yaps and traps

What you two had going on was complicated. You’d never tried sticking a tag to it because you knew that was the last thing any of you needed. However, you two were definitely not on the same page. Marc thought of you as his confidant (whom he’d occasionally make out on his couch with), someone he could trust, someone who’d been by his side when his mom died and Steven first started showing up. And he liked you, he liked you very much. He just wasn’t sure that you tried feeling as little as he did. He wasn’t sure that, due to all of his issues, he would be ready to start taking your relationship seriously.

That was why he had frozen in place when you gave him a spare key to your apartment.

It happened just like that, as if you had been telling him how the weather was like. “Here, I want you to have them,” you had said, letting the key fall on his palm. He caught it on a relfex, and then stood there, with his hand opened, and the tiny aluminum artifact in his palm, motionless, like it was mocking him. 

He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t believe he was worthy of something like that. You were trusting your apartment to him, a place so personal and intimate. He started wondering. Was he really that much in love with you? You must’ve noticed he had gone quiet all of the sudden because you stopped talking too.

“You okay?” you asked.

Marc glanced at you, then back at the key, then back at you again. He’d gone speechless, something that didn't usually happen. Most of the times, he chose not to say anything from the beggining.

“Why…?” He trailed off, with a voice so weak it could be mistaken for a whisper. “Why would you want me to have these?”

“Oh, come on, Marc. It’s just the spare.” you replied, walking towards him. “I’m not proposing.”

“You might as well be.”

The suggestion made you pause before chuckling. “Why, that doesn’t sound half bad,” you teased him, knowing the thought of formal marriage made him hurl.

Marc shivered. “It does,” he stated, sighing wearily. “I’ll keep them. Just… don’t ask me to…”

“Give me yours? Don’t worry, I don't care...”

He stared at the keys on his hand, still clueless on how to feel about the whole thing. You were right. It was a silly thing to feel overwhelmed by, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t do this. He could barely keep your casual relationship together and now you were asking him to hold something as valuable as your spare keys with him. Not just because the keys were expensive to make a copy of, but because owning those meant he could just walk into your apartment. Even if you weren’t home. It meant that he was welcomed into your world anyday, anytime.

Who was he trying to fool? It was overwhelming. He had every right to feel overwhelmed.

“Marc?”

The sound of your voice made him look up. He couldn’t help the slight lingering on his gaze. He was moved, to be honest. And he couldn’t stop overthinking it. The spare key. It was a whole new level. “Yeah?” 

He didn’t even realize your hesitation. “... if you don’t want them then just say so.”

There it was. You’d given him the goddamn keys, and even though he’d never admit it, he was going to hold onto them like a lifeline. It was too late to back down now. He had the keys. He had your smile, which belonged to him and him only. He had your heart. And you sure as hell had his too.

“... I said I’ll keep them,” he insisted, putting the set away in his pocket. 

You weren’t expecting him to lean towards you and press his lips against yours. It was chaste, short, and a little disappointing, but you took it anyway. Smiling, you raked your hand across his pushed-back curls. You were glad he’d said yes.

“So if I kneel right now and propose…”

“Don’t.”