#angstember24challenge

Your boyfriend of two years had tested the last of your patience. At first you loved his passionate hotheadedness. You quickly fell for him and moved in together six months later. It was lovely at first, to have someone fun and spontaneous, to sleep next to a warm, protective body at night.

After about a year together, you realized something wasn't right. Your boyfriend kept odd hours, whispered hushed conversations over the phone, made "quick stops" at the oddest hours to the shadiest places.

And that hotheaded passion sizzled into blame and resentment every time you tried to reason with him. He was always quick to apologize, to bring you flowers, or a gift, to take you out for the night, lavishing you with attention and intense, vigorous sex.

So you gave him the benefit of the doubt. He was trying, and every couple had their struggles.

But the fuse of his temper got shorter, and his actions, more suspect. He lost his regular job but somehow still brought home money. When you questioned him, he accused you of not trusting him. Something felt wrong, you knew it deep in your bones, but you told yourself that relationships take work and compromise.

It was just last week that you demanded to know why he was out all night - who he was with and where they went. He'd raised his voice before, on occasion, but that early morning was different. He roared out accusations, lunging at you, and continued yelling and screaming over your cowered body. He didn't touch you, but his words beat you down, literally to the ground, where he left you afraid, sobbing and alone.

That's what it took to make you realize he was abusive. Clearly, he was now verbally abusive, but you started to understand that he had been manipulative, dishonest and controlling the entire time, lying about finances and whereabouts.

He had abused you in almost every way, except physically. You knew it was time to leave, so you started to plan how you would secure yourself a place to stay and what to tell him.

Your phone rang as you finished packing your suitcase - the first of many things you needed to move out. Not recognizing the number, you ignored the call. But it rang again and again and again, with a voicemail that warned you to answer. You blocked the number and tried to frantically dial emergency when your boyfriend burst through the front door, enraged.

Barreling into your bedroom, he roared at you, demanding to know what you did with "the money". Apparently, the phone call was from his boss, calling to collect.

"You mean my money? From my job?" You challenged, shrugging him off and zipping your suitcase closed.

Jerking the luggage out of your hand, he screamed at you about how he needed that money for his boss, how he'd taken care of you all this time, and you owed him.

"You're gonna give me that fuckin' money," he spat, lunging toward you, but you were already running out the door with only your phone in your hand. You thankfully made it into the lift with the doors closed before he caught up, and you could only pray he wouldn't make it down the several floors of stairs and beat you to the lobby.

There was no one downstairs to help you, so you raced out the door into the night, frantically attempting to dial 999 while crying and trying to stay ahead of your insane boyfriend.

You ran as fast as you could, but he was bigger and stronger, and he was gaining on you. Attempting to cut through an alley, your lungs burned, painfully dragging in breath as you pushed yourself toward safety.

But he found you.

Your mobile clattered to the ground as he grabbed both your arms and shoved you hard against a brick wall, calling you all manner of vile names and demanding you give him the money from your account.

Noticing your phone, he twisted your wrist well beyond the point of pain. "You didn't call anyone, did you, bitch? If you get the police involved I'll fucking kill you."

You had already drained your joint account and put money in your personal savings account so that you could afford a deposit on a new place, at least get a moving truck and hook up some utilities. You didn't take any more money than you had made from your job at the museum.

"I owe my boss money and I need it right fucking now," he bellowed, wrapping one hand around your throat and squeezing. “Tell me where it is.”

Unbelievable that it took you til right now to realize your boyfriend was more than an asshole, he was apparently a criminal. Or at least his boss might be if he was demanding a midnight payoff "or else".

"I moved... the money," you gasped, completely out of breath from the running and the crying and the choking and the fear.

He gripped your shoulders and slammed you hard against the wall. "We're going to get it right now. Then we're going home and you're gonna get on your hands and knees and pay for all this shit you put me through."

You whimpered, trembling at his threats, disgusted that his eyes flashed with self-satisfaction. He slipped two fingers into your mouth, pushing them far enough to gag you, an evil chuckle making you cry harder.

"Oh yeah. We're gonna have fun tonight, baby."

"I don't think she wants to be your 'baby', shithead."

You gasped as two eerie, white gloved hands grabbed your boyfriend's head and slammed it against the wall, hard enough to knock him out cold, but not enough to bash his skull in. Unfortunately.

Through your tears, you saw an etherial mummy figure, bandaged and gauzey white, with haunting, moonlit eyes. Your body quaked with more terror than you'd ever known. Perhaps he was the boss your boyfriend was so afraid of.

You passed out in Moon Knight’s arms.

"Shit," Marc Spector hissed, lifting your limp body into a protective embrace. He'd heard your screaming blocks away. Khonshu had directed him to the asshole passed out on the pavement next to you, letting Marc know he was a small player in an elaborate criminal organization. It would keep him busy tonight.

Brushing your hair out of your eyes, he sighed. "Didn't mean to scare you." He decided to take you to A&E, but before he walked away, he kicked your unconscious boyfriend in the side for good measure.

You woke up on a hospital bed, alone, a long while later. It appeared you had been triaged but not admitted. Remembering your boyfriend's threats, you decided you better bail before the police questioned you or you found yourself responsible for medial bills you couldn't pay.

You were scraped and sore, but nothing seemed permanent, so you did your best to sneak back to the waiting room where you could blend in with other would-be patients. One nurse seemed to glance at you questioningly, but you managed to make it out the sliding glass doors and into the night.

Now what could you do? You had no money, no phone, no purse, no bank card, credit cards or cash. Your suitcase was back at your flat. Ambling around the side of the building, you shivered in the night air, realizing even your jacket was still in the building.

Tears burned your eyes but you couldn't give into them. Not now. Your best friend was out of town. It was a long weekend for your co-workers, at least in the office part of the museum. Your parents lived in another country.

Think, think.

A few minutes later, an old fashioned cab pulled up to the curb. The passenger side window lowered revealing a man with a flat cap and a mustache.

"Need a ride, señorita?"

Drawing your hands to your chest protectively, you quickly shook your head. "I-I don't have any money. I dropped my phone."

Shit. Why did you admit that to a stranger?

Jake Lockley nodded understandingly. He had been watching the hospital to make sure you had a ride, should you emerge. Marc's idea, after he did a little late night ass kicking. Marc knew the Moon Knight suit would frighten you, but he wanted to make sure you were okay. A cab ride might seem less intimidating.

"It's on me. You look like you could use a little help."

Tempting. But he probably worked for your boyfriend's boss. "No. No thank you. I'm fine."

"Understood. Be careful out there." He rolled up the window almost all the way before pausing. "I'll swing back by in a while, just in case you change your mind." He drove off without another word.

If he was aiming to hurt you or kidnap you, surely he could have forced you into the car, or worked harder to convince you it was safe to get into the car.

Weighing your options, you decided to try to walk back to the alley where the terrifying white-suited, Avenger-looking dude saved you. Hopefully your boyfriend would be gone and you could at least find your phone. From there, you would have a way to call a cab or the police or at least use money from your account.

As soon as you started walking, you realized how stupid this plan was. But what else could you do? It took you forever, but you finally found your way back to where you were attacked. Your boyfriend was indeed gone and after a maddening search, you found your phone with a cracked screen and 12% battery left.

Better than nothing. You thought you might order an Uber, but where could you go? Not home. Where?

Maybe to work. Someone there would help you, surely. Perhaps Steven from the gift shop - probably the kindest person you'd ever met. He lived in your building too, although you weren't sure in which flat.

You ordered the Uber, and ten minutes later, the same old fashioned cab pulled up to the curb. Your stomach flip-flopped, wondering if this mustached weirdo followed you. But he showed you the Uber confirmation and it was correct.

"But this is a cab," you reasoned.

He chuckled. "They don't make ‘em like this anymore, doll. This is my Uber car."

You tried to listen to your protective instincts, but the sun was rising. You'd been out all night and he was a legitimate driver. So you tucked yourself in the back seat.

The man tipped his hat, announced his name was Jake, and closed the door for you.

"Headed home?" He asked, glancing up at you in his rearview mirror.

"Uh no. No, I can't go home," you quickly answered, wrapping your arms around yourself and rubbing up and down with your hands.

"Got the heat on for you," he kindly offered, "and my jacket's laying across the back seat there, if you need it."

Your eyes cut over to the tempting leather. Without thinking about it too hard, you snatched the garment and pulled it around your trembling shoulders. The smell of not only leather but crisp freshness and earthy warmth, along with something like amber and oak, washed over you. You buried your nose in the comfort of it, grateful for this small mercy.

"Warming up?" He asked you after a quiet few minutes.

"Yes, thank you. You're very kind."

"My pleasure," he grinned in the rearview mirror and it made his eyes crinkle. Steven, from the museum, came to mind. His eyes did that too. "Where can I drop you? Have you decided yet or should I drive around for a while?"

"Oh god, sorry. One sec." Checking the time on your phone, you realized you'd been out practically all night, and the museum would open in a little more than an hour. You could wait outside. "The natural history museum, please."

"A little early for a trip through time. You sure?"

Just then, your stomach growled embarrassingly loudly.

"You ever eat at the bakery right down the street?"

"Um, sometimes." You fidgeted uncomfortably.

"No pressure. You just look like you could use something warm to drink."

Without another word, Jake pulled up to the museum's front entrance. You reached for the door handle, but stopped. "Actually...you're right. Could you drive me to the bakery? I'll just walk back to the museum when I'm done."

"As you wish."

A few minutes later, the old cab parked outside one of the only open restaurants at this hour. Jake rushed around to open the door for you and you quickly handed him his jacket.

"You can wear it if you're cold. No rush."

There was something warm and sincere in his eyes. Again your mind drifted to Steven.

"Thank you." As the two of you walked inside, you held up your phone. "I tried to pay for the Uber and leave you a tip, but it won't let me. Did the transaction get cancelled or something?"

"I told you," Jake reminded you, pulling open the bakery door, "My treat."

"Oh. Thank you. You didn't have to do that."

The two of you sat down and were quickly served glasses of water.

"At least let me pay for breakfast," you offered, but he laughed.

"They only take cash here, I think."

"Jake!" An older man bellowed, bustling up to the table with a karafe of piping hot coffee and two mugs. "We take more than cash. You can always wash the dishes."

The man winked down at you. "I'm teasing, sweetheart. Name's Burt. Janey got one of those Square things, so you can pay on your mobile if you do that kind of thing." He nodded at Jake. "But I'd make this one pay if I were you. Coffee or tea?"

You chuckled, happy to get your hands on a steaming mug of coffee, and slightly relieved that you wouldn't fall further into Jake's debt.

Soon enough, you filled your belly with a warm, flaky pastry and some eggs, polishing off two cups of coffee while you and Jake talked.

"Do you mind if I ask why you're going to the museum?" Jake inquired.

"Um...I work there," you slowly admitted.

"Oh." An unreadable expression clouded his handsome features. "But...I found you at the hospital last night. Are you hurt?"

Your eyes dipped in shame.

"Not trying to be nosy, just...concerned, is all." Gently reaching across the table, he pulled a leaf from your hair. An actual leaf.

You were mortified.

"Wanna freshen up before work?" He nodded toward the washroom.

"Yeah. Thanks." You made a beeline for the loo, wondering why you hadn't thought to put yourself together before walking into the museum like a crazy person.

Jake was right to be concerned. You looked like hell. Dark circles had formed under your eyes. Before you could continue silently berating yourself, the waitress named Janey quietly slipped through the swinging door.

"You okay, dear?" She softly asked, eyeing you in the mirror. Before you could answer, she handed you a clean cloth.

"Thank you," you whispered, gingerly taking the cloth and running it under the faucet. The kindness around you made you sniffle, and you were left wondering why you spent so much time on an asshole like your boyfriend.

"Rough night?" She waved her hand dismissively. "Don't want to pry. Just want to help."

"Thanks," you repeated. "Do you have a toothbrush for sale? Or...mints?"

Between you and Janey, you managed to clean up your mouth, wipe down the upper part of your body and manage to tame your hair.

"You come back by any time, dear," she said lowly as you walked back toward your table, but she reached out her arm to stop you. "I mean it. Anytime."

You nodded, reaching for your phone so you could pay for your meal. "On the house, sweetheart," Burt smiled down at you. "A friend of Jake's is a friend of mine."

You were speechless. Where had all the nice people been hiding?

Jake's eyes lit up when he saw you and he rose to greet you. "Feeling any better?"

You nodded, reaching for one more sip of water before you got back in the cab/Uber.

"Your friends are really nice. I haven't eaten there in a long time."

"We try to help each other out," Jake voiced, stealing a glance at you in the rearview mirror. "It can be rough out there."

You made it to the museum, thankful it would open soon. "You sure I can't pay you, or at least give you a good tip?" You asked him as he opened your door and offered you his gloved hand like a prince in a fairy tale.

"Just promise you'll call me if you need a ride. Or...anything. We'll call it even." He fidgeted with his mustache and you chuckled. Not a look you saw every day but he wore it well.

You thanked him again, but he noticed you stealing glances at his mustache.

"My uh...roomates think this thing is the worst. Not a good look?"

"Oh no," you laughed, "it's very dashing."

Jake bowed jokingly. "My lady."

You walked right into the museum wearing his jacket.

The security officer didn't recognize you because he worked weekends and you didn't. Probably a good thing. You could only hope Steven was scheduled today. But at least being inside the museum would give you a safe, comfortable place to think.

After meandering through several exhibits, you checked back at the gift shop, only to find Donna, Steven's boss, berating him for being late. He apologized profusely, professing that he had no idea why he hadn't heard his alarm. Poor thing. He was so sweet and Donna was just the worst.

She finally let him get to work, and as soon as she headed back to her office, you approached him carefully.

"Hi, Steven," you smiled at him, hoping he would have time to help you.

His eyes brightened when he saw you, but quickly narrowed in concern. You must really look like hell. "You alright, love?"

Bouncing on your toes, you shook your head quickly. "Not really. Can we talk?"

Steven knew he would get in trouble for leaving his post, but this was you. If you needed his help, Donna would have to wait.

Sure enough, she barreled back into the gift shop, ready for a lecture, but Steven pressed his hands together and demanded one more minute.

Guiding you by the elbow, he took you to a quiet corner. "Thought you had a long weekend. What brings you in?"

You asked if there might be any way you could talk in private, in one of the employee lounges. "I know you just got here. I can wait."

Chewing on his lip, he glanced between you and the swinging door where Donna lurked in her evil lair.

"Come on."

Once you were totally alone, he hesitantly reached for your face. “May I?” He whispered, gingerly brushing his fingertips over a scrape on your face. Peering down at your bruised wrist, he gently lifted your hand, shaking his head and exhaling sharply through his nose.

"You're hurt." His eyes locked with yours. "Who did this?"

Your face crumpled and you melted into his arms, the stress of the entire, sleepless night catching up to you. You knew this was the place to go, absolutely certain you would feel safe with Steven.

His heart burned protectively. The two of you sometimes ran into one another on your break, mostly out on the museum's front steps or at the vegan restaurant along the street. Occasionally you saw one another on the train home, or even in your building. He knew you had a boyfriend - the dimwitted bloke.

If that asshole hurt you...

"It's alright. You're safe here." He squeezed you comfortingly.

You finally settled, wiping your nose and eyes with Jake's jacket sleeve. Steven's eyes went wide as he studied the jacket carefully, but he shook his head and focused on you.

"Tell me what happened. What can I do?"

The softest brown eyed gaze you'd ever seen coaxed your confession out of you.

"I need your help," you whispered. "I need to get back into our building, but I don't have my key, or any of my stuff." You produced your phone. "And my phone is dead."

"Okay, of course," he nodded sincerely. "What about your boyfriend?"

"No, no, not him. I think he wants to kill me." You started to cry again.

"To k-kill you? Should we go to the police?"

"No, no police. I just need to get into my flat before my boyfriend gets back. If he's not back already."

Steven sighed. "I knew that dimwitted bloke was an asshole, but - kill you?"

"Steven, please can you help me or not?"

"Of course I will. Do you want to go now?"

"I don't want to get you in trouble with Donna. But my boss is her boss' boss...if that helps. I’ll ask him to pull rank.”

You and Steven took the train back to your building. Although you were half tempted to request Jake's Uber, Steven quickly dismissed that notion without sounding rude.

He let you in the building and you found the super, letting him know you "lost" your key. The super seemed willing to let you in, but warned you not to let it happen again.

As you exited the lift, you carefully looked for any sign of your boyfriend.

"What if he's home?" Steven whispered. "How will you know?

"I guess we just have to take that chance."

The super unlocked your door and you tiptoed inside with Steven behind you. The place seemed to be empty, thank god.

Darting to your bedroom, you recovered the packed luggage your jerk boyfriend tossed aside last night. You rushed to your safe to collect some important documents, working as quickly as you could manage. You made it out the door, not caring that you left it unlocked, dragging your luggage and almost making it around the corner when your heart stopped at the sound of your boyfriend shouting, "Hey!"

You and Steven exchanged looks before he grabbed your hand and your luggage. "Quickly! The stairs."

Trusting his lead, you ran, making your way to his flat, several floors up, before your boyfriend could follow, or figure out what floor you ended up on.

Steven ushered you into his flat, bolting the door as the two of you panted erratically from your exertion.

"Thank you," you gasped, reaching for your baggage. Finally getting a good look around, you couldn't believe how different Steven's flat looked from yours. His was on the top floor, in what appeared to be a loft, or converted old attic. The roof was steeply pitched with skylights offering more natural light than just the windows.

More than a dozen bookshelves burst with multicolored, worn paperbacks and gorgeous hardbacks. Ancient Egyptian artifacts, maps and souvenirs littered his cluttered desk and shelves. And in the middle of it all sat a bright aquarium with three plump goldfish.

You felt as if you stepped through a portal into another world. How could this place be in your building?

"Steven, your place is..."

"Bit of a mess, yeah? Sorry. Who's the biggest hoarder around? Me." He blushed, pointing to himself.

"No, it's wonderful. It's so different than my flat. It's like an old library."

He smiled, emboldened by your compliment. "You like to read?"

"Not this much, but yes. I do. I like the skylights." You locked eyes with him. "It's really soothing here." Reaching for his arm, you squeezed gently. "Thank you for helping me."

"Anytime." The crinkles around his warm eyes reminded you of Jake. It occured to you then, that Jake had also reminded you of Steven.

"Cuppa tea?" He asked, nodding toward the kitchen.

"Sure," you shrugged, following him. "I'll help."

The two of you worked quietly for a moment, when you asked him if he had a brother.

He swallowed hard. "I did...long time ago. He passed away."

"Oh shit, I'm so sorry, Steven." God, what an idiot you were. "I just...you reminded me of someone and I just thought, maybe... I'm really sorry."

"'Salright. You didn't know."

The two of you prepped the tea, boiling the kettle before steeping the leaves.

"This is his jacket, actually," you finally continued. "I forgot to give it back to him after he gave me a cab ride. Or...Uber, actually. He uses a vintage cab as his Uber car."

Steven almost dropped the cup and saucer he was holding. "That so?"

"Yeah, he helped me last night. Like I said, I forgot to give him back his jacket. He was kind, and when he smiled...he reminded me of you."

"O-of me?" Steven cleared his throat.

"Yeah." You shrugged. "Anyway, I'm sorry about the brother thing, but I just wondered. He had like this 1980s mustache though."

Steven, who had just brought a sip of tea to his lips spat it right back into his teacup, coughing a few times. "You're not serious. A silly little tache?"

You giggled. "Yes. I told him it was dashing. He wore it well. But he reminded me of you somehow. American lad though. Thick accent."

"Mmm," Steven nodded, cleaning up the mess he'd made. "I'm happy Jake was able to help you."

Your eyes went wide. "I didn't tell you his name."

Steven's mouth dropped open. "Right. I actually know him. Flat cap? Mustache?" He pointed at you. "Leather jacket, cab?"

"Oh," you gasped, smiling. "Don't you think you guys could be related?"

Pressing his lips together, Steven answered diplomatically. "Never really thought about it exactly like that, but...yes, I suppose so."

He paused for a moment before growing more serious. "So what's going on with your boyfriend? Or, ex-boyfriend, I hope."

"Yes, definitely," you assured him, attempting to explain what you'd gone through lately and how you suspected your boyfriend of working for a crime boss of some sort.

"As much as I love this flat, I'm even scared for you to live in this shit hole building with him, Steven. I think he's really dangerous."

As if waiting for his cue, your boyfriend pounded on Steven's front door, demanding, in foul language, to be let in.

"Do not open that," you warned him, but it was too late. His hunched shoulders squared up, chiseled jaw clenching. A deep wrinkle appeared between dark eyebrows as the typical twinkle in his eye went cold.

"Steven, no, don't!" You watched in horror as he yanked open the door, grabbed your boyfriend by the collar and dragged him inside. Kicking the door shut with one foot, he slammed the taller man against the wall, nostrils flaring as his eyes flashed.

Your boyfriend shouted an insulting protest, but with one, precise jab to his throat, he was rendered speechless and left gasping for air.

"Listen to me, asshole," Steven spat, but his voice sounded entirely different. It came out as a growl. And...American.

It couldn't be. Jake? But it didn't sound like him either.

"You're never touching anyone again," he went on, menacingly. “You're never coming back here again. You're moving out. Right now." He pointed to you with one hand. "Lose their number."

Your boyfriend raged, struggling against Steven's powerful, one-handed grip, but he still couldn't speak.

"You think your boss will protect you?" He taunted. "Your boss is a pussy. He's already dead. And you're next." Roughly releasing him, he motioned him out the door condescendingly. "Better run."

With a hopeless glance your way, he was gone.

Steven's head dropped as he waited for your reaction.

You finally whispered his name, inching closer. "Are you American? I don't understand."

Finally meeting your eyes, he answered, "I'm Marc. I'll let Steven explain."

Shoulders hunched and hands drawn to his chest, Steven came back to you, fidgeting uncertainly. "Bit of a long story. Want that tea now?"

Then he explained how you'd spent the entire night with one man, occasionally fielding questions like, "wait, you're the white mummy man?" And, "wait...you're Jake?"

Steven laughed sheepishly. "In a manner of speaking."

"Oh good, I can give you your jacket back. Wait - where's your mustache?"

The thought of Jake wearing a fake mustache was so hilariously endearing to you.

Steven let you take a nap on his couch and use his washroom to freshen up. Later, he ordered takeaway for an early supper. The two of you talked, trying to come up with plan to help you move on with your life.

"I know this is weird to say at a time like this, but...I've always had a little bit of a crush on you."

"On me?" Steven almost choked on his food. "I never knew."

"It's stupid, really. Just ignore me."

"Not at all. But can I ask you a question? Why did you stay with that plonker?"

You shrugged helplessly, shaking your head. "I guess I never knew there was anything better."

‘Don’t you get it?! This is just who I am! This is just what I do!’ He’d yelled.

‘Marc—that’s not true…’ She replied so softly, reaching for him.

As her fingers had grazed his arm, he’d torn it away. ‘Yes, it is, Emma!’

‘No…’ She’d insisted. ‘You’re just—’

‘Don’t you dare say different…’ He’d cut her off, pointing a finger at her, using their own words against her.

She’d flinched then, ‘I was gonna say ‘upset’…’

‘Just go! Leave! We both know you want to…’

She’d started crying then, and he’d only hated himself even more. She’d been patient up until then, in fact, she’d remained patient even after. She’d grabbed her bag, sniffling quietly and trying to conceal her tears. Her voice had shaken around the words, try as she had to say them clearly. The softest, “I love you…” and then she’d exited through the door.

It haunts him even now realizing that after she’d walked out that door, she’d had to call someone for a ride home at best, or order an Uber to come pick her up on the side of the road at worst.

That’s what he’d done to her—thrown her out in the street on a cold, rainy September night because he couldn’t deal. But it was worse than that. He hadn’t even told her he loved her back because he was so sure he didn’t deserve her love in the first place. He’d accused her of wanting to leave despite countless attempts to soothe him and remind him that she didn’t.

And he’d watched her go. Hadn’t even tried to go after her despite how desperately he’d wanted to.

What was worse – the other two hadn’t been around when he did it, leaving him to explain the next day why she wasn’t there; why he was so hungover.

That was another fight altogether.

‘Marc, if you don’t go right now, and fix this—’ Steven had said firmly, usually the one to be softer with Marc when things got hard.

Marc had looked in the reflection of their mirrored closet door, leaned over the side of the bed.

Jake had stood quietly, stern look across his features, ‘Don’t look at me, hermano—Steven’s right…’

‘You’re damn bloody right I am!’ Steven had released the bridge of his nose he was pinching.

‘She’s not gonna wanna see me guys—I really fucked up this time…’

‘You fucked up?’ Steven had repeated incredulously. ‘And how ‘re we gonna fix this if you don’t go talk t’ her…’

‘Maybe—one of you should—’

‘Oh no—no—I’ll be there for moral support an’ all but you’ve gotta fix this yourself…’

‘He’s right again, Marc—we can’t apologize for you—she doesn’t want to hear it from us—and she deserves to hear it from you…’

After that, he’d taken three ibuprofen, swallowed a whole glass of water, and taken a long, too hot shower. Thankfully, they’d supported him through that too. He felt awful to say the least. If he didn’t feel like throwing up because of the hangover, he felt it because of the nerves.

Images and soundbites from the night before replayed in his head over and over near to the point of madness. Thinking about that only made him feel worse. He could’ve done more damage than he’d previously realized. If she was even put into a situation that was too high stress it could cause her to go over the edge of psychosis.

At the idea, he’d begun to move much faster than he had been, worry suddenly spinning within him. He’d all but sped to her apartment, even if he knew she would only just be getting up. He’d stopped along the way at her favorite coffee shop, picking up breakfast and something to drink for them both. It felt like a cheap, shitty excuse for an apology, not enough after everything he’d put her through.

As he stood about to knock on her apartment door, his hand shook. He took a deep breath in but didn’t get a chance to even make contact with the door as her best friend opened it.

Caroline stood with her arms crossed all but blocking the way in. “Ya know?” She’d started, seeming to get so frustrated she’d forgotten what she’d been about to say. She’d sighed, softening as she glanced over her shoulder toward Emma’s bedroom. “Come in…--she’s awake but it’s gonna be like pulling teeth to get her out of bed…”

Marc had nodded, releasing a heavy sigh, “I’m so—”

“Ah! Don’t you dare apologize to me before you apologize to her…”

He’d nodded again and stepped inside.

“I’m gonna go to Cam’s—give you guys some privacy—” She’d paused, “please don’t make me pick her up on the side of the road at 10PM in the rain, again, Spector—” Her voice had gotten even softer, reaching to give his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “—okay?”

“Okay…” He almost inaudibly replied.

She’d taken her leave and he’d taken another deep breath. He took off his jacket and shoes and made his way toward her room.

When he’d found her, she was curled up in a ball facing away from the doorway. She’d sniffed quietly, knowing he was there and doing what she could to again, hide any tears she’d shed because of the fight.

He moves now to set the drink tray on her bookshelf opposite the foot of her bed, placing the paper bag beside it. He rounds the corner of the empty side of her bed, his side of the bed.

His eyebrows squeeze tightly together, rising in the center as he sits in front of her. He looks as pained as she feels as her eyes rise slowly and timidly to his.

“Hey baby…” He starts, his voice tremoring as he fights off tears, himself. “I am so sorry…” He finishes in a whisper. He shakes his head slowly, struggling to hold her eyes. “Please don’t leave us…please don’t leave me…”

Almost before he can even finish, she’s sitting up and crawling into his lap, clinging to him.

His arms find their way snugly around her middle, cradling her firmly to him. His fingers sink deeply into her hair, pressing a series of firm kisses to her temple. “I love you so much, baby, I’m so sorry…”

Emma struggles to find her voice no matter how badly she wants to reply in kind. She withdraws just enough to look between his eyes, timidly pressing her lips to his.

His lips only catch hers, pulling strongly at them as he continues to cradle her against himself. He releases a deep sigh against her just before she pulls back. She shyly signs to him that it’s okay and that she loves him too.

Guilt clutches his heart again, when she doesn’t speak verbally. He strokes his fingers through her hair again, combing it back around her ear. “Are you okay?” He asks gently, his eyes slowly scaling her face.

She’s quick to nod, again signing that she is now. She chokes back a soft sob of a laugh, even as a few more tears slip down her face. She presses another grateful kiss to his lips and then points over toward the coffee, asking silently if he’s brought breakfast.

His lips bounce off of hers gently as he gives another long sigh of relief, brushing her tears away carefully. “It’s admittedly not homemade—but I was thinking we could at least have breakfast in bed…”

Her face brightens, shifting out of his lap and shooing him off the bed.

He doesn’t need her to say anything else—verbally or nonverbally—to know she wants him to get more comfortable. Though that doesn’t stop her from teasingly signing for him to ‘play the part.’ At which point he strips off his jeans and t-shirt, before grabbing the tray and the bag and bringing them back to where she sits animatedly waiting.

She pulls the blankets back so he can climb inside and then snuggles right back up to him, leaning in to press a slow kiss to his throat unable to resist inhaling his scent.

His muscles, once tense, begin to relax as her lips brush his skin. He hands her, her coffee and likewise can’t resist the urge to softly insist. “Y’know I really don’t deserve you…”

Emma takes the cup and immediately swats him in the stomach, scowling and wagging a finger in a not-so-formal way of telling him not to go there.

“A compliment—not an accusation, baby…” He defends.

She rolls her eyes and only holds onto him tighter.

‘Thank the bloody gods…’ Steven grumbles in his mind, looking at his wit’s ends in the reflection of her bedroom windows.

“Steven says hi…” He teases, his tone indicating just how much trouble he’s in.

"Yes. I didn't want to tell you like this, but I've been trying to talk to you for a week and you keep brushing me off."

An irritated sigh huffed past his infuriatingly perfect lips as he turned to face you. "I was trying to save a couple of realities, in case you failed to notice."

One lock of hair tumbled over his eye distractingly. He flicked it away with gloved fingers. Pulling at his bottom lip with one fang, he shook his head once. "You can't quit now. Too much is at stake."

Folding your arms over your chest, you tipped your chin defiantly. "I don't think that's your decision to make. I can't do this anymore."

With a heavy step forward, he motioned between your bodies. "You mean this, between us? Or the Spider Society?"

"Both," you emphatically returned.

His hands tore through his hair before landing on his hips almost condescendingly. "I thought you were better than this. I thought you believed in what we're doing here."

Your eyes flashed at the admonishment. "You don't get to judge me, Miguel. You're the one who needs a reality check. The multiverse doesn't actually revolve around you and you're not the only thing holding it together."

He threw his hands up. "When did I say that it does?"

"Look around you. Look at all this! This isn't a life." You motioned to the dozens of monitors surrounding you. "You suspend yourself between lifetimes, between worlds. But you're not living one of your own."

Your eyes softened as you eased closer to him. "I can't be tangled in your web. I need to live. And I wanted to live with you."

Reaching for your elbows, he slid his hands down your arms. "Why can't we? Is it because of…what I did before? To my daught- to Gabriella?" His jaw clenched in anguish.

"No, baby," you whispered, fingertips tracing the shape of his jaw as he drew you closer still. "It's because of what you said."

He frowned, confused.

"You were talking about how we could never be together in any universe. That all we had was here, in the Spider Society." The memory of hearing those words gripped your heart and squeezed the life out of you. No way could you stay now. Not like this.

A wrinkle formed between dark eyebrows, crimson eyes narrowing in confusion. "I never said that. What are you talking about?"

"I heard you," you forlornly whispered. "I heard what you said to Jess."

He shook his head in protest. "It's not what you think. Why didn't you talk to me?"

"I tried!" Pressing your palms against the heat of his chest, you shoved him, but gently. "You didn't make time to talk to me. I really needed you, Miguel and so...I just quit."

"Come here," he whispered, running his hands over the swell of your hips before lifting you up to hold you against him in a body engulfing hug, with your feet suspended off the ground. "You can't quit. Even if you leave the society, you can't quit us."

He pressed a fierce kiss to your temple as you melted against his huge frame. "I don't think you understand anything."

With a final squeeze, he set you down, guiding you by the shoulders to look at one of the monitors. On the screen appeared a lovely blue house with a fenced in yard littered with maple trees and a detached garage.

"This is for you," he whispered against your ear, making you shiver. "I was talking to Jess about where I should get us a house. In my universe or yours. She said both. I wanted to surprise you."

Turning you to face him, he gazed longingly down into your eyes. "I told her that even if we can't be together in any universe, even if all we had was the Spider Society, it would be enough for me. I don't really know how to do this. Or if you would ever want to leave your reality for mine."

Your lips trembled as you realized your misunderstanding.

"You want us to live together?" You whispered.

"I wanted to ask you and...I'll come to your universe if you want, but I've done a hundred calculations with LYLA, because if I ever did anything to hurt you just because I want to selfishly be with you - "

Surging forward, you pressed your mouth to his, silencing his worried rambling. The plush softness of his lips was such a contrast to the scrape of his fangs and it made you shiver with want every time you kissed.

"I'm an idiot," you murmured, lips a breath apart as you parted for air.

Nuzzling your cheek with his nose, you felt him smile against your skin. "I'm an idiot for looking so hard at the future and the past that I don't make enough time for the present." He nodded toward the screen. "This is my attempt to fix that."

Touching his forehead to yours, he wrapped his arms around you reassuringly. "I love you."

"Me too. In any universe."

Although disoriented and partially deafened, Poe struggled to clamber to his feet, but fresh terror reared up within him, choking him as Finn rushed to his side.

Despite his best friend's inquiries, every thought, every emotion - the fear, the war, the whole galaxy narrowed like a laser down to one, most important thing.

You.

"She's in there," Poe croaked, eyes wild and frightened as the realization took hold, weakening every limb.

His bones seemed to liquify as the blast doors closed, sealing you and all your commrades in an inevitable fiery death.

"No," he choked out, crawling forward with his arms, even as Finn tried to pull him back.

Blood frozen in his veins, Poe stretched out his hand, trying to explain. "She's in there. She's trapped in there!"

"It's too late!" Finn jerked him up by his flight vest. "I'm sorry. Come on, it's not safe here."

The fear and the heat and the force of the blast throbbed inside him, suffocating him. He was stricken and lifeless, unable to force his insolent body to respond appropriately to the danger surrounding him.

"Please...she's in there..." He rasped out before everything went black.

Poe floated in an endless dark sky full of stars. Debris drifted all around him and war raged in the distance.

He thought fleetingly, that he must be dead. Either that, or he was blasted out of his X-wing and was now dying in the sky - the death of a warrior. Probably the death he deserved, even craved. A life given in the service of freedom. Like all the rebels and Resistance fighters before him.

Like you.

His gut clenched with anguish at the thought of this war extinguishing your light from the universe. Then a sliver of hope danced through his heart at the thought of somehow seeing you again.

As if he wished himself into your presence, his ears, no longer ringing with the deafening blast's effects, picked up on the sound of your sweet voice.

Calling his name.

'Where are you?' Words he felt deep and limitless in his very soul, as if the most raw, real part of him stretched out to find you, even here.

"Poe."

He felt you then, soft hand on his cheek, leaning so close he could feel your breath ghost his lips.

"I saw your eyes open. I know you can hear me."

Wherever you were, that's where he needed to be. The night sky illuminated itself and dissolved somehow, into a blinding overhead light.

"There you are. Poe? Come back to me, baby, please."

Nothing had ever sounded so compelling, so enchanting. Struggling to open his eyes fully, he clawed his way out of darkened space and into the brightness of your countenance.

"Hey," you tearfully whispered, raking your fingers through his curls as one tear dropped onto his cheek.

"Found you," he murmured, throat parched with thirst.

"Yeah, that's right, you found me," you tenderly encouraged. "Thought I lost you for a bit."

His eyes fluttered closed again, but peacefully, rather than distressed. "At least we're together."

"Of course we're together." You frowned, confused. "Hey, stay with me. Don't go. Don't you dare leave me!"

Forcing his eyes open, he lazily smiled. "You look good."

Gasping out a laugh, you struggled to understand. "I look what? You're crazy."

His eyes darted around him as he eased into full consciousness. "Where are we?"

"Med bay. You almost got incinerated. The blast in the hangar knocked you into a wall. You've got a nasty concussion." Sniffling, you granted him a weak smile. "But you'll live."

Realization seeped into the contours of his handsome face, making his lip tremble and his eyes leak with fresh tears. "You're here? I thought you were - "

"I know, Finn told me," you softly reassured him. "I wasn't in my ship. Not yet."

"You're here," he gasped, relief surging though his frayed nerves and battered body. "You're here."

Gingerly climbing into bed beside him, you pressed your cheek over his beating heart. "That's right. We're here. We're okay."

"Leto..."

At the sound of his name on your lips, he meets your searching gaze, the breadth of his shoulders rising and falling dramatically. His eyes flicker, dancing away as he presses plush lips into a fine line.

"What grants me the honor of the bride's presence on her wedding day?" He chokes out, almost flinching as your gentle hand lands upon his arm. The mighty Duke of House Atreides weakens for you.

"I didn't know you would come. I had no idea," you breathlessly utter.

"I was invited," he simply responds, jaw clenching.

Your hand drops defeatedly. "Will you at least look at me?"

His boots shuffle forward, toe-to-toe with your delicate slippers. He fully regards you then, eyes wide open, and in them, you can see straight to his soul.

“You’re breathtaking,” Leto whispers, stealing your own breath along with this stolen moment with someone else's bride-to-be. He doesn't dare touch something so beautiful - someone not his. Earthen eyes tenderly trace the contours of your face as his corded neck bobs uncertainly above the collar of his pristine uniform.

"Thank you." Your eyes dip demurely under his gentle scrutiny. You clench your fingers into fists by your sides, the ache to rake them through his curls overwhelming. "H-how is your son?"

Chin tipping up proudly, he recognizes the question for what it is: a reminder that he exited your life and you are about to start a new one. "He's growing fast. Smart. Devoted to his studies and training."

"That's wonderful," you sincerely nod, but pause, realizing there are few pleasantries you can exchange before addressing, or ignoring, what pulses beneath the surface.

“I’ve missed you.” The words escape your lips almost without your mind’s consent, but you can’t waste the opportunity to utter them. Placing your gloved hand over his, you allow your body to lean in, eyes misting with the torrent of emotion he elicits. “I wished for this. To see you one more time.”

“I thought it was my wish - this moment,” he admits, tilting his head to catch your gaze once more. “To see you happy before…”

He drags in an uncertain breath, a vulnerability he’s not likely to expose to many.

“Before what?” You’re holding hands now, whispering, huddled together in a manner far too intimate for one betrothed.

“Before I’m gone.” His eyes darken as his jaw squares. Shoulders straighten as his body tries to convince him, and you, that he is ready for his duty. “The Emperor has ordered House Atreides to Arrakis, to oversee the production of spice.”

“He wouldn’t,” you protest.

“He has. It is done.”

“Let me speak with him,” you plead. “He is my father’s cousin. Let me intercede on your behalf. I know your heart is with Caladan.”

“There is no call House Atreides does not answer,” Leto proudly reminds you.

You bitterly chuckle at the notion of the loyal, stoic obedience of House Atreides. It broke your heart long ago.

“So you came to say goodbye then?” Your lip trembles at what this directive could mean for him and his house.

The deep wrinkle between his eyes softens as he braces himself for your final moments together.

“I came to wish you well.” His eyes drop to your joined hands. “And bid you farewell.”

You turn away from him then, head dropping as fresh tears sting your eyes.

“I wanted this to be you today, Leto. Not him,” you openly confess.

He sighs, the starched fabric of his uniform shifting as he eases around in front of you.

“As did I. Truly.”

“Truly? You never said anything,” you gasp, shaking your head forlornly. “You just let me go.”

A tormented sadness ghosts over his face as he realizes… “No, the Emperor forbade it. I thought you knew. I thought you agreed.”

“How could I know? You never said anything.”

“Oh my love,” he gasps, pulling you instantly into his strong embrace. You melt against the solid heat of his chest, fists grasping at his uniform jacket. His mouth seeks yours out, roughly covering your lips with his own.

Long fingers wind behind the nape of your neck as he tilts his head, dragging his lips against yours until his tongue parts the seam of your lips for a deeper taste. You feel the heat of his breath, the flush of his skin, and as the hand wound around you finds the fullness of your hip through your wedding gown, he squeezes possessively.

Tongue rolling over yours, he devours you, releasing your neck to drag his palm down over the swell of your breast, cupping underneath it. A moan spills from your mouth to his and you do finally twist your fingers into the curls at the base of his neck.

Any sense of propriety leaves you as he molds your body to his, and you feel certain if you didn't hear footsteps falling along the corridor that you would give yourself to him completely.

"Come away with me," he pleads on your ear, holding you against him for a brief eternity before his son appears in the doorway. He quickly but tenderly dismisses the boy as you rush to make yourself presentable.

Noticing he's smeared your makeup and ruffled your stunning gown pulls a sincere apology from his lips.

"Forgive me. It's your wedding day. I shouldn't." He doesn't know what else to say. Your life is here. Your future is here. He cannot shuttle you away to Arrakis to wilt in the desert heat.

"I would...come with you," you softly admit, eyes searching for his, to ground him here, to keep him in your sight, close to you for a few divine moments longer.

"But the Emperor forbids it," he restates the obvious, "and you are to be married to a man of his choosing."

"Leto," you cry, reaching for his face, brushing your fingers through his thick beard, "what can we do?"

You squeeze your eyes shut and brace for the only answer he could ever give.

"We will do our duty. We must."

"What is duty without love?" You protest, wishing he would hold you like he did moments before, but knowing he never will again. "Would you really take me with you?"

"No," he answers resolutely, brown eyes darkening. "But I will come back for you...if that is what you wish." Touching his forehead to yours, he caresses your cheek tenderly. "But understand: you could have love here. The love of your family, your friends. Even him. And someday, the love of a child. There's no other love like it, I assure you."

"It's you I love," you insist, kissing him one final time.

You have a choice to make. Marry today or wait for the Duke of House Atreides, until the Emperor's task for him on Arrakis is complete.

If only you could have seen then, it would be a lifelong wait.

Angstember graphic text:

I'm so sorry

Misunderstanding

Wait, I didn't mean to

Wrong timing

Forbidden love

I was/am scared

I won't leave you

Hold on a little longer

Can't let you go

I never forgot you

I never knew

Forced apart

Breakdown

You never said anything

I waited for you

You don't understand

I didn't know what to do

Guilt

Can you forgive me?

Sacrifice

Can't find the words

Remembering

Crying

Danger

You don't know me anymore

I'm not enough

Do you still love me?

Missing you/missed you

Can't breathe without you

You stood amongst a sea of empty suitcases and clothes yanked off their hangers, in your shared bedroom.

He ambled forward in his uniquely awkward way, a stride so endearing to you, like so many of his quirks.

“My love, you must understand, I was conducting business - "

“I heard what you said,” you snapped, sucking the air out of the room with your defiant tone. Many had died for far less than a rude interruption.

Folding your arms over your chest, you pressed your lips together tightly, chomping on the inside of your mouth to prevent tears from forming. “You said you don’t trust me.” You threw his words back at him, simply to drive home your point.

Anselm was in weak form today, likely to appear dramatic for your sake. Or your undoing. His limp was more pronounced, his brace squeaking. Although dressed to the nines, as per usual, his oxygen tank was nearby.

“I said - " a long series of hacking coughs interrupted his protest. His personal assistant rushed to help him with his oxygen mask, but he shoved them away, shooing them out of the room. Grabbing the thing himself, he dragged in a dramatic inhale.

“See what you do to me, cherub? I cannot breathe without you.”

You rolled your eyes at his on-the-nose comment, but your feet ushered you forward without thinking. Anselm held onto the mask with trembling fingers, poised to take a second, dramatic drag should you wound him again.

Eyeing him sympathetically, you reached for the scruff of his beard. “I know this is hard for you. But I can’t stay here. Not if you don’t trust me.” And you were wounded by the way he seemed to exclude you from his affairs.

His gaze fixed on you, deadly serious. “I have many flaws, my love. Misspeaking is not one of them. You are mistaken.”

“I am not mistaken,” you defiantly hissed, stepping toe to toe with him, your lips a breath apart. “You said I’m not to be trusted with your business. You think I don’t understand what it is that you do?”

His jaw clenched at your obstinate mindset and bold choice of words. “Do you think I allow anyone besides my beloved to speak to me in such a tone? Especially so erroneously?” His oxygen mask clattered to the plush carpet as he cinched his arm behind you and crushed his mouth to yours.

Your knees buckled as his soft lips pulled at yours, before he licked his way inside. He kissed you hard and deep, hands winding you close to him, holding onto you possessively.

“You are my oxygen,” he murmured, peppering your lips, cheek, chin and nose with kisses as his hands roamed the curves of your hips and backside. “What you heard was me telling a business associate that you are not to be troubled with business,” he clarified. “Does your eavesdropping imply your interest in my affairs?” His voice dropped an octave as he breathed on your ear. “Or does it warrant suitable punishment?”

You swallowed thickly, easing back so you could see him better. You thought to question him - to be sure you misheard, but his warning glare let you know it would be unwise. Pressing a fierce kiss to his lips, you announced that you would accept your punishment.

“Very well then,” he half smiled. “Undress yourself and get on the bed. We’ll be ruining several of these garments you flung around the room during your tantrum, cherub.”

You’d never been so happy to be wrong.

Llewyn was a beautiful, scattered, devoted, intense, tormented disaster.

He was messy. Dishes piled up. Yet he kept his few belongings in one corner of the den, out of your way.

He often paraded around the house in underwear, or sometimes, nothing at all.

You bought him a winter coat last week. He cried, then wrote a song about it.

He would disappear sometimes for a few days and you would cry.

"Don't wanna be a burden," he would halfheartedly explain, gripping his guitar case guardedly.

"You're not...Llewyn, this is your home now." Reaching for his case, you tried to lighten his load in every way possible. "Come on inside."

He tried to cook sometimes but he burned everything. You ate it anyway.

Gave you all the change from his tip jar "for rent".

He waited every night for you to invite him to bed. He seemed to love your cat and your fireplace, but what about you?

"I can get you your own bed, if you need space," you tried to explain. "If you don't want to sleep with me. You can still stay here."

Booted feet shuffled as he raked a gloved hand through his curls. "I can take the couch, it's all right."

You sighed, exasperated, but not angry. "Llewyn, do you have feelings for me? At all?"

"'Course I do, I..." He stroked his thick beard contemplatively. "You just..." Waving his hand around him, he shook his head. "This is all - it's too much."

"What's too much?" You pressed. "Me? I can give you space."

"No. No, it's not that. I just...can't find the words, really."

Reaching for his hand, you relented. "It's okay."

The next night, he came home late, but found you right away. "Sorry. Had a gig. Good tips."

"That's because you're brilliant," you sweetly returned.

He smiled so big it made the corners of his eyes crinkle.

You nodded toward the stove. "Chili?"

"Uh, soon. Got something for you first."

Gently grasping your hand, he led you to the living room, nodding for you to sit on the sofa. Your heart quickened as he reached for his guitar case.

"Wrote you something."

"Oh wait, let me get my wallet."

"What?" He chuckled, fixing his guitar strap over his shoulder.

"You don't like to play for free. I'll pay." Your eyes twinkled with mischief.

"I'll play for you anytime, sweetheart."

The song was somehow about home. Lyrics told you how he drifted, how he wandered, but now his heart had a tether. The beautiful tenor of his voice weaved and turned exquisitely over the arpeggios plucked by expert fingers.

Your eyes and cheeks were wet as he strummed the final chord.

"Nobody ever wrote me a song before," you tearfully whispered, reaching out for him as he set his instrument aside and knelt down in front of you.

"Nobody ever felt like home before," he returned, brown eyes adoring you as he pressed his lips to yours.