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He used to say it all the time, about how Marc was obsessed about Steven Grant. Each time always started with Marc eyeing the shy guy from the corner of his eye; each time was always accompanied by Jake’s barking laughter and Marc’s denial.
Sometimes he didn’t understand, why his friend was so adamant on his refusal of acceptance. It was pretty clear to everyone who had eyes—well, who had eyes trained on Marc Spector, anyway. Everywhere Steven went, his gaze would follow. Anything Steven did, he would observe closely, all while only sparsely blinking. Even the densest guy in the room could tell that Marc had at least an interest in Steven.
"Come on,” Jake said one day, frustrated and wasn’t in the mood to play along with Marc. They were nearly twenty-three, for fuck’s sake. This was too juvenile, even for Jake. “This is college. Everyone has a crush on everyone, and everyone fucks everyone at least once. What are you even worried about? Is it because he looks like you? I mean, you and Rydal Keener could pass as twins, and you’ve fucked him at least five times. That’s not an excuse you can make.”
Marc choked on his energy drink, and coughed violently. He threw Jake a nasty look, before he sighed wearily. Sometimes, Marc acted as if he was sixty or something. He just seemed like an old guy, much older than his actual age; with his severe frown, his discipline and solemnity, his absolute control of emotions. The only thing that reminded Jake that this guy was indeed a college student was how Marc could be the biggest idiot in the room at times, and that was all.
“It’s not what you thought,” Marc muttered as he wiped his mouth. He took a gulp of water, and looked elsewhere. He was fond of not looking at the person talking, whenever he felt uncomfortable of a topic, or if he felt bad about lying. “Just drop it, Jake.”
“I will, if you stop eyeing Grant like a piece of steak, and that’s horrible, man. Everyone knows he’s a vegan,” he replied easily, dodging the can of energy drink Marc threw his way. It was difficult to dodge the man's attack or projectiles, early on their friendship, because Marc had a terrifying precision, and he was stupidly strong. “Ow, hey! Don’t shoot the messenger!”
“Messenger my ass,” Marc sneered. “Stop bothering me with your nonsense.”
But it wasn’t nonsense. Not when it kept happening, had been happening since the first semester, and probably would continue until they graduated, and they were graduating soon. He probably wouldn’t tease Marc so much about it, if he didn’t know just how the guy had fallen head over heels for Steven Grant. Sure, this particular observation wasn’t noticeable to everyone else. But they had been friends for nearly four years, now, Jake surely was allowed to take some credits for his Marc Spector Assessment Skill. He learned it through multiple hardships, because they both were assholes, and they fought a lot, and when they fought, they meant it.
Hell, Marc had never gone out with anyone since college started. He slept with some people, sure, and it was kind of painful not to notice how he always chose someone who looked the closest to Steven. Sometimes, Jake wondered if the only reason Marc gravitated towards him was because he looked like Steven. He didn’t particularly care about that, but if it was true, then, damn, Marc just hit an entirely new level of pathetic.
Jake wasn’t exactly a good friend, because if he had to be honest, he was as emotionally stunted as Marc, and he wasn’t a good listener, because he didn’t know what the hell he was supposed to do when people came crying to him about their plights. The most he could do was just to offer them a cigarette or a bottle of beer, and it wouldn’t work on Marc, because that guy was just so healthy—physical wise, anyway. He didn’t smoke, and he refused to drink, for some reason he didn’t disclose.
Still, that was the end of the healthiness. Because everything else about Marc? They were fucked-up, and there was no other way around this. Jake didn’t know everything, but he knew enough. With Marc’s little brother’s death, and the subsequential abandonment and abuse from his mother, the tense relationship with his father, the troubled teenage years—all the bottled-up emotions and no way to release them but fighting. Jake refused to open up because he didn’t want to; Marc, on the other hand, didn’t know how to. He didn’t even know how to speak up when he was hurt, that absolute idiot.
Sure, it explained why Marc was so insistent on burying his feelings for Steven, without an intent of actually telling the guy in the foreseeable future. But it didn’t mean that it wasn’t stupid, and even if Jake still considered Marc as his close friend, there had never been a guarantee that he wouldn’t tease him to hell and back about it.
What else could he do? Marc was too emotionally constipated to talk about his problems, was too much of a little bitch to man up and confess, and Jake couldn’t even make him let loose enough with booze. So, teasing and insulting it was.
Except, today, the gods decided that it was time for Marc Spector to be so drunk he couldn’t tell his head from his ass.
Look, the last semester would always be the high-time for any college student to be so stressed-up. They were seconds away from actually exploding into tiny pieces of tears, disappointment, fear, and every imaginable insults to the faculty and their lecturers. They were stuck six-feet underneath their research and thesis, and probably only came out of their cave hole for thesis consultation and defense. Jake knew, because he was like that. He couldn’t even go to bars because he had to constantly check for typos and plagiarism on his research.
So, it was bad enough for normal college student. On Marc Spector, however, it was a fucking nightmare. Jake meant this as in Marc—that motherfucker was the nightmare for everyone around him.
He sulked and he brooded all the time. His fuse was even shorter than usual, and that was saying something because even Jake, who was known throughout the campus for his temper, couldn’t even stand Marc. He snapped at everyone, and he made at least twenty people cry this past two months. He slept only several hours a day, and he fought with Jake nearly every day. The only thing he did right was eating and staring at Steven Grant—on time, like a clockwork.
In the end, however, Jake snapped and punched him in the face when he was about to hurl insults to an unsuspecting psychology student, who accidentally bumped into Marc and made him drop his papers.
“Snap the fuck out of it, Spector,” he said, completely remorseless when Marc looked at him in shock, rivaled only by the psychology student, who then scurried away from the area. “You’re such a massive asshole these days, and I ain’t gonna take it anymore. Either you dunk yourself into the campus lake, or I’ll drown you there myself. Maybe then you’ll come out of your ass.”
He could see the anger, the retaliation—in Marc’s eyes, in the tension within the width of his broad shoulders, in the clench of his fists. But then, he looked at something past Jake, and just—sagged in defeat. He let out a deep sigh, and said softly, “I’m sorry.”
Jake frowned, then turned his head slightly to look behind him, and rolled his eyes so hard he got a small headache out of it. Of course. What reason would there be for Marc Spector, the feral hellhound, to suddenly turn into a pathetic, obedient lapdog, other than Steven Grant?
He grinned at Grant, who was looking at them with eyes straight on Marc—gaze so sharp that it felt like looking at Marc for a second. The man blinked, then smiled back hesitantly at Jake, sweet and small, ladened with an air of fragility and gentleness. Huh, no wonder Marc had a pathetic crush on him—that guy was prettier than Jake thought. He waved a little, and walked away. Well, that was something. Never knew that Grant was aware of Marc’s existence at all, seeing that he had never looked Marc’s way, not even once. Jake had previously thought that the guy must be the most oblivious person on earth, but given the latest interaction, he was starting to rethink it through.
“You done there?” he then asked Marc. “Seriously, if I knew that getting Grant to stare at you in reprimand is the only way to get you out of whatever stupor on you were in, I would’ve done it sooner.”
Marc sighed yet again, and rubbed his face with a palm. “Shut the fuck up, Lockley.”
“No, no,” he said, letting Marc pick up the papers by himself because the little shit deserved as much. “Not shut the fuck up. You’ve been such a humongous jerk with a gigantic stick up your wrinkly ass.”
“You done there?” Marc parroted, sarcasm dripping generously from his voice. He stood up and tapped his feet impatiently.
“Not yet,” Jake said, the curl of his lips in a sneer. He gestured towards Marc’s… well, everything. “See? Back to a supermassive jerk already. Esta noche nos vamos a emborrachar. A veces sólo necesitamos, ya sabes, soltar un poco. Maybe you’ll be less of an asshole, who knows? Worth trying, right?”
“Seriously?” Marc said, an eyebrow raised. When Jake just grinned at him, he shook his head in disbelief. But that wasn’t a no, and he let out a scoff when Jake jostled his shoulders. “Fine, we’ll go.”
“Buen chico, Marc,” he said, and couldn’t even begrudge it when Marc slapped the back of his head.
Who the fuck cared? Even Marc’s constant grumble about his lecturer couldn’t even dampen Jake’s good mood. This was the chance of the lifetime. When else would Marc Spector, resident stuck-up asshole, agree to a night of drinking himself to a stupor, most possibly risking making a fool of himself because Jake would guarantee that? Never. That was why, he was going to milk this one chance for all it was worth.
Spector wouldn’t even know what was going to hit him.
—or, that was what Jake had thought, anyway. In reality, he didn’t know what was going to hit him when he got Marc drunk enough. Sure, he actually was more pleasant once he lost the perpetual frown and glare. The guy was even relaxed enough to whoop and dance. Jake had never seen him actually having fun, not including that one time Marc dislocated his wrist and had to sit out the most brutal football match in the fourth semester, while Jake suffered on the field.
It took a while, because Marc was stupidly resistant to alcohol. But once he was tipsy, it was only a downhill from there. Jake grinned and laughed because Marc was such an idiot when he was drunk, but at least he was enjoying himself, and that made a huge difference. He talked more, he joked around, and he laughed at himself when Jake teased him instead of flicking his forehead as usual. Jake liked Drunk Marc. He might consider making the guy an alcoholic, if this was the outcome.
If this was the only outcome, anyway.
Because when Marc had had enough dancing, and Jake was grinning from ear to ear because he was about to interrogate this poor, poor sap within an inch of his life, he had more than what he bargained for. Marc was smiling, the set of his shoulders lax, his fingers toying with the bottle of vodka with its content half-drained. It wasn’t the first bottle, or the only type of liquor, either.
It started with simple questions. What was the most embarrassing moment of his life? Oh, it was definitely that one time he missed a class, and he went to see the professor—still with his rumpled shirt, mussed-up hair, and hickeys all over his neck—while the professor surreptitiously coughed to hide her laughter. He could never keep an eye contact with her afterwards.
Okay, then, what was the worst decision in his life? Definitely being Jake’s friend. Oi! Spector, you fucker! Answer properly, bitch. Rambunctious laughter, and then, a more honest answer: going to college and choosing this university. Was it because the Uni was shit? No, it has good credibility and reviews. The curriculum is also great, and most of the lecturers actually know what they’re talking about. Then why? A sigh, and a wistful smile.
“Alright, forget it,” Jake said, knowing when he wouldn’t get a straight answer. Even inebriated like this, Marc’s secrets were still tightly locked. But, maybe, if Jake was persistent, he could at least get a peek of what was inside. “Who’s your best lay?”
“Honestly?” Marc said, then he sprayed vodka all over Jake’s face when he couldn’t contain his laughter. He laughed harder when he got a nasty glare. Then, after several hiccups, he said, “Professor Jonathan.”
“No way,” Jake said, already forgetting the vodka spraying incident as a wide grin overtook his face. Professor Jonathan was a guest lecturer from another university, and he looked like how Steven would be, if he grew his beard and was at least a decade older than them. Jake nearly laughed out loud when he saw the way Marc zeroed in on the man the moment he stepped onto the lecture hall. “No way, man. Isn’t he, like, married?”
“Recently divorced,” Marc replied, and chugged the vodka. “Kind of clueless about sex, even if he has experiences. Very endearing, but also unexpectedly kinky. That was a one-time only, though. There was this guy who came the next morning, and I swear, he looked like he was barely holding himself back from killing me when I answered the door.”
“His new lover?”
Marc shook his head. “Nah, man. I mean, I don’t know. I guess it’s kinda complicated. The guy seems even younger than us, even if he’s taller, so I guess that was why Jonathan looked very uncomfortable and hesitant. ‘Dunno what happened after that.”
“Damn, Professor Jonathan sure got a lot of young guys going after his ass. Literally,” Jake said, then burst out in laughter with Marc. He took a swig of his own beer, and thought of another question. Marc had been answering pretty well, so, maybe it was time to bring out the big gun. “So, when are you going to ask Steven out?”
Marc looked at him as if Jake had lost his mind. He laughed, and it was so sincere that it fucked with Jake’s head. Was he reading it wrong all this time? But those stares and intense observation were kind of hard to miss, not to mention Marc’s tendency of finding a partner in bed that looked so much like Steven that it was bordering on creepy, if it wasn’t so pathetic.
“Why are you laughing?” Jake complained, pelting Marc with a peanut. “Come on, you’ve been eyeing him for years, man. I got so sick of you acting like a love-struck puppy every time he’s within fifty meters radius. You’re crazy if you said that it all means nothing, Marc, I swear to fucking God.”
“No, you’re crazy,” Marc said. He looked at the bottle of vodka on the table, and smiled—gentle and a tad too sincere that Jake felt like he was intruding a private moment. “I was just watching out for him, you know? Make sure he’s not in trouble or anything. He’s a sweet kid, very mild-mannered, but for some reason he’s, like, a magnet for troublesome people.”
Jake’s smile turned a little confused. “You mean, you? You’re troublesome. I’d know—four years living it up, baby.”
Marc grinned at him. “Serve you right.”
“But, come on, you can’t say that’s all there is to it,” Jake pushed. “Not even a crush? Seriously?”
He didn’t know just how much of Marc’s blood was already contaminated by alcohol, but it was certainly more than what was advised, because Jake felt kind of bad when the man smiled again. It was so genuine, so tender—the kind that would bloom on someone who loved another so deeply, so unconditionally.
“I just wanted to protect him, you know?” Marc said. “From the harsh world, from his fears, from his nightmares. He doesn’t deserve such a cruel life.”
Jake fell silent. He wasn’t aware if Marc had known Steven beforehand, to be able to say those things. It made a little more sense, about some things. But not everything. When Jake spoke again, his voice was quiet. He wasn’t sure if the conversation deserved some teasing and ribbing anymore, not when Marc looked so wistful, a touch away from heartache.
“Why?”
“He’s my baby brother,” came the answer, and Jake leaned back, caught off-guard by the admission. Marc let out a sigh, and chugged down the vodka. Then, when he laughed, it sounded so derisive. “That’s why—that’s why I wanted to protect him. But I can’t—not anymore.”
Jake swallowed. He wasn’t sure if Marc would remember what happened tonight, this conversation. But if he did, Jake didn’t know if he’d forgive him for asking: “Why can’t you?”
“Because I have to protect him,” Marc said, and Jake didn’t get it at first, thinking that maybe the man was just too drunk to properly answer. Then, he said, with a smile so dim around the edges, “Even from myself. Especially from myself.”
“Oh,” Jake breathed out, mind a jumbled mess of revelations and connecting dots.
It wasn’t funny anymore, now. Because the implication of everything Marc had said, it wasn’t something that should have been revealed so carelessly. It was a secret that Jake didn’t have the right to unearth, and now he had, without Marc’s sober consent. He swallowed with difficulty, watching in silence as Marc smiled at the bowl of peanuts.
Jake didn’t know how to act, what to think. It truly wasn’t his business, what happened between Marc and Steven. But he was also the one responsible for bringing this to light, after what must have been years of Marc keeping this to himself. No wonder he kept looking at Steven with such yearning. Something must have happened, and Jake could guess what, though not all the details. It was probably the reason why Steven adopted a different name, and why Marc couldn’t allow himself to get closer more than just glances.
So, this was why Marc came to this Uni, and Jake was probably right when he speculated that the man was friends with him because he looked like his brother. All those people Marc had slept with, the guilt on his face when Steven looked at him for the first time in nearly four years, his adamancy of not getting into a relationship with anyone, the obvious fact that he was in love with Steven—all of these things suddenly became much more sinister and mind boggling under the revelation that they were related.
“Damn, Spector,” he sighed as Marc finished the vodka, and was happily flagging down a waitress to bring them another serving. “That’s one hell of a complicated, and fucking depressing, relationship you got there.”
Marc laughed, and Jake smiled at him, strained on the corners. This was probably the first time in a long while that Marc had allowed himself to slow down and be honest enough to someone else. He looked relieved; he looked so innocent in his laughter, despite the heartbreak in his eyes when he talked about his brother. Fuck, this guilt was going to follow Jake to the end of time, just like Marc’s own guilt towards Steven.
Jake took the vodka that the waitress had brought, and slapped Marc’s wandering hand away. The man had had enough drink for tonight. Jake needed more drink, in hope that he, too, would forget all of this. Too bad that he had too much resistance by now to be properly drunk with just some cheap-ass liquor.
They really weren’t lying about cats and curiosity. Jake regretted his stupid curiosity more than anything, right now.
Because Marc’s honesty wasn’t the end of it.
When they got out of the bar, stumbling on the way and loudly singing Nirvana’s songs in horrible tunes, they travelled the path that was definitely not going towards their dorm. But Marc was insistent, and Jake was already drunk enough that he just followed along. Besides, the guy was still unfairly strong, even when he was so uncoordinated. He easily dragged Jake along towards another dorm building, and very confidently walked to a door on the second floor.
The journey of two drunken college students trying to climb the staircase was atrocious and deserving to be put on a horror movie. Because they could barely make it, and they kept tripping, and they couldn’t stop laughing when the other slipped. It was such a good coincidence that only a few people were awake, and they were already used to drunken students coming home at ass-o’clock in the morning.
“Marc—Marc,” Jake called out, slapping Marc’s hand out of his face. “¿Dónde mierda estamos?”
“¿Qué quieres decir?” Marc slurred, knocking on the door in front of them already. “El dormitorio, ¿no? Imbécil.”
“Fuck you,” Jake spat out. “Pero ¿de quién? Esto no es nuestro.”
It was Steven’s, as it turned out. Because before Marc could reply with more nonsense, the door had already opened. Steven looked tired, and Jake could guess that he was studying late into the night, what with dark circles underneath his eyes, and that familiar-looking frown on his forehead, that any student would sport whenever they were reviewing for an exam, or doing a particularly difficult assignment. Or students on the last semester with their thesis, that too.
But as soon as his eyes landed on his brother, there was disappointment and helplessness in them. He sighed when Marc immediately latched onto him, abandoning Jake, who looked utterly confused. Just how the hell could he know, and remember, the way to Steven’s dorm room, when he was so drunk, he could barely walk straight? Fucking creep, Jake thought absentmindedly as he stood there awkwardly.
Because it was awkward. Marc was holding Steven so close, pressing his nose up against the man’s neck, all without a speck of shame. Jake was drunk, but he wasn’t so hammered he wasn’t worried about Marc hounding him down if he were to retain his memory about this. Because, fuck, the shits he said made Jake so uncomfortable, because they were supposed to be private conversations between him and his brother only.
“I missed you,” Marc said, and he sounded so fragile, so young and afraid. “I’m so sorry, Steven. I can’t—I just can’t hold myself back. I know that you hate me, but I- I just missed you so much.”
Steven stared right ahead, arms hanging on his sides as Marc held him tighter and tighter. His face was void of emotions the moment his brother spoke, but then he closed his eyes, and wrapped his arms gingerly around Marc; tightening for a moment in an almost desperate touch, before he loosened his hold.
“I know,” he said, and there was the same ache in his voice as Marc’s back in the bar. He pushed his brother away gently, and though it took a long time because the man resisted so much, he was finally able to pried Marc off of him. His eyes were as sharp as yesterday in the hallway when he said, “You’re drunk. I thought you said you’re never drinking again.”
Jake swallowed, then waved at Steven. “Yeah, that’s me,” he said, laughing nervously. “I took him to the bar.”
Steven smiled at him politely, and nodded. “That explains it,” he said, then looked back to his brother. “Marc? You need to sleep, yeah? Let’s go.”
He signaled for Jake to come inside, and they both hauled Marc to one of the beds. He held Marc upright while Steven guided the man to take some sips of water. Then, Jake sat on the chair, and toyed with Steven’s pencil as the man soothed his brother with soft whispers and gentle caress to his face. It was just—weird, seeing the familiarity between them, yet noticing the undeniable strain in their relationship. Because there was hesitation and resignation in the hunch of Steven’s shoulders, and Marc was holding onto his brother’s hand as if he was drowning.
“Don’t- don’t go,” Marc pleaded, and his voice was so small when he said that. “Don’t leave me again, baby, please.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Steven said, brushing away Marc’s curls from his face. “I’m gonna be here. But you need to sleep. Okay, Marc?”
“Okay,” Marc agreed easily. He clasped Steven’s fingers tightly, and closed his eyes; his body curling towards his brother. His breathing was slowing down, a steady rise and fall of his chest. Then, after a moment of quiet in the room, he whispered, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Steven sucked in a sharp breath, before he released it slowly. His movement was stiff when he nodded. “I know, Marc,” he said. “It’s okay. Sleep now, yeah?”
“Okay,” Marc mumbled. “Okay.”
It only took a short moment before another bout of silence enveloped the small room. Steven stayed by the bedside for a while, patting Marc’s back gently, looking blankly at the floor. When he was sure that his brother was deep in slumber, he retracted his hand carefully, and walked to the table. Then, he rummaged through the drawer, pulling out a packet of cigarette.
“I’m gonna be outside,” he said, tilting his head towards the open door. “There are some snacks there, if you want. Drink a lot of water, yeah? I also have aspirin. I imagine you’d have a headache coming your way soon.”
He left with a smile, closing the door behind, and Jake wondered just how the hell someone could look so pretty yet so weary, as if Steven was tearing apart at the seams. That was pretty understandable, though not completely, from Jake’s point of view. He glanced at Marc, who was already fast asleep, muttering unintelligibly in his alcohol-addled rest.
“You’re in deep shit, Spector,” he said to the dorm room, staring at the ceiling. Jake munched on the chips from Steven’s stash, and drank a bottle of water along with the aspirin. The man hadn’t come back from outside, so he curiously stepped out, and regretted that decision immediately.
Steven Grant was known in the Uni because he looked so much like Marc and Jake—who were popular through their misdemeanors and positions in the football team in the earlier semesters. People knew him as this shy, mild-mannered, soft-spoken guy; always endearingly clumsy and earnest, always so awkward in his smiles and wordings, yet so kind all the same. He didn’t have many close friends, and was close to some lecturers instead, which sparked a little bit of gossip that died down pretty quick because—well, it was Steven Grant, and probably because Marc glared daggers at anyone who talked about it within his hearing range.
But, in conclusion, he was some fairy prince, or something along the line. Which was why the sight of him staring listlessly out of the balcony, the cigarette between his lips, felt like something out of fever dream—one that made Jake feel something he definitely shouldn’t be feeling, especially in the lights of recent events. But, fuck, Jake was still half-inebriated, and he was only human. He was allowed to appreciate the unsettling view, at the very least. It didn’t have to mean anything deeper.
“Feeling better?” Steven asked, snapping Jake out of his thoughts. He offered the cigarette to Jake with a small smile.
“Yeah, a little,” he said, and walked closer to stand next to the man. He took a cigarette, toyed with it while Steven handed him the lighter. “Where’s your roommate?”
“Out with his girlfriend,” Steven answered. “Won’t be back until the morning. He always stays the night at her place. Nice guy, though, even if he often loses his socks.”
Jake laughed. That was such a weird thing to mention. “Poor lad,” he said, exhaling the smoke through his nose. He stared right ahead, then he said, “You okay with him here?”
“Who, my roommate?” Steven asked. “Or Marc?”
“I don’t know, both?” Jake teased, quirking up a corner of his lips when Steven just chuckled. “Sorry,” he continued, “I didn’t know this is your place. Didn’t know how his drunken little brain could find his way here, either.”
Steven hummed, and turned around to lean against the railings. He blew the smoke out slowly, and Jake watched him from the corner of his eye. It was weirdly captivating, for some reason. Probably because how the sight just didn’t match Steven’s public persona. “Marc will always know where I am. That’s just how he is.”
“Okay, that’s not creepy at all,” he said, then smiled ruefully. Damn, if he and Marc hadn’t been friends for some time, his attitude would definitely be harsher about Marc’s behavior when it came to his baby brother.
“You think so?” Steven asked, but he was laughing, and he just sounded fucking endearing when he did. So, Jake joined in the laughter, and thought that he was definitely still drunk enough to suddenly want to touch Steven’s long lashes. “I honestly can’t tell, you see. Nearly all my life, he’d always been there. I never knew how it feels to be away from Marc, until our second year of high-school.”
Jake worried his lower lip. There was something clogging the back of his throat. He had had enough of curiosity, but what he had right now was half the story, and it was worse than a lie. He didn’t look at Steven when he said, “Is that why you have a different last name than him?”
“Well,” Steven shrugged. “You probably knew what happened already, or the gist of it. No harm completing the story. But, yeah. Dad found out, and I got sent away to an old family’s friend. You actually know him—the archaeology lecturer; tall, tan, has some piercings, will probably laugh at you if you failed his class.”
“What, Mr. Anubis?” Jake asked, blinking. “Huh, no wonder you’re so close with him.”
The man nodded, a soft smile gracing his lips. “That obvious? I thought I didn’t approach him that much on the campus.”
“Kinda,” he admitted. “Don’t know for sure. But people like to speculate—said all kind of things. There were rumors that you slept with him, you know? Never knew why Marc was so mad back then. Can’t say I’m pleased to know the reason, now.”
“Oh,” Steven said, then he laughed and apologized when Jake looked at him in confusion. “Marc knew that I actually slept with Anubis. That was probably why he was mad.”
“You didn’t talk to him even once,” Jake pointed out, swallowing his surprise about the nature of the relationship between Steven and, arguably, one of the most popular lecturers on the Uni. “How the hell did he even know?”
“I told you,” the man replied. His smile had changed into a derisive one, bitter-sweet. “That’s just how he is. Six years without each other and he still knows how to read me pretty well. Can’t hide anything from your brother, after all.”
“Yeah, that,” he said, turning around to properly face the other. “Never knew he has another brother. Thought Randall was the only one.”
Steven laughed, but it sounded cruel, more like a scoff. Then, it softened slightly as he inhaled a lungful of nicotine. Jake saw the small ashtray near the man’s feet, and there were a lot of stubs there already. He didn’t know just how much Steven had smoked. Probably a lot, given that it wasn’t every day you were visited by your estranged brother. He really had to commend Steven’s emotional control. He was genial, and didn’t look stressed aside from the occasional wistful, heartbroken look towards Marc.
“He never considered Randall as a brother,” Steven said, and his voice was so cold that it caught Jake off-guard for a moment. “Sure, he’s guilty about what happened, but not always.”
He frowned a little. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
The smile that Steven gave him was a little different than before—eerily beautiful, yet lethal all the same. As if Jake could be cut in half if he weren’t careful. Steven tilted his head, and, fuck, he looked so much like Marc, like Jake, yet so different. There was a certain delicateness in him, the fragility of his dark eyes, the sense that he was always on a different world than everyone around him. Jake thought, he could understand a little why Marc couldn’t stop chaining himself to his past, to Steven.
“You’re drunk,” Steven started, and Jake gave him an incredulous look. But there was nothing but an empty, frustratingly pretty smile as the answer. The man continued, “Drunken people shouldn’t remember what happened the night before, yeah?”
Oh. Jake swallowed, and nodded. “Yeah. They won’t.”
Steven looked satisfied by his answer, and Jake felt horribly like he had been played within his own volition. The man looked at the closed door, and said, with a voice nearly empty of emotions, “he told me, that he didn’t mean it to happen. But he was glad, sometimes, that RoRo wasn’t there anymore. Because he took so much of my time and attention. Marc had never regretted RoRo’s death. Not even once. Why would he? I’m the only baby brother he had ever wanted. He didn’t want anyone else, and so should I.”
Jake heaved a deep breath, and released it slowly, shakily. He wasn’t exactly a good person, not with his track record. College was the only time he ever tried to be better, to actually focus on finishing his education properly without constantly causing troubles. He had his fair share of gritty things and cruelty, the violence and inherent urge to hurt someone just for his entertainment. But that—even that made him uncomfortable.
Steven chuckled when he looked at Jake, probably guessing correctly about his train of thoughts. “I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel unsettled. But I’m not telling you this just so you’ll hate Marc, no. You’re his close friend, right? Sure, I can guess that he latched onto you because you look like me. But he won’t stay this long if that’s the only reason. I believe that you’re a good friend, Jake. I just wanted you to understand him better.”
“Why?” he asked. The cigarette was long since forgotten, dropped carelessly on the floor, and Jake had never sobered up this fast in his life.
“So he can heal, properly,” Steven replied; easily, sincerely. “I wasn’t the only one who was hurt when his obsession got the better of him. Marc is a lot of things, and maybe he’s not the best guy out there, but he’s not inherently bad. My professor said that there’s no bad gene, you know, just a bad interaction between a gene and the environment. That was what happened to Marc, too.”
“I don’t understand a single shit coming out of your pretty mouth,” he admitted brazenly.
It earned him a bark of laughter out of Steven, and the man looked at him with such fondness in his eyes afterwards. “It means that Marc was meant to love me more than anything in this world, because that was the only thing that our parents instilled in him. Of course, they didn’t mean to this extent. But we were just a small Jewish family, with nearly below average socioeconomic status, amidst an environment where we weren’t exactly accepted. Marc had to protect me from nearly everything, and I was the only one he had. It’s understandable that his mind morphed what started as a good intention, into something twisted, though nonetheless still within the same intention.”
“Just a bad interaction of a gene and the environment,” Jake finished. Steven nodded at him. He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he glanced at the closed door, where Marc was still asleep inside. “How the fuck am I supposed to face him after knowing all of this?”
“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” Steven assured him gently. He bent down a little to put the stub on the ashtray, as well as collecting Jake's fallen one, and pulled out another cigarette. Seemed like Marc wasn’t the only one between the brothers with bad habits. “It’s up to you. But you don’t have to pretend for his sake. Stay away, if you’re repulsed. Be with him, if you can accept that this isn’t Marc’s only side. His love for me defines our relationship, but it doesn’t define every relationship he has.”
“He literally only fucked people who look like you,” Jake said bluntly. “That’s pretty defining.”
Steven's mouth quirk up. “Yeah, I know,” he nodded. “He’s kind of pathetic, isn’t he?”
“Not just kind of,” Jake laughed. Then, he observed Steven; the slightest tremble of his fingers, the acrid scent of cigarette clinging to him, the faraway look in his eyes. The realization came easily. “You love him too, don’t you?”
“Oh, beyond belief,” Steven said with a bitter chuckle. “More than anything in this world. He’s not the only one who’s taken what our parents told us to heart.”
Jake hummed and nodded. He took the cigarette from Steven, and inhaled deeply. Out of everyone in the Uni, and he had to choose the most fucked-up guy to befriend. Typical Jake Lockley’s life. But Steven was right: Marc wasn’t inherently a bad person. Sure, he got at least a hundred therapy sessions to attend regarding his unhealthy relationship with his baby brother, but he was a pretty fun guy to hang around with. He helped Jake without asking for anything in return, could stand his behavior and attitude, and didn’t take any of his shit. That was good enough, in Jake’s book, though he had to admit that he got a pretty low standard for friends. Still, Marc was pretty high up on the list, despite everything.
“You don’t wanna stay with him?” Jake asked absentmindedly. “Just be together, fuck all with the world, Alabama style and all. It’s not like anyone but us, and Anubis, knew about your relation to him, or what had happened.”
“What, and make it worse?” Steven asked, only half-joking. He took the cigarette back from Jake and said, “He’s never going to heal if he stays with me. I suppose it’s hard enough for him not to approach me all this time. That’s the only reason why Anubis didn’t immediately take me elsewhere.”
“But do you want to? Stay with him?”
Steven fell silent, and stared at the door for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was merely above a whisper.
“Beyond belief,” he admitted with a fragile smile. Then, he took in a shuddering breath, and looked at Jake. “But I won’t. Because I can’t forget how my own brother, the person I love the most in this world, had hurt me in the way he could never take back. I stay away because I love him. I’m not going to destroy both of us further by giving in to what we want.”
“Thought baby brothers are supposed to be pretty childish and selfish,” Jake said softly.
“Got my fair share of that already,” Steven said, crinkles on the corners of his dark eyes. “He gave me everything, anything I could ever asked for.”
“People are so weird,” Jake then said. “You look so pretty and soft, and then you told me all this shit. Not gonna lie, you two are pretty fucked-up.”
Steven’s laughter was genuine, the heavy lashes brushing against his skin when his eyes turned into crescents. It was pretty jarring, to notice that on this man, when Jake knew that he had never considered making such comment about Marc’s eyelashes.
“That sums it up pretty well,” Steven said, his gaze fond and gentle. Jake kind of wanted to slap him, because this man made him flustered so easily. Damn, tough luck being Marc Spector, he supposed. “Are you staying the night? You can sleep on my roommate’s bed.”
“And where are you gonna sleep? The floor?”
Steven shrugged. “I’ll go to Anubis’ place.”
“Saucy,” Jake said, and dodged away from the wandering hand about to slap his arm. “Nah, you can sleep in the dorm. I’ll just dump Marc to the floor instead.”
“Okay,” the man nodded, his lips trembling in a silent laugh.
“Okay,” he echoed. Then, after a moment of hesitation. “You staying, then?”
Steven considered the question for a moment; he knew that it wasn’t just about tonight. “I think so, yeah.”
“Thought you don’t wanna make it worse?”
“What can I say?” the man said, heaving out a sigh. “Graduation is around the corner. I can afford a night of being selfish, I think.”
“Guess you’re still the baby brother, after all,” Jake teased, jostling Steven’s shoulders. The man giggled—fucking giggled. What the fuck. Maybe Jake was still drunk. This was all getting weird; it felt like getting second-hand feelings from Marc, towards Steven. He really needed that sleep, it seemed. “How do you think he’ll react tomorrow?”
“Beg me to come back, maybe,” Steven said, and finished his cigarette for a moment before he continued, more solemn than before. “I don’t know if I can refuse this time, honestly. It’s not like it’s easy, staying away from him.”
“Go to Anubis’ place, then,” Jake told him. “Don’t undo what you’ve worked so hard for.”
“What, you’re my big brother now, is it?” Steven said with a teasing smile.
“Fuck, don’t say that,” he groaned. “I was thinking of fucking you when I saw you smoking, you know? We don’t need another case of Sweet Home Alabama here.”
“You’re horrible,” the man said fondly. He pocketed his cigarette, and walked inside the dorm room, with Jake following him behind.
Marc was still deep in slumber. Jake supposed the alcohol knocked him out pretty hard. He didn’t even stir as Steven rummaged around for his clothes and things to bring. He told Jake to lock-up in the morning, and leave the key to the student next door. Jake nodded and watched as Steven prepared a bottle of water and some aspirins for Marc, tucked him in under the blanket, and knelt next to the bed to caress the side of his brother’s face. He supposed this was the extent of Steven’s selfishness.
“Steven?” Marc mumbled without opening his eyes, holding onto the man’s hand loosely.
“Yeah?” Steven answered; soft and aching. “I’m here, it’s okay. Go back to sleep, Marc.”
“M’kay,” Marc said, and clumsily tried to kiss the back of Steven’s hand.
Steven smiled, and leaned down to kiss his brother’s forehead when he was sure the man was asleep yet again. His lips lingered, and his eyes were closed tightly. When he pulled away, he whispered, “Goodnight, Marc.”
There were things he didn’t say, yet Jake heard them loud and clear all the same. He nodded to Steven when the man straightened himself. “Don’t smoke again at his place,” he said. “You’ve had enough tonight.”
Steven looked at him a little funnily, but he nodded all the same. “Okay,” he said, and waved a little. “It’s nice talking to you, Jake.”
“Arguable,” Jake replied, then grinned when Steven just laughed silently. “Go. He’ll be fine.”
“Arguable,” Steven parroted, the little shit. Then, he said, more sincerely, “Thank you, Jake.”
He nodded, and watched the man walk out of the dorm. When the door had closed behind Steven, he let out a deep, weary sigh, and glanced at Marc. “Fucking idiot,” he muttered to himself. “You and him.”
It took him a while to sleep, but he managed after tossing and turning for half an hour. Before he slept, he hoped that Marc fell off the bed. It made him feel so much better, imagining the man's misery.
In the morning, which was pretty much early into the afternoon, he was woken up by a groan from the bed on the other side of the room. He blinked slowly, lazily stretching as he got up from the mattress. Marc was holding his head, which must be hurting like a bitch. Good for him, honestly.
Jake grinned at Marc as the man grappled for the water and aspirin. He was glad he took the aspirin last night; his headache was less than what he had expected. Then, his grin widened when the realization of where they were entered Marc’s eyes. Yeah, that was right, motherfucker, bask in your guilt and worry. Well—Jake knew that he was partially at fault, but hey, he was just trying to help, alright? Marc was fucking unbearable for months.
“Good morning, Sunshine!” he greeted loudly.
“Fucking hell, Lockley, shut the fuck up,” Marc growled out, grimacing. He took a deep breath, and looked around.
“He left,” Jake informed him mercilessly. He wasn’t being intentionally cruel. He was just taking Steven’s advice—that he didn’t have to pretend, in whichever decision he took. “To Anubis’ place, but I think you already know that.”
“…Yeah,” Marc said. Then, he sighed and leaned against the wall. “Did he say anything to you before he left?”
“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Someone once told me that drunken people don’t remember what happened last night.”
Marc stared at him. “So he told you.”
“Nah,” he said, waving away his hand. “You told me first. He’s just filling in the details—well, some of it. I don’t think I wanna know all the dirty grits, either. I’m traumatized enough. You owe me, and yourself, so much therapy.”
The man’s shoulders sagged as he closed his eyes. “Just shut up, Jake.”
He considered Marc for a moment, before he said, “He still loves you.”
Marc opened his eyes, and dipped his head a little. “I know.”
“You two are fucking creepy,” he said as honestly as possible. “How the hell do you keep knowing each other’s thoughts when you haven’t been speaking for, what, six years?”
“Fuck if I know,” the other said with a bitter scoff. “That’s what happens when you love someone so much, you can’t differentiate you heart and your obsession, I guess.”
“So you’re aware,” Jake said. “Leave him, then. You know that’s the best thing you can do for yourself, and for him.”
“Easier said than done,” Marc sighed out.
“Yeah, as if I don’t know,” he snorted. “What are you going to do, then? Keep chasing him to the end of the galaxy? You gonna break him, Spector? Complete the job you didn’t finish?”
“Don’t say shit you don’t understand about, Lockley,” Marc said, threats so stark in his voice. Maybe it wasn’t the best decision to egg him on so early in the morning, but what else could Jake do? It wasn’t like he was a good guy, or something. Even Steven understood that, and they only talked last night. Marc was a fucking atrocious friend.
“Sure, I don’t,” he shrugged carelessly. “But I understand enough to know that I’m being an idiot, by still wanting to be your friend. So, as an asshole to another, Spector, fucking leave your brother alone.”
Marc stared at him. Jake could see some of the building anger lingered, but some also ebbed away when he heard the first part of Jake’s sentence. He sounded so, so tired when he said, “I’d do it a long time ago if I know how to.”
“God, what are you, a masochist or something?” he grunted out. Then, he sighed. He didn’t know whether this one was a wise decision to take, but maybe it was. Maybe. “He can’t forget what you did to him. He doesn’t hate you; he just hates what you’ve done. Leaving him might be the only chance for him to heal, Marc. You owe him at least that much.”
Marc’s face fell, and he seemed to be in so much pain that Jake almost pitied him. Almost. Even if it wasn’t his business, he still understood that what Marc had done was unforgiveable, no matter how much Steven loved him.
“Fuck,” Marc said, looking away to hide how crestfallen he looked; how his eyes were red-rimmed from unshed tears. “Fuck.”
“Oh, just cry, goddammit,” Jake groaned. “It’s not like it’s going to kill you. What are you even embarrassed of? I’ve seen you did some pretty idiotic shit last night.”
Marc didn’t cry, but his shoulders still trembled, and it took him a while to regain his composure. When he did, his voice was hoarse as he asked, “Did he say he’ll leave again?”
“No,” Jake said, no teasing in his voice, no matter how much his instincts were rioting against him. “We’re graduating soon. I don’t know after that, though. I’m not you; I can’t read his mind. An advice, however: even if he does leave, don’t chase him anymore. And go to fucking therapy, Marc, you’ve got some issues you can’t resolve by yourself, or by being with him.”
Marc took in a shaky breath, and nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Thanks. For the advice.”
“Don’t thank me. That’s disgusting, and you look so constipated saying it,” Jake said sincerely. “It’s different when Steven said it, because he’s pretty and all. But not you—you’re an asshole.”
“We literally look alike, fuck you,” Marc snapped at him, though it was without heat. He just seemed so beaten and exhausted. Pretty understandable—it wasn’t every day that you got slapped in the face with the cold, hard truth, after all. And it was even rarer that someone actually accepted it, especially when it involved such a complicated issue like this one.
They took a moment to just bask in the silence, mulling in their own thoughts. When they were about to leave, Marc looked at the room, eyes lingering on Steven’s bed, before he stepped out. Jake gave the key to the neighbor, grinning when the girl looked taken aback by a face so familiar, yet owned by another person entirely than the one she knew. It was pretty fun messing people’s head up, when you unintentionally found several ones of your doppelganger.
Before they left, however, Marc asked, “Did I dream it? When he talked to me?”
“Nah,” Jake said. “Told you he still loves you, didn't I? He knows what he’s supposed to do, but it ain’t mean that he’s stone-cold about this, you know? Kissed your forehead and all. Thought he was going to cry or something.”
“Did he?”
Jake glanced at Marc, and found that the man looked almost afraid to hear the answer. He sighed. Yeah, this guy definitely did some fucked-up shit, but maybe he still had a chance to save himself just yet. “No, he didn’t,” Jake said. “But he looked like he was about to.”
“Oh,” Marc breathed out, looking guilty for a reason that Jake could guess. He supposed it was hard to dispel a habit Marc had as an older brother.
“Yeah,” he said. “Don’t chicken out now. You’re still his brother, aren’t you? Do what’s right for him, then. And stop asking me questions like that. We were drunk, okay? We’re not supposed to remember shit, or something.”
The man swallowed with some difficulty, and looked away. “I’ll try.”
Jake grinned. “Buen chico, Marc,” he said, and laughed when Marc slapped the back of his head.
“Shut the fuck up, Lockley.”