It's Worse Than You Think

I chuckled to myself as I got off the phone with Finn, tossing the phone of the couch behind me.

Apparently things with January had gone splendid according to him, and they’re going to go out again. I’m happy for him. He complains about me being single, when he’s just as bad as I am. Alright, maybe not as bad, because I haven’t even kissed someone in a really long time. But still.

Marshall should be here any minute, and I can’t get rid of this feeling I have in my stomach. I don’t know how to describe it, anticipation maybe? Whatever it is, it’s making me feel ridiculous.

I busied myself making sandwiches just to give my hands something to do, until the doorbell finally rang. I allowed a smile to spread across my face, and I opened the door, revealing a lovely looking Marshall. Lovely. God, what is wrong with me? But he did look good, dressed in a pair of dark wash skinny jeans and a dark green t-shirt.

“Hi, Marshall. Did you find my place okay?” I asked him as he walked in, looking around with a curious expression. For some reason, I just realized he’s never been here before.

“Yeah, I did. I really like your apartment,” he added after a moment, “It makes mine look like a cardboard box. Seriously,” he said, causing me to let out a sound that was dangerously close to a giggle. He followed me into the kitchen, and eyed the plates with a smirk on his face. “What’s this?”

I bit my lip, “I wasn’t sure if you’d be hungry. I’m always starved when I get home, so I figured I’d do this for you,” I explained softly. He stared at me with a bemused look in his eye, and I could feel my face reddening. God, I would give anything to not have my blush give me away when I get embarrassed. “What?”

Marshall simply shook his head, “It’s nothing. So what are these, peanut butter and jelly?”

I narrowed my eyes, “Maybe.” He laughed, and we sat together at the kitchen counter, eating in comfortable silence.

I really should have thought this through. Why would I invite him over to my place? I feel like all of the pressure is on me now, to make sure it’s not completely awkward. But I doubt that’ll happen, because somehow with us, that’s never the case. And I don’t even know how we fucking manage it, but I definitely don’t want that to change.

“I want to get to know you better,” he blurted out suddenly, and I turned to face him with a surprised expression.

“What?” I responded, not quite sure I’d heard him correctly. That seemed like such a pointless statement: why would he want to know anything more about me?

“You know,” Marshall began with a smile, leaning back in his chair, “Just things about you. Like… what’s your favourite movie?”

I paused, trying to think on the spot. “I’m going to have to go with The Darjeeling Limited. What about you?”

“Wait,” he murmured slowly, holding his hands out in front of him, “You like Wes Anderson?”

I smirked, nodding my head. “I own all of his movies.”

“We’re definitely watching them all someday,” he stated without missing a beat, and I nodded shyly, feeling my lips curve into a smile. Why does that small comment make me so Goddamn happy? Maybe because I haven’t even been close to liking someone in years, and I’m just on this weird, fucked up high.

“So, what’s your favourite movie?”

“The Hangover, no question,” he answered around a smile.

“Can I ask you another question?” I pouted when he rolled his eyes in response, and then asked, “Did you have a best friend in Oregon?”

I immediately noticed how his posture changed slightly, his shoulders becoming more slumped and his neck tilted so he was looking more at the table then anything else. “Yeah, I did. His name’s Blake, and we still talk every week, actually. He’s great,” Marshall finished, a smile set on his lips, like he was lost in a memory the two shared.

“Your eyes light up when you talk about him,” I commented.

“Do they? Well, I miss him. A lot. It helps though, having you. Having Finn.” Before I could stammer out a modest response, he continued speaking. “What’s your favourite thing about a guy?”

I swallowed hard, attempting to wrap my head around the sudden subject change. The grin on his face wasn’t really comforting, and made me feel immature. Why am I such an idiot about things? “Probably their… hipbones,” I finally came up with, a blush scattering across my cheeks. But it was true, and I don’t even know why.

“Oh. Kinky.”

I groaned, expecting something like that from him, “Shut up. What’s yours then?”

“Jesus, I feel like we’re playing some really screwed up version of twenty questions. Let’s see, I like their hair, and eyes. It’s a tie, really.”

“Their hair?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

Marshall chuckled softly, “I like running my hands through it, I guess.”

That was a good enough reason for me. I shuddered internally at the thought of him doing it to me. I grew silent, the question on the very tip of my tongue. It seemed rude somehow, to ask. What if he didn’t want to tell me? I wouldn’t blame him, seeing how it’s so personal.

After what felt like hours on my side of the conversation, curiosity got the better of me. I asked in a quiet voice, “Do you think maybe you could tell me a little about your parents?” I regretted it almost instantly as I watched his face harden. “I’m sorry, I don’t- It was a dumb question.”

“No,” he smiled, as if he hadn’t grimaced four seconds ago, “I don’t care at all. It’s a long story, though.” My expression didn’t change, so he took that as a sign to continue.

“It started when I was almost sixteen. I came out to my parents, even though I had known I was gay for a while. My dad didn’t approve of my sexuality. It’s hard to explain, I guess. He’s not homophobic, he just couldn’t grasp the fact that he’d never have proper grandchildren.” Marshall’s nose wrinkled, pausing for a moment. “He left soon after that, not being able to handle being around the family. He tried, I’ll give him that. I thought my mom and I could get through it together, and that we’d be fine on our own, but… She started drinking, and eventually she was rarely sober. Watching her slowly kill herself was killing me, up until the point where it became unbearable. Everyday, I’d come home from school to see her, drunk out of her mind. I had to leave, and that’s how I ended up here.”

I gazed down on him with wide, watery eyes. “Marshall, I’m- You didn’t deserve any of that.”

That’s one thing I’ll never understand. How parents can simply abandon their child like that, how they can be so selfish. He really didn’t deserve that, Marshall was too great for that to happen to him.

“Thanks, Zeke. What about… your mom and dad?” he questioned, and I relished in the comfort and sincerity his voice held. I knew that he wasn’t merely being nosy, and that was enough.

I stared at my hands, bobbing my foot nervously. “I was fifteen. My parents left to go to the grocery store to get something, and they were in a car accident along the way there. They,” I paused to clear my throat, the words coming out thick, “They died. I moved in with my grandparents and lived there until I was eighteen. That’s why I picked up my smoking habit, you know? It’s an automatic stress reliever for me, and at the time, that was what I wanted. What I needed.”

I could tell he had told me everything there was to say about his family, and that made me feel guilty. But I simply... couldn’t. I was far too ashamed to tell Marshall I was the reason they were out. Or what I had done to myself because of it.

He gripped my knee, causing the skin to quiver and tingle where his touch had been. “I’m so sorry.”

I nodded, “It’s fine.” But it’s not.

--

“I had a really good time,” Marshall told me, heading over to my front door.

“I did too,” I responded, offering a shy smile in his direction.

For the last hour, we’ve really just been having small talk. We asked each other more questions, questions that seemed so much easier to answer then before. I think it was because we’d gotten through that barrier of serious things, and nothing else seemed to matter as much.

But no matter what his response was, I would find myself hanging onto every word.

Sometimes, I’ll have myself convinced that he likes me back, and it’s the most amazing feeling in the world. I feel like I can do anything, I feel like maybe I can try out a relationship with him, I feel like Finn would be unbelievably elated for me.

Then I realize that I’m just being a fucking idiot. Which doesn’t feel nearly as good.

“I’ll see you Monday, then.”

I nodded, and fought back a smile when he took a step forwards to pull me into a hug. His face was resting against my shoulder because I was so much taller, and I wrapped my arms around his upper torso. Casually, I attempted to breathe in his scent, noticing he smelled like a mixture between vanilla and rain.

He stepped away, and let himself out, giving me one more smile before disappearing down the hallway.

I think I’m going to call Finn again.