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It's a cold drizzly night in the London flat, Layla is out of town, and Marc is going to be man enough to admit that he wants a cuddle with his imaginary friend.
...Or possibly more than a cuddle. With his imaginary possibly-more-than-friend. They're not putting labels on it.
(Well, Steven jokingly called it selfcest once, then immediately had a low-grade anxiety attack over "what if that's not funny for reasons I can't remember?" And Jake called it the telenovela of the year, because it turns out their previously-mysterious third headmate is also a comedian.)
Only problem is, Steven swapped the body with Marc earlier this afternoon, and hasn't been seen since.
Marc tries saying his name at the bathroom mirror a couple times, like summoning a cute sassy Latino Bloody Mary. No luck.
Well, the bathroom isn't exactly romantic anyway. Marc changes into a pair of Steven's nice soft pajamas (he might get Steven's attention looking in the mirror while shirtless, but it'll be too embarrassing if it doesn't work, he'll just be ogling himself in the glass), flicks off most of the lights (except the...look, they have a goldfish-shaped night light now, don't ask), and gets under the covers.
"Steven?" he says again. "You in there?"
No answer. Just more rain.
Which should probably make him worried, but all he feels is a low wave of cozy affection. So maybe Steven's coming forward slowly...?
Or maybe it just means Marc should've bought himself one of these weighted blankets a decade ago.
All right, if Steven won't or can't come out right this minute, Marc will try going in. He closes his eyes and pictures headspace.
As usual, he tries to visualize something more inviting than a bleak white hospital ward -- and as usual, he gets the ward anyway. Neither he nor Steven can find a path to anything in their head besides a smallish closed loop of sterile rooms and halls. (Either based on the ones they saw in the Duat, or vice versa.) Jake swears there are nicer parts, but Jake might just be messing with them.
Marc steps into the cafeteria/lounge/observation room, a large space broken up with pillars and floor-to-ceiling dividers. Several banks of floor-to-ceiling windows suggest there's an outside, though the glass is too clouded to see anything except a handful of palms planted right next to the building. Looks and sounds like it's raining out there too.
He rounds a corner...
It takes his brain a couple false starts to figure out what he's seeing.
Steven and Jake are sitting in one of the chairs. Not the hard plastic ones, the wider ones that have a bit of cushioning, though calling them armchairs would be generous. More specifically, Jake is sitting in the chair, while Steven is sitting on Jake.
Straddling his lap, in fact.
Steven's hands are cupping Jake's face, his head is bent to meet it, and Marc came in at an angle where he can just see that they're firmly attached at the lips.
Distantly, Marc realizes he's holding his (metaphorical) breath.
(What the hell is he going to do if Steven throws him over for Jake, huh? Just how crazy do you have to be to get dumped by one of your own imaginary friends, in favor of your other imaginary friend...?)
Steven breaks the kiss, rests his forehead against Jake's, and says, without looking up, "Marc, come on over, please?"
Jake's breath hitches. He glances at Marc, then turns his head sharply away. His hands, which were already flat on the meager arms of the chair, clutch at them tighter. (He's got a preference for gloves when he's in the body, but right now he's in a version of their hospital clothes, with short sleeves and bare hands.)
Marc drifts over to them. Not so much like he's walking on purpose, more like he's one of those little wheelie toys and Steven is pulling him on a string. "When were you going to tell me...?"
"This is me telling you. Why d'you think I called you in here?"
Steven finally turns to look him in the eye, mouth set in that determined way he's got when he's about to dig in his heels on something. Marc gets close enough that Steven can brush a hand against his face.
"I know this is...sudden," says Steven. "And I realize it's a lot to ask. But I love you both. Very much. And it's not like I can just skip town with one of you and cut off all contact with the other until I get over him, is it? So. We can make this work, yeah? We have to make this work."
"[Gettin' a little ahead of yourself,] there," mutters Jake, in his usual Spanish-English blend, with his head still turned as far in the other direction as it'll go. "Maybe I was workin' on [how to let you down gently] when we got interrupted."
Marc steps right up behind Steven, wrapping his arms around Steven's torso, resting his chin on Steven's shoulder. In a position where he could, very easily, drag Steven back out of Jake's lap. Not actually doing that, though. He hopes everybody's picking up how he's not doing that.
Out loud, he says, "Jake, are you okay?"
It startles Jake into finally looking at him. "Wh--me?"
"You see any other Jakes in here?" (...wait, maybe Marc shouldn't say things like that, he might bait their brain into making more.)
Jake furrows his brow. "[This is a real weird lead-up] to the part where you sock me in the face."
Is he worried about getting hit? The guy who's an absolute menace during Fist of Khonshu fights, and, as they worked out recently, who used to co-opt half of Marc's boxing matches? "Nobody's socking anybody in the face."
"Really? 'Cause I hear you clocked Steven pretty good the first time he made out with your wife."
"Yeah, well," says Marc flatly, "if Steven had been white-knuckling a chair while Layla did all the kissing, I probably would've handled that differently."
A small distressed noise from Steven. He leans back, resting heavily against Marc's chest. "Oh no. Jake? Are you okay?"
Is Marc imagining things, or is Jake...blushing? "Eh? Sí, bien."
"Were you just worried because Marc came in, or...were you actually not enjoying...?"
Jake turns away again. That's definitely a blush. "...you really gotta ask?"
Great. Their third headmate is a menace and a boxer and a comedian and a shy romantic.
Marc gives Steven an extra-tight squeeze. "You really like this guy, huh?"
"I do, yeah." Steven folds his arms across Marc's and holds him close. For a moment it's like he's trying to pull Marc into the chair, even though it's barely wide enough to hold his knees squeezed against the outsides of Jake's thighs. "And I really like you. That hasn't stopped, all right?"
Marc nods. Takes a deep breath. "I promise to be good with it if you kiss him again."
With an effort, he loosens his grip.
The first thing Steven does is twist around to kiss Marc -- a precarious move, he almost loses his balance -- Jake gives up his attempts to squeeze divots into the arms of the chair, in order to grab Steven's shirt and save him from falling, while at the same time Marc's hands catch him and push him back into place.
(Steven gets a worryingly-smug look about that. Then braces himself with one hand on Jake's shoulder, while tipping Marc's face toward his.)
He's a lot steadier when he leans back in for Jake. There's a moment when Marc gets a narrow, challenging look over Steven's shoulder...then Jake runs his hands up Steven's chest, closes his eyes, and melts into it.
(Marc still has a light touch resting on Steven's back, so he can feel the planes of Steven's shoulders roll with the action, and he will be man enough to admit he doesn't hate this.)
*
The world outside their head is still rainy and miserable. But Marc has one of Steven's arms around him, the other caressing his neck...and as long as he doesn't look too hard at the physical evidence, he can half-feel the weight of a whole Steven-body snuggling against him.
Also, Jake is here.
Sort of...overlapping with Marc. They're doubling up on the cuddling. Seems like it's working.
Eyes still closed, he opens his mouth, and Steven's voice comes out: "Jake? Are there any bedrooms in our head, do you know? Nice ones, I mean."
"A few," says Jake's voice. "Not a lot of [beds big enough for two,] though. If that's what you're lookin' for...?"
A long, self-conscious pause, then Steven says, "I am trying not to push my luck, so, yes. Two would be lovely."
Marc sighs. "If you find a bed big enough for three, I'm open to working something out."
He feels a rush of excited interest that is definitely from Steven.
Also, a swell of something wary-but-hopeful from Jake...though you'd never guess it from how casually he smirks and says, with smug triumph, "Telenovela of the century."