Marshall, bundled in a thick plaid blanket, glanced up through the fogged car window. Even through the car's protective casing he could feel the cold digging into his flesh like untrimmed fingernails, like the pins and needles one feels after extreme lack of movement. Fiona, a vision in spaghetti straps and knock-off jeggings, honked her horn and swore loudly. The car in front of her finally obliged, whisking away into the marble night.
Although it was difficult to see properly through the layer of smudge that coated his window, Marshall could tell by the abundant laughter and plethora of flashing lights that the place was swarming with people. People his age, people younger, probably a handful of lonely college dropouts that had had one too many. Parties were where dreams came to die.
Not that Marshall completely hated parties; he had always liked the thrill of flashing lights and the phony company that boosted one's ego. Everyone could be someone important in the right lighting when supplied with booze and cigarettes, the friends were free rentals. Marshall did indeed enjoy a little partying. The problem, however, was that he despised it almost equally so.
Fiona just outright hated them. Still, she had insisted the two of them attend this particular gathering for some unknown reason, and refused to be questioned on it.
"Just because," she stated, struggling with an eyeliner pencil she had clearly never before used in her life. It was unlike Fiona to get dressed up like this, and it wasn't as if she wasn't stunning outside of regularly "girlish" attire, but Marshall could tell she wasn't going to elaborate on that either. To top things off it was a school night, in the middle of the week. Marshall would have surely been able to use late work as an excuse to stay home, if it weren't for the fact his teachers had "seen his note" and found his absences and lack of make-up work entirely "excusable".
Marshall had sent no such note.
And he knew for a fact that Fiona hadn't either.
Marshall shivered underneath the layers of wool, teeth clattering like metal kitchen utensils scraped across plates, silverware screaming in unbearable tones. On the bright side, perhaps this event could supply a decent distraction from his current predicaments, including the "oh shit I have no mom" predicament, and the "I almost punched him in the face and he told me he loved me" predicament.
Somehow Fiona was perfectly comfortable with the chilling temperature despite her lack of coat or blanket. She hopped out of the car after they had parked alongside the street, beckoning for Marshall to do the same. The yelp of a nearby dog was swept away by a brisk wind, away into the clouds and stars that hovered over the home like lost lovers, lingering just a little longer than required of them.
Marshall could relate.
They trudged together towards the front porch, Marshall lagging behind. Someone poked him from behind and he shot for the sky, thankfully not screaming like the small child he felt he was.
"Hey! It's you, from the waiting room. The one with the crazy friends!" Marshall squinted in order to see the face of the person greeting him, and was surprised to find the secretary boy, the one with the weird hair and fancy headphones.
"Hey."
Lee doubted that someone should really address people as "from the waiting room" when first meeting them, or that it was really polite to call a stranger's friends crazy. Then again, Bubba wasn't really his friend to begin with.
"What are you doing here, aren't you old?"
Today the man's hair was deep blue and purple, reminding Marshall of that fluffy monster from some Disney movie. He hated that movie. It made him cry, and Ashley used to make fun of him constantly for it.
The stranger laughed, his voice sounding awkwardly grating yet somewhat squeaky, like a mouse on testosterone.
"Old? I'm like nineteen. Or something…"
The guy scratched his chin, as if he was actually unsure of his own age, but suddenly stopped, grinning as if he had just remembered something very important.
"Has your friend talked about me?"
The cold air was somehow forgotten. Marshall scrunched up his face in confusion.
"My friend?"
Is he talking about Fiona? That's the only friend he'd know, right? What does he want with Fiona?
"Yeah, that cute dude you came into the hospital with."
"Marshall resisted the urge to strangle the dumb chump, distracting himself by counting all the foolish scrambling ants that danced along the pavement.
Cute?
Bubba wasn't cute, but adorable. Adorable and beautiful all at once. Like cotton candy, like Ferris wheels and colorful icicles. And even if DJ Sully had properly described him, that in no way meant he was worthy of speaking about him like that. Just who did he think he was? Bubba was way out of his league. They weren't even in the same ballpark, or even the same planet.
What was wrong with this guy?
"He gave me his number the other day, but I've been nervous about calling...I was just wondering if he said something about me to you, is all."
Marshall almost laughed out loud. He deserved this. He really wasn't one to cast stones anyways, and if there was one other guy there were probably more. What had made him think he was so special?
Still.
This guy, of all people?
One ant stumbled over its cousin's dead body, ignoring the little slip up as it continued along its merry way. No one was stopping to help that one dead ant; it was tossed aside like stale bread. Why pay it any mind when there were millions just like it? All of equal use, equal attractiveness, all ready to be tossed aside like last year's prom dress.
Given his current situation, Marshall could handle things in a mature manner; he could cast aside his own selfish emotions and give this poor soul the encouragement he needed.
Or, he could use his cranium for once and give himself a leg up in the competition.
Fiona had already entered the house, leaving the two alone to converse. The dead ant remained deceased, and the neighbor's dog had ceased his yipping, leaving only the noise of the party, and the mosquitoes buzzing impetuously around Marshall's head.
"Not a word. He's got his eye on someone else now, it seems. You might as well just toss his number, even if he was up for grabs he is so not a fan of blue hair."
And just like that, Marshall accepted his place as angsty jealous asshole who thinks too much and has trouble breathing.
The poor sap looked disappointed, a little less of that signature dopey cheer could be viewed on his soft brown face. But Marshall had more pressing things to feel guilty about, so Beats boy would just have to wait his turn.
"If he asks, tell him Damian said hi, okay?"
Marshall did not respond as he practically skipped into the building, he did not look back to see that his elder peer was now the one staring at ants, no music blasting from bright headphones to soothe him. And he did not take note that the crowd of people that had been surrounding Damien had slowly shifted and made their way inside, leaving the particular individual to be entirely alone.
Even if Bubba did ask, (which Marshall was highly certain would not happen) the teen intended not to relay a single message.
In the confines of the house the cold did not dare bite, there was an overabundance of body heat and loud music, sweaty barbarians clashed against each other and the scent of booze mingled among students. His hoodie trapped these warm and smelly sensations, hugging them close to his anatomy.
Marshall started off in search of Fiona at first. The house's interior was extremely cookie-cutter, there was nothing remarkable or extraordinary to be said of the beige walls and wooden picture frames. It was the people currently residing in the home that told all the stories, fat kids and skinny, scraped knees and bloody noses forgotten or emphasized in the rhythm of the music and alcohol.
In the living room Marshall could've sworn he saw his shitty ex-girlfriend, but the moment he looked back it was merely a room full of strangers. His mind seemed to be playing tricks on him, self-destruction in full swing.
At least the music was a constant guide, calming him whenever he neared the prickly caress of wretched anxiety.
Marshall finally found Fiona in the upstairs hallway, along with some stuttering freckle-faced boy. Over the loud music he couldn't quite register what the two were talking about, but the boy was blushing obnoxiously and Fiona seemed happy.
He debated interrupting the two, but eventually decided against it. His friend was never really too concerned with the subject of boys (unlike himself), so if she was now concerning herself with someone she must have thought pretty highly of them.
It's so nice to see that everyone prefers ugly dorky boys over me, he begrudgingly thought, slinking back down the bland wooden staircase.
As he reached the final step he glanced back upward at Fiona one final time, and in doing so plummeted directly into an unsuspecting victim.
He half expected to get yelled at, or thrown out of the party. The latter would have been a tad extreme, but in the heat of the moment Marshall Lee sort of mentally flipped out.
However, neither of Marshall's scenarios played through, and as he stood back up he found himself face to face with a girl who appeared to be slightly younger than him.
Junior, perhaps?
The girl's mouth hung open in shock, her dark eyes were widened with surprise, face framed perfectly by a cute bob of purple follicles.
How could Marshall possibly not recognize her? A girl with a face as visually appealing and as endearing as hers most certainly would have been locked away in his memory; the only logical explanation was that she didn't go to his school.
"I'm so sorry!" she blurted, and Marshall came to realize that her voice was just as cute as her face was. He detected a bit of an Eastern accent when she spoke…perhaps it was Japanese?
"Nah, it's fine," Marshall laughed, running his fingers through his dark hair, only to find a thick knot that he had to awkwardly fight through, "I wasn't watching where I was going, it's probably all my fault anyways."
"Well, I know that," she replied, rolling her eyes. Marshall didn't know girls could be this cute honestly, until meeting her. He found it hard to focus when she spoke, as little butterflies of distraction seemed to find their way into his stomach.
"I was more talking about the stain on your shirt." She took a sip out of her red cup, showing off a set of perfectly groomed, dark purple nails. Clearly, there was some sort of a theme going on.
Up until that point Marshall had not even notice the cold stain seeping into his favorite sweatshirt, running along its cotton surface. Thankfully, it had yet to reach the fabric underneath.
"Again, I'm really sorry about that. Hand it over, I can try and scrub this mess out before the damage is done."
Nice and pretty, the whole package.
"You really don't have to do that."
"Nonsense!" she chirped, "I insist!"
And with that Marshall's sweatshirt was gone and he was cold once more, without company and without the name or number of the cute Asian girl with the purple hair.
Not that he had any romantic intentions, but it would at least be nice to have another person to talk to. And it wouldn't hurt if they were at least a little bit cute.
Marshall followed his own worn out sneakers until he came to a smooth white door he had not yet opened, it smelled of new picture books and a hint of expo marker. The party was far mellower at the lowest level of the house, a handful of teens stood at the bottom of the basement stairway and smoked cigarettes. Marshall absolutely despised the aroma of cigarette smoke, but as long as he kept away from the basement staircase the smell didn't travel so much.
Several couples swapped saliva in the darker corners of the room, in the center lay a table surrounded by card players, each individual bearing the same tired expression on their face.
Marshall made himself comfortable, leaning against a vacant wall and staring off into the distance. The basement was just as plain as the rest of the house seemed to be, five rusted blue bicycles sat in front of a petite closet door, the walls were a dull white and the couch a sad blue. It occurred to Marshall that this house could belong to literally anyone, and that he had no idea who actually owned it. Fiona had only supplied location, not host. For all he knew, the house was actually in his family's name, and some boring chump had stolen his property and cleaned it up to appear nice and commercial, indistinguishable from any other boring house in existence.
The basement had its own source of music, perhaps the most unique thing regarding the entire building. On the table sat a record player, setting sorrowful songs into the atmosphere with its sinful spinning. This music suited the environment well; softer gentler tones could be heard, as opposed to the dance music blasting on the upper levels. Marshall recognized the current song playing, and feeling at ease he sang pathetically along, enchanted by the majestic sound waves.
"Some people say that I want you for your money, but I really want you for your body,
"Pleased to meet you baby, I want to be your honey, so let's go tell your daddy and mommy."
It was even colder in the basement, Marshall was sure to catch something in only a thin t-shirt but there was little he could do about it at the moment. He continued to sing line after line, careful not to raise his voice to the extent that would draw unwanted attention to him.
'And I've tried not to destroy you baby
Even though we both know I can."
Marshall probably had not been at the party for a very long period of time but already it felt like the night was drawing to an end and the moon was waving goodbye, the card players had all left the basement, possibly to go home or possibly to rejoin the lively side, but the music was still playing and the smokers hadn't budged.
"Make love with the lights on baby, tell me what you see
Clear the bed to lie on darling,
Make a mess of me."
Marshall's mouth snapped shut. He had heard himself sing that last line but upon realizing that he wasn't the only vocal accompaniment, he turned his head towards the newfound sound. Bubba was standing there too, right next to him.
Singing along.
Marshall couldn't see his own face due to the lack of any mirrors and proper lighting, but he was certain he was blushing, his torso was still frozen solid yet his face was an oven.
Bubba's voice was beautiful, the kind of art that couldn't even be bought with mere cash. He was beautiful, his voice was beautiful, and he was present right then, singing next to Marshall, so close their shoulders were touching. It felt like a dream. Or perhaps, a hallucination. It had to be that Marshall had somehow gotten drunk off his ass, because there was no way that the candy prince was truly there in that cold basement with him, singing along to one of his favorite songs while the world was at standstill.
Marshall's jaw was sewn shut but Bubba gestured for him to keep going, so he had no choice but to open his mouth and try again.
"Ca-Ca-Can I have your number?
Can I have your baby?
Can we run away together?"
Bubba was up against him now yet Marshall still felt so, so cold, they were singing in harmony and Marshall could feel the other boy's heartbeat pounding up against his chest, he closed his eyes and in that darkness he saw everything.
The music shook him and Bubba shook him and together they sang the song all the way through, leaned up against one another in some sort of unspoken mutual agreement. Marshall stayed like that, with his eyes locked shut, propped up against the basement wall. He stayed like that long after the song ended, long after Bubba left and only his own breathing reached his ears.
He stayed like that until Fiona found him and drove them both home, leaving The Pierces and the purple girl and his sweatshirt all behind.
I like this chapter guys. It meshes okay.
So the magic day is Tuesday! I figured it would be. So I'll start for sure updating on Tuesdays, this was different because Thanksgiving gave me time to write extra gayness.