Marshall avoided school for two weeks without so much a single phone call home. To disappear off the face of the earth was proving to be much easier than Marshall had anticipated. Fiona visited his household on several occasions, even brought over lasagna and white chocolate chip cookies, but he refused to speak to her or even acknowledge her existence upon any of these visitations.. Bubba hadn't heard the news of course, and assumed for the first week of absences that perhaps Marshall was just spending more time with his mother. After all, he needed it.

Perhaps the teen got worried, perhaps he was nosy, or lonely, or angry or horny. But for whatever reason, on the last day of the second week he showed up at Marshall's doorstep. With flowers. An entire fucking bouquet of them. All wrapped up in each other in a lovely and symbolic sort of way. He assumed Marshall's favorite color was red, but the multitude of stores he had visited had all been rose-less, even under the threat of potential lawsuit by wealth-infused youth.

Bubba now stood at the doorway, listening to nearby birds twitter harmoniously. After counting to ten, following the pace of his heart as it pumped blood through his body, the prince knocked on the door. Once. Twice. He threw the flowers into the bushes.

The pretty purples and yellows sat sadly behind ugly green shrubbery, still wrapped in their bright and shiny papering. Normally Bubba hated shiny things, but he had thought the bouquet he had chosen looked significantly pleasant. Especially considering how stealthy he had been in picking them out and commencing with purchase, not wanting to be seen by any of his hateful little school friends. Angel especially, but for a different reason.

Now however, he thought the flowers had been an utterly stupid idea and he wanted to shoot himself for wasting his own time and money on some bratty poor boy who couldn't be bothered to turn in his own homework assignments, or even pretend to pay attention for a millisecond of periods 1-8. Still, Bubba felt a cold clawed hand mauling at his gut when he looked back to witness the abandoned foliage. It wasn't the flowers' fault that he was an impulsive asshat with too much money to spend.

Three times. Bubba tried the knob but the door was locked. Obviously. This was one of those high-crime areas, you couldn't be leaving your doors unlocked. Bubba shivered at the very thought. He cupped his hands against the cold surface, shouting as loud as he possibly could without being too obnoxious. He leaned in too close and his lips almost met the cool and polished surface. Could you describe a door as polished? He did it anyway.

"Marshall! It's me!" Bubba called, already very much annoyed by all the trouble he was going to for the possibility that his classmate may not even open the door and welcome him in. It was sort of a long drive from this sort of area back to his prim little home by the lake, and even longer once it got dark.

Me. Because me is definitely my name. Bubba hated making stupid mistakes such as this one, and he hated waiting, and he hating buying flowers for stupid boys with alcoholic mothers and angry blonde friends. Bubba hated a lot of things really, and leaving him alone outside was just giving him more time to think about all those things he hated, which in turn heightened the extent of his frustration. Just when the prince was ready to kick the door down, it at last swung open, revealing a dead boy living.

The dark circles under Marshall's eyes pulled downward at his flesh and made his whole face look sunken in, his once bizarrely beautiful thick black hair was now greasy and stringy and fell at every angle imaginable. Marshall had this cold, mean stare on his face, and his naked torso shamelessly revealed the fact that he had likely not been eating right. The only sort of clothing he had on at all were boxers, turned inside out and backwards, smelling quite strongly of unwashed ass cheek.

To top things off, it looked very much to Bubba, as if Marshall had been crying. A lot. Of course, there was no drippy mascara to confirm the fact, but his doughnut glaze eyes seemed evidence enough to tread carefully.

"You."

Bubba nodded, not sure exactly how he was supposed to respond to that. Once more, not his name.

"Yes, it is me, in case it wasn't obvious by me announcing it was me literally a minute ago. Now if you would be a doll and let me in, so I could handle my business far away from all these incompetent mosquitoes and potential hooligans, I-"

Marshall yanked on the other boy's collar, raising his fist. It was hot for a split second. Before the fist raise. The fist raising part was definitely not hot. He lifted Bubba just slightly off the ground, so that his feet dangled. Bubba had once wondered how Marshall had felt during his panic attacks, and he had no doubt that it was extremely similar to the way which he now felt himself.

"You killed my mother." He clearly hadn't spoken to anyone in a good ten days at least, yet his voice was still worn and broken up, like he'd been choking on words all this time. Like he'd been practicing this very speech for his own benefit on a daily basis, over and over until he went red in his face.

"You know, maybe now isn't a good time…" To say the least. His little rich boy sneaker was loose, sort of dangling off the end of his also dangling foot. That was a lot of arm strength for a stringy lad such as he. Bubba would not hesitate to kick both this one and the other off when he made a run for it. He could always buy new shoes.

"You killed my mother!"

Marshall was practically screaming at the top of his lungs and it was making Bubba's ears sore. He'd have to get them checked after this, assuming he survived the experience. Of all the possible scenarios, he had expected this one the least. A heads up from Fiona would have been real helpful, but god forbid that girl ever do the right thing.

"M-Marshall you're sort of hurting me…"

Lee laughed. His breath smelled of ammonia and dried blood. His eyes were void of any sympathy or remorse. There was no doubt he had been drinking, for booze also danced among the unpleasant features he now portrayed. Another mistake on the blonde's part, leaving any alcoholic traces amid st this place. Marshall's fingers tightened their grip, and that shoe just drizzled on the outline of sock. One misstep and it would drop and shatter itself beyond repair.

"Like I care." Bubba's eyes widened, he could breathe but it was a little difficult with his stomach bouncing up and down towards his throat and all he could think was not again, not again not again, he could see the fist and angry eyes attached to the one person he had somewhat trusted.

Bubba hypothetically knew how to defend himself from torpedo strikes but looking into Marshall's eyes his knees began to shake and he couldn't budge, he of all people particular aspects of combat and self-preservation and yet his body he refused him. Too weak. Too weak. The prince was on the verge of tears but crying would only make him weaker, and didn't he deserve this? Was the entire situation not at least partially his fault?

Bubba's mind wandered back to his childhood. It hadn't been first at the doorway, but in a public place behind the ice cream truck, where he had kissed him and when his son fought back in a bewildered state he had taken his hand and-

"Stop!" Bubba shrieked, and it wasn't strong although it may have been brave, too brave. The candy prince shivered, he was tired and he just wanted to go home and sleep forever.

Marshall surprisingly obliged, just before any harm was caused. His face was still pallid and twisted cruelly, but he said nothing. Bubba was not bruised, but only in the physical sense, and when he was set down he shook for a bit.

"I am...truly sorry about your mother, Marshall. I made a terrible mistake. I should have killed you instead."

The bouquet behind the bush was sadly drooping, left tucked away from the world it was so spontaneously and wrongfully born into.