Sunday
Marth gave himself a week to fix himself. One week. Seven simple days to fix his life, to pick up those glistening shattered pieces and messily glue them back together. He'd believed that one week would be sufficient. Had to be: he couldn't remain broken forever. Shulk wouldn't want that, seeing Marth so completely ruined and distant and crying himself to a turbulent sleep.
Rosalina said that he needed to go away, give himself as much recovery time as possible.
She didn't understand why he said no.
Monday
He couldn't throw the stuff away; that would be incredibly rude. So, Marth gave the majority of the things to Dunban and Reyn, knowing they would take proper care of the memories. Of course, the bluenette kept some things to himself, locked away in that dark recess known as the back of the closet. They needed to be out of sight, out of mind, everything that reminded Marth of him. They'll collect dust for awhile, and then he'll look at everything at the end of the week, letting the materialistic things that represented Shulk Monado overwhelm his senses and drive him very close to the edge.
And then back to the closet it goes, locked away yet again, waiting for the next adrenaline rush of bittersweet Marth knew he would want eventually.
Tuesday
Marth didn't hate people or life, as Dark Pit and Rosalina concluded as the reason as to why he was avoiding everyone, especially them. It was just that Marth couldn't stand to be around a happy couple. Those kisses Rosalina would place upon Dark Pit's cheek, the presents the dark angel would romantically and grandly give her, the hugs they would sweetly and touchingly embrace in. It was the standard romance he himself used to have, and it made him sick because their dream will continue to be dreamt while his was rudely interrupted and turned into a nightmare that was violently crushed.
It was envy, envy he shouldn't feel but felt anyway. It was not hate like those two incorrectly thought. Marth just needed to isolate himself from the comfort and tantalizing niceness of love for a bit. Just a bit, just until he was physically and mentally okay again.
Which would be soon.
Wednesday
The cool silent night was pierced by another scream, the result of yet another sweet dream that turned into a horrid nightmare. Sweat dripped from his fear-painted face, and his fingers ached from gripping the sheets. He was used to it, the nightmares; and he was sure that it would stop eventually, sooner or later (but he knew it would be later, quite later). Marth looked at the clock. The neon red light displayed 12:00 A.M.
Marth resisted the urge to shed a single tear. Nope, nope, nope, now's not the time to cry. Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry. He wouldn't want to see those betraying drops of water drip from your precious face.
Midnight. It was now Wednesday.
It was officially Shulk's birthday.
Thursday
Chocolate. Marth used to eat all of the time, courtesy of him. Shulk always had a sweet tooth, and it was because of him that Marth developed a possibly unhealthy obsession for everything chocolate and chocolate-related.
Marth opened the wooden doors of the pantry and stared at the box that contained those milk chocolate bars Shulk loved so much. Only five remained, five that will continue to remain untouched. The bluenette picked up the box and, with a scream that was part-anger, part-agony, threw it against the wall, causing the rectangular sweets to fly everywhere and drop unceremoniously to the floor.
He hated chocolate now. Every single bit of it was nothing more than a sugary rush of bitter memories. It was disgusting, so disgusting, and nothing more than pointlessness.
Marth fell to his knees, looking at the mess he has made. He'll clean it up…eventually. And once he picks it up, he'll throw it in the trash and let it waste and melt and continue to be bitter.
Friday
Everyone else cried but him. They just considered Marth Lowell to be in shock, and no matter how much he told them he was okay, they all knew that Marth was terribly broken. But it'll be alright because he'll be alright soon. No comforting words were needed. He won't stay like a broken record, replaying one melancholic part of his life over and over.
He didn't want to show his sadness. It probably wasn't normal, it probably wasn't healthy, but he just couldn't afford to break down. Only Naga knows how much he wanted to.
Fix yourself, you pathetic bastard. Break down when you are by yourself, when you decide to let your true self out and your feelings betray you.
Marth grabbed a water bottle and hastily drunk ever last bit. He wanted to feel the warm, sinful taste of alcohol upon his tongue, but he couldn't afford to be some drunk, worthless mess. He had a speech to give at the funeral of Shulk Monado.
Saturday
Marth Lowell cried his last cry, screamed his last scream, and took a moment to look at the broken vases and pictures and knocked-over tables. All the pent-up emotions had finally exploded like a fireworks, forming an exhilarating pattern of breakdowns. It has been one week, and he has realized that he had failed in trying to achieve whatever skewed, fucked-up goal he had in mind.
Shulk would laugh at him and call him a fool. A silly fool for thinking that he could handle the death of his boyfriend so easily.
Marth chuckled to himself and stood up, deciding that he should pick up the glass shards before he accidently (or purposely) hurts himself. Yeah, he'll clean the place up, fix up his hair, and give himself a bit more time to fix himself. To recover. To allow some sort of healing process to happen naturally.
Or he could just remain like the shattered shards of glass. Give himself two weeks instead of one.
Yeah. That might do.
Well, I haven't written a Marth x Shulk oneshot in a while. Would you believe that it was originally about Marth dealing with him and Shulk breaking up? I kinda provided some feels in this one. …Hmm? What? No, I'm not crying! There's something in my eye, damnit!