Moral Of The Story

Chapter Five

Present.

Steven wakes to the familiar smell of books and the comfort of a duvet. He blinks blearily to the sight of his flat, sitting up to look around. It looked real, it almost felt real, so surely...

He pushes the duvet away and gets up to his feet. His body aches as it always did in the morning, a sense of sleeplessness seeping in. But now, he knew it wasn't from the sleepwalking. Although he can't figure out for the life of him how he got back to London.

Something uncomfortable tugs at his ankle and before he can react, he crashes to the floor face first. Pain shooting across his cheek.

"Oh bugger."

Keys scratch against the lock of his door. Steven looks up to see all the bolts are undone and the tape nowhere to be found. He rushes to get his ankle restraint off, panicking when he hears the door creak open.

He snaps his head and looks at a confused Layla, who's holding a brown bag and a cupholder.

"Are you alright?" She asks.

He blinks. "Yeah, yeah, completely fine. Happens all the time," he adds and then flushes with embarassment as he unties his leg hurriedly. "I mean, well, I don't need the ankle restraint anymore obviously. I'm not actually a sleepwalker it turns out."

"Is that why you have the sand and the tape on the door?" She asks casually, setting the food down on his table.

He walks towards her. "Yeah, but Marc was too smart for my tricks. I guess we're both brain and brawns," he jokes.

Layla smiles at him before becoming self-conscious as she gestures at the food. "I, uh, didn't know if you liked the same things as Marc. So, I got a little of everything. If you're hungry, I mean."

Warmth spreads through his chest. "You didn't have to. Really."

They sit at the table and Steven digs into an almond croissant. Layla sips her coffee and watches with some curiosity, surprised that he completely ignored the usual pain au chocolat Marc went for.

"How are you feeling?"

"Never liked that old bird," he says, pressing a hand to the tender cheek he fell on. "But I am going to miss that suit. I think I'll be alright though."

"That's good. And, uh, what about...?" She gestures to his chest, struggling to put it into words.

"Right, right. When Marc got shot. Safe to say it's not the first time."

Layla seems unsure whether to laugh or not. It comes out as a strange grimace.

"But it's alright now," Steven reassures. "Better even."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Before, it was like a two-way mirror. He knew about me and could see me, but I had no idea. Now, it feels... I don't know. Like we're not fighting for control anymore."

"So can he... Can Marc hear me?"

Steven pauses, frozen for a few moments. Layla watches as his wide eyes, narrowed, and his brows lowered. His shoulders no longer hunching in that self-deprecating way. The air around him changing into something serious and far more familiar.

"I hear you," Marc answered.

He looks down at the assorted pastries, noticing the pain au chocolat. His chest tightens at the thought that he ever abandoned his wife, the shame and guilt following after.

"You remembered."

Layla tilts her head slightly, still speechless by the transformation. "Hard to forget," she manages to get out.