CHAPTER 2
“No?”
“Can I come in?”
“No. Steven, c’mon, you were just, uh, in here.” She laughed a little nervously.
“Y/N, listen to me, I’m not Steven.”
It was then that she noticed the American accent.
“What’s going on?"
He put his hands on his hips and shook his head, wincing at the headache his taped cut caused.
“You taped me up?”
“Yes… a couple of hours ago. Do you not remember?” She asked as he sighed.
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
“What? Why not? You needed help.”
“I don’t need your help. You shouldn’t get involved.”
She could see him swallow, like he was holding himself back from something.
Whatever was going on right now, she saw a man who needed comfort. She stepped out from her doorway but he stepped back.
“Talk to me.” She whispered.
Marc looked up at her and he was lost. She was so... so beautiful… but he would never be able move past Layla…
This was Steven’s chance to be happy that he was ruining.
And Marc? Marc needed a friend.
He lived a lonely life but with everything going on with him, with them, it was just impossible. It was all so impossible...
“I can’t," he groaned, "I really just… don’t talk to us- me again, alright?”
She watched as he walked down the hall, completely missing his door and shooting down the stairs.
For a moment, she hesitated, internally debating following him.
What the fuck was that?
She closed her door and grabbed a beer from her fridge, flicking the lid perfectly into the bin.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Y/N! Over here.”
“Pedro? I didn’t know I was meeting you! I didn’t even, uh, know you were back in London.”
“Yeah, got back about, oh gosh, five hours ago? Fancy some coffee?”
“Uh-huh. Sure.”
“Right, cool, we'll get that and then head to the museum.”
That halted her in her tracks.
“Museum?”
“Fuckin’ hell... Daisy didn’t tell you? I’m firing her, swear to God.” He shook his head and opened the glass door to the Pret.
“Nope, she didn't and, yes, you should.” She mumbled, rubbing her arms as they entered the warm, empty shop.
“The museum... people... I can't think of the right word... anyway, they want to commission someone to do a big Egypt-inspired, obviously, mural for the entrance. I suggested you. Yeah, yeah, I saw those not-so-sneaky sketches in your book, missy. Someone's inspired, clearly.” He grinned.
"Huh..." She breathed in the scent of the tea passed over the counter.
“You’re gonna say yes, right?” Pedro enquired, following her lack of answer.
“I mean, yeah, of course! This is a huge opportunity.”
It was.
Why would she let one weird encounter with her cute neighbour… who kissed her and then ditched her straight afterwards… who also happens to work at the place that she’d now be working for a while… stop her from taking a job this good?
Once they'd reached the steps of the building she’d been to thousands of times, her breath hitched as she prepared herself. She looked down at her green-themed outfit and checked her hair in her phone’s reflection.
“You good? You know they don’t care what you look like. You’re literally gonna be in your paint-y overalls most of the time.” Pedro furrowed his brows, knowing his friend and colleague cared about her style but was normally more confident about it.
She simply smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes.
The foyer was unchanged from the last time she’d visited except a cordoned-off wall which she assumed was where she’d be working.
A blonde woman and another man walked up to them.
Immediately, she hated the blonde who she’d discovered was called Donna.
They talked through what they wanted, and soon enough Y/N’s mind was obsessed with the possibilities this blank canvas held... the opportunities that the lines and colours she collated could have to retell stories of old.
“You’ll be working on it during opening hours… you sure you’re up for people watching and possibly even talking to you?” Donna enquired, each section of the question punctuated with a chew of her minty gum.
“Yeah, no, that’s fine. I’ve done pieces in those kinda conditions before.”
“Cool, cool. Well, feel free to look around, get 'inspired'. You’ll officially start tomo-“
“Donna! Donna. Sorry I’m-“
Steven rushed in stopping in his tracks at who stood alongside his manager.
He opened and closed his mouth like a fish.
“You,” Donna pointed at him, “better get out of my sight right now. Go and man the tills like you were supposed to do an hour ago.”
“Right, uh, yeah, sorry. Hi.” He awkwardly waved at the scowling artist before backing away.
Pedro looked at his friend knowingly but saying nothing.
Eventually, after retreating to some kind of office and signing some papers, Pedro and Y/N walked back to the now-bustling entryway.
“So, what’s your deal with mr awkward gift shop man.”
“Nothing!” She replied all too quickly.
Pedro smirked and she pouted.
“Really?”
“Really. I don’t think there’s anything going on.” Not even bothering to mask her disappointment.
Her superior smiled sadly, patting her back and muttering a ‘good luck tomorrow, kid’ before leaving.
She ducked her head and gritted her teeth, deciding to get started on looking around the familiar exhibits for inspiration.
Steven watched her from where he was sorting through packets of Taweret pencil toppers.
He wasn’t sure what had happened after he left her flat last night... but the way she looked at him when he appeared today… he needed to talk to her.
“Donna.”
“What you want, Stevie?”
“It’s Steven for f-“ he sighed, “I need to go to the stock room to refill these.” He lifted up the one remaining box of sweets.
“Go. Be quick.” She replied nonchalantly.
He began to walk away but stopped when he realised that he still had the box in his hands. He switched directions and swivelled as he couldn’t decide if he should take it with him or not.
He made the choice that, yes, he would. He'd pay for it later.
It didn’t take him long to find Y/N, sat on a seat that looked over several displays.
He stood next to the empty space besides her.
He softly dropped the confectionary into her lap.
She displaced it onto the floor next to her boots.
“How’s your head?” She asked coldly, not even sparing him a glance.
“Yeah, good, very good. Thanks again… for that. Bang up job.” He gave her an exaggerated thumbs up.
She huffed a laugh, quickly covering it with her hand.
“Steven… why were you so- I don’t get it… I don’t get you.”
“What do you mean?”
At that she looked up and met his eyes. He looked down in concern. He crouched in front of her and took her hands tentatively in his.
“You don’t remember?” She mumbled almost to herself.
“Don’t remember? I remember we, uh-“ he cut himself and mouthed the word ‘kissed’.
“Yeah, uh-huh, and then you told me you didn’t want me to talk to you anymore… in an American accent… and acting really fucking weird.”
“I, no, I wouldn’t do that. I really, huh, I really like you. You must’ve-“
“If you say ‘imagined it’ then I will lob this box across the hall.” Looking around to see what she'd aim for.
“Y/N, no, look at me.”
She did.
“What?”
“I honestly don’t know what you’re on about. Surely you can see I’m not lying.”
He looked so genuine, with the puppy dog eyes and tilted head…
He was pleading.
“Your angry manager is coming…" she told him quietly, "look, just, uh, come round after you’ve finished your shift and we’ll fucking, ugh, we'll figure it out, OK?” She rubbed her forehead, attempting to alleviate the oncoming headache.
“OK.”
“OK.”
He reached a hand to put a stray strand of hair behind her ear but Donna was quicker, yelling at him to get a move on with the restock.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
His thoughts were overrun as the hours ticked on.
Why did Marc do that?
Why didn’t he try to explain to her right away?
He would explain tonight and buy her... flowers, yes.
Girls like flowers.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It got to 9pm and Y/N sadly put the cold food away to reheat some other time.
After a warm shower, she got into her underwear and covered up fluffy robe to put on some sappy romcom because that’s what you’re supposed to do, isn’t it?
She looked over the plans she’d made for the mural, relatively happy with what she’d start with the next day.
As she began to doze off, her door thumped making her heart race. She’d locked it right? Yes...
Another thump... and another in rapid succession.
She tightened her dressing grown and grabbed a folded-up easel from the corner of her room, raising it like a weapon.
The door gave way to reveal...
“Steven? What the fuck-“
“No time to explain. Not Steven. You need to come to mine.” He rushed forward to grab her arm but she pointed the wooded object at him, halting his progress.
“I’m not dressed, you broke down my door, you’re doing that voice again and now you’re trying to get me into your flat? I don’t think so… I’m calling the police.”
“Y/N please. You have to fucking trust me.”
Those same goddamn pleading eyes…
She searched them for any sense of deception and found nothing but desperation.
She reluctantly put her makeshift bat down, grabbed her phone and keys and slipped on her sliders to follow him down the hall.
He shoved her through his doorway, bolting all the locks after them.
She cowered into the corner, awaiting his next move. Something soft got in her sliders and she looked down to see that she was stood in a mushed up pile of tulips.
She loved tulips.
He rested his forehead on the door before turning to her.
“I know I have some explaining to do, well we do. But you’re safe that’s all that matters and you have to believe me. You are safe. I know what this must feel like, what it must seem li-”
She scoffed.
“Yeah, you know, Steven? This wasn’t exactly how I imagined things going, if I'm honest.”
“My name is Marc, not Steven… and I know, me neither.” He replied softly.