Premise: Steven meets you at the museum and thinks you're normal, but Marc thinks you're a thief. They're both right. Sort of.
Will do my best to minimize spoilers from the show as possible. There may be some discussions of mental health problems in the future, but from the reader's side, not necessarily Steven and Marc's.
Warnings: none
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Steven watched the patrons mill about the museum, wandering up to display cases and reading the placards there. How he wished to be alongside them, telling them the things the placards didn't say, giving them the knowledge they were missing by only superficially engaging with Egyptian history and its associated pantheon. No one really ever came up to him even to buy the sweets on his counter, and the one or two that did eventually wander to a stop before him weren't much interested in discussing the finer points of Egyptian mythology.
He still clung to a fragment of hope, however, no matter how often his supervisor, Donna, rejected his attempts to become tour guide. Maybe the next time the board members came into the museum, he could stage something to show them he knew what he was doing. Maybe he could even demonstrate that by going to the marketing department and telling them what they had gotten wrong on the banners.
As he listened to his watch click down to closing time, he gazed out at the diminishing stream of patrons. As he glanced past one of the displays by the Ammit pillar, he paused and turned his attention back.
You stood in front of a display case, hands hanging by your sides, fingers twitching like misfiring nerves shooting to your fingernails. Steven realized that you had been standing there for five minutes, unmoving but for the spasmodic digits.
Glancing over his shoulder for Donna and satisfying himself that she wasn't around, he slipped out from behind the counter and slowly approached you. As he drew nearer, shifting to his right to see your face first in three-quarter profile, then in full profile, he felt himself losing his nerve. He hadn't expected you to be so pretty, not from what he had seen of the back of your head. What was he doing?
