Three months have passed since Harrow, with Ammit in tow, disappeared. Layla had let her boys be and went on a kind of journey for self-discovery as she learned to accept the truth of her father’s death.
Steven had gone out a few days after (what he and Marc had decided to lovingly refer to as) ‘Doomsday’ to the local shops and purchased a variety of relatively cheap mirrors to place around the house; seeing Marc in the reflections was a comfort, even when co-fronting, which was a rare occurrence.
Jake spent most of his time deep in the headspace (to Steven and Marc’s collective knowledge), so he never gave either of them the chance to meet him properly.
Life had been relatively peaceful after Harrow. Steven fronted the most often — Marc had promised him that he would be able to live his life how he wanted once he ended his deal with Khonshu, and that he would leave him alone.
( “You won’t have to hear from me ever again,” planning to go dormant permanently, et cetera. )
Steven had tried talking to Marc about this, how he didn’t want Marc to bloody disappear or something.
He enjoyed having someone to talk to, someone who let him ramble on about his special interests — he liked having a friend.
Steven even called Marc his best friend, once, and all he got in return was a snort and a half-arsed threat to throw the body out one of the flat’s windows.
Steven tried coaxing Marc out of the headspace loads of times, but decided enough was bloody enough when Marc refused to reply for three days straight.
It was Thursday, and Steven was just returning home from his shift at a local bookstore. Strips of moonlight illuminated their mess of a flat, books and papers strewn about and overflowing off of shelves. After discarding his jacket on the coat rack and feeding the two goldfish that swam lazily about their tank, Steven let himself fall down onto his bed and allow his eyes to flutter shut. A tired sigh escaped his lips and his hands clasped on top of his stomach.
“I wanna ask you about something.”
Steven cracked his eyes open and leaned up to face the body-length mirror propped against the wall opposite him.
Marc had appeared in the reflection for the first time in a while, sitting hunched on the side of the bed, elbows balanced on his knees and hands fidgeting in between them. Steven hummed inquisitively, sorting himself so he could be sitting up cross-legged on the edge of the bedside.
Marc cleared his throat. He paused, took a breath.
“—Why do you want me to hang around still, after everything?”
Steven mentally stumbled at the query, stuttering. “I — what — why wouldn’t I?”
Marc gave a mix between an exasperated huff and a dry chuckle, gripping the knees of his pants and lowering his head. “Oh I dunno, maybe cause i friggin’ ruined your life? Cause I showed you trauma you didn’t need to see, weren’t meant to see? Made you feel like you weren’t a real person? Like you didn’t fucking matter? I was selfish, and stupid, and —“
“Now that’s quite enough out of you, I don’t want to hear any of that nonsense,” Steven interrupted, raising a finger at marc, who gave him a baffled look in return. Steven ignored this, instead closing his eyes and allowing his consciousness to fall back into the headspace. Marc’s reflection in the mirror across from the body sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face before joining Steven, feeling his alter gently reach out to pull him under.
The inner world had been ‘refurbished’ recently (that was the best way to describe it, with it being inside their head and all) by Steven when he and Marc had figured out the works of their disorder. The room was only two of four walls, the floor carpeted. There was no ceiling, instead replaced by an infinite sky for of glittering stars. A large futon sat against a wall of the warmly lit area modeled after a small living room, pillows scattered around it. Steven came to already laying on the futon, his back supported by a particularly soft cushion, while Marc was seated several feet away in an old armchair modeled after one from their childhood home, still fidgeting.
Steven gave him what he had hoped look like a supportive smile, patting the empty space next to him on the futon as he settled back against the wall. Marc stayed still for a moment before letting out a tired sigh, standing up with a slouch before walking over and falling unceremoniously onto his back next to Steven.
“What’s wrong, mate?” Steven asked, turning on his side to look at Marc. Marc continued to stare listlessly at the sky above.
“I just don’t get it.”
Steven waited patiently for him to continue, patting Marc’s arm comfortingly and resting his chin in his hand.
Marc’s eyes flitted to Steven’s for a moment before turning back to the endless galaxy above, and swallowed. “I’m tired, Steven. after Khonshu, I don’t know what to do with myself anymore — all I’ve ever done for you is fuck everything up, and I just —“ his voice catches, tears springing to the corners of his eyes as he twists his body to face Steven.
“I can’t even do my job right, anymore. I’m useless like this; I can’t protect you now that the Armor is gone. I’m better off just — goin’ dormant and…leaving you to your life.”
Steven’s expression softens, lifting a hand to cup Marc’s cheek. “Marc,” he says, ever so gentle, ever so loving, everything Marc isn’t, everything Marc doesn’t deserve.
Marc scowls, hot tears trailing silently down his face as he continues, “I don’t understand why you keep me around. It’s not like I’ll be of any fuckin’ use now. You — you have your own life to live, you have a job, friends to make, people to meet. I’m just — I’m just here, and I’m ruining those chances, and…” Marc trails off as Steven gently pulls him to his chest, pressing a kiss to Marc’s forehead, fingers weaving through his dark curls.
Marc chews the inside of his bottom lip, suppressing a sob, before wrapping his arms around Steven, fingers clutching the fabric of Steven’s jumper as if he would fizzle away into nothing as soon he let go. He noses into the nape of Steven’s neck, tears dampening the collar.
Steven doesn’t mind.
He never did.