Okay, so he hadn't meant to admit that. Marshall knew that Gumball wouldn't go blab to the rest of Ooh, but if word got out that he was lonely, things would get complicated. Fionna and Cake would start visiting all the time. LSP would hit up his cell with more stupid texts. And he'd start getting too many gigs and wouldn't have any time to write new songs.

Besides, when he said that, he didn't mean lonely-lonely. More like ... separate. Unattached. Unable to share the little moments of his life with someone who would care.

Which was fine. Dating was for suckers anyway. Love did the stupid to people.

"We don't care about that, do we, Schwabelle?" he asked, petting his zombie cat's head as he entered his house.

Schwabelle yawned with a delicate crack of her jaw and wandered away. Marshall flipped through his mail on the way to the kitchen. Junk, junk, junk, invitation to a Battle of the Bands, and ... there it was. He shook his head as he pulled the thick, glossy envelope from the rest of the stack. Even before he saw the looping calligraphy of Gumball's handwriting, the dark pink color gave away its sender.

He used a claw to undo the seal, pulled out the invite, and read over the floofy handwriting as he drained the low-level red from the envelope.

Prince Gumball cordially invites you to attend the Biennial Gumball Ball on Saturday at seven.

"That's it?" Marshall flipped the card, but there was nothing else. No personal notes, no scribbled drawings, nothing. Just a boring, cordial sentence inviting him to a boring, cordial party in one week's time.

"What a wad," he grumbled, tossing the invitation onto his table.

True, they hadn't been together in a few decades, but he'd failed at getting used to the cool reserve Gumball always managed to direct toward him. After they broke up, he'd tried to date a few other people, but not one time had it worked out. Glob, the irony that the only nice guy he'd ever fallen for was the one who truly broke his heart and never apologized for it.

The words in his head shifted into clearer focus. Those could be some good lyrics ...

Humming to himself, Marshall headed upstairs and settled in at his desk, jotting down some of the ideas, tweaking the phrases as he shaped the song into something decent.

The day starts and ends

You enjoy the sun and I chase the moon

La da da dum da ...

He tapped his pencil on the page, closing his eyes as the beat travelled up his arm.

La da da dum da ...

I hate hating that I hurt you

But that won't change who I am

So don't ask me to.

La da da dum da da dum ...

By the time he realized the pounding came from downstairs, the song had almost taken shape. Almost.

"What do you want?" he yelled, frustrated at the interruption. He left his bedroom, cooing apologies to a disgruntled Schwabelle as he passed, and swung open the door. He was shocked to find Gumball on the doorstep. "Glob, Bubs, you look awful."

He was kind of sweaty and pale and he kept clasping and unclasping his hands. His pants were dotted with strange bleach stains and his sweater's sleeves were loose, like they'd been pushed up and pulled down over and over. Gumball's perfectly coiffed hair looked like it had been through some kind of windstorm and his crown was askew for the first time Marshall could remember.

"You can't get married," Gumball said without warning.

"Umm ... okay."

"I'm serious. You can't get married."

He shouldn't have been amused when Gumball dug his hands into his hair as he made his plea. But Marshall could count on a single hand the number of times he'd seen Gumball genuinely upset and it was a novel experience. So he reveled and crossed his arms over his chest. "Why not? I may not have been perfect for you, but I might be able to make someone else happy."

"She doesn't even like music! You said so yourself."

"You don't like music either."

"That's bullstuff and you know it. I went to all your concerts–"

"When we were together," Marshall finished. "You haven't been to one since unless it was your royal duty."

Gumball had the grace to blush, although he didn't retreat like Marshall expected. "I know. And I'm sorry."

Upstairs, the lyrics itched to be finished. Marshall tamped down his impatience. "Why are you here? Don't you have a ball to finish getting ready for?"

"You said you were lonely."

"That doesn't mean I need you to come over and check on me."

"I'm lonely too," Gumball blurted out.

"Ooooooookay. So because we're both lonely we can, what, hang out together or something? I'm not sure how that's going to help."

Gumball groaned and buried his face in his hands. "Why did I think this would be easy?"

"I don't even know what this is."

Gumball looked up and Marshall tensed at his raw determination. "Marshall Lee, you and I are both lonely and if you get married, I'll be the only one left on my own. So I can't let you do it."

That at least surprised a laugh from him. "So your big plan is that we both stay lonely and miserable?"

Gumball shook his head. "No. Not miserable. But maybe we can be lonely together."

And Gumball closed that distance between them, wrapping his arms around Marshall's neck and dragging him down until their lips met. Warmth and soft and the flick of a tongue and so much sweetness that he thought he'd die all over again—

"This is a bad idea," Marshall mumbled when Gumball reached down and tugged at the bottom of his shirt.

"I need a bad idea."

"You're going to regret this."

Gumball pulled back and his smile wavered. "No, I won't. Just for tonight, I won't." He bit his lower lip and glanced away. "Is that … could that be enough for you?"

"One night?" Marshall asked.

He wanted to tell the truth. That one night wasn't anywhere close to long enough. That one night would never make up for all the damage done, that it would only make it worse when he woke up in an empty bed and knew that Gumball had walked out of his life. Again.

But he was nostalgic and lonely and stupidly, stupidly in love. So he reached out a hand and brushed his fingers over the pale pink curve of Gumball's cheek.

"Sure," Marshall said, wishing his voice wasn't so rough. "If that's all you can give, I'll take it."

Gumball made a strangled noise and launched himself at Marshall.

One night. At least he'd have a hell of a song to write later.

Gumball wasn't used to sharing a bed. He spread himself wide on the mussed sheets, face buried in a pillow. Every now and then he twitched or made a soft sound of contentment in his sleep.

His Majesty was a bit of a cuddler, it turned out. It had taken Marshall nearly an hour to extricate himself from Gumball's grip. But he'd had to leave the bed … the lyrics running through his head were too loud and if he didn't get them down now, the song wouldn't turn out.

He hovered a few inches above the mattress and adjusted his grip on the bass, balancing the paper with the completed lyrics on his knee. The gentle movement of bending to read his scrawled writing in the partial darkness made his back and thighs sting, the nail marks stretching uncomfortably when the skin shifted. He wouldn't trade the pain for anything in the world. Even though they'd heal within the hour, for now he wore a badge of honor, proof of their physical connection, of the pleasure he'd given Gumball.

Marshall smiled and plucked at the strings, humming to himself and singing the lyrics in his head. This wasn't a song for Gumball. Not yet, at least.

The entire kingdom would memorize this one. He'd sing it at every show, croon it out to an audience, and let each of them imagine he was singing to their soul alone. They could imagine what they wanted. It wouldn't change the truth behind the song.

At his left, Gumball stretched and reached in the darkness toward the spot Marshall had occupied. His hand curved, stroked at the cool sheet with the same caress Marshall used to strum out another chord. The movement—so simple, so unconscious—made the next verse stumble in his mind. He recovered quickly, but not fast enough to stop the sudden tightening in his throat or the weight in his chest.

This was bad. This was very bad.

He knew what would happen in the morning and if he had any heart left, it would be broken. He'd gone through this once before and it had been enough to drive him from Ooh back then. Decades spent travelling abroad exhausted his memories and self-loathing before he returned home to find a pair of squatters living in his tree house. And for some insane reason, he hadn't run away again, even though that would have been so much easier. He'd settled down here instead. Made friends. Protected PG and his people.

He'd grown stronger. He'd learned to protect his heart so he didn't make stupid mistakes again and forget his actual responsibilities. Until things in the Nightosphere were sorted out, he couldn't afford to lose that newfound strength. He couldn't risk forgetting what his purpose was, what the end goal had become. If he lost sight of that, his mom would marry him off and leave him to rot on the throne before he could protest.

No, he just needed to hold together for a little while longer. Gumball was always preaching about responsibilities. Marshall had no doubt that he'd understand the choices made, even if they hurt for a short while. Even if he couldn't explain himself and Gumball might not forgive him.

The chance for happiness was too close. He wouldn't let it slip away again.

Another chord.

I want to be happy again

But that means letting go …

"Marshall?" Gumball's voice was rough from sleep.

"Yeah, Bubs?"

"Why aren't you asleep?"

He chuckled, reaching down to tuck the lyrics behind his pillow. "Son of a vampire and a demon. Nighttime's kind of my jam. But don't worry. I'll wake you up in the morning."

Gumball huffed and rolled to his back, looking up at Marshall through half-lidded eyes. "Is that a new song?"

"It is. I was finishing it when you showed up."

"Oh. Sorry I interrupted."

He hated being so far away, especially when Gumball closed his eyes and hid all those quiet, vulnerable thoughts. Marshall drifted closer to the bed, dropping his hand from the neck of the bass so he could slide his fingers over Gumball's bare chest.

"I didn't mind," he admitted, rewarded by the blush rising to Gumball's cheeks. "I wasn't sure how it ended anyway."

"You know now?"

"I think so."

Gumball hummed, his pink gaze skimming over Marshall's skin. He reached up, tracing the nearly healed scratches on Marshall's pallid skin. "Sorry for these."

"Geez, you apologize too much." Marshall caught Gumball's hand when he pulled away, lifting it to his lips. "It hurts, but I kinda like it. Reminds me of when we used to be friends."

Yeah, he liked this version of PG. The flush spread lower, extending to his neck, falling over his collarbone, spreading to his chest.

"We're still friends," Gumball protested, but it was weak.

It wasn't worth the argument. Marshall was enjoying himself too much to push those memories around tonight. He didn't want this to end any sooner than it had to.

"Okay," Gumball amended, eyes flicking toward the bedroom window even as he left his hand in Marshall's, "maybe we aren't that close anymore." Pale teeth pressing into that bitable lip.

Marshall finally released his grip. He set his bass aside and settled fully on the bed, wrapping an arm around Gumball's shoulders and pulling him close. "For once, stop thinking. We can talk about it in the morning. Go back to sleep."

Gumball rested his head on Marshall's shoulder and Marshall breathed in deeply, reveling in the caramel scent of Gumball's hair.

"If I fall asleep, you're going to pretend this conversation never happened tomorrow morning," Gumball muttered to Marshall's pec.

"True."

"So I can't fall asleep."

"Good luck with that." He smoothed small circles over Gumball's back and grinned when Gumball made a slack-jawed moan into his skin. "I still know all your buttons, Bubs."

It was so quiet, so low, he almost didn't catch it. Wouldn't have caught it if it hadn't been for his vampire hearing. That was probably Gumball's intent.

"Why'd I ever drive you away?"

A moment later, Gumball's breathing evened and Marshall lay there, wide-awake, mind blank for the first time in centuries.