come_sailaway | JUNE EVENT: CAMP

JUNE EVENT: CAMP

early on June 10th, Friday's morning announcements end with a request for everyone going on the latest excursion to meet her in the atrium. she seems in noticeably better spirits than she had been last time, and she leads them cheerfully to the tender. once they are all aboard, and the door is securely shut, the interior fills with gas, and, perhaps, their last thought before they slip into unconsciousness is "oh shit, not again."

passengers wake up on a rickety old school bus, driving down a dirt road surrounded by woods. what is it that they notice first? that, no matter what they were wearing before, they are now wearing a camp t-shirt and legitimately horrifyingly short shorts? the overstuffed backpack between their knees? the words "take one down and pass it around" dying on their lips? the fact that Friday is absolutely driving the bus?

or, maybe the fact that it's already slowing down, pulling up in front of a massive wooden sign, saying:

CAMP AION

when they get out of the bus, Friday is the one to divide them up into their cabin groups, and she is the one to give the counselors their very official-looking clipboards and whistles. she explains that they are in charge, and that she will be back to pick them up in a week, and... very little else. she responds to nothing outside of whatever is on her unseen little script, and she gets back on the bus shortly after, leaving them there.

welcome to camp. let's make some summer memories!

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"You wouldn't be the first guy to not know what he was doing, buddy." That's just the human experience sometimes, right?

But then he did step up and became a hero. He helped save the world and that's-- the important thing. It doesn't matter if anyone notices that they died for this. Well-- beyond hopefully Layla if she's still out there. If she's okay. Marc's never cared about being remembered. He's wanted the opposite more often than not, really.

"Yeah..." He breathes out a sigh, eyes drifting half shut when Steven turns in, just-- enjoying the comfort of the gesture, the closeness that makes something inside of him ache for a moment. He misses Steven even closer than this. He'll never get over the strange feeling like he's-- missing something. Like he's not quite whole.

But this makes up for it, almost.

He does slide his hand up to rest at the back of Steven's neck, playing through the short hair at the nape of his neck carefully. "I like it too, Steven. But we'll be back there soon, alright?"

Soon.

Although if they're going to get this cozy with each other-- "You wanna step outside for a bit? Get some fresh air?"

"Yeah. Alright." Stepping outside might not give them much privacy, considering how many people are around, but it might make them feel a little more comfortable. No expectations of having to step around in sync or anything like that, either.

Reluctantly he lets go of Marc's hand and glances around the room before making his way towards the door. He shouldn't fidget, shouldn't mess with his clothes, but he doesn't know where to put his hands either, so he wrings his hands a bit until they're outside.

Taking a deep breath, Steven closes his eyes and cracks a small smile, enjoying the cool and relative quiet outside of the dance hall.

"I'm tempted to run away," Steven laments in Marc's direction without turning fully to look at him. "It was easier to run with you around. And I guess you felt the same." He could simply let Marc take over when situations got too overwhelming. But now he's kind of stuck, and if he physically runs away, well... it looks strange. And people would take it the wrong way. (Somehow more wrong than if he just suddenly withdrew and let Marc take over.)

It feels a little more private at least. Like no eyes are on them... even if people are coming in and out for the same reason. He still feels more comfortable stepping up behind Steven to slip an arm around him, rest his chin on his shoulder.

"Yeah. I know. It was a lot easier the other way... but-- I guess this is better for us, right?" Doesn't always feel like it, but he's sure some doctor somewhere would insist it is and probably urge against the codependence.

"I'd rather be there, protecting you... keeping you safe though." And letting Steven keep him safe, letting him hide away when he needs to or just can't manage to function like a well-rounded individual. But that's not happening, so he just-- enjoys this moment here. Or tries to. It's comfortably cool out here, quiet. It seems so easy to turn his head and press it into Steven's neck.

Marc isn't usually the affectionate sort, but it's easy to nuzzle in, to press a kiss somewhere above Steven's collar. "It'll be okay, Steven."

Somehow.

Steven slips his fingers between Marc's and cracks a small smile, just a small, understated gesture while he looks out over the trees.

"I don't know, Marc. I don't feel better sometimes. I felt better when we were veritably sick and the world was ending, and I hate that I felt better then." And usually he'd talk things through with people. He's not against being open about his feelings. But he doesn't have anyone to talk to anymore. And definitely not here.

"I didn't feel lonely until you weren't there anymore." Which wasn't something that Marc had taken away from him, and he shouldn't read into it like that. It's just-- puzzling how everyone else lives like this. Without a tall, dark, handsome alter ego inside to front for them when things get to be too hard.

"I guess this is what sanity looks like," he says with a wistful sigh, tipping his head to make space for Marc while straightened out curls tickle at his temple. "All-- dressed up like a plonker waiting to die in another evil magician's toy boat. Surrounded by people and feeling alone."

"I don't think I feel-- sane. I think I feel worse than ever," he admits quietly. It's not Steven's fault. He's sick, and he knows he's sick... has been since he was a kid. He'll always be, probably. But it's significantly worse without his best coping mechanism letting him hide away when he needs to, being inside of him, happy and full of life. He gets to see that here, with Steven in front of him, but it's still not the same.

And here he is now, being objectively... not well, peppering kisses along Steven's neck when he tilts his head, nuzzling into him, taking in his scent-- which is apparently his scent exactly, according to Layla. But he doesn't think he sees it. Maybe it's a different soap, maybe it's all mental.

"You're not alone though. You got me, no matter what. Even if it's a different way, alright?" Not like Marc wouldn't come running the very minute Steven said, like he wouldn't do anything to make him feel safe and comfortable, or fight half the fucking ship if they made him feel bad.

"And if we die again, we go out together." That's just how it should be.

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?

He can't promise he won't lose himself inside a bottle, or run dangerously close to an overdose on pills, or just... refuse to get out of bed for a day or two at some point in the future. He can't promise he won't pick a fight or lose his temper or just-- fuck, he doesn't know. He doesn't know what he might do one day when all of this gets too much and he has no relief. But he can promise he won't leave Steven for as long as he's got him.

He wouldn't do that. Steven has never once abandoned him and he can't do that to him. He's got to be here for him, so-- he'll try to be. He will be.

The kiss actually draws a brief sigh out of him, something relaxing a little bit under the gesture. He shouldn't be thinking half the things he is -- from the weird and twisted to-- yeah, okay, still weird and twisted, just in other ways. Wishing he could crawl in Steven and hide is something someone who belongs in a padded room thinks.

Someone who wants to slip his hands under his... twin's shirt and see if he can get his heart racing in any other way besides fear is also-- twisted and wrong and sick and means he belongs in a padded room, probably. Certainly away from his alter.

Even if said alter isn't telling him to quit it yet. He does huff out a chuckle at the teasing. "Oh, yeah, that's totally me. Real Romeo right here."

Steven... can't claim to know how to deal with any of that, intuitively. He would Be Alarmed and it would be no small miracle to keep it all in. But he's just going to take it as it comes. There's no manual for what to do in these types of situations. If he could give up everything that he's experiencing right now, cut off and free to do as he pleases on his own, he would, even if Marc wanted the body most of the time. It's-- Marc's body, after all. But nobody's offered to help fix this, and he can't. All he knows is that he won't stand by and watch Marc ruin himself or fall into that kind of despair. He can't bear it. And maybe it is pure selfishness to want to help him, but. Well, nobody ever said Steven Grant was perfect in any way, shape or form.

Luckily he's happily oblivious to all the unromantic things Marc wants to do with him. He already thinks he's weird for wanting cuddles and reassurances and pillow talk. Anything more... intense, might blow his mind, and not necessarily in a good way.

"Let's not be Romeo and Juliet. It's too tragic. I want to be grumpy and old with you. Like the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh. We could have a fleet of corgis. Dinner parties at different palaces everyday."

Marc-- is good at denying himself things, especially for Steven's sake. He doesn't have any intention of acting on impulses, on whatever thoughts roll around his head. Doing anything to break whatever trust they've got going? The idea turns his stomach. Maybe one day he'll slip up, but right now?

He's-- quite satisfied with where he is, face pressed in against Steven. There's a soft, amused huff pressed into his shoulder. "Alright, but... only one corgi, buddy. You know, I used to want a pet, growing up. Then it just felt too irresponsible."

Still is, really, even if they get out of here. They're barely healthy enough to look after themselves and a gold fish. But it's something-- less horrifying to share from his childhood, something that won't make Steven fidget uncomfortably or get upset, hopefully.

"Yeah. Maybe we'll start with one." An armada of corgis might be a bit much to handle when they can't even keep one Gus alive. (That was different though, he hopes. Things will be different now, surely?) Steven will struggle with something that sheds so much and wants his attention all the time, and he can't imagine how stressed out Marc will be on his bad days when the poor little pupper just wants to go out.

"Anyway. You've only managed to kill me twice. Third time's the charm," Steven jokes and snickers. This wasn't what he was expecting when he died. It's actually quite nice. Much nicer than spending the rest of eternity alone in the Duat, anyway, he thinks.

"Shall we go for a walk? Or would you like to stay?" It's a little stuffy inside and there are people he's managed to annoy milling around... but he could put up with it a while longer if Marc wants to stick around.

Maybe an armada of gold fish would be more their speed -- at least until they're both in better places. Maybe.

His arms slide from around Steven to give him a careful push forward. He's hoping there won't be a third time. "Alright, alright. Very funny, Steven. A walk, definitely. C'mon. Anything you want to do on our last night here?"

"Hmmh. Not particularly, no. I suppose we could go walk by the lake, look at the stars for a bit." Even though the stars are all wrong and he can't find any of the constellations that he's familiar with. He does like some peace and quiet away from the crowd, with Marc. London isn't the kind of place with this kind of peace and quiet.

He probably would have liked the Field of Reeds. Maybe been fine without Marc for a few days. But it would have been too lonely for him, in the end. He's come around to liking having a protector in his head. Even depending on him sometimes for help.

"What about you?" He asks as they start towards the lake. "Any last hurrahs?"

"Nah. A walk around sounds good. Maybe find somewhere to just relax for a while." The stars aren't right. None of this is quite right. But that's-- not important. It's quiet. It's peaceful. That's the important thing.

And there's nothing trying to kill them so far, so Marc is... hopeful that's not happening this time around.

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JUNE EVENT: CAMP

CAMP AION

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