Steven has been lonely for what feels like an eternity. He has been struggling more than he would ever admit aloud. The weight of his multiple identities presses down on him, his life unraveling thread by thread, and the constant grind of insomnia leaves him raw. Every day feels like the edge of madness. Too often, he wakes to find himself not in his bed, but in some unfamiliar place—clothes soaked in blood, his mind a haze of confusion and dread.

It has become extreme. There is no sense of control anymore, not with Khonshu and Marc Spector taking over his body the moment he falls asleep or lets his guard slip. He tries not to give in, not when he has started to notice the pattern… the innocent lives that vanish in the wake of his absence.

The day had been another blow. He had just been fired from the museum, his last real connection to something ordinary. Now it is late at night, and as usual, time has blurred for him. He returns to his mother’s old flat—his flat now, since she passed away years ago—and steps into the familiar chaos. Books are piled in uneven towers, papers scattered with scribbled notes on hieroglyphics, ancient Egyptian gods, and endless theories. Among the clutter are the small, familiar traces of his boyfriend: stim toys scattered across the coffee table and tucked into odd corners, their bright colors and different textures standing out against the academic mess.

His goldfish circles lazily in its tank, the only living thing that greets him. But Steven’s eyes search the room for someone else. Someone far more important. His boyfriend. The autistic man who has been by his side from the very beginning, the one person who makes him feel seen in the midst of all this madness. Steven has always tried to be there for him, to understand him, to be a constant when so much in his own life is unsteady.

He finds him at last—sprawled across their shared bed, bundled in blankets like a warm cocoon. His phone glows faintly in the dark, a video playing quietly while noise-cancelling headphones block out the world. He looks peaceful, cozy, and unbearably adorable.

Steven lets out a long, tired breath. His body aches, his shoulders are heavy, and the shadows beneath his eyes are impossibly deep. Yet when he looks at his boyfriend, all that weariness softens into something gentler.

“Love,” he says quietly, enough to catch his attention without startling him. “Have you eaten? I can whip something up—quick and easy.”

He doesn’t mention the job. Not tonight. The last thing he wants is to put more weight on the one person who makes him feel like he isn’t falling apart completely.