[Yeah, no. He really needed the alcohol to do this. Or to be facing down death and desperation to get back to Steven, maybe. Sitting here, trying to shove food down his own throat and not feel sick from it or watching Steven happily eat away like all is well in the world while scolding him about coming back.

It makes all of this too-- weird. He's not good at talking about the real stuff, not even with himself. Or the closest to a friend he's got that happens to live in his head, whatever. He's already been stripped pretty bare. He already feels like an exposed, raw nerve after the asylum... why not keep going? What the hell. Steven's seen him at some of his worst points already.

He idly nudges his plate aside and shrugs his shoulders, eyes falling to the hand he leaves resting idly on the table just to avoid meeting Steven's eyes for a moment.]

You're real to me. [He doesn't care what anyone else thinks right now. Steven is too... vibrant to not be real.] And if it hadn't been for you, Steven, I'd never have survived it. Any of it. If I hadn't had you all the way since we were little kids--

[He stops himself, idly works his jaw as he forces his eyes from the table to meet Steven's.] I knew I wasn't alone as long as I had you. You were always full of hope... happy. Made me feel like I could get up every time I didn't think I had it in me. And you never once left me or abandoned me. You think I'd ever do that to you? Because I won't. I don't care about paradise if that's the cost.

[Which is still-- pretty selfish, probably, and not something to shove on a guy who's made it clear he wants his own life without Marc, huh?] Anyway, doesn't matter because look at you right now. You're outside of me. You're real, Steven... you can do whatever you want and without me getting in your way.

Even if it's frenching a guy who reeks, I guess.