He never conscientiously means to cry. It just kind of comes. By the time there's telltale signs that the waterworks are coming, it's usually too late. He grips on the edge of the bed on either side of his knees. His breathing gets a little more laboured as he lowers his gaze and closes his eyes, clenches his teeth. When his face twitches it's all over and it's nothing loud or wailing. His eyebrows just knit together and he breaks down. His hands don't really seem to know where to go. He's hugging himself low across his tummy, then he's pushing his invisible glasses up the bridge of his nose, and finally he settles for hiding his face in his hands.

Things have just been so crazy that he hasn't really gotten to deal with the fact that they're dead. For a while he was trying to give Marc all the reassurances he needed. Then he was able to stave off the feelings by busying himself in the ship, enjoying something of a holiday for a few days before coming here. But hearing Marc say those words, just feeling him give up like this, it's all too much for Steven.

It's just not fair? They'd saved the world. There was-- there are so many things Steven wanted to do. He never even wrote a bucket list. But-- but he could have gone to Paris. Gawked at a terracotta warrior. Visited every single ancient ruin in Greece. Found someone who would be willing to fall in love with him. Tried the romanesco dish at his favourite restaurant. Maybe even had children. Or-- let's not be ambitious. Just the one.

And it's all a lie, wasn't it? His entire existence was a lie. He has nothing. Nobody even knows who he is, or care that he died. Apart from maybe Layla, and all Marc wants to do is throw her away. Finally, here and now, he has something real. He is someone real. But all he's done is sign up for more soul tormenting and make people mad at them both. Not that it matters because they're already dead and he can't live any of that life he could have led.

It's really unfair. It's just-- really unfair. And Steven is beyond upset.