on the table, interrupting his thoughts. “What I do is my business. You worried about yourself and your Steven.” Jake’s shoulder knocks against his as he moves past him.
Marc’s hand shoots out, grabbing Jake’s arm before he can slink off. Jake hisses sharply, and Marc snatches his hand back in alarm. “What…” The familiar scent of copper reaches his nose, and he glances down, paling at the red stain on his fingers. “You’re…”
A flicker of annoyance passes through Jakes’s face before he shuts it down. “This is none of your concern.” He speedwalks away, hoping to shake Marc off.
“The hell it is.”
Marc bullies his way into the bathroom before Jake can shut the door. “Let me see.” He demands, trying to put himself in reach of the injury, but Jake angles away.
“¡Come Mierda!” He growls. “I don’t need your help, pendejo.”
Marc may not have a good grasp of his Spanish as he should, but he’s choosing to ignore the insult. “Stop being stupid, and let me see!” He yanks the arm back to take a good look at the wound. It’s a long cut, probably the work of a knife, but it wasn’t deep enough to need stitches.
“Sit on the toilet and take off your clothes.”
Jake raises an eyebrow, already shrugging off his jacket. “What, no dinner first?”
Marc rolls his eyes as he rummages through the cabinets for the first aid kit. Setting the case down, he fills the sink and begins cleaning the wound.
“What happened?”
“Bad luck,” Jake answers nonchalantly. “Got caught up in some disagreements.”
He shoots him a look of disbelief. “As a taxi driver?”
“What? You think being a taxi driver is an easy job?”
“Not a job that I expect someone to come home bleeding all over the floor.”
“Don’t be so dramatic.” Jake scoffs. “Clearly, it’s a flesh wound.”
“And it could get infected! Who knows what was on the blades they used.”
Jake sneers. “Why do you care?”
Marc struggles to say something, but it’s like the words dried up on his tongue. Swallowing hard, he ducks his head, busying his hand with the bottles. “Steven says... you’re a part of us.” He says instead. “I meant it when I said I don’t hate you. It’s just…why did I never…”
Cold fingers wrapped around his wrist as if knowing what he would say. Jake’s eyes, one brown, one red, bore into his. “You weren’t meant to know.”
He snatches his hand away, anger flaring inwards. “Why? Was I that messed up? Did I become so insane that I—”
“¡No!” His mouth clicks shut as Jake rubs a hand over his face. “I know that live for you and Steven, like how you lived for Steven. That’s all. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Marc stares at him; really look at how tired Jake is. He remembers watching Steven move through his life like clockwork. He never once attempted to speak to the man until Ammit and Harrow.
He wonders how long Jake was around. How many times had Jake witnessed Marc’s mistakes? He wonders if it is easier to look after Steven instead.
“I’m sorry.”
Jake goes quiet, and Marc doesn’t dare look up to see what kind of expression he is wearing. When he pours some disinfectant on a cloth, Jake reaches forward for it.
“I can do it myself—mph!?”
Marc shoves a towel in his mouth, pushing him back. “Shut up. Bite down on this.” Jake lets out a string of muffled curses as Marc presses the soaked cloth to his wound. “I know, buddy. Almost done.”
“Don’t baby-talk me, Loquito.”
“Tough crowd,” Marc mutters under his breath. Then he bites his lip. “Look, I… Cairo, did you…”
“I’m not going to apologize for trying to protect us.” Is Jake’s immediate reply. “I left the kid alone, didn’t I?”
Marc’s eyes fixated on his task, not sparing a glance at the man. He finishes bandaging the wound, pinning the strip in place. His fingers linger awkwardly before he lets go. He scans Jake’s bare torso for any more injuries Jake didn’t share with him.
“Anywhere else?”
“No.” Jake seems distracted as he stares at the bandages. Judging his work, maybe?
“It’s on correctly,” Marc says. “I did some medical work on the field, so I know a few decent things…” He trails off, wondering if Jake knows that much in his part of life. Jake offers nothing more than a hum, leaving Marc to wallow in the silence.
“I was going to say… Thanks. For protecting Steven.”
He doesn’t wait for Jake to reply; it’s already awkward, and he’s sure the other man just wants to sleep. He stands up, patting Jake’s arm awkwardly. “Good night, Jake. And next time,” Marc’s lips quirk up, almost teasingly. “Come through the door.”
Walking out, he fails to see the stunned look on Jake’s face.
++++
When Jake finally leaves the bathroom, he spots Marc lying on the couch. For a moment, he stood there, unsure of what to do. There’s a glass of water and some pills on the bedside table and an empty spot beside Steven where Marc usually sleeps.
Gingerly, he settles himself on the edge of the bed, careful not to jar Steven awake. The pills look like painkillers, but even if Marc has given him poison, he would take it without a thought.
Jake sets the empty glass down and glances at Marc’s sleeping back. He brushes against the bandages, recalling the gentle hands touching him and Marc’s scowl softening for once. Between Steven’s persistence and Marc’s rare olive branch, the two of them were really being unfair. He runs a hand down his face with an inaudible sigh.
He finally settles back on the bed, his sore muscles thanking him for the soft cushion under him after weeks of abuse on the couch.
As dusk slowly creeps into the sky, Jake listens to the two men’s breathing. If there was a faint gush of wind, only Jake was awake to know.
++++
After that incident, things got better. Marc doesn’t try to burn a hole in Jake’s head whenever he comes into view, and Jake antagonists him slightly less. He also lingers around in the mornings, letting Steven talk to him as much as he wants until they leave for work.
When Marc ends up making lunch boxes not just for Steven but for Jake as well, Steven is over the moon at the progress they are making. Jake was surprised.
“No, this isn’t mine.” Jake eyes the food suspiciously. “It’s all Steven’s.”
“How can I finish that much food by myself?”
“With all the rabbit food you eat, you need to compensate for the lack of meat.”
Steven rolls his eyes. “Mate, for the last time, it’s yours. Marc made it for you, right, Marc?”
Finding a sudden interest in his breakfast, Marc nods. “Yeah. I mean, no need to spend your savings buying food when you got food at home.”
Jake goes quiet for a long moment. Marc glances up to see the man fiddling with his cap, pulling it over his eyes before he utters, “…oh.”
The image of a bashful Jake clashes hard with Marc’s previous view of him. That makes the guilt in his chest swell more.
Every morning, there’s a plate at the table for Jake and a cup of coffee. Jake complains about how Marc makes coffee, but he always carries out the door with him. Over the week, they slowly learn more about the man.
While Steven’s vegan and Marc barely keeps kosher, Jake has no qualms about what goes into his mouth. Jake likes to watch telenovelas and do crossword puzzles. Much to Steven’s chagrin, he also likes to tease Steven a lot.
Despite all the teasing, Jake drives Steven to work, saying he shouldn’t waste money on bus fare. And he was good at noticing if they needed to stock up on supplies. Marc tends to forget if he doesn’t make a note, and Steven hardly pays attention to the non-vegan ingredients in his fridge.
Of course, it’s not always smooth sailing. There have been incidents of Marc nagging Jake for dropping his clothes on the ground and Steven complaining about how he hogs the bathroom in the morning. Jake complains about the lack of a coffee machine and constantly tripping over Steven’s books. There are also some complaints about how Marc does the laundry, which Marc finds unfair since he’s the only one who does the laundry.
“What do you mean?” Marc asks, confused. “You just toss it in the wash, right?”
Jake makes an offended noise, snatching his gloves from Marc’s hands. “Oye, no! ¡No seas tarado! This is authentic leather, so you clean them like this. And while we’re on this, you also wrinkled my ties, so you have to roll them up like so—”
Taking his eyes away from Jake’s demonstrations, he catches Steven watching them fondly. In a rare moment of delinquency, Marc pops his finger in his mouth, getting it wet before sticking it in Jake’s ear.
Jake’s loud screech drowns out Marc’s snickering. He ends up hopping over furniture, ducking Jake’s grapple. But soon after, they turn to their third. Steven yelps, weaving through his bookcases to avoid them, protesting and laughing at their antics.
Yeah, Marc can live with this.
++++
The sky rumbles ominously. Marc glances out the window up at the dreary sky. After all these years, he should be used to living in London and the constant rain. Granted, most of those years were spent traveling with Layla, but still…
Judging by the scent and rapidly darkening sky, it would be a bad storm. Marc closes the windows just as his phone dings.
Steven
There’s some new merchandise in the gift shop, and look!
Doesn’t this look like Marc?
The photo showed a stuffed toy with dramatically furrowed eyebrows and a downturned mouth. Jake instantly replies with a cartoonish picture of a laughing cat. Marc rolls his eyes.
Marc
That looks nothing like me.Jake
[cat shrugging]
Dunno, Loquito. Looks like your twin.Steven
🤭 🤭 🤭
A loud rumble pulls his attention away in time to see the first raindrops hit the glass before it quickly develops into a shower. The rain pounds against the glass as if demanding to be let in. Below, cars honk loudly, cutting through the rain. Marc wonders if Jake’s cab was somewhere down there, cursing at the sudden bout of traffic.
He turns away in an attempt to find something to do. But the flat is already clean, and the clothes were folded and put away. Steven already cleaned the fish tank, and Jake took out the trash yesterday.
He stands there, suddenly feeling small in the empty flat.
Not for the first time, he wishes he was back in Steven’s mind. He wants that familiar pressure of another mind against his, the lulling hum of Steven’s murmuring about his day. And maybe he would’ve gotten to know what it’s like to have Jake in his head, too.
But it’s only an empty wish. Steven and Jake clearly enjoy not being restricted in the same body. Steven doesn’t have to deal with a body that constantly lacks sleep, and Jake’s free to do whatever he does at night. And Marc…
He’s all alone.
The sky rumbles loudly again, and a moment later, the lights flicker.
Placing his hands on his hips, Marc squints up at the bulbs. Here’s to hoping the electricity won’t give out during the storm. He shuffles around the cabinets in search of his travel bag. He swears there were emergency supplies he stashed in case something like this happened.
Then, he saw a lone umbrella by the door, one that Steven always denied needing. It was almost time for Steven’s shift to be over. Was Jake picking Steven up today, or did Steven plan to run errands? Marc spots the list on the fridge and shakes his head exasperatedly. Steven can be so forgetful sometimes. But hey, after he picks Steven up, they can swing by the groceries. Smiling, Marc grabs his coat and heads outside.
Raindrops bounce off signs and buildings, pitter-pattering as he walks out into the streets. The wind almost takes off with his umbrella until he has a firmer grip.
As he waits by the crosswalk, he pulls his coat tighter, scowling at the chill. He sighs. The rain isn’t going to let up anytime soon. Maybe he should let Jake pick Steven up and postpone the shopping.
It’s not hard to recall why he hates the rain. It’s wet, cold, and just plain miserable. Steven seems to like the rain just fine, though. He once commented how it feels cozy to listen to the rain drum on the roof as he sits in his favorite chair with a cup of tea and a book.
Marc wonders if Jake likes the rain as well. Does he like sitting near Steven with his crossword puzzles and sipping hot cocoa? Do they listen to the constant tapping while sitting under a blanket?
He shifts on his feet, switching hands on the handle to get warm. The wind threatens to drench Marc despite the protection of the umbrella. Rain continues to smack the ground as people walk by, their shoes making tiny splash, splash. Cars honk from one end to another, creating waves as they drive by. Water runs off the roof in rapid pitter-patter.
Storm drains roar as they suck up the excess water, doors of shops ringing, flickers of yellow, red, green,
people walking past him in their little splash-pitter,
Patter-splash.
Pitter, pitter.
BOOM!
Marc jerks back, stumbling over someone’s foot. The umbrella is ripped from his grasp, flailing in the wind like a ragdoll. Around him, pedestrians scramble away from the umbrella’s attacks.
Someone shouts, cars honking—Marc blinks rapidly.
Hands are on him, water is roaring, clinging to his skin—a child’s cry.
“Mommy!”
Marc runs.
His shoes squish, squash up the stairs. His breath hitches as thunder reverberates through his bones. Water clings to his ankles, threatening to pull him under.
A child cries in the distance, buried under all the roaring water and screaming—
There’s nowhere to go but forward. Doors slam open and close. Pitter-patter. Squish, drip, drip. They’re mocking him, jeering as doorknobs rattle and windows shake.
Marc curls up in the pocket of darkness, clasping his hands over his ears to block out the drip, drip, dripping. He whimpers, silently pleading for someone to save him, but only darkness answers his calls.
He’s all alone.
The child’s cry has long gone silent, but the storm is waiting, hoping he’ll be fooled into coming out. He curls tighter, pressing himself down in the tiny space, hoping it helps him disappear faster. There’s a knock, then another. A voice calls his name.
“…rc, open the…”
He lets out a strangled gasp as the outside doors open and footsteps echo outside his hidden cove.
“Marc?”
“…open the door…”
The door’s the only one that stands between him and her. But it begins to bend and warp under the relentless pounding.
“Marc!”
“Open this door right now!!”
The door flings open, and he throws himself back, his head smacking the wood. Water rushes in, clawing at his face. A shadow stands in front of him, looming over him, sneering.
They drag him down, down, down, punishing him for his sins. The chill seeps into his bones, and the water fills his lungs. He’s going to die. Just like Ro—
“This is all your—”
There’s warmth around his shoulders, pulling him into someone’s embrace. “You’re alright. You’re going to be alright.” Steven murmurs, rocking them back and forth.
Marc gasps, feeling his lungs burn at the effort. His eyes dart around, from Steven’s hair to the wardrobe they were in. “S-Steven?” He stammers, his fingers grasping onto the worn fabric of the man’s jacket.
“There you are,” Steven breathes, rubbing his back. “How are you feeling?”
“C-cold.” Steven’s body heat is like a blanket, thawing out his body.
Steven lets out a small chuckle. “Well, no wonder. You’re soaked. What do you say about getting out of here and getting you a fresh set of clothes?”
Marc looks past Steven’s shoulder to the lit room outside their hideaway. He can still hear the quiet pitter-patter, too soft for Steven to hear. Feeling Steven move, Marc frantically clings to him, halting him from rising. “No, you can’t—it’s not safe outside…!”
Steven freezes for a moment, then lowers himself back down. “Marc…come on, you’ll get sick like this.”
He tightens his hold on Steven, attempting to shield him from the incoming footsteps. Steven isn’t strong enough to stop her. She would tear him apart. He has to protect him from her. If he doesn’t, who will?
He tenses as the footsteps come closer, and—Jake appears around the corner. Oh god, how could Marc forget about Jake? He grabs Jake’s wrist once he is within reach and pulls him down with them. He has to protect them both because… because he’s… he is…
“Can you protect the travelers of the night?”
The moon’s light is nowhere to be seen, leaving him blind in the night. And all he could think was: “K-----u, why have you forsaken me?”
“Marc, count your fingers for me. Can you do that?”
Count his fingers? That’s easy. Marc looks down at his occupied hands. That would be a problem. Someone pulls away from him momentarily, then wraps their gloved hand around his arm.
“Try now.”
Marc counts his fingers. A perfect five in total.
“Good. Count them again, but skip your middle finger.”
One, two… one, two, thre—wait, no. One, two, four…
Slowly, everything starts to come back to him. The texture of Steven’s jacket, the breathing for three, and Jake’s low humming. The two men are pressed against his side, and despite their warmth, he feels like a drowned rat.
“There you are,” Jake murmurs, patting his shoulder as Steven rubs his back.
He looks around them, spotting Steven’s dress shirts above his head and other things Steven had stuffed in the wardrobe.
Marc sneezes.
“I think we hang around here long enough,” Steven shuffles back, pulling Marc with him. “It’s time to get changed and to bed, yeah?”
He soon found himself in a change of clothes and a blanket tossed over him while the other two bustled around the flat to clean up the mess. Jake had disappeared briefly and returned to shove a cup of warm tea into his hands.
Marc glances out the window where the rain still makes that dreadful pitter-patter. The thunder cracks in the sky and Marc barely managed to not jump out of his skin. Shame immediately fills him as bits and pieces come back to him. He panicked out of nowhere and even lost the umbrella.
He wears his lip on his teeth, staring at the steaming mug. “I’m sorry.”
Steven pokes his head from the bathroom with a questioning look. “What was that?”
“I…” He sighs. “I planned to go pick you up and go grocery shopping. One moment, I was fine, and then I freaked out like a—” Steven gracelessly lunges onto the bed to slap a hand over his mouth.
“Nope!” Steven huffs, pulling himself into a sitting position. “Enough of that. You having a panic attack doesn’t make you insane.”
He scoffs. “Look at me. I can’t get a job, I do nothing to contribute to our money, and while you two head off to work like normal people, I’m at home like a besotted wife waiting for her husband to return from war! The least I could do was make things easier on you guys…”
“Hate to break it to you, but Stevie here is a total snob.”
Steven turns to the voice, offended. “Hey!”
The bed sinks as Jake sits on the edge. “Without you, we would die trying to navigate Steven’s books of doom.”
“And without you, Jake would live on stealing my food because he’s too lazy to make his own.” Steven shot back snootily.
Jake presses a hand on his chest. “And thank god for that, I would’ve died of starvation!”
“Your heart is on the other side, mate.”
A small smile graced Marc’s face as the two mocked each other. His grip on his cup tightens as thunder echoes in the background. “But I… I can’t do something as simple as walking on a rainy day.”
“Marc…” Steven takes one of his hands, slowly rubbing his thumb over each knuckle. “It’s a bit of an understatement, but we all have bad days, don’t we? I mean, I hide in the bathroom all the time.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Marc, it’s okay.” He clasps Marc’s hand as he smiles softly. “It’s not a surprise you don’t have a good relationship with rain. And that’s okay. I…” Steven bites his lip nervously. “I… the duat, as fascinating as it was, the sands… well. We’ll be all right as long as we’re together, yeah?”
Poor optimistic Steven. He doesn’t see it, but Marc knows he’s a burden. But eventually, they’ll realize he’s useless. As suffocating as it was, being Moon Knight was a purpose; it kept him too busy to think. Now, Moon Knight is no more. He’s just Marc, a dishonorable discharge, an ex-mercenary, and broken— Perhaps this is why the gods separated the three of them. So they wouldn’t be weighed down by him.
Marc only registers the fingers before his forehead erupts into pain with a flick. He clutches his head with a hiss as Jake pulls back with a roll of his eyes.
“You’re thinking stupid thoughts. So, today isn’t a good day. Boo-hoo. Now you get to have a rest day.” Jake secures the blanket around Marc, patting his back. “You can try again tomorrow and the day after that. In the meantime, you can’t stop making me food, okay? Británico’s rabbit food would kill me.”
“Hey!”
Jake ignores Steven’s jabs and taps Marc’s cup. “Enough dumb thoughts, drink.”
Marc snorts. “Didn’t take you for a mother hen.” He manages to crack a smile when Jake mockingly slaps his shoulder. After taking a sip, he shyly glances down, fiddling with the cup’s handle. He opens his mouth several times until he finally settles on, “Stay?”
Steven smiles, scooting further into the bed to get comfortable. “Always.”
They look at Jake, who only shrugs and leans back against the headboard. He pulls out Steven’s laptop. “If we’re going to be in bed all day, we must watch something. Lucky for us, I know just the show.”
“Oi, I know what you’re doing, you sneak!” Steven jabs a finger at him. “You’re trying to get us into those soap operas!”
“It’s telenovelas, you uncultured swine.” Jake corrects, miffed. “You just don’t appreciate the drama in life.”
“They’re so ridiculous!”
“You’re ridiculous!”
Marc moves his cup as Steven throws himself over his lap to snatch his laptop back. Jake holds the laptop out of Steven’s reach, using his foot to hold the man back. The sight is so ridiculous that Marc laughs, cutting the two off from their squabbling.
He shakes his head fondly. “What about a classic?”
“Let me guess,” Jake smirks. “It’s Tomb Busters.”
“Actually, it’s The Mummy, Layla’s favorite movie.”
Steven perks up at that. “Ooh, Layla’s favorite movie?”
Jake makes a face. “Mummies? Like a zombie show?”
Rolling his eyes, Marc takes the laptop and sets it between them. “Layla tries to watch this every year. It’s a tradition at this point. I remember it being a bit humorous.”
Curious, Steven settles back against Marc’s side while Jake looks dubiously at the screen. Balancing the laptop on his lap, Marc presses play, and music fills the flat, drowning out the rain.