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Steven hadn't lost hope, but he did stop staring desperately at the museum's entrance. Donna had snapped at him enough times-with Marc nodding his head in agreement, albeit with a show of sympathy-that he had felt admonished enough to refrain from acting like a forlorn puppy. He went about his day, smiling at everyone who passed by his counter, offering the occasional factoid whenever Donna wasn't around to hear him.
Several more days passed, making it over a week since he had first seen you.
"Should I give up?" Steven asked Crawley.
The gold-painted living statue hardly blinked, staring off ahead into the street, arm outstretched.
"I mean, it's only been a week, yeah? Am I a nob for still hoping?"
Marc was uncharacteristically silent. Steven tried not to read into that silence, but he worried about it distantly anyway. Was Marc still mad about him mentioning Layla? Was he respecting his wishes? Was he scheming? The latter made Steven's guts twist.
"I know, I know," Steven continued, munching away on his sandwich, "I don't know anything about her, but I'd like to, yeah? I'm such a dunce for not getting her name."
Sighing, Steven fished around in his pockets for some loose change, tossed it into Crawley's hat, and bid the performer a good day as he returned to the museum, his lunch break over. Back behind the counter, he snapped his nametag onto his pocket, sighed heavily, and drummed his fingers on the countertop, staring at his not-reflection of Marc.
"At least she didn't rob the museum," Steven mumbled at him.
Marc folded his arms across his chest, frowning.
"Who robbed what museum?"
Steven's head snapped up loud enough to make his neck twinge. "Ow."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." Smothering a laugh with your hand, you added, "I guess it's payback for when you scared me, huh?"
