Steven was so fucking tired.
Tired– that word was an understatement, if anything. But it was the only word to decribe the aching emptiness he felt in his chest.
He was exhausted of the voices. Marc, Khonshu, and whatever damned whispers came from the corners of his– their– endless mind. That was a thing he couldn’t bare, no matter how hard he tried.
He was too worn to feel upset. Too worn to feel angry.
Marc didn’t seem to pay mind to his misery. In the scheme of things, Steven was useless to their godly mission– a broken toy in a toy-chest of brand new playthings. So, he supposed he understood.
He wasn’t meant to be cared for, Steven decided quickly. Sure, Marc did, but he was better off forgotten. He realized this with haste, and he went with it.
He downed another swallow of burning liquid. It trickled down his throat teasingly, settling in his stomach which coiled itself tightly. The glass was cold; a grounding feeling amidst the blurry feeling his mind had settled into. Steven wasn’t even sure of the kind of alcohol he drank. It didn’t really matter, though. It would get him drunk nonetheless.
‘You shouldn’t be drinking on an empty stomach.’ The gruff voice of Marc blurted. The statement lingered in the air for a moment– Steven considered ignoring him– but he continued. ‘You’ve had enough to drink. Why don’t you go to bed?’
“What, so you can, eh– steal the body from me again? That it?” There was a drunken slur to Steven’s accent, an accusatory tone shot the American’s way before Steven finished the rest of the alcohol in his cup.
‘No,’ Marc shot with a careful drawl, ‘it’s because the body hasn’t slept in two days. We both know that’s not responsible.’
Steven barked a laugh. It wasn’t a true, hearty laugh– you rarely heard those from him these days– but rather, a bitter, mocking snort. “Since when have you cared about being responsible?”
Marc was presumably silenced by the remark, going off of the following silence. Steven let him sulk, or gape, whatever– he didn’t care– and he poured himself another glass.
‘At least eat something.’
“Don’t feel like it.”
“F– For fuck’s sake, Steven! Are you trying to get us killed?!”
Steven smiled, then. His eyes were void of feeling, but he grinned softly, and raised the glass to his lips.
That was the plan, really.
Neither of them brought up the incident afterwards. They eventually succumbed to sleep, in which Marc took over the body. He immediately went to go eat something, and Steven hid his anger.
Steven stared at the gun.
It was Marc’s, whatever it was for. He always had strange things scattered around the house, and Steven usually just ignored it. But, this time, he stared. His eyes became itchy with the need to blink, but he kept staring.
It was a shiny silver with a black handle. He pondered whether it was loaded.
He pondered placing his palm on the handle, wrapping his shaking fingers around the chilled metal. He pondered picking it up and–
‘Steven?’
Steven’s eyes shot to the nearby mirror. Marc was looking back at him. His face was mostly blank, but Steven knew him well enough to pick up his confusion, and a small worry. Steven wondered what he worried for.
Steven made a hum of acknowledgement, blinking at the reflection as if he hadn’t been eyeing a loaded gun at all.
‘..Nothing. Remember to feed Gus.’
“Will do, mate..”
Steven picked up the razor on his bathroom sink, raising it to the shaving cream lathered on his lower face.
He usually wouldn’t have done this– hell he couldn’t remember the last time he had performed any hygienic activity without the aid of Marc– but the scratching facial hair was bothering him.
He looked up into the mirror (Marc sat on the closed toilet with a semi-awkwardness, Steven elected to pay no mind) and began to stroke the razor against his skin to remove the hair. The mild discomfort it gave his body was..
It was nice.
Steven paused, pupils blowing just a bit wider. And then he went on again, pulling the razor in up and down strokes. He didn’t notice the wary eyes glancing at his form.
So he pressed hard. Harder, until it was a venomous sting,
‘Steven, what the hell– stop that–’
In the reflection, Marc shot up. Steven’s eyes unfocused, then, blinking rapidly to meet his friend’s eyes.
“Oh, ah– sorry, what happened?”
Marc eyed him. His previous concern, the concern from the previous events was present now too. It was more noticeable now. His eyes trailed to the deep cut on their cheek. ‘You cut yourself with that..’
Steven raised his eyebrows by just a bit, and he looked to his cheek. He laughed in a way that came off as bashful, innocent, “Oh dear, I must’ve gotten distracted. Sorry ‘bout that.”
‘Yeah.. whatever, just be careful.’
The lingering stare on the cut, the smile sowly forming on Steven’s lips at the blood dripping– it did not go unnoticed.
‘Steven.’
The voice was rough, a flat tone. But it was still quiet, only barely cutting through his slumber.
‘’Aye, Steven, get up.’
The voice was clearer, and it caused Steven to squint his eyes open groggily.
He’d apparently fallen asleep against the large mirror in his living room, a bottle of whiskey discarded on the floor along with his jacket. Marc was blurry, in the corner of his field of view, but he was crouched down beside him.
‘Morning, sunshine.’ Marc said. The Brit could hear the light sarcasm in his words, but he smiled anyway.
Steven’s smile dropped soon enough, and he sat up straight to stretch. “Morning..”
Steven scrunched his eyes shut, blinking a few times again so his eyes would wake themselves. The whiskey bottle showed itself to him. Thankfully, it was empty enough to have not spilled onto the flooring. Steven leaned over to snatch it, slowly pulling himself up to stand and set it on the nearby table. Marc stood up with him.
Steven’s movements were put to an abrupt stop at his pounding headache and his sluggish limbs. “Oh, bloody hell..”
‘That’s what happens when you drink half a bottle of whiskey, buddy.’
“Yeah, yeah, can you stop haggering me for two minutes..?”
‘We need to talk, Steven.’
“If it’s about taking over the body, or Khonshu, or whatever– sure, yeah, do it. I don’t really care anymore.”
‘See, this is what I’m talking about. You’re being so reckless.’
“I’d’ve thought you liked that, so I’m not in your way anymore.”
Steven heard a hard inhale of breathe, but Marc gathered himself. In the mirror, you could see his eyes slip shut and his brows furrow. Steven waited with sleep ridden eyes, mouth gently hanging open.
‘Alright, let’s just– I’ll take the body for a moment, just to get some painkillers and to get you in bed, yeah?’
Steven’s eyebrows went down, shaking his head with easy rejection. “No, I have work, you can’t just–”
‘It’s a Saturday.’
Steven blinked again, his expression going blank in minor shock. “Oh.”
He looked around the room, and then back to Marc. “Fine, sure.”
‘Good, thanks.’
When Steven fronted again, they were in bed. The mattress wasn;t entirely comfortable, but with the combination of the pajamas Marc had changed them into, and the warm blanket covering him, it was better than being on the floor.
Steven instinctively looked to the nearest mirror to find Marc. To which, Marc stared back at him with a soft, halfhearted smile. ‘Better?’
Steven nodded, albeit slowly. “Thanks.”
Marc hummed lowly, a mindless reply to the alter’s sleepy gratitude. His smile fell, and he looked away from Steven.
“Why are you doin’ this?”
There was no response from the Brit, for a short pause. “What do you mean?”
Marc couldn’t help but sigh. He searched for the right words to use, the right words to approach the subject he needed to speak on. Steven waited patiently.
‘You– You’re not eating, or drinking. You don’t shower, you don’t brush your teeth, you’re running later and later to work every morning. You only get up to use the bathroom, and that’s only when you even have to, anymore.’ Marc sucked in a breath, having ranted without a pause. He looked up, he looked to Steven, he hadn’t reacted. ‘I don’t– I don’t get it. Are you trying to rebel because of me and Khonshu, or something–?“
“Not everything’s about you.” The statement was said in a defensive manner, snappy and flat. Marc stilled, and he nodded.
‘You’re right. I’m sorry.’ He corrected softly. Steven’s head was now tipped forward, looking down at the thick white sheet covering him. ‘I guess, what I’m trying to say– I’m worried about you, Steven. Talk to me, please.’
When Marc finished, the other’s eyes glossed over with a thin sheet of moisture. Marc didn’t say anything more. He didn’t urge him to speak, or continue on about his odd behaviors. He just looked on. There was a lack of words, yet it said everything.
And Steven, he was silent. He was for perhaps a minute, generously. Marc only waited.
“Have you ever thought about killing yourself?’
Marc stilled. ‘Steven,’
“I mean, a good lot of people probably have, bu– but have you really thought about it?” Steven’s voice was unnaturally quaky, despite his lack of awareness towards it. “Hell, you bring so many weapons ‘round, it’d be pretty easy to.”
The guilt in Marc’s eyes was unmistakable.
“I think about it a lot.” Steven looked up finally, and his tears are rolling. “I look at that stupid gun every day and daydream about putting it to my forehead.”
He smiled, then, empty and depressing.
“But, I’m too much of a coward. Like Khonshu said, hah–” He laughed with no humor. “So, I try other ways. Not eating, no sleep, stuff like that. You– you always have to ruin that though.”
Marc was abnormally silent.
“I’m so tired, M–arc, I’m so tired.” His gentle tears turned now into sobs, and his face contorted with grief. “I can’t take this anymore.”
‘I know, I know, buddy.’ Marc’s voice was a whisper, but it’s loud in Steven’s ears. ‘I know, and I’m so sorry.’
He walked to the bed, and he sat beside Steven. He wished so dearly that Steven could feel the embrace that Marc was now giving him. Steven continued his weeps.
‘I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.’
Steven shook.
‘I didn’t know. I didn’t know and I should’ve. I should’ve noticed.’
“Y–ou had b–etter things to d-do–”
‘Steven, no goddamn mission is more important than you are.’
Steven stilled for a second, “That’s not true.” He hiccuped.
‘Don’t you dare say that– yes, yes it is. I care about you.’
“B-But–” Steven choked on his short breathes embarrassingly, he looked down with shame, but Marc shushed him.
“Shh, shh, hey. You don’t need to say anything, okay? Focus on you, yeah? Deep breaths, in and out. Let’s focus on that, first.”
Steven could swear he felt the ghost of a hand on his back, reassuring and tough. Marc. He closed his eyes. Ignoring the sticky moisture of his tears, he forced his lungs to calm.
‘That’s it, good..’
At the caring words, he could cry all over again. But he stopped himself, and kept breathing. Marc murmured quiet assurances in his mind until he had his breath evened out. Stven’s eyes still remained shut, but he looked to the general vicinity Marc sat.
“Thank you f–for caring, Marc.”
Steven couldn’t see it, but Marc shook his head.
“You don’t have to thank me, Steven. Okay?”
Steven nodded slowly.
“Okay.”