CHAPTER 3

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NUMBING REUNIONS!

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London isn't what Corbin would consider uncharted territory, necessarily. He's disappointed to say that he's not all that familiar with England as a whole, though he's traveled through a couple of times on certain occasions in the past. He is, however, taken aback to some degree with all of these accents filtering through his ears; even when he's completely accustomed to processing different languages, which includes French and Arabic — with English being commonly spoken between him and his loved ones. Country and culture were funny like that, and flicking the stem of his cigarette, Corbin watched passersby go about their business this morning.

"There you are." Layla joins her boyfriend outside of the hotel they've been staying the night at, sloped against the wall. Twitching her nose when a wisp of smoke attacks her, she clears her throat. "I meant to apologize to you sooner, Corbin, but I'm sorry about yesterday. I know I shouldn't have called you when you were in the middle of visiting your mom, but I didn't know what else to do when Marc answered me back. I freaked out."

"Oh, that... Yeah, I wouldn't worry too much about it," Corbin brushes aside, the image of his mother lying motionless yet breathing invoking this great aloy of poignancy and negativity within him. "It's not like there was much of a conversation to begin with, you know."

"Don't say that. Of course there was." Layla jolts away from the wall. There's an incredulous look to her, one she can feel herself being dominated by. To Layla, the fact that Corbin has Leah by his side means a great deal to her. Layla would give almost anything to see her father again, just one last time in order for her to impart a proper goodbye to him. "Yesterday was between you and her. It was an important moment for you both, but especially for you. Just seeing her is enough: isn't that what you've been telling me?"

"Babe," Corbin's head is bowed and there's smoke curved around his mouth, nicotine infused in his lungs, "I appreciate the concern, but like I said, there's...barely anything left of her. It's practically all gone. Besides, I have all the family I need right here," he acknowledges towards Layla as a whole, "with you. That's all that matters."

Layla wants to object so badly, so vigorously, yet all she feels appropriate now is a gentle shake of her own head. "My love," she begins to comfort, Corbin's unoccupied hand enveloped with hers, "no matter what happens, she will always be the woman who took care of you. Don't play it off like it isn't, because it'll be there for as long as you live."

Corbin had a choice then, to either accept Layla's consolation or to further barricade himself off as if the matter was inconsequential. He would never forsake her sincerity, and his hand is engulfed wholly with her smaller one. There is a strong surge of emotion welling up in Corbin, a snippet of something so singular which Layla keeps voyaging back to him. It's one of the many reasons why he advocates communication with her in the first place. She makes it seem so effortless with how she makes other people bloom when they need to. Corbin would think it a personal superpower of hers, and it forever thumbs the right string in him to resume forward.

"Thank you." Corbin forces himself to take a stabilizing breath. Deeming it so, this isn't the time nor place to get overly vulnerable, and their task of seeking out the missing piece of the puzzle continues. Corbin is reluctant to voice this, although he can't exactly refrain from it. "When we find Marc, what do we do?"

"Well... Assess the situation, make sure he's okay, and then hopefully discuss the divorce papers."

"Now that you mention it, I don't think we ever got to a point of talking about that; which is what we should've done prior to this." Corbin is inwardly stunned by his partner's nonchalance toward their predicament. Surely, it can't be as simple as that. "Layla, I don't think I understand. Do you mean to go through with the divorce?"

"It's not what you think, Corbin. Do I have my doubts about what to do? Yes, but I would never initiate anything without Marc's input first." Layla shrugs the overwhelming emotions back. Her grip is no longer with her boyfriend but with herself, reeling in the disposition so she may steel herself. "Look, I have no intention of separating from Marc, but I do hope there's a stellar explanation for his disappearance. I honestly just want him back. I want us back, but...it's just so difficult and hurtful at the same time, knowing he refused to let us help him when he most needed us."

There is a brief pause, and a sense of commitment unfolds in the cavity of Corbin's heart. "I'm glad you're willing, Layla. Proud, even. Signing the papers might've been quicker, but it wouldn't have made this sadness go away." Corbin's cigarette is confined to the pavement of the sidewalk, mangled out when the sleep-deprived man toes it with his boot. "There's nothing stopping us from confronting Marc when we find him. We care about him, and whatever it may end up being, it should be a mutual decision between the three of us." Corbin dares a step closer into Layla's personal space, in order to cradle her cheek and press a reassuring kiss to her temple. "Hey...I might not be able to promise you that everything'll turn out okay, but I'm here for you. We're coming for him."

Caressing her boyfriend's wrist, the crevice of Layla's mouth wrinkles to convey her indecision. It's nothing to scoff at, though she desperately wished it was. Life is full of many obstacles and tough decisions, but that doesn't make this any less crushing to live through. She can read it in the dips of Corbin's demeanor, even when he's a lot more open to the idea of mending things despite the turmoil they've suffered through. He's admirable for that. The one thing Layla would concern herself with is Corbin getting hurt, chasing after something which might break the both of them.

"Marc had better have a good reason for all of this... He'd better."

Corbin's body sinks as Layla frees herself. If he's to be content with anything, it's the fact that she's trying. He couldn't ask for more, dwelling on their desires while him and Layla seek to fulfill what they traveled here to London for. They barely had a mind to pack anything and are mostly left empty-handed, save for a few necessities stuffed into their pockets — including money to exchange for two Vespa Scooters which will carry them across the streets of the city.

Corbin's mind had taken off when Layla took to leading the way towards Marc's pinpointed location, and the change of environment mixed with the lack of sleep had shaped him into a hyper-energetic but exhausted man. He felt as though he could practically faint asleep at any moment, regardless of knowing he wouldn't. Corbin may have tasted death upon his tongue, though, as his girlfriend suddenly slams the brakes on her scooter out of nowhere, without any formal indication as to why. He almost goes flying into the rear of her vehicle, and he doesn't hesitate to complain about it.

"Layla, what the fuck?!"

With his partner leaning over the pavement, Corbin is fixated on the back of Layla's helmet. Her voice is carried forward in disbelief and caution while she's ignoring Corbin's outburst, and that is what persuades him to blink down at the stranger cowering and panting in the middle of the street, a black duffel bag next to him.

"Marc? Where have you been—?"

The man in question peeks up toward the sun. Corbin has all but forgotten they're parked directly in an active lane with traffic as Marc — narrowing his gaze up at Layla — has him on the brink of tipping over on his scooter. Dark wavy hair; profound eyes; expressive mouth — just overall prominent facial features, it's all there yet Corbin almost mistook him for some random onlooker. And the accent probing through Marc's words as he verbally addresses Layla, is enough to make his head spin.

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Corbin might as well have trekked around in circles with how dumbfounded he is. He truly did believe he would have had some kind of monologue at the ready, but nothing comes to mind as he's blatantly staring at Marc. Due to the noise, he couldn't hear anything from when they rode their Vespa Scooters around but that wouldn't stop Layla from sharing everything once they reached an unimpressive apartment complex, to which Marc showcased as his home. She claimed he refused to drop this 'Steven Grant' façade he's got going on, as well as him being unaware that he's still married to Layla.

And to further baffle Corbin to insanity, 'Steven' would sneak timid glances at him as if he didn't recognize the man he had a home with back in France.

"It doesn't seem like you're being followed unless I'm missing something here, so what is it that you gain by acting like this?"

Steven, previously busy fidgeting with the duffel bag's shoulder-strap, turns to Corbin in the shabby elevator. "Uh...pardon, sir?"

"I'm going to be frank with you, Marc," Corbin faces him with a stern look. When 'Steven' had promised to smooth things over back at his apartment, this isn't what Corbin envisioned. "Pretending you have nothing to do with me and Layla is downright upsetting. I can't see how keeping this act up could benefit you, except if you're trying to get rid of us... The least you could do is clarify why you were in such a hurry to get away from home." Several inches taller than Steven, Corbin is gazing down at the other man with a vaguely threatening look.

"I'm sorry... I—I wish I knew. Truly." Steven shifts slightly away from Corbin who's evidently keeping wraps on being fed up with the situation. It occurs to the former museum worker then that he's at least somewhat familiar with Layla, but not this particular individual. "Sorry for not asking sooner, but what is your name?"

"You know it already, Marc."

"Uh, it's 'Steven', and no, believe me, I don't. We haven't met before. Tall and intimidating — I'm certain I would've recalled you, sir. And then there's your eyes, of course, they're..." Steven is at a temporary loss for words while he's inspecting Corbin. There's a faint yet consistent smell of cigarette smoke blending in around them. Beneath the fluorescent light of the elevator, the eyes of Corbin gleam a calming hue of thriving cypress; a sprout peeking through its patch of soil. "Green, like fresh moss," Steven compares effortlessly. "Huh..."

Clearing his throat, an elusive shiver rattles Corbin's bones by the unprecedented compliment. He's always been made aware of how 'beautiful' the color of his eyes are by a number of people, yet it's the first time it's been paralleled with so much interest which is positive in itself. Corbin is brought away from Steven's short-lived admiration when the elevator jumbles to a stop. "The name's Corbin. Not sir." The man himself prompts Steven along with a raised arm, appearing more at ease as he politely orders, "Gentlemen first."

Steven, smiling nervously, nods and exits the elevator. Layla is accompanied by the coat-wearing man himself as they don't travel all that far before Steven begins to procure his keys.

Corbin is briefly distracted by the duffel bag Steven is carrying around, prior to registering the digits '502' numbered upon his door. The interior room beyond is revealed as Steven withdraws, allowing both Layla and Corbin to enter on their own accord. It's a flat, furnished and cluttered with so many things that it's a bit hard to take everything in. Layla is almost immediately attracted to the fish tank on their right, however, and her partner spares a second to check it out with her as well.

"Cute friend you've got here," Corbin remarks out of genuineness. He's watching the single goldfish swim around its home, musing how simpleminded and peaceful it must be as the palm-sized creature beams its orange-golden scales back at him. "If you wanted a fish for a pet, you could've just said so, Marc. We would've said yes."

Slapping Corbin lightly on the arm for stating such a thing without her say in the matter, Layla shoots him an offended look. He shrinks away. "What—? We would," he smiles casually. "Fish are easy to manage."

Layla clicks her tongue in finality whilst placing her attention somewhere else. Corbin glimpses back at Steven, shaking his head with a tiny grin to imply Layla's "silliness". Steven doesn't notice it at first, but the gesture is enough to resolve his nerves into a state of repose. He considers himself comfortable enough to shut the front door and situate the duffel bag on the nearest table with his keys. That's when he takes a moment to judge the reflection wavering on the fish tank. It bears the resemblance of his own face — though the posture is widely different, deduced down to what he may now call 'Marc'.

"They shouldn't be here," he evaluates regretfully. There's a somber frown pulling at his expression, a first for his other half. "Get them out of here, Steven. You're way out of your depth."

"I just want my life back..."

Overhearing his muttering, Layla glances firmly back at Steven. "Yeah, I'm getting that."

"No, no! Sorry, I wasn't talking to you, just talking to myself... Sort of." Steven's focus is diverged over at Corbin. Layla turns away and the presence of her companion is still largely unexplored, which sparks a natural curiosity in him. "So — um, 'Corbin', was it? Are you perhaps a friend of Layla's? I figured since you're here, that's why. Emotional support and all that. Not to, like, gang up on me, I hope."

Corbin is no longer preoccupied with Steven's goldfish. There's this gaping hole at the pit of his stomach, and Steven accounts for the bemused movement of the taller man. "No. I'm Layla's significant other."

"Significant—?... Oh my God, I'm so sorry," Steven tenses up, his entire face and the nape of his neck flooded over with the warmth of embarrassment. No doubt he must look absolutely ridiculous in front of them both right now, as he can literally feel his whole body turn stiff. "I must have misheard! For a moment there, outside, I thought Layla claimed to be my wife but she's actually yours, which does make a lot of sense. Oh, I feel awful now."

"No, you and I are still married," Layla says slowly, sharing a look with her partner over by the fish tank. "Corbin is the boyfriend. He's ours, Marc."

"Ours...?" Steven has become wide-eyed, blinking in bewilderment from Layla and then to Corbin as he's being prone to a cloud of stupor. "How does that even function? How—? Look, I'm not trying to be disrespectful toward either of you, trust me, but I don't quite understand—"

"There's nothing really to it, Steven." Eyes flickering sadly about, Corbin returns — almost subconsciously — to Layla's side. "All you need to know is that it works and it makes sense. At least it did for us, until recently."

Steven doesn't know how to interpret nor handle such a statement. These last few days have uprooted his entire life, and today is proving to be no different. Weirdly, this is neither terrifying nor as complex as his former "escapades" which included travelling to a whole different country, being chased down by numerous people or phenomena, and discovering there's a stranger taking residence inside his head. Steven would gladly have this sort of standoff anytime of the week if it meant no semblance of the last couple of days ensued near him ever again.

"Are you living here with someone else?" Layla inquires, her gaze switching from Steven's bed and towards the bashful man.

"No. Oh, no, no, no. Um... No, this is my mum's flat."

Corbin has trudged closer with the added intrigue and is now kneeling down to poke the distinct circle of sand encasing the bed. It doesn't appear to have any special quality to it, and Corbin does a quick double-take when none other than an ankle-harness catches his eye. It's tied to a wooden post near the bed. All kinds of questions are sprinting through Corbin's mind, though he decides to bury them for the sake of Marc's privacy, instead drawing a round smiley face in the sand. Just because!

"Okay, so you guys are talking again?"

Watching Steven clam up, Corbin doesn't know what to make of his simple reply which is a mere tight-lipped hum. Marc almost never spoke about his family; his childhood, unlike Layla and Corbin who had no issues with reminiscing about their days as adventurous youngsters. Marc preferred it that way, and it didn't take a genius to know that something unpleasant must've occurred during his days as a kid or teen. Corbin and Layla never pushed him to talk up about it, especially when Marc informed them both that he wasn't on speaking terms with the members of his family. That it had been that way for many years.

Since that is, or was, the case then it's shocking to know that his mother permitted him to lay low here of all places.

Layla drifts off to the side. There's a broad, tall bookcase laden with varying reading material, and she picks out a specific book all of a sudden, one even a non-reader like Corbin is able to recognize. "Marceline Desbordes-Valmore?" Layla affirms.

"Yep."

Corbin is blindsided when 'Steven' begins to recite one of the book's poems in corresponding French. He's only ever heard Layla read such lines aloud, and then it would've been to Corbin on various occasions since Marc wasn't interested in that type of thing, so listening and observing Marc's lips form the correct pronunciations — eventually in unison with Layla, is enough to have Corbin rethink the overall moment and accuse it of being a fever dream.

"Oui, oui," Steven concludes with definite poise. "She's my favourite poet."

"Um...no, she's my favourite," Layla opposes.

"...That's mental."

"Next thing you know," Corbin chimes in — mostly to Layla, "he'll start telling us he practices opera as a hobby."

author's note!
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sorry for the abrupt ending, but the word count were getting higher and higher and there's still so much to write about when it comes to this whole interaction, so it'll have to continue on in the next chapter!

and good god do i just LOVE this entire event with corbin and layla getting (slowly) acquainted with steven 💌✨ this is IT !! corbin, layla, and marc's synergy together is unparalleled but the dynamic that is corbin, layla, and steven is nothing but 🥰😘☺️ also, i'm really sorry about the sporadic updates but this motivation of mine is unruly as hell and it's getting real feisty each time i try to be even slightly productive 😾