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He turns around, and it's uncanny. One moment a man, the next another. Even with your eyes closed, you could never confuse them.
His eyes light up, and your name has never sounded as wonderful as when his accent wraps around each letter. You've been seeing his face for hours on the road, and yet you haven't seen him since London. You weren't sure you ever would again. Relief leaves you weak in the knees, afraid that if you stop leaning on the car hood, you'll tumble into the soft sand beneath. Yet the risk and any other would be worth it just to run to him and hold him in your arms while he's there, while he can feel it.
He comes to you instead, and he is so beautiful in the glow of headlights and the stars above you nearly cry.
"You came all this way," he says in awe, words he's been waiting to say to you ever since he first saw you in Cairo through Marc's eyes. Finally, you can see the smile you put on his face, he can reach out and feel your flushed cheek beneath the palm of his hand, he can slip his other one into yours.
"I can't stand London without you," you lay your hand over the one holding your face, basking in his touch. It's been so long, he's been so close and yet so far. Every inch of you is screaming for you to pull him close, kiss his lips.
At the periphery of your vision, Layla shifts on her feet, averting her eyes.
You don't blame her - you can't. What she's feeling now, you feel every moment Marc is there, looking at her with eyes you don't recognize. A battle between reason telling you her husband is not the man you love, and the heart who doesn't understand logic, who keeps torturing itself with the knowledge that the same hand that's been holding yours is sworn to hold hers forever. And you like her. She's smart and fierce and kind and if the circumstances were different, you would never dream of touching what belongs to her, to someone quickly becoming your friend. But then again, it's not her Marc you want. She knows it.
It's quite a mess you find yourselves in - four hearts, three bodies to carry out their desires. Not one of you meaning to hurt any of the others. Which is why you and Steven both hesitate.
Layla notices your unsure glance her way, and her face softens.
"It's alright," she says quietly. She knows how long you've waited, and there's no telling when you'll get to see him again. It might get easier with time, for all of you.
If you can stop Harrow and live long enough to figure it out, that is.
Her sincere words put you at ease. You let yourself lean your forehead against Steven's. You wish you could take your time feeling his closeness, his breath mingling with yours, but the fate of millions hangs in the balance. His lips cover yours briefly, tenderly, just enough that it quenches a sliver of your longing before you do what needs to be done.
You wish you could ask him never to leave you again, but you both know that's not a promise he can make.
"I'm not going anywhere," you whisper instead as you pull away, and you mean it. However many jackals chase after you in their hunt for him. Whatever gods it angers.
It's all worth it for even one moment of him looking at you like he is now - like you're the stars and the moon and everything in between.
