So apparently I've been losing favorites and followers by the update... Sorry if this sucks guys, I've been really...Let's not get into it. What's important is that I finally got this chapter done.

Marshall's eyes were fully open as he stroked the metallic beast's interior, struggling to keep his jaw from falling downward. "This car…"

Bubba sighed, and the sound fell perfectly as usual from his exfoliated soft lips. "Marshall, if you start jacking off to my vehicle, I swear I will toss you out as soon as we hit the highway." Bubba was likely pushing the speed limit but the car's interior seemed to pass through time like a drunken sloth battling a tub of molasses, and the only way to verify the vehicle's speed seemed to be peering through those glossy windows in order to catch a glimpse of the quick flashes of your constantly changing surroundings.

"I think," Marshall breathed, gluing his eyeballs to the clear glass in order to distract from the prince's beautiful head and neck, which looked astonishingly angelic even from the back, "that this is the first time you have called my be my first name ever, and I wonder what it means."

Like an obedient little driver, Bubs kept his eyes focused on the road, pursing his lips. They seemed to speed up significantly. "It means Lee, that you should stopping asking stupid questions and simply be grateful I'm letting you enter my home in the first place."

"After what you've done-"

"WhatI've done?! Really?" The prince slammed violently on the breaks, sharply turning into his driveway just before doing so. Marshall had never gotten past his learner's, but he was pretty sure you were supposed to slow before every turn, not the other way around. "Never mind any of it. You're right, I'm a total ass. Are you going to come inside or what?"

The last time Marshall had visited, he really hadn't gotten to take a proper look at the place. The large house resembled more of a humble mansion, the high-piled brick walls seemed to look down on Marshall's existence, as if he would never be powerful enough to deserve that sort of structure himself, as if he could never be so appalling in nature. And the walls were right.

The entrails of the home were even more gorgeous than the exterior, and Lee was greeted by a pleasant hue as he stepped into the widened doorway. The entire entry hall, as well as the first room it branched off into, were painted entirely a pale shade of-"Pink." Marshall suppressed a thin smile, brushing his fingers a long the pastel wall. Perfectly smooth. "You really love pink, huh?" Bubba laughed, holding a hand over his mouth to remain proper through the awkward yet endearing noise. And then, he said nothing. Like he just didn't know what to say. Which struck Marshall as a bit odd, considering his partner was full of words of all sizes and implications, and usually felt no shame in using them. It just didn't add up, acting like this. But he didn't push it.

On the other hand, his counterpart had no such filters.

"Stop standing there and gawking like an idiot. You always do that, and I hate it."

"Oh, excuse me, sorry we can't all look like gorgeous super models."

"I said "like an idiot", Lee, never once did I call you unattractive." Bubba brushed the raven-haired boy's cheek with his thumb, next catching his entire face with clean yet cold palms and diving desperately into his mouth, like he had left something deep down the last time they had touched. Marshall obliged up until he heard the peeling of a jean zipper, and then he drew back. Always so fast,Marshall thought, though he wasn't sure which one of them it was in reference to.

"This is...um...not really what I came over for..." A confused expression dawned on Bubba's face. He did condescending, not confused. Perhaps Marshall had misread it.

"This isn't what you wanted when you said we needed to talk?"

Marshall fastened his zipper, blushing furiously. "Of course not!" he exclaimed, patting down his flyaway hair and re-buttoning his cheap silver flannel. The last couple buttons were matched wrong by the time he was finished, and it was so hot that he would have done better just to take it all the way off. But doing so would have been counterproductive. "Since when is "we need to talk" automatically assumed code for sex?"

Bubba froze, suddenly fascinated with a scenic photograph hung halfway through the first hallway. The image depicted a sunset hitting the sandy beach, and it was beautiful if a bit cliche. He seemed to be really working away at that question, which certainly hadn't been intended as a thinker. Speechless once again. His brow was furrowed, and he wouldn't meet Marshall's eyes. Something must be wrong.

"You're right, of course. I-I don't know what came over me, no one in their right minds would ever truly think... You know what would be nice right now? A snack. Go into the kitchen and fix me something, I'll join you in a moment."

"And your kitchen is…."

The prince fiddled with the collar of his pale sweater involuntarily, swallowing the dry lump residing in his throat. He was still pretty off, in comparison the whole ride there. Something Marshall had done must have set him off.

Holy shit, he's nervous. And that made Marshall nervous. Was there something he was supposed to be being nervous about? He hadn't gotten the memo, and he usually always did when it came to these things. He wondered if playing along with such a mood would help, or only make things worse. He wondered if he had made a mistake in coming here. Alone.

"Straight down the hallway to the left of you. The one with all the cooking things."

...

The kitchen knife slammed against the cutting board after each individual word, separating them for allowed emphasis. "So, my mother's in the hospital now." The prince sat primly at the kitchen table, ever so daintily swaying his long legs back and forth. He had something in his hands. Phone maybe? It was hard to tell from a distance. Regardless, he seemed to have regained both his composure and his general spitefulness.

"And this concerns me why?"

I don't know, because maybe you have a heart?

The blade sliced more quickly, slipping past its target and slicing into Marshall's pointer finger. He'd be having a phalange flavored snack by the time he was finished. "The night she saw us... In her mind, I'm still just a little kid, and little kids don't do those sorts of things."

The prince's posture stiffened. Marshall couldn't see the clench of his jaw, but he could imagine it. Something had set him off again? One really had to walk on eggshells.

"What's your point, Lee, or is this just another one of your word-wasting rants?"

Because Marshall was totally the rantier of the two. All these questions, none of which could be answered to satisfaction. Bubba didn't ask out of need for knowledge, he asked out of need for reaction. And reaction he would get. Marshall's hand trembled a bit as he sliced and diced the final segment. The kitchen had one clock as far as Marshall cold see, and it tick-ticked betwixt each second of silence, smothering the gaps.

Marshall placed his bloody finger in a paper towel, squeezing it tightly. "We put her in the fucking hospital! She drank too much because of what happened, and I wasn't even there when she was wheeled away to the fucking ER. Do you have no compassion at all?"

Apparently not. Bubba didn't answer, sticking out his hands in order to examine his nails, despite them obviously being perfectly clean and as neatly trimmed as always. "Have you been treating your tongue? It is important, you know."

The silver blade slammed against the tile, and Marshall did not bother picking up or assessing it for damage. "Are you even listening to me? She could die! And because of you I couldn't stop myself and I just-I just-"

Marshall began to breathe in and out more rapidly, clutching at his own clothing as he struggled to keep his own frenetic panting to a minimum. This shouldn't happen to him, not here, not in front of-but as his knees buckled underneath him and his heart attacked his innards he realized that it was too late, and his mind went red. Of all the times..

Bubba was it his side in an instant. In trying to breathe he only made his breathing worse. Why did he always forget this?

"Are you okay? ..What can I do?"

But Lee was beyond registering voices as he sat on the ground in a helpless heap, releasing the occasional choked sob and desperate gasp. Both his heart and lungs were on fire, and he tried to speak but his body did not oblige.Most of all he felt embarrassed, given the time he could have excused himself but now it was two late, now he was hacking up all of his oxygen like a blubbering idiot. My mom's going to die because of me.

Every time this happened, it felt like death was sure to follow. Marshall's limbs grew limp as he shook weakly, somehow managing to still muster the strength in his arms and hands to scratch slightly at himself. Nothing with intention, just something to do. He needed something to do.

The prep took note of Lee's wandering hands almost immediately and his face grew stern. Bubba knelt downward on his knees, snatching the extremities away and grasping meekly onto either wrist. "Don't beat yourself up. I mean, it's probably a bad idea." Bless Bubba's heart for thinking the action would do any good. It had the opposite affect. One hand collided with his face, not out of intention but out of desperation. He needed his hands he needed his hand he needed his hands. But Marshall's mouth wouldn't allow the words to form, so instead his shaking rate increased exponentially, and he hyperventilated with more vigor.

Eventually Bubba seemed to get the picture, because he dropped both hands and backed away. When he returned, there was something new in his hand..a glass of water. Marshall was grateful, though he couldn't say it. His breaths quivered, slower then faster again. But he reached for the water.

"You're fucking with me Marshall, you couldn't hold anything shaking like this. Here."

He tilted the cold solid up against the other's lips until the cold liquid poured out, not meeting his eyes as he did so. Slowly, lest it run over the rim and dribble down to his stomach. For short bits hew would pull it away, on the chance that choking on water was more fatal than choking on air.

Is he supposed to get like this? Bubba wasn't sure how this was supposed to look, all the medical afflictions in the world and he'd never had a panic attack before. Part of him was angry at Marshall, for going through less than he had and still managing to be equally if not more mentally fucked. But another part was just made at himself, for lacking the experience. If he could feel it he could fix it. The third part was just worried.

Marshall croaked loudly, finishing off the sound with a resonating cough, one so forceful a person might expect him to hack something up with it. Bubba chewed on his lip, looking much less angelic and more like a very nervous human being, the sort of person you could see on the cover of a billboard or People Magazine and know without a doubt their face had not been photo-shopped. A "mother" face, really.

"Simone," Marshall croaked finally. Although in-between slowly declining hyperventilating gasps and jagged coughs, the word sounded much more like "siooooan" than anything else.

Bubba nodded, running his lean fingers through Marshall's messy locks and scratching soothingly at his scalp. "That is your mother's name, yes?" It's possible that Lee was responding with a weak nod, but it's also quite possible that his trembling body was merely moving his head as well.

"I'm sorry about the thing with your stupid mother, alright? That wasn't intentional. I don't...I don't know how to say what you're asking me to say, or fix what you're asking me to fix. To tell you the truth, I had assumed you were less complicated than this."

Marshall was drinking water of his own accord now, and while he didn't seem to like the answer he'd been given, he didn't seem to hate it either.

"Who's..who's the idiot now?" Marshall wiped at his face, meaning that some water must had dribbled after all. And Bubba just watched him. It was weird, but from this angle, with his rosy cheeks and grimly drawn smile, wiping slobber and sweat and tears and snot and stray hairs alike, he looked kind of cute. Not too much so, just kind of. When Bubba complimented people he didn't mean it, but if he had complimented Marshall just now, only his mouth would have been lying. But if he thought to deep on it, he could taste today's lunch tickling his esophagus.

"Oh, so now that you can talk again, all you have for me is insults. You come into my home, spit up my tap, and now you want to bully me. Well let me tell you-"

Only he wouldn't be telling him anything. Because just then Marshall reached for his hand.

Don't do that, Bubba thought, you can do literally anything but that. He wondered if this was the sort of feeling Marshall got right before his lungs started collapsing.

But he didn't move his hand.

Ummm three parts? This one dragged out more than planned. Shout out to my Creative Writing Teacher for being the first person to go over all the exact rules of writing dialogue, now I can patch my shit up. Next one will be better I promise, it's getting so hard to write but over the weekend I'll have time, right?

-(Crappy) Writer