((((((-It's 2 AM no one tell on me.-)))))

"Your doorman is cute."

Bubba's fingers danced gracefully from key to key, flicking letters faster than the speed of light. He paused for a moment to daintily sip at his black coffee, and the steam it emitted fogged up his thick lenses almost immediately.

Fiona stared at him, ignoring the sideways glances of surrounding customers in the cafe. It was freezing out, but the young girl was clothed only in navy blue athletic shorts, and a neon pink sports bra. Not to mention, she was mysteriously entirely covered in foul-smelling soil.

"Can I sit here?" she inquired, not a trace of spite notable in her tone. Bubba shook his head, but she seated herself regardless, slamming against the seat of a small chair in a not so "ladylike" fashion.

"Do you always dress like a slut on weekends?"

"At least I don't behave like one as well."

Bubba smiled, still tapping quickly at his keyboard.

"It's called consistency," he mused, taking another sip of his coffee. The bitter drink was absolutely despicable to Bubba, as he had a preference for sweeter drinks, but anything softer than black was juvenile and immature.

"Is your doorman single?"

Bubba assumed this meant she had visited his house and Flame had answered the door, a bundle of awkward clothed in a cute little tux.

He must have told her I'd be here, he thought, I'll have to yell at him later.

"He is at the moment." A quick flash of a previous scenario reentered Bubba's mind, the flushed and freckled face that had once been underneath him was mentally revived. Although he likely assumes otherwise.

Bubba looked up from his laptop. The building was slightly larger through his glass lenses, slightly discolored as well. Reds were muted and less vivid, bordering pink but not truly reflecting the hue. At least contacts didn't make it quite so obvious he was visually impaired, they weren't a spotlight on the fact that he was physically imperfect, just another bundle of human flaws struggling to make do in the universe he was granted.

A little boy with grimy fingers scampered towards the cashier, barely restrained by a fat, sweaty woman in sensible shoes. Bubba wondered if his mother had grown to be like that as well, overweight and tired all the time. Perhaps, like Marshall, his mother had died very recently. Perhaps she died the very day he left. Left being the preferred terminology, as opposed to "was abandoned".

"Is that all you wanted? Information regarding my "doorman"?"

"Well, actually-"

The fat woman leaned over as if to ask the boy what he wanted to purchase, and the youngster screeched something about smoothies. The woman then reached into her purse, barely able to fit her thick hands into the itty-bitty bag, and when she did manage, they returned empty.

She bent down to explain herself, but the blond haired brat was not having any of it and began to howl, sobbing to the point where several people in line actually quite rudely covered their ears.

The cashier was starting to look restless and impatient but the kid continued to howl, kicking his little feet and shaking his fists in the air.

Bubba despised the boy, he was loud and obnoxious and likely to drive the poor woman crazy. In general, he had an extreme hatred for all small children, but loud children particularly got his goat.

"He said blueberry smoothie, right?" The teen reached into his wallet, sorting through a wad of cash until he came across a fresh five-dollar bill.

His mother was likely only going to buy him a small, but if supplied with a large, the small child would keep his whiny mouth shut for a longer period of time.

However, time had taken its toll. As Bubba stood to give the woman the money, she was already dragging her son out of the door.

The candy prince shrugged, sitting back down and reopening his laptop. He returned to the symphony of repetitive taps and clicks. Of course that's what would happen when he attempted to make nice, because his universe was stupid.

Fiona's jaw hung below her legs, dangling just above the recently swept floor.

"You were going to pay for her."

He drowned Fio's voice in furious typing, not truly enjoying the excess commentary. Although Bubba had recently gotten his glasses adjusted, their salmon pink and roundish frame still slid slightly down his face as he glanced at the computer screen.

"Why are you really here? Did Marshall tell you to come talk to me?'

Fiona snatched his coffee off of the table, holding the warm cup in her hand. The dark liquid was barely visible through the small hole placed atop the cup's lid. She watched what little bit she could scamper up and down the container's insides at every given tilt in fascination.

"It's very possible," she murmured, ignoring Bubba's frustrated sigh of response. Of course, he was not to be given a moment of peace the sort things out for himself, that would be far too fair. In an almost undetectable motion he had swiped his coffee cup back and it was once more on his side of the petite table. He stole a sip, forcing the cold liquid down his throat although he was far from the sensation of thirst. If anything, the disgusting fluid only heightened his discomfort, adding unease to his very lungs.

Still, it gave off this normalized kind of vibe. It made Bubba feel adult and in control, and in the end it was more about control than comfort or happiness, wasn't it?

"What does he want now?"

"Yeesh, someone's got some anger built up inside, eh?"

The constant sliding of his prescription frames was certainly not assisting him as far as intimidation went, nor was the shaky hand that every so often was forced to shove the glasses further up onto the bridge of his nose. Bubba hated looking like this, behaving in such a clumsy manner. Still it seemed these days he just continued to unravel, and it was likely if that trend were to continue there would be nothing left of his exterior at all.

And walking skeletons weren't all that coveted.

"You're by far the worst messenger I have ever encountered. Are you going to tell me what he wants, or are we going to sit here all day playing guessing games?"

Of course he'd want something more of me. He's probably angry, too. He probably sent her to hurt me all over again. I'll bet he thinks I owe him something. I always seem to owe someone something.

"Well?"

The cheap cafe was certainly not the sort of place one would expect metaphorical royalty to visit. The walls were encased in peeling wallpaper that had once depicted old school Mickey Mouse, though now it was simply colored blurbs awkwardly conjoined. The heater was broken, leaving everyone in the building a shivering mess as they clutched onto their coffees. Obviously, he could afford better, but none of these factors kept Bubs from frequenting this particular spot.

I never should have trusted him, it was only a matter of time. I knew better.

Fiona tried to catch a glimpse of the other boy's facial expression, but once more he was hiding behind his laptop screen, typing away at who knows what.

"He wanted to come here himself, but figured you wouldn't be so keen on seeing him for some reason."

Of course he did. Can't let me have the last word.

"Marshall just wanted to make sure you're okay."

The incessant typing at last skidded to a halt.

…What?

Concern trickled outward from Fiona as well, of all people. As if she had gotten softer and less judgmental of Bubba over the course of mere weeks. Maybe she finally believed him. She peered at him with a tilt of her head, that one line of hair still stringing downward.

"Are you alright? You do seem very different…"

This was not at all what had been expected. Concern? I ditched him and now I get showered with concern? God, what's with that guy?

"And, he totally gets if you never want to hear from him again even though he's still a bit confused, but mostly what matters is that you are okay and that you know he's very sorry."

This can't actually be happening right now. This-this isn't how it goes at all.

"Hello, anyone in there?"

It took Bubba a moment to release he had sort of frozen, and in doing so, forgot entirely to breathe. A heavy gasp, like air from a balloon whisked out just as he opened his mouth to speak.

"You're making this up."

"I assure you, I've done no such thing. So are you okay? Marsh won't tell me anything, and normally I get the whole picture when it comes to anything involving him. Kid's got a mouth. Somehow you always end up being the exception that leaves me completely in the dark, thanks for that."

I'm the exception?

It was growing difficult to differentiate from whether the insects in his heart were butterflies or mites. Was he okay? Had he ever been okay? It was such a foreign concept to Bubba, that sort of question. He was used to having all the answers, but even the simplest of questions concerning himself got him all tripped up. At least algebra and forensics weren't so damn personal.

"Why do you care?"

The blonde smiled, swinging her legs underneath the circular table. Outside it had started to rain, and the two teens could hear the desperate water droplets pounding against each and every window, literally dying to get in.

But unless they latched onto some weak, unsuspecting human, they hadn't a chance.

So did that make Marshall the raindrop? Or vice versa?

Due to the cold weather, the precipitation was likely to form sleet or hail, which would lead to even more outdoor commotion. But at least hail was more honestly brutal on impact than rain. At least when it came to hail you knew exactly what you were dealing with and when.

"Nice try, but I asked my question first. Besides, you're the one making an assumption that I'm asking out of anything other than concern for my dearest friend."

"You're going to smell like wet dog when you step outside, you do realize this, right?"

"Are these pathetic attempts how you usually keep Marshall distracted, or do you just get naked?"

It was highly possible that a) Fiona was trying to rile the prince up to get a rise out of him, or b) for some reason she trusted him not get so disproportionately riled again. Either way, it was a stupid call to make.

"You have to find a balance with him, simple as that."

"Fantastic. Now answer my first damn question."

Bubba's mother had never really told him what to do until the day he met his father, and from that day forward his male guardian didn't cut him any slack. There were always orders, there was always yelling and persuasion. Eventually, these were followed by the beatings and…other things.

After his dad was arrested nobody told him what to do ever again, until this particular jock with far too much attitude and too much mouth for her own good. Honestly, she really pushed him over the line and it was a miracle Bubba had not retaliated in any extreme manner as of yet.

A miracle that had a lot to do with some stupid emo boy and his sad, pleading eyes.

So was he really in a position to judge another kid when it came to violence? He could have killed someone over his own family issues, and he expected Marshall to be a monk when it came to his own.

Different. Entirely different. And it's not as if I'm blaming him so much, I just really don't think I could handle seeing his anger in every second I spend with him, worrying he's going to break. He's only human, after all.

"I don't know if I'm okay," he said.

The truth cut like razor blades kissing Bubba's skin, like needles and shards of glass and the knife that almost stopped his heart from beating. The truth hurt more than anything his father did and anything his father could ever do to him. It always did.

He reached for his cup of liquid security only to find it entirely empty and he had never before been so angry at an empty coffee cup as he was then, sitting with the filthy girl in an obscure cafe, watching the rain pour down so intensely that it appeared the ground was leaping upward to swallow up bits and pieces of murky gray sky.

That walking skeleton thing hurt my heart jesus christ why did I do that. Thinking about just weekly updates...What day do you all have nothing to look forward to? Cuz I know for me weekdays are infuriating and especially hard if you don't have a little pick me up, right? So if there's a day any of you would be best off having something like that, lemme know.

-Writer