They're not meant to be this way. They're supposed to be-- together. Inseparable. Parts of a damaged but functional whole. And maybe the goal was to just have one of Marc. One whole, put together chunk of Marc after stripping away the good, salvageable pieces of Steven, who could handle all of life's tumultuous adversities on his own without resorting to an assortment of mental gymnastics to deal with the difficult, confronting, harsh realities thrown at him.
But this... doesn't feel like healing at all. This feels like somebody took a knife and sliced through them like butter and he could scratch and claw and cut into Marc as deeply as he wanted but he can't bury his face in his shadows and crawl back inside his skin anymore.
Steven is-- honestly, doing alright, all things considered. He's never really thought about checking out and giving up and curling up somewhere safe and dark and comfortable. He's always just lived his life even though he knows on some level that it's not true, that he's barely lived a fraction of his life, and what he has lived is part fabrication, part imagination, part gaslighting, part reality.
But since he's known about Marc, more and more, started to take for granted that someone's always going to be there to catch him when he slips up, it's been really hard to just go about his day on his own, without talking to the mirror expecting Marc to be there. It's been nearly impossible to take any chances. And he honestly doesn't know if Marc is just going to shut down one day without him taking the wheel. It's been stressing him out.
And he should tell Marc to not-- say and do and think these things. They should try and work their way towards some kind of healing, even if that means cauterising their wounds and learning to swim at the deep end.
But he's too weak to draw those necessary lines. And he craves the attention. And he likes that Marc is being gentle and affectionate - with him.
"You're such a romantic..." Steven murmurs against Marc's hair, moving just enough to press a chaste kiss to Marc's forehead. Is he sure he hasn't read one of those love-professing romance novel passages?
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But this... doesn't feel like healing at all. This feels like somebody took a knife and sliced through them like butter and he could scratch and claw and cut into Marc as deeply as he wanted but he can't bury his face in his shadows and crawl back inside his skin anymore.
Steven is-- honestly, doing alright, all things considered. He's never really thought about checking out and giving up and curling up somewhere safe and dark and comfortable. He's always just lived his life even though he knows on some level that it's not true, that he's barely lived a fraction of his life, and what he has lived is part fabrication, part imagination, part gaslighting, part reality.
But since he's known about Marc, more and more, started to take for granted that someone's always going to be there to catch him when he slips up, it's been really hard to just go about his day on his own, without talking to the mirror expecting Marc to be there. It's been nearly impossible to take any chances. And he honestly doesn't know if Marc is just going to shut down one day without him taking the wheel. It's been stressing him out.
And he should tell Marc to not-- say and do and think these things. They should try and work their way towards some kind of healing, even if that means cauterising their wounds and learning to swim at the deep end.
But he's too weak to draw those necessary lines. And he craves the attention. And he likes that Marc is being gentle and affectionate - with him.
"You're such a romantic..." Steven murmurs against Marc's hair, moving just enough to press a chaste kiss to Marc's forehead. Is he sure he hasn't read one of those love-professing romance novel passages?