The young boys were poisonous to each other, this much was clear. Both Marshall and Barnaby were aware of the risks, yet neither seemed to care. They had accepted each other's flaws and problems, and they had explored each other's attributes and histories in a matter of months. The boys were nearly strangers, yet they had known each other for years and years. Barnaby could never shake the feeling of loneliness whenever he was separated from Marshall. This was no exception. He sat on the cold stone steps with tears streaming down his face in a state of remembrance. He remembered his first day of high school, where he had first encountered the reckless teen. Marshall was a senior then, and Barnaby was intimidated by every aspect of Marshall, who had worn nothing but dark colors and a devious smirk on his face. Barnaby stayed away from him until his freshman year of college, in which he was forced to be Marshall's room-mate. Marshall had taken years off to travel and tour before deciding to be a music major. He was still reckless as ever, but Barnaby grew close to the 22-year-old in a matter of weeks. He learned of his insecurities and past through the music and words that drifted through the thin apartment walls. It was Marshall who had teased him for his orange hair, and it was Marshall who had told him to live not only a little, but live a lot. Marshall taught him how to be his own person. He owed everything to Marshall, everything from his pink hair to the memories in his head.
Barnaby found himself attracted to his elder, and Marshall returned the feeling. The first time they had kissed it had been after one of Marshall's gigs. The night before Marshall had given him once of his shirts with the words 'try not to look too lame when you hit the bars, kid.' Barnaby had kept this in mind when he was getting ready for the gig. He felt absolutely weightless as he swayed with the crowd and seemed to forget that he had broken the law to watch his room-mate perform and that he shouldn't be sipping on the alcohol in his hands. He thought that maybe this is what Marshall had meant when he told him to live a lot. Barnaby was living in a haze produced by the mixing of alcohol and adrenaline but he didn't mind. And when Marshall had sought him out and dragged him backstage, he still didn't mind. And when something buried under Barnaby's haze told him that when Marshall pulled him close under the stage lights that he should mind, he merely laughed it off because he didn't mind. And as that voice screamed at him through his foggy thoughts Marshall was licking his lips and wearing his devilish smirk, but Barnaby didn't mind. For him, this was paradise, he was living and not even his rationality was going to stop him. No sir, he would live not only a little, but a lot. The two boys were already so close, and by the time the thought of kissing Barnaby had even crossed Marshall's mind, Barnaby had found his lips pressed to Marshall's, and he found joy when Marshall melted into it. And then Barnaby tasted metal on lips and realized that Marshall's tongue was lost in his mouth and he didn't mind. The thought of paradise crossed Barnaby's mind once again as he broke away.
Looking back, he wouldn't have changed a thing.