A Proposal
Steven and Marc had known almost as soon as they’d met you that something horrible had happened to you. You’d never told them what it was, and they’d never asked, but they could see it in everything you did.
They could see it in the way you kept extra close to them whenever you were in public together, careful not to touch anyone else.
Or how you’d flinch if someone moved too quickly towards you, including either of them.
They could see it in how you’d wake up screaming some nights, still fighting your dreams. You couldn’t stand to be touched those nights, preferring to move to the couch. Steven and Marc never stopped you.
They only wished that there was more that they could do.
So they settled for doing everything that they could.
Steven would choose to bring you on dates where it would mostly just be the two of you, or he’d choose to go places with minimal amounts of people. Marc more often would hold you close with your arms linked together so that he could better steer through crowds when you got overwhelmed.
Steven always asked before he attempted to touch you— he asked for kisses and hugs and snuggles, but also if he could wipe food off of your face or help you fix a rumpled piece of clothing. Marc would move slowly whenever he instigated touch, so you would always know what he was doing and have plenty of time to deny him.
On the nights when you needed to sleep apart, whoever fronted when they were awoken by your trashing would help you move some pillows and blankets to the couch. They’d bring you a water bottle and make sure you were comfortable before they returned to the bedroom alone. Neither of you got much sleep on those nights.
It wasn’t until you hit a long stretch of sleepless nights in the winter months that they decided to bring it up. Marc could still be a bit touch-and-go when it came to discussions of trauma, so they figured it should be Steven who brought it up.
~
“Hey, love, can we talk about something important?” Steven asked suddenly over dinner one night. He had expected you to be surprised, or at least confused as to his question, but you only nodded.
“It’s about time you asked. You’ve been fidgeting like crazy over there for the past ten minutes,” you replied with a knowing smile. Steven looked up to meet your eyes from where he’d been pushing the food around his plate and almost forgot what he’d wanted to say.
You looked so lovely sitting across the table from him, hair slightly out of place from working all day and work clothes exchanged for a pair of pajama bottoms and one of his sweaters. You were beautiful, and he loved you. But you just looked so exhausted.
“It’s just that you haven’t been sleeping lately, love.”
“I know,” you sighed, shoving another forkful of food into your mouth.
“Marc and I have been talking and we think that maybe you should talk to someone.”
Steven watched as you paused in your eating and your expression grew hard.
“I-It doesn’t have to be one of us, love. We were thinking more along the lines of a therapist.”
“You want me to see a shrink?” You asked, voice carefully devoid of emotion. Steven glanced around nervously, one of his hands beginning to fiddle with the tablecloth.
“You just look so tired, and we don’t know how to help you. We figured that if you don’t feel comfortable talking to one of us, then maybe a professional might be better, that’s all.”
“No, Steven.”
“We’re worried about you~”
“That’s enough!” You exclaimed, slamming your fist on the table. Steven jumped and clamped his mouth shut so fast his teeth clacked. He’d never seen you so worked up, and certainly not ever at him.
But your face immediately crumbled into guilt and you looked away, studying the chipped paint on the wall behind the front door.
“I’m sorry, I don’t~” you cut yourself off, and then took a deep breath and let your eyes fall shut. “I know you’re just trying to help, but I can’t talk to anyone.”
“You can’t?”
“No, I can’t.”
“Why not?”
But Steven’s question went unanswered as you stood and put away the rest of your dinner into a Tupperware container, seemingly having lost your appetite. He waited until you closed the bedroom behind yourself to turn to Marc’s reflection in the mirror that hung on the back of the front door.
“Well, that didn’t go well,” he grumbled. And despite Marc’s angry expression, Steven knew that he was more worried and frustrated than mad. “‘Can’t talk to anyone’? Not even someone you’re paying to listen to you?”
“I don’t know, mate, but I think we should drop it for a while. I’ve never seen her get angry like that before.”
“Good idea.”