It had been a total of 20 minutes since Marshall had left, and Bubba had spent each and every second up until this point just laying in bed, staring down the door that had become his downfall. He braided each number through his mind, the counting was just another tool utilized to put himself at ease after another of life's many disappointments.
He just wasn't used to getting ditched.
Then again, Marshall certainly had his habit of escaping when it came to the other boy, holding on to him for longer than an hour often proved difficult.
And I managed a whole night. The prince smiled proudly to himself, much like a child who had just received his weekly allowance.
Finally, he moved his glance away from the entryway, and began to trifle through his dresser for the first time that morning. He paused as his silky smooth skin brushed upon just what he had been looking for- a pair of worn underpants that were faded red, and so poorly kept condition wise that it was obvious their owner struggled financially. Relieved to see that they were exactly where he had hidden them late last night, the prince smiled some more before closing the drawer, filled to the brim with various articles of clothing that were all not his own.
The antique sliding drawer hardly closed anymore due to its large amount of contents, and so his thin frame had to lean up against the front of it, pushing firmly until it was shut once more. He muttered a little 'oomph' mid push, and then admired his success. He found himself more productive when he took pride in the smallest of accomplishments, while shaming others for their own.
Just as he peeled himself away from the dresser, the pastel toned bedroom door swung open, so carelessly so that the knob collided with Bubba's wall, and wedged itself deliberately into the pretty pink paper. Without so much as a glance in the direction of the commotion, the prep knew exactly who had entered his room.
"Flame."
His real name was unknown to the both of them, not that it mattered.
The young "butler" looked up from the damaged door knob, blood rising to his cheeks as he spit out apologies. "I-I'm awfully sorry sir, it's just, well, I thought-" Bubba sighed. Flame came from a bad family, and the prince's family had bailed him out of the whole gang situation and promised to keep his presence away from the authorities, but only as long as he served their household and proved himself to be useful. (Bubba had conjured up the stipulations himself.) Yet the boy had not a graceful bone in his body, and was constantly damaging valuables with his clumsy demeanor.
Placing one slipper-ed foot neatly in front of the other, Bubba made his way to the door. "We have to reapply some papering, and probably have a chunk of the wall replaced thanks to your foolishness." The teen continued to blush, running one of his trembling hands through his own messy hair just keep from fidgeting. "I really am sorry, sir, I forget that your doors are-"
Bubba had a knack for interrupting people with kisses, and although it was often mistook for some sort of adorable display of affection, this action was mainly just the easiest way he knew of to get people to shut up.
All the bullshit words jumbled around in his head, and it was not as if anyone's words outside of his own were actually worth listening to.
Of course, there came along with kissing, the grand misconception that every physical display meant something sappy and sentimental and of any value at all.
For instance, his little manservant kissed him back because he thought it was love, his father had kissed him because he assumed if the physical affection was being returned on Bubba's part then it couldn't really be a crime. But of course, they were both wrong.
And Marshall? Even the prince himself wasn't so sure about that scenario, the others has been so predictable, all so easy to silence with just a couple of sweet gestures. But Marshall was different, most likely because when Bubba was in his presence he had so much trouble controlling his own self and his heartbeat that he had little to no time left to focus on analyzing his opponent as he always did. And more importantly, Marshall was still capable of administering rejection, a concept that was still alien to his counterpart.
The thought of him got caught up in his mind, and Bubba was unaware that his body had frozen up completely.
"Sir?" Flame wiped the saliva from his chin, staring at his "master" with pitifully pleading eyes, yet Bubba refused to directly meet his gaze, glancing instead at the mess he had created. Flame was up against the damaged door, shirt already torn open and visible markings on his neck. He looked insanely out of breath, but still was foolishly more concerned with Bubba's well-being than he was the fact that he was likely about to have another asthma attack.
It was becoming mechanical.
"Shit." The child exclaimed, smacking himself firmly on the forehead. "Shit, shit, shit."
"A-are you alright?"
"Get someone to look at the door, I'm heading out. We'll continue this later tonight."
The last part was a lie, but Bubba had learned that all the people in love, or even just victims of infatuation, are into those sort of things. Assurance, promises. Hope, and other schoolboy devices that in actuality did more harm than help.
His butler likely said something in response, but the prince's mind left his home before his body had even exited the bedroom. He had to find Marshall.
He had to punish him for making him feel this way.