"It's not the same. You aren't the same after everything I've told you." It's some getting unplugged from the Matrix shit, things Layla cannot unknow about him and her father. Things Steven cannot unknow about his mother, the nature of his existence. And at the centre of it all, nobody wants to say it but he knows: It's all Marc Spector's fault.

"I don't know. Maybe I'd have taken you on a trip around the world. There's some really spectacular places out there. Maybe you would have taught me French and shown me some rusty spearheads or vases and statues or whatever. Crusty oil paintings in some of these museums." The rusty spearheads and Greek vases honestly sound boring. He might be able to appreciate an oil painting better.

"And I wouldn't mind, sharing a bed with you." If he can sleep in that little stretcher alone he can sleep anywhere with anyone. And just quietly, to himself, he wouldn't mind a few of Steven's soothing, light touches or combing his hair back helping put him to sleep.

"I might freeze to death though if you take the whole blanket in the middle of the night and leave me out in the cold," Marc teases as he dries the back of his neck and slips into some of Steven's clean clothes.