"I love you," Marshall breathed outward. The words slipped across his lips like butter melting over a fireplace, like wet palms against a shampoo-coated surface there was no control or restraint involved. They danced across the room like unapologetic fireworks before sinking into Bubba's brain and forming barbells.

"Marshall-"

He looked up at the other teen, chuckling nervously, looking for just a single hint of genuine empathy in that solemn set of eyes.

"Sorry," he whispered, scratching the back of his head, as if that would erase the memory of wrongdoing from his mind, "slip of tongue." But Bubba lacked even the slightest of sympathetic glances, and his face was holding all the harsh grudges that his typically silver tongue never could.

"What was the one thing I specifically told you not to do?"

Marshall rolled his eyes. ""One thing? You gave me a whole damn list. But sure, let's play naïve here."

Besides, it's not like I'm the only one here who's borrowed the phrase.

'Your over exaggeration is far from appreciated."

Marshall groaned, reaching for his crumpled up jeans that lie discarded on the right side of the bed, and retrieving a sheet of paper from the left pants pocket. It crinkled in his touch, like balled up cellophane on contact, like a wadded up candy wrapper or disposed aluminum foil.

"Number 1: No questions, #2 No "going public", 3. No "first move" touching without specific permission, 4. No hugs, 5. No obvious affection, 6. No pet names…. Did the other boys have to follow all this shit too? 'Cause maybe it's just me, but I'm getting very much tired of it all already…"

Bubba froze, eyes wide. "What did you say about other boys?"

Either he didn't hear or just pretended not to; because Marshall's eyes continued to deliberately skim the wrinkled paper and his mouth never formed a verbal response to that particular question. Marshall furrowed his brows, looking very discontent. Perhaps it would have been easier to reread his personal handwriting if not for the lack of organization or even a minuscule bit of neatness. "Let's see… where's that pesky number seven…"

Bubba's heart was locked in place; the anger he felt led him to grow stiff to the extent where he forgot breathing was necessary. He already had enough things to be upset about without the little randomized and interrogation, and one of those "things" was likely roaming around the halls as they spoke, the other probably off committing some sort of dangerous felony. "What did you say about other boys?!"

Marshall finally responded to the specific question, slipping off of the mattress once more and dusting invisible specks of dirt and dignity off of his practically naked body. He smiled, crocodile style. "Glad you asked," he retorted, waltzing directly towards Bubba's dresser.

Bubba's voice grew louder as his anxiousness did, notthatnotthatdrawernotthatdraweranythingbutthatdrawer. There's no way he knows. Right? "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded, no longer even feigning security.

Marshall yanked open one of the drawer sand watched it tumble out of its socket, hitting the ground with a loud, obnoxious "THUD". Undergarments spilled out into the open, a multitude of colors shapes and sizes all strewn about the same bedroom floor like confetti at some very disappointed little boy's birthday party. Bubba's heart sunk deep into his stomach like a meteor burying itself into the ground. Fast, hard, merciless. Not to mention it was very possible he was going to end up coiled over and puking.

Marshall pointed to Exhibit A, his very first clue or unearthing that really disclosed much of anything at all. (The "I love you" was still up for debate). "Those other boys. And yeah, you can thank your little "friend" for my discovery."

Bubba winced.

Angel.

After the stunt he had pulled, he should have seen it all coming.

'I mean hell, there's even that guy from my mom's hospital, which surprises even me, you'd think one has to draw a line eventually but…"

By this point the candy prince legitimately felt like he was going to cry, which wasn't something that happened so often anymore.

Or maybe scream. Or perhaps even a combination of the two, with a dash of vomiting sprinkled on top. A Scream Sundae. Everything was falling to pieces within the course of only several days and it was too much for even him to handle.

"Those are mine, so I don't know what the hell you're implying!"

Marshall Lee didn't even bother to grace the desperate lie with a second thought, as even he wasn't so gullible as to see that kind of a look on someone's face and disassociate the guilt that would have to be involved.

"Moving on to number 7… No "I love you's" or anything similar, 8 is no spending the night and nine…damn do you even like sex?"

"Wha-at do you mean?"

Marshall stepped into his old denim jeans one leg at a time, yanking them upwards in strict denial of gravity's personal preference. He had already put his shirt on while reading, but Bubba hadn't noticed at the time. The paper found its way back into his pocket, tucked away securely beneath a thin layer of cloth. Lee sighed,

"I'm pretty sure you know what I mean, is this a thing you do because you like it, or is it just another mandatory chore to you? Do you feel… obligated to do this kinda shit?

"…"

He was fully clothed now. Pants. Belt Shirt. Socks. Shoes. It was like nothing had ever happened.

Bubba wished nothing had ever happened.

But to what extent he wasn't sure.

"Or don't answer me, that's cool too. Look, if you don't want to talk, I should probably be leaving. The house chores kinda pile up when your mom is dead."

"…"

"It's a joke. You can laugh."

Lee was now standing at the doorway with a surprisingly nonchalant expression sewn across his face. Despite this his legs still twitched for the moment he stood in place, like he was unsure of himself. As he exited the bedroom door, Bubba followed after him tentatively, in a "proceed with caution" sort of manner. Like he wasn't really sure he should "follow through" with this at all.

Or maybe, he just couldn't believe he was even considering it.

"Marshall wai-" Marshall cut him off with a gentle kiss. Well, gentle as in freezing waterfall. Gentle as in bleeding out slowly on the hot pavement. Gentle like a handful of candies melting within one's mouth but said person not being permitted to bite or chew them, just to remain at a standstill as they melt and the flavor leaks ever so slowly down their throat.

"Call me or whatever, alright?"

Bubba was not very happy with anyone at the moment. But he knew he was most unhappy with himself, and would be even unhappier

if he were left alone. Usually that didn't stop him, but maybe today he would make an exception. After all, you have to start somewhere. His phone buzzed from its home in his pocket. He didn't even bother checking, the caller's identity was blatantly obvious regardless.

"If you stay I'll tell you the truth!"

Smooth. That's how you get a guy. Begging and desperation. Why don't you just pay him while you're at it.

The real question then was what "truth" he would be telling, and Bubba wasn't going to wait around for anymore follow up's or specific requests.

"About everything. Promise."

Marshall smiled. Probably not crocodile this time.

"Well damn. I would have stayed no matter what if you had just asked nicely, but now that you've peaked my interest I'll actually be expecting shit from you. Are you sure that's a good idea?"

If you say no, you don't have to tell him shit. It's too much work to keep lying, and it stresses you out. Stress makes you age faster, you know. And you can't dress young and look old; it's a horrid combination that leads to utter humiliation and loss of all self-respect.

The balance between yes and no and the events that can occur because of either highlight the importance of making your own choice, and standing up for yourself in regards to decision making. It is important to always say no if no is what you mean, sometimes even to the extent of someone holding a knife against your throat. (An event Bubba could personally relate to.) At the same time, it also important to be willing to do the opposite, if that's what is necessary for your own benefit.

"I don't make statements for the sake of my own health, so I suggest you make your choice of whether or not you're leaving quickly, because I'm not bound to repeat myself, especially after I've already emphasized my "desperation" in the matter."

Marshall rolled his eyes, sitting down on the edge of the bed. The drawer remained spilt over in the center of the room, as no one had yet moved to re-gather its contents.

"So you're sure? I know being honest is kind of a…difficult task for you."

Bubba smothered his urge to cruelly glare and just simply nodded instead. Mutely so. He wasn't sure that he trusted himself to speak again yet.