"You don't have to be here, you know." The words had a harsh tint to them, although it's most likely that they weren't intended to be taken negatively.

Fiona-who was still busying herself with gathering empty beer cans and candy wrappers-nodded. "I know that. I can technically do whatever I want with my time." Still, she grabbed can after can from the soiled floor with a single naturally tanned hand, tossing each and every one of them into the large black trash bag supported by her other extremity. Erasing everything with each toss. Emptying things by filling them. Insert other forms of wordplay here.

Fiona had been cleaning around the house for the past two hours, and whenever Marshall mentioned she was free to return to her own home and do literally anything else, she just scolded him for his incompetence.

"If I leave, you might do something stupid, like drive back to the hospital, or jump off a cliff. And if you have another panic attack like the one that got us kicked out of your mother's room, you're going to need someone here with you."

So Marshall had surrendered for the most part, and sat on the newly visible couch, legs hung over the arm as he slurped up his expired Capri-Sun.

Fiona gave him the stink eye for sitting on the arm instead of the actual cushion, but she thought better of verbally bringing it up. Things were tense enough as is. In between actions she occasionally wiped her grubby hands on her periwinkle gym shorts, leaving behind a trail little gray streaks each time.

Gross.

A sharp knock on the door took them both by surprise. It was then repeated, confirming in both of their minds that it hadn't been imagined.

"I'll get it!" Marshall shouted, not that there was any reason to shout, some things just seem like they are supposed to be said in such a way. He had a good idea as to who it was, seeing as though he had about zero other friends, and hadn't ordered pizza in several weeks.

The door unlocked and opened and Marshall's heart shot up out of his chest, leaving him to choke as it made its way past his less than large mouth.

Even though this was definitely not Marshall's first altercation with Bubba, he could never quite get used to how stunning the other boy was. Lame as it may be, he could never not be awestruck by such a presence. Even so plainly dressed. Even with an expression as angry as the one he wore now. Dare he say especially with an expression as angry as the one he worn now? Marshall tried to regather his jumbled up thoughts as he recalled how everything was kind of the fault of the boy he saw before him.

Well, I can be mad at him and still think he's pretty.

Marshall wasn't left much time to debate this, because once the front door had been closed the beautiful teen had his tongue down Marshall's throat. For the sake of reaction cheeks were aflame, his legs quivering, and his hands..where was he supposed to put his hands?

He cheeks grew even warmer after being shown where to put his hands. His used juice pouch fluttered neatly to the floor, something he was sure Fiona would reprimand him over later.

Well, I can be mad at him and still make out with him a little bit.

But when Marshall heard his zipper, he called it quits for the evening. He didn't think he was rough so much as instinctive, but the noise of the gesture seemed to say otherwise, as well as the following wince that Bubba tried his best to conceal. This seemed to surprise Bubba just as much as himself, and his face grew angrier and more contorted then before. Still pretty, but meaner. He wiped the saliva from the corner of his lips and then flicked it off his hand accordingly. It hadn't been intentional, to let him crumple against the wall behind him like a paper doll. Marshall himself had been a victim of much more violent pushes. But none of this information seemed like twas going to soften the blow.

"I mean, you could've just tried using your words, it's not as if I'd rape you."

He seemed so much more offended than before. Than usual. And angry. Why was he always so angry? Obviously Marshall hadn't meant any offense, he just wasn't in the habit of exhibitionism. But there was no further time allotted for playing psychologist, because that certain someone Marshall had been worrying about cleared her throat.

Of course she had been there the whole time. Because nothing can ever go right, right?

"I'm gonna make a wild guess here and assume this is the "friend"."

Marshall scratched at the back of his head. He didn't have time for things like this, he had school tomorrow and a dying mom to attend to. There were a million things he'd rather be doing than having this conversation, and several of them involved invoking serious harm upon himself.

"Unfortunately, he's really got to be going, so.."

He tried to direct Bubba back from whence he came, but the prince was thinking of other things. He didn't seem to have noticed Fiona at all.

"Marshall. Open your mouth."

Credit where it's due, it wasn't the reaction Marshall had been expecting. You'd think a person can only surprise you so many times... He chewed his lip and he cleared his throat.

"Now is hardly the time for-"

"Just do it."

Marshall wasn't sure why he obliged, though he wasn't sure why he did anything for anyone at this point. Why should he? Anticipation wriggled around like worms buried in his gut.

"Tongue."

The prince stepped close again for a better look. He traced his index finger along the curve of the gash, so gently, gentler than Marshall had ever been touched. But his face remained stone still and serious. There are few things more embarrassing than standing upright with someone else's finger somewhat in your mouth. One of those few is having someone watch while it happens.

"Yes," he mused, "that's what I thought I felt."

But Marshall found the bizarre timing to make this interaction suspicious. You just had to rampage it out for a sec to be sure.

"I'm still here you know."

"Yeah Fiona, we hear you."

Bubba rolled his eyes like, can you believe her? But Marshall was just wondering how he knew her name.

"It's a laceration."

His face had softened up a bit. Suddenly he wasn't so angry. The only plus side of his short fuse seemed to be the speed at which he became all burned out. While Marshall could be angry for a long period of time, it always remained just under the surface. Bubba was his opposite in this way, capable of being outright furious, but only for passionate spurts of time.

"Did this happen last night?" he asked, eyes earnest. He seemed to feel guilty. Marshall considered using this to his advantage, but he didn't think he was a vindictive enough person.

"This morning, when you couldn't be bothered to wake up." Okay, maybe he was.

"My god, don't tell me that's where you were. I think I'm going to be sick."

Bubba smiled at that, like nothing brought him more pleasure than disgusting Marshall's best friend. Like he expected a gleaming trophy to appear in his hands any minute now. "Here's hoping she chokes on it," he whispered. But Marshall didn't think it was all that funny.

"Anyway, I'm going to go write you instructions for this, because lord knows your ADD will be the death of you."

Marshall felt..weird being doted over in such a manner, being randomly babied by the person who up until that moment had just been trying to get into his pants. What did it mean? There had to be some ulterior motive, even if it was simplistic as say, gaining his trust to make breaking his heart that much easier. But there was no need to go to such lengths, Marshall was already impressed enough by people remembering his birthday. Setting the bar so high was a waste of everyone's time. Marshall chewed on his tongue some more as he further considered this.

With Bubba off roaming for scraps of whatever, Fiona felt comfortable in piping up again. Marshall kept forgetting she was there.

"How do you know him?" It was an accusatory question, not like a "how do you know the bride?" or "how did you meet your husband?" If anything, it was more of a "why" than a "how". Fiona wasn't looking for an explanation. She was looking for an admittance of guilt.

"How do you know him?"Marshall snapped back. He chewed on his tongue some more, which was becoming an increasingly stupid thing to do, considering how much it already ached without the additional pressure. But he didn't want to answer these questions, nor did he want to stand around like an idiot while his non-boyfriend got off playing doctor.

Bubba came rushing back with a scribbled on sheet as well as a wet rag.

"You're just hopeless, aren't you," but he said it a whole lot nicer than those words are supposed to sound, "And what happened to mommy dearest?"

It was Fiona's turn again, because she decided it was. She was getting quite tired of the uninvited house guest taking charge of things, as if he had any right to do anything ever.

"Hospital, not thanks to you." As if there were some unspoken contest over who could have the meanest voice.

And Bubba took the bait, though he was two busy with the rag to meet her eyes. Or maybe that was the point. He stroked Marshall's hair as he spoke, and again it projected this uncomfortable ambiance, like he were more a pet than he were a person. It certainly didn't help that Marshall was so unused to this treatment, most didn't really care if he was hurt or not, happy or sad. And as far as he knew, Bubba didn't either. So what was the point? Were they playing charades?

"If only someone in our present company could have gone and got sick in her place, eh?"

Fiona was really getting flustered, she wasn't used to being argued with, and it seemed something about their present company just especially struck a nerve.

"If only someone hadn't set her on that path in the first place!"

Sure, let the person with the bleeding mouth play mediator.

Bubba finally stepped away from Marshall, and Lee wasn't sure whether to be relieved or frightened. He stared Fiona dead on now, finally coming top meet her cold blue eyes with eyes of his own. Something about the calmness he retained made him all the more intimidating. It made him harder to read.

"If you're looking to fight me, you might as well say so."

"For some reason I think that's what you're hoping for."

For whatever reason, this statement thoroughly got under his skin. He was reverting back to the creature that Marshall had seen before, the one that had knives in his eyes and a mouth that only spoke cruelty. It was astonishing how fast such a metamorphosis could occur, how spontaneous the words and actions that changed him appeared to be. He stepped closer to Fiona, who was now the only target of his attention.

He was cute and all, but Marshall didn't believe him to be beyond murder. And if someone didn't do something, they'd both be having a pretty bad time in the near future.

Bubba steadied his hands, as if he were readying himself to use them.

"If you're implying what I believe you're implying, so help me I'll-"

"Do nothing."

"What?"

Marshall wasn't certain which of the two had retorted, due to the fact that he was, once more, staring at his shoes. Eye contact was just the worst.

"Do nothing," Marshall repeated, "it's not worth it." When he spoke, bits of blood and tap slunk down his throat accordingly. At least his stomach didn't have taste buds. He didn't know which of the three of them he was referring to, but they all seemed to take it personally.

And then Marshall put the cloth back into his mouth, because those couple of words had gotten blood droplets on the floor.