As Marshall's mother had taken up drinking, Marshall had taken up being gay. Don't mistake it for correlation, as Marshall had always been gay, and he doubted his mother had ever, or would ever know. Yes, it was all some happy go lucky coincidence. But coincidence sounds suspiciously like "closet case" if you're saying it fast enough.
So anyway, Marshall was gay. And he had known this since the very first time he saw the new kid.
Prince, but not as in "formerly known". Was that his real name? He lined his pencils up in the upper right corner of his desk. Instead of something as boring and cookie cutter as a book bag, he had one of those over the shoulder messenger types. He twisted one strand of hair when he spoke, and his eyes always remained firmly fixed into place, like they never had to wonder about anything. And why should they? He smelled nice too, but not nice enough to be bullied over it.
But for his whole first week Marshall wasn't sure what he felt. Some don't know bats from butterflies, and Lee was one of those types. He was anxious about absolutely everything, so he could see no reason as to why this wasn't just another thing he was anxious about. But every day was the same color on his body, adjacent to the one is Marshall's cheeks. He had assumed, if he really did like men alongside women, that he would like men more similar to himself, those impulsive and foul dressing and uninterested in Pre-Cal homework.
He had assumed wrong.
Alas, he idolized those outside of his circle, "above him" so to speak. And so he would come home to find his mother dancing among liquor and he would stare himself in the bathroom mirror and wonder.
If he was just a bit skinnier, just a bit prettier, if he spoke with conviction, if he dressed proper and succeeded in life and knew everything there was to know about everything, would his mother still be "the passing out regularly" kind? If he was good enough, would she follow suit? Would his life twist itself about until he found himself with money, and friends and lovers? Quick mental math: How many self-made successes would it take to cancel out each case of beer?
It was childish thinking, but it was a child thinking it.
Marshall thought, if he couldn't be with him, then he would just have to settle for being him. Peeling off his skin and wrapping it around like a blanket, pretending that it fit until eventually it did. It would take time and effort to accomplish one of these two things, something that was likely limited by the leftovers of a certain body he knew.
But he had the two most powerful, most compelling motivators on his side.