𝘁𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 | 𝗺𝗼𝗼𝗻 𝗸𝗻𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁

𝗰𝗵 𝟭

You always repay your debts. You're honest by nature, and besides, you'll die if you don't repay this one. (You tack that thought somewhere far back in the recesses of your mind, fully intending to not think about it for now.) (The ominous feeling will reappear in roughly an hour, tickling low in your stomach, and you'll shove it back again, and you'll rinse and repeat.) And it is in the name of this debt, in the name of your honor, that you've become a full on stalker.

This fact brings you no comfort. It, in fact, makes you feel worse. You think about your debt on the bus, and then about how creepy you're being as you worm your way through the museum for like, the millionth time, and again about your debt while you stare at the gilded statue that you swear recognizes you. (You've started tipping, just in case. You don't think he'll snitch, but street performers are serious about their money.) (As they should be.) (It still stings. Your dedicated stalking routine has left you out of a job and stretched your pockets unbelievably thin. Thank God the museum's admission is free.)

The days blur together. It's only been a week, and yet you feel as though you've lived a month. How does Steven live the same day, every day, without going insane?

(And he doesn't even know about Marc. Marc, who has definitely noticed you and not said a word.) (You're torn. You appreciate his tact—or lack thereof, you guess, given that he is completely ignoring you—but a word of advice could help. Khonshu's had him under his thumb for far longer. You know nothing in comparison.) (Maybe he feels bad.) (He shouldn't though. The price for your life is lofty, but a million billion trillion times better than your eternal torture.)

You could really use Marc's advice though, because Steven is acting weird today. Really weird.

For one, he seems scared. You've seen him stressed, and sad, and upset, but never scared. You're unsure of what he has to fear but he won't stop looking over his shoulder, and stealth is not your strongest suit. (Your idea of staying incognito is hiding underneath the cheapest baseball cap and oversized sunglasses money could buy.) You've schooled your expression to stay neutral behind your disguise every time he whips around, but you swear he is looking right at you and it is freaking you out.

(You think, not for the first time and not for the last, that you should have returned to your prison when Marc had freed you.) (You had tasted fresh air and gotten greedy, and greed is the root of all evil and bad decisions. It was certainly the root of this bad decision.)

Your toes mash into the back of someone's foot, and you lurch forward against their back. The physical contact is so foreign that you're more concerned by how grossly warm they feel under your outstretched hands than the fact that their frame looks awfully familiar. You push away, dusting yourself off frantically. "Sorry, sorry, I wasn't looking."

"You!"

Oh shit.

"Excuse me sir," you fumble out. Your pitiful attempt at escape is cut short by Steven, who has an awful lot of gumption for someone you'd pegged as timid and side-steps right in front of you.

"What'd'you think you're doin'?"

"I said I'm sorry—!"

"What're you followin' me around for? The hell's all this about?"

Your mouth forms a perfect circle. It's a caricature of surprise, because while you are genuinely surprised to have been spotted, your acting is rusty and so you're only capable of these half-convincing caricatures. (You are really, truly out of your depth.) "I'm sorry, what?"

"Is this s'posed to be a joke? You've been followin' me around all day!"

"Do I know you?"

Your attempts to deflect are not deflecting his attention away from you. If anything he's growing warier with each word, eyes narrowing suspiciously.