A/N: Just a little one-shot that is meant to be a little odd. I hope you like it! It's not really a sequel to "Arguments", but it takes place after that, and could be considered a follow-up. And I warn you, it's incredibly dumb and pointless!
"Marco, no one likes water," said Dylan, his hands on Marco's shoulders, shaking him slightly.
"What are you talking about?" Marco asked, raising his eyebrow. "Obviously, people do, Dyl."
Dylan sighed, rolling his eyes. He sat down onto the couch, ignoring the odd looks Ellie was giving them from her position at the table. What on earth were they talking about?
"I mean to say…people drink water when they are thirsty, but nobody craves water," said Dylan, speaking as though it were an obvious fact that any person with common knowledge ought to know.
"Well, maybe I do," said Marco, shrugging, sitting next to Dylan on the couch, leaning his head down onto his shoulder.
Yes, they were arguing, but somehow their arguments had changed. Perhaps, it was because they were trying so hard to be nice to each other, so as they bickered over ridiculous things, they hugged and they laughed together with obviously forced smiles.
"Have you ever checked the ingredients on a water bottle?" asked Dylan, throwing his hands in the air. "It just says, like, water!"
Marco looked at him incredulously. "What does that have to do with anything? Who cares what the ingredients are?"
"I do," said Dylan, as Ellie rolled her eyes again.
"How about Marco has a glass of water, and you have something else?" Ellie suggested logically. Dylan and Marco, who were in no mood for logic, simply ignored her, and carried on with their disagreement.
"Maybe you're just having water because…because," Dylan bit his lip, trying to come up with a reason for his drinking water, and why it was bad, "you think that other drinks are bad." He nodded along with his statement. "Maybe you think you're fat, so you don't want to have stuff with a lot of sugar."
Marco and Dylan had both lost all sense of…well, sense of sense, really. They'd lost all ability to contribute anything worth listening to in the 'conversation', and were simply waiting for one or the other to win. Marco, having only listened to the last part of Dylan's statement, not caring about what he'd said, narrowed his eyes.
"Are you calling me fat?" he asked, rage shown deep in his eyes.
The fight wasn't so clean and okay anymore. He pulled his head off of Dylan's shoulder, awaiting Dylan's answer.
"What? No!" said Dylan.
"Then, what?" he asked.
Dylan cursed himself for having had the nerve and idiotic thought to start the conversation. If Marco had been having a craving for water, why couldn't he have left it at that? "I didn't mean that at all," he said, as Marco sighed, obviously wanting more. "I just…look, have water, baby; go ahead."
Marco shook his head stubbornly. "I don't want it anymore."
Ellie couldn't help but laugh slightly, so she excused herself to her room, not wanting to make things any worse
"No, come on, you do!" said Dylan, getting up from the couch, and walking into the kitchen. He pulled open the refrigerator door, and poured Marco a glass of water. He brought it into the living room.
"I wouldn't drink it in here anyway," he said, trying to hide his smile. "It would spill."
Dylan sighed, running his hand through his hair. "Didn't we make some sort of vow to stop fighting before I leave?" he asked. "I mean, tomorrow, I'm heading off, and…"
"Please don't remind me," said Marco, taking the offered glass of water, but not putting it to his lips as he stared into it.
"I'm all packed," he said, ignoring Marco's request. "I'm leaving tomorrow…seven a.m. sharp."
"I know, Dylan!" Marco exclaimed. "I'm just going to take my water elsewhere," he rolled his eyes, going upstairs to their bedroom.
Marco, too, rolled his eyes, knowing they were starting their routine again. The more you fight, the easier it is to leave. He'd been the one telling Marco that it was a ridiculous plan, but yet he was sort of following it.
"Okay," he said to himself, knowing he had to take care of it.
Dylan walked into the bedroom, half expecting to be locked out, but he was pleased to see that the door was left ajar. He closed the door behind him, the constant signal to Ellie that they didn't want to be bothered…for whatever reason.
"What are you looking at?" Dylan asked, forgetting what he had originally come in for when he saw his boyfriend staring at some pictures at the end of the bed.
Marco patted the spot next to him, gesturing for Dylan to join him. "Look," he pointed, "that was before I met you," he laughed.
Dylan laughed too. "You look so young!" he looked at it, smiling.
"I know," he said.
Dylan flipped through them all, coming across one that startled him a bit. "Who took this?" he asked, smirking.
"Wha…oh!," Marco laughed. "Craig. It was when Ellie and I had our…thing. He wanted a picture of us kissing."
"Craig has some weird interests," Dylan commented, still flipping through various pictures.
"He's a photographer!" said Marco. "Oh, look…"
Marco never meant to tell Dylan to actually look at the picture. He'd actually been talking to himself.
"I thought I…destroyed all of these," he laughed slightly, shaking his head. The picture was of the two of them together after Dylan had first left for University. Paige had said that they needed something to 'keep them close when they weren't together', so she'd volunteered to take the picture.
"Destroyed?" Dylan asked.
"All of the ones of you and me. I was angry, you understand, after we broke up," he looked up from the picture of Dylan to look into the real Dylan's eyes. "I guess I thought this box was just full of ninth grade stuff, so I didn't bother to look."
Dylan nodded, understanding. It didn't make him happy that all the pictures they'd taken together, which had been extremely important to both of them, had been destroyed, but he wasn't going to say anything. He knew Marco was thinking along the same lines, anyway.
"I know you think that this won't work," said Dylan. "I mean, me in Switzerland, and you here, but we have talked about this—"
"I know," Marco interrupted, putting the rest of the unlooked at pictures back into the box, and letting himself be pulled into his boyfriend, "but I just…I don't know. I refuse to argue with you anymore."
Dylan laughed. "We know how well that works, hmm? Seriously, you'll be okay without me…yes?"
"I will survive," Marco teased, playing with a lock of Dylan's hair. "You will, of course, be calling me every day?"
"So much you'll get sick of my voice," said Dylan.
"Yeah, that'll happen," said Marco, letting go of Dylan's hair, and opting to rest his head again on Dylan's shoulder, and trying to forget the world.
"Don't fall asleep on me," Dylan warned, smiling down at him.
"Why not?" Marco whined half-heartedly.
"I want to talk to you," said Dylan, falling down onto his back so that Marco was forced to lie next to him if he wanted close contact.
"Okay," said Marco, close once again, "about this? Because, I'm kind of do—"
"If my plane crashes on the way out of the country—"
"Dylan!" Marco interrupted, his eyes widening. He hadn't even thought about that part of it.
"Hear me out," said Dylan. Not waiting for a response, he went on. "If my plane crashes, and I die, I'd want to have had a chance to officially ask you to marry me."
Silence.
Dylan sighed. "Please don't ask me if I'm sure because, though occasionally reckless, I don't make decisions like this one on the spot. I want to, I need to, and it's all on you." He waited for any kind of reply to show that Marco was still living.
"You didn't really…" Marco swallowed nervously, "ask a question."
"What?" Dylan asked. "Oh…I don't really have a ring either. Damn," he cursed, "this is the worst proposal ever."
Marco smiled. "I want to marry you," he kissed him, "so, the bad proposal is excused."
Dylan leaned in to kiss him again, but was pushed away. "I still have that craving for water."
"Oh," Dylan laughed, "can you get me something…like, I don't know, anything but water."
Marco rolled his eyes. "Oh, but baby, you might get fat." Dylan groaned. Marco was never going to let him forget that.