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You slept hard after your emotional release. Swaddled tightly in sheets and pillows, you breathed shallow but evenly, your expression smooth and slack. Marc and Steven watched you for almost an hour, checking to see if nightmares or something else disturbed your slumber. Only when they were assured that you were sleeping soundly did they retreat to the balcony outside the hotel room.
Sliding the glass door shut behind him, Marc paced, trying to expend the restless energy clawing through him. Your emotions had struck too close to him, brushing up against his with bristles that irritated him. The only person whose emotions had ever nearly triggered his was Steven, and that was a whole other box to unpack.
"Marc."
Steven's soft voice slowed him. Marc glanced at his reflection in the sliding glass doors. Steven attempted a sympathetic smile, but the slash of his mouth was grim, worn down by the emotional turbulence. Neither of them had signed up for someone as troubled as themselves.
"You sure know how to pick 'em, Steven," Marc half-heartedly joked.
"Well, I picked you, didn't I? Or, erm, you picked me." Steven shook his head. "A month ago, we wouldn't have made it through that, yeah?"
"No, we wouldn't have."
They sat with that thought, processing it. A month ago, they had been in denial, fighting each other with the conviction that only one of them was in the right. A month ago, Marc would have fled the room in the face of your words and emotional vulnerability, would have preferred to fling himself off the balcony in his efforts to escape.
That he had not only not run but had actually stayed to help, to hold you up, was progress. That he could live with.
"Next steps," he prompted Steven, resorting to what he did best: action. "How do we find an expert on this stuff, like you suggested?"
