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Boxes. A new, unfamiliar apartment smell. Silence.
This is his life now. Or his home, more accurately. Or, more accurately still, it will be — once he unpacks everything and makes it look like the home it’s supposed to be.
He took all his belongings out of Lion’s mane and piled them in what will soon be the living room. A living room without a warp pad, where anyone with access to any warp pad, friend or foe, could just come into his home at any moment, putting him in danger. A living room without access to a temple, full of dangerous artifacts and corrupted gems still needing to be healed, gems which had once put his life in peril. A living room without access to his very own bedroom, which even after its expansion, had never had a door.
It feels nice.
It’d been his therapist who’d brought up the possibility of moving out. At first, he’d been adamantly against it. Beach city was his home. His dad, Connie, the gems — his family lived there.
But so did all his trauma, his therapist had pointed out. Leaving didn’t mean running away. Sometimes it could be good to distance yourself from the place and people who’d hurt you, at least for the time being.
Outside, his car has a parking pass stuck to the bumper, cementing him as a resident of Fair View Townhomes. There’s a welcome mat in front of his door and flowers blooming a little too lively in the pots on either side of it.
Lion’s lounging on one of the sturdier boxes across the room, tired from travel, and Steven knows the second he starts unpacking that Lion’s likely to relocate inside whatever box he manages to fit into. He knows he has photographs stashed away in one of the boxes, ready to be hung on walls and set on tables. He has extra dishware, more than what’s needed for just him, because eventually he’ll have visitors. He has Connie’s favorite mug packed away somewhere, along with her favorite sweatshirt of his (incentive for her to come by sooner, as if she’ll really need it. He only got it back recently. She likes when he washes it with his own clothes. Claims it makes it smell like him.)
The townhome came partly furnished. There’s a fridge that’s completely empty and a couch that looks much less lived-in than the one he’s used to at home. There’s a washer and dryer, actually connected to the plumbing instead of fueled by magic, and there’s a bed in the other room, currently needing a mattress pad and his sheets and his abundance of pillows.
Finally, Steven gets to work. He can’t just stand here and think about all these boxes all day. He needs to unpack.
The TV gets hung on the wall, as do several shelves. It takes longer than he would’ve imagined, though that’s probably because he’s never actually done anything like this before — usually his dad or maybe Garnet would’ve helped him. He accidentally hangs a shelf completely crooked on his first try, leaving an unsightly screw-hole directly underneath it, so he strategically places another plant on the shelf, one of the kinds with sprawling leaves the hang below it, covering the sight behind.
The kitchen is spruced up with ingredients. He places jars on the counters full of flour and sugar. He stole the coffee machine from back home, and he plugs it in and fills it with water for tomorrow morning. The pictures he sets up makes him feel less alone, and after he’s worked up a sweat from moving and unpacking, Lion perks up and nuzzles against his hip before rightfully claiming an empty box.
His room gets a desk and his bed gets sheets. It’s made perfectly. His closet is full, and for a moment his chest grows tight with worry. What if people notice he wears the same clothes every day? What if they think he’s weird? What if, what if, what if?
But he pushes it away, shaking his head. It doesn’t matter. It’s what feels right. It’s… his form. If he were just a gem, he’d regenerate in the same clothes he’s wearing now. He just knows it.
He closes the closet door and leaves the bathroom door open. The toiletries go where they belong. He hangs a shower curtain for the first time, and he does it all wrong at first — he should’ve put the hooks up before putting the curtain on them, and he has to take it off in order to hang the hooks and start all over again. He forgot to bring a bathmat, but he can buy one later. He’ll just dry off in the shower.
It’s evening by the time he’s done. It might’ve taken someone else, someone normal, more than one day to unpack. Or maybe not. He doesn’t really know.
He takes all the boxes except one down to the recycle bins at the edge of the complex, because despite Lion’s bed now set up adjacent to the couch, Lion is still curled up in a box. Go figure.
Steven turns on the TV and tries to settle down. It’s… weird. Because he knows that no matter what, the gems aren’t just going to show up. He’s not going to miss the climax of whatever show he’s watching, called on a random mission or distracted by the arrival of the gems.
Evening turns to night and Steven orders-in, because he doesn’t have the right ingredients to make anything yet. And then he ends up falling asleep on the couch, because Lion doesn’t seem likely to move anywhere else and he doesn’t want to be alone in his room.
At some ungodly hour, Steven rolls over and jerks awake. The room is glowing blue and his breath is trapped in his chest, his heart thundering, his fingers clenched in his own shirt. How? How is the warp pad activated here?
But then he sees it’s the glow of the TV and his breath escapes him in a rush. He can hear his heart beating in his ears. He sits up and rubs his eyes, feeling ridiculous.
He’s far from Beach City, and yet he’s still scared.
His therapist said his trauma won’t go away overnight. Maybe ever. She said that the very first time they met, and Steven felt something sink inside him. That whole time, all that stress and terror and anger — he’s just wanted a solution. He’d wanted everything to be fixed. He was used to finding solutions like that.
The cluster was going to explode, so he put it in a bubble. Problem solved.
Aquamarine was going to capture his friends, so he volunteered himself. Problem (mostly) solved. (He hadn’t accounted for Lars.)
Spinel had erased his friends’ memories, so he’d gotten them back. Problem solved.
His unaccounted-for trauma had caught up to him and turned him into an actual, terrifying monster, mortifying in the way he’d let his private feelings get away from him like that. Problem very much being worked on, and might never be actually, fully solved.
It just didn’t fit the pattern.
With a groan, Steven stood up and walked to the bathroom. Avoided looking in the mirror, because he couldn’t be sure what he’d see — him, normal, regular Steven — or a shattered mirror, featuring memories that weren’t quite his own.
You’re healing, his therapist had said. It’s okay to not be okay.
Steven stayed in his room, this time. It was still late. Or very, very early, if you looked at it that way. He’d left the bedroom door open, because that’s how it was supposed to be. That’s how it’d always been.
Soon, he’d have visitors. Sure, he hadn’t planned for it yet, but it was only a matter of time.
The gems would want to see the place he’d picked for himself. What he’d made of it.
But what would they say? He’d picked a townhome with just a shower, not a bathtub, because he couldn’t… He couldn’t. It had a small living room, and that was on purpose. There were two bathrooms, because he wanted one for himself and one for guests. The floors were carpet and tile, not wood. It was as different as he was able to make it.
And what would his dad say, if he noticed the suspicious absence of his mother’s portrait? It was still in Lion’s mane. He still can’t think of a good place for it, and he thinks that might be its new permanent residence. That had been her spot, anyway. He still couldn’t quite comprehend everything he felt for Rose. For Pink Diamond.
That was okay, his therapist said. They still hadn’t gotten into the real meat of those problems. Right now, Steven was focusing on things that felt more pressing. About how he felt, about the gems, about his dad.
And Connie… well, she was probably the only one who wouldn’t find a single problem with his home. She was supportive, like that. Always had been. Always there for him.
But sometimes he wondered whether he depended on her too much. Already, his phone was in hand, their texts open. She probably wasn’t even awake. She shouldn’t be. She only had a week left until she moved into her dorm, and she’d always been good about sticking to a proper sleep schedule, gem missions and emergencies aside.
But she’d also told him that she was there for him. That he could depend on her. That it was okay to ask for help.
Steven decides to test the waters with a meme. He finds something funny he came across earlier, captions it “Amethyst” because it reminds him of her, and hits send. She responds immediately.
A laugh bubble appears on the text, and her typing bubble appears almost simultaneously.
Connie — 02:37
you’re still up?
Steven — 02:37
i could say the same about you
Connie — 02:37
i may have accidentally fallen down a documentary hole
you done unpacking? you should send me pics of the place tomorrow if you want to
Steven — 02:38
yeah! i think it’s looking pretty good. lion fell in love with a box
you could come see it now
if you want to
Connie — 02:39
i’d love to
i’m calling lion
Steven can hear Lion let out a little growl, and then there’s a flash of light in the hallway. Moments later, a second flash.
“Steven?” Connie calls.
“In here.”
Connie appears in the doorway, wearing pajamas. Or, pajama pants and one of the sweatshirts Steven sometimes sleeps in. He didn’t realize she had that one.
“You’re wearing my clothes,” he says, pushing himself into a seated position. He’s smiling.
“I needed something to wear while you had your other one,” Connie says, completely unabashed. He loves that about her. She’s not embarrassed about anything. She’s totally headstrong and always says whatever’s on her mind.
He scoots to the side and she crawls into his bed, leaning up against him. She brought her laptop.
“The place looks awesome,” she says. “I put some cute fridge magnets on your counter.”
“The one thing I was missing,” Steven jokes, and she opens her laptop, setting it on his lap.
“Pick something,” she says, already exiting out of the documentary she had up. “Something funny.”
Steven does, scrolling through her Netflix until he comes across a show they both like.
“Thanks for coming,” he says quietly. Because even though he never said it, he needed her right then. And even though she never acknowledged it, he’s sure she knew that too.
“Always,” she says.
“How’s Beach City?”
They’re talking over the actual show, now, but it doesn’t matter. They’ve seen it a million times before.
“Stevenless,” Connie says dramatically. “Did you know Pearl came to my house the other day? She said she found a hair-tie I left at your house a while back, but I think she just bought a pack of them, ‘cause it wasn’t even loose or anything. I think she just missed me.”
“She learned that from me.”
“Returning items that aren’t actually my own?”
“Missing you,” Steven says, squeezing her tighter into his side. “I miss them, too, though. I can’t believe it’s been two months.”
“You call them all the time,” Connie reminds him. “But it’s okay if you want to visit already. They’d be excited.”
“Maybe I should,” Steven says. Because he has been wanting to visit them, but he didn’t know if that would be weak, somehow. And he was afraid that leaving again might be as emotional as last time. But maybe if he visits more often, it won’t be so hard to leave.
Lion comes padding into the room. He jumps onto the bed, even though Steven’s told him a million times that he has his own bed (there’s even a second one in here) but he doesn’t reprimand him. He just kicks a leg over Lion’s back and cuddles Connie a little closer.
“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I think I will.”
His gem starts to glow, but no corresponding door glows with it. And his body doesn’t turn pink — it hasn’t since his meltdown — and he relaxes after tensing for a second. He’s just happy. That’s why his gem had first ever started to glow, anyway. Happiness.
It’s been a while since it glowed because of that, rather than danger or fear or the need to protect others.
It feels nice.