Chapter Text
Marshall.
Not long after (re)integrating into Karmine Corp, ZE1SH asked Marshall once what he misses most about VCT Americas, about that team (he still can’t say their name out loud). He said he misses jackshit. While he wasn’t lying, per se, he wasn’t telling the whole truth either.
He doesn’t miss the people who wished him dead, the so-called “fans” who acted as though they knew what was best for the team, screaming from the sideline. He doesn’t miss the analysts and online coaches, the essays and Reddit threads and VLR topics they made about him, calling to burn him at the stakes. None of that.
What he misses are the people, the friends—family he made during his time there. Jordan’s rambunctious and unruly antics, Amine’s caring nature, Zach’s toothy grin, Cortez’s curiosity and optimism, Yassin’s snarky attitude, Kyu’s mellow demeanor. He can’t say he doesn’t miss them, and Kap and Luke and… everybody else (his family too of course). Even if his memories are forever corrupted because they all revolve around one person.
That, and whatever the fuck happened in October.
In other words, VCT North America’s worst kept secret.
He accidentally blurted it out once on stream, and since then he’s seen rumours and such about him. The common folk can only speculate, but those who know, know that he and, well, Sean Bezerra, had a thing going on. The details of what exactly went down on that downcast day in October, almost a month after they left France, were omitted. What their friends and teammates did know—or what was clear as day in their eyes—was how Marshall walked around like a corpse for weeks afterward, and how Sean lost the paltry sanity he had left after Champions ended.
Or at least Marshall assumes people are oblivious, because he’s been zipping his mouth shut since then. He hasn’t a clue if Sean spilled the tea to anyone, he wouldn’t blame him if he does. Personally, Marshall would genuinely kill himself before he told anyone about that day, especially to his teammates and coaches at KC. Too humiliating. He could twist the narrative and say that he dumped Sean first, that he made the choice, but he’s afraid that they’ll see through his blatant lies, then it’ll be awkward for everyone involved.
Besides, he’s already been embarrassed enough by what happened in January.
25th of January, 2026. He still shudders when he thinks about it. I mean, sure, they all know him and Sean dated then broke up in a spectacularly lackluster fashion, but didn’t have to shoehorn it like that for a bit of clout. They didn’t even bother to ask his permission (or Sean’s) beforehand, no wonder people call them the clout org. Even VCT NA and some other pros played into the joke.
It wasn’t the reason he bombed his performance, he would never let personal issues like that be a hindrance. But… sadly it was one of the reasons he cried like a baby afterward, out on the steps of the Riot arena. Moreover the loss, he just felt trapped, and weak, and useless. It’s also why he desperately wanted to leave, to the point of benching himself. It’s why he would not have trialed for them even if Ewok asked (not that he would’ve passed). He should’ve done it ages ago, after the October incident nearly sent him into psychosis.
Hitting the dead end wall, maybe that’s why he didn’t fight for Sean, for them, just quietly accepting his fate. Numbly watching his blade ricochet, a problem Sean cannot solve. Face to face with every wrong choice they’ve ever made.
Ending of March, of Marsh. It’s tragic how your feelings for something can do a 180 when things come to a bitter end. He hates red now, hates matcha and Insomnia cookies and blueberries. He flinches when someone randomly mentions that team’s name in a passing conversation. He doesn’t look at that Phantom skin the same and he’s swapped all the skins that could remotely remind him of Sean. He lets his hair grow out like he’s emo, and doesn’t really keep it in check. He eats less, sleeps less, tilts more, and doesn’t stream.
(He feels bad about that the most. He’s promised his fans that he will stream one he settles down in Berlin. At least some of them miss his mug. God knows he misses them too.)
(He hasn’t streamed once.)
Berlin is grim and gloomy, with persistent gray skies even during summer. It gets under your skin in the worst way possible.
Which is funny, because Marshall doesn’t remember it being like this the last time he was here, two years ago. Granted he never actually witnessed Berlin winter, and he doesn’t want to, but he reckons it isn’t that different from the current weather.
What he does remember, is smoking on the balcony with Martin. Endless nights talking about the future, through the fog and haze and the sterile moonlight, about how much they both missed home. Martin could have gone back whenever he wanted, but for Marshall it was a layover trip, stale airport coffee, jetlag and long Uber drives. He remembers crying for America, for home. He remembers envisioning how sunny Los Angeles could be if he was ever given the chance to play in NA.
And while he did play in NA, for a whole year that is, the way it ended was out of his hand. He remembers crying for Berlin in sunny LA, for the org and the fans that loved him, that never abandoned him.
You only long for what you can’t have, and Marshall knows that feeling like the back of his hand. It’s like he can’t ever be satisfied no matter what decision he makes, what path he takes. He thinks about LA when he’s losing in Berlin, he thinks about Berlin when the pressure of LA gets to him.
Contradictory, oxymoronic, greedy even. A vicious cycle. You can’t eat your cake and then still have it, it’s not how it works, it’s not how anything works.
It’s hard to be anywhere these days when he feels like an open wound. Sometimes, when the city shrinks and his fortress turns into a glass box, when night bleeds into day and the weight of a cigarette can’t keep him from spiralling, he starts reminiscing. Los Angeles is a lengthy story. A story that had its ending written out long before any of them set foot inside the office. He still gets nightmares about it.
He lost so much just by playing for them, and returning to Berlin feels inevitable. He left the org that was bleeding him dry for another org that can’t give him the blood he’s wasted. Even then all of his teammates from two years ago aren’t here no more. It's almost like he has both cities and none at the same time. Like he doesn’t belong anywhere, he doesn’t have a home.
He truly doesn't belong to anyone, anywhere.
───〃★
Marshall hates the sunlight at 3 p.m. Too soon to quit thinking, too late to change anything.
He’s always had role issues, like the way he has no home to return to. Initiator/flex worked out for him, the majority of 2025. But then Kap decided to make Marshall his personal legacy project, and it all went downhill from there. He isn’t bad on duelist—at least he doesn’t think so—but he supposes his impostor syndrome (and the awful stats) say otherwise.
One Group Stage and five matches later, they’ve completely bombed out of Playoffs. Which is not okay in any way, but Marshall is used to losing. Of course, no one should be comfortable with losing, but it’s what eSports is about. You get some wins, then you fall off, and you rise once more. Rinse, repeat. What matters is Marshall’s gaining his confidence back, as part of his ten-steps plan in unwashing himself.
That team isn’t going to Playoffs anyway. In fact, no one on their original 2025 roster is qualifying for anything. Making it to London would’ve been the biggest slap in the face for those people. Don’t get him wrong, he doesn’t hate them, he’s just that petty and spiteful and whatnot. If he’s miserable then nobody gets to be happy.
Days pass, and Marshall does what he does best. Eat, sleep, shit, scrim. As mundane as one can be. He is just passing time and buying days until Stage 2 starts. Who knows if he’ll still have a job by next year when everything is a tournament. Running on borrowed time, and that time is running out. His passion isn’t wavering, but the sport is.
And then the news that EWC is taking place in Paris this year knocks the wind out of him.
Paris, for lack of a better word, was traumatizing. When he departed from the City of lights last year, no doubt that it’s going to take a while before he can begin thinking about Paris without a pang in his heart, let alone talking about it. Too much, too fast. Eight months isn’t nearly enough for the gaping hole in his stomach to retract.
If anything, it might as well take a lifetime.
He would not go to EWC if he had a choice, for multiple reasons. But the number of choices he has is zero. So mote it be.
It’s kinda funny that KC is putting him back on duelist. But Jett is not Waylay, and Phoenix isn’t the same as Neon. Maybe that’s the change he needed, because through bullshit comp and some genuine magic, they qualify for Paris.
Briefly, the thought of whether 100 Thieves qualified crosses his mind. But before he can decide what to do with it, burn it to the ground or wash it out with alcohol, they’re already Paris bound.
After they defeat FNATIC, something they never could back in 2025, LewN asks him about the City of love, in-between their ranked session (Marshall’s main account is gathering dust, he hasn’t touched it in months).
“Do you have any fun stories about Paris?” LewN’s English isn’t bad, but still heavily accented.
Marshall likes this guy, young and hungry, reminds Marshall of a younger him. Turkish players are always like this, hotheaded with insane aim.
Marshall looks at LewN’s expectant eyes, opens his mouth, and is hit with a wave of deja vu. LewN looks nothing like Zach, but the light captured on his cheeks causes Marshall to hallucinate for a split second that Zach is standing right here.
Under any other circumstances, he can answer with ease, but not today. The subject of Paris never fails to put him in a solemn, melancholic mood. The kind that no hard drugs can erase, not that he does drugs. No one in the org knows that of course, not even ZE1SH whom he’s closest to, and LewN whom he puts up with.
Paris makes him jump. Worst of all, it makes him sad. Sad he didn’t try harder, perform better. Sad about the way Sean acted after they retreated from the stage lights and came face to face with the harsh reality of losing, losing for good. Sean withdrew into himself, receded into his shell and refused all Marshall’s effort in comforting him. Distrustful and vigilant, eerily similar to the way he was when first joining that team.
Being sad in your 20s is just pathetic, he’s not a kid anymore. Something something spilled milk. Marshall doesn’t want to appear fragile, or give them any strange ideas. Closed off heart and tight-lipped. He has a reputation to maintain.
But still, LewN is unaware of the horror plaguing his mind, so an innocent question that Marshall struggles to compute turns into a vortex. The words he doesn’t possess clog up his throat.
All he can recall is the day before it crumbled, before the GX match. Back when glimmers of hope still twinkled in their eyes.
───〃★
Paris was raining that evening.
It rained a lot, the two weeks they stayed there. Marshall would hate to call it a sign—he’s not superstitious—but it damn well felt like one.
They had been dating for a couple months by then. The honeymoon phase hadn’t waned, and they were practically conjoined at the hips. They were “worse than Amine and Jordan”, said Zach. Marshall couldn’t go a day without being in the same space at Sean—he’d spontaneously combust—and vice versa.
Marshall asked the VCT staff to put them both in the same hotel room in Paris, as a joke, but they heard him anyway. As far as he was concerned, that was unprecedented. It was the tiniest detail, but it gave Kaplan (and Luke) a headache, even if he approved of their relationship. No wonder he was stressed all the time.
The sun had long set, but twilight’s imprint was still lingering. At dusk, the horizon drank down the arches and cupolas and tall cylindrical towers surrounding this ancient city. The hotel room provided for them was sort of ugly in an old-fashioned way, or old-fashioned in an ugly way. Seashell cones on the walls, a bulky TV that only played 90s sitcoms with horrible French dub, curtains that looked like the ones in Marshall’s childhood bedroom. The open window brought forth the smell of rain and damp clothes, of wet pavement and cold concrete.
The rest of the team had already turned in. Sean was lazing about in bed still in his SEN jersey cause he hadn’t bothered to shower yet, exhausted after a long day of exploring and scrims. Marshall was sitting at the desk, VOD reviewing because he had nothing better to do, toying with the hotel-issued ballpoint pen. It wasn’t raining hard enough for either of them to close the window. Occasionally a stray drop of rain would splash the side of Marshall’s face, but he was too engrossed in the VOD.
“Hey Marsh,” Sean called out from the bed. Marshall didn’t react initially, so Sean tried again. “Earth to Marshall!”
“Huh? What?” Marshall jerked, not pausing nor looking up from the phone.
“The fuck are you watching?” Sean’s voice carried an edge to it.
Marshall scratched his head. “Some old GiantX games. I wanna study their micros.”
“You couldn’t have done that earlier?”
“I did. Better safe than sorry though.”
Sean sighed. “Would you put that down and go to bed already? The match’s tomorrow.”
Marshall still had his gaze on the VOD so he didn’t see it, but Sean sounded strained just now. He dismissed it though. “In a minute. I always do this before a game, you know this.”
“Marshall.”
“I’ll turn the lights off if it bothers you.”
“It’s not that.”
“Are you hungry? Cold?” Marshall was still intensely fixated on the VOD. “I’ve got some snacks in my luggage if you’re interested.”
Sean clicked his tongue, loudly. “Nevermind.”
A beat, then nothing else, but Marshall didn’t notice. When he came to, he took note that the monotonous drone from the TV had ceased, and the rain had worsened. The room was really plunged into silence now that he’d paused the VOD, save for the heavy rain. He didn’t turn the TV off, so…
Marshall gulped and twisted back. On the bed, Sean had the covers up to his chin, looking adorably pissed off with a pout and a minor scowl, glaring at his phone screen like it owned him money. Sean used to scowl so much, Marshall worried that he’d get a wrinkle between his eyebrows.
As dense as Marshall was, he wasn’t stupid. Everything besides Valorant clicked a bit late to him, but it clicked eventually. And now he only just realized what his boyfriend really wanted.
Hah. Boyfriend. It had been months but it was still surreal to him.
Marshall turned off the video. He glanced at the window and walked over. The smell of rain hit him full force, familiar yet strange. Los Angeles didn’t get much rain, and something about Paris in the rain gave a romantic impression (made him want to sing Ne me quitte pas), everyone was either indoors or mingling about under colorful umbrellas. Far ahead was the Eiffel Tower in all its glory, a glowing beacon amidst this stormy night sky. Even through the foggy haze, that light seemed untouchable.
Like what Audrey Hepburn said about Paris. “You get yourself, not a drizzle, but some honest-to-goodness rain, and you find yourself someone really nice and drive her through the Bois de Boulogne in a taxi. The rain’s very important. That’s when Paris smells its sweetest. It’s the damp chestnut trees.”
If Marshall had a car—or a pair of balls—he would’ve driven Sean through the Bois de Boulogne himself. Wherever that was.
After Marshall was done basking in the rare silence, he shut the window, tucked his phone into his sweatpants pockets and clambered on the bed. Sean raised an eyebrow at the commotion, he stopped scowling but the pout was still evident. It made Marshall feel weird, especially in his lower body half. He also wanted to bite Sean’s cheek for no particular reason.
Marshall scooted closer to Sean, as close as humanly possible. He stretched an arm and tried to draw Sean in. Sean wasn’t entertaining that, he huffed and turned his face away. Marshall chortled and tried again, practically hogging him.
“Don’t touch me.” Sean squirmed.
“Come on now.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Sean said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “worry about the game and the VOD you love so much that you’re ignoring your boyfriend.”
Marshall made an amused sound, half laugh, half snort. “Brother.”
“Don’t bro me,” Sean huffed again.
Marshall tried to contain himself from pulling Sean in for a kiss. Since when was Sean this needy? He was not like this late last year when they met for the first time, all posh and proper, fidgeting with his thumbs, unable to look Marshall in the eyes. That Sean probably would’ve slapped Marshall across the face by accident because he was flustered.
But well, you were the product of your environment. Marshall liked to indulge Sean, a lot. He’d hang the moon and rewrite the stars for Sean if he could. He came damn close a couple times if they were being honest.
Sean was able to leave his comfort zone from Marshall’s efforts, but that also meant he became sort of dependent on him. Dependent, and clingy. Granted, they were boyfriends. There was nothing wrong with needing your significant other, it’d be weirder if you weren’t. Sean didn’t look the type, but his love language was absolutely physical touches as opposed to Marshall’s words of affection.
Basically, Sean loved to cuddle. In private of course.
Marshall wasn’t bothered by it, not in the slightest. Now more than ever, he wouldn’t deny Sean anything. Not that he physically could.
“Awe Seanzo. You miss me?” Marshall cackled.
“Ain’t no way.”
“My fault for not paying attention to my handsome, magnificent, smart, strong boyfriend with good aim.”
“Good?” Sean pouted, but his ears were red.
“My bad. I mean my boyfriend with aimbot.” Marshall’s grin was so wide his cheeks hurt.
“That’s more like it.” Sean nodded. “What was so interesting about the VOD anyway? Did you actually pick up anything new or was it one of your little tricks to calm your nerves again?”
Marshall scrunched up his nose. The audacity of this guy…
“It’s called a coping mechanism,” he declared boldly, “and it’s useful. I’m being productive.”
Sean looked unconvinced. “Uh huh.”
“Here, lemme show you something.” Marshall whipped his phone out.
He booted up GiantX vod and started lecturing Sean about micros and macros, GX’s quirks, strat books, gameplans… among other things. Some of it was Marshall’s own observation, but some he took from Kaplan and Amine’s hours of research. Contrary to what people might think, he actually loved the tedious bits of professional Valorant, which is VOD reviewing and inventing anti-strat. It was rewarding when the opponents’ plan fell apart because of their anti-strat.
Sean was definitely not listening though. He looked bored out of his mind. Marshall softly bit the tip of Sean’s ears, sending him reeling.
“Hey! What are you doing?!” Sean shouted, startled.
“That’s what you get for not paying attention.”
“Hmph!”
“Come on now.” Marshall gave Sean a wet, messy kiss on the crown of his head. “I’m here with you aren’t I? Stop complaining.”
“I’m not,” Sean protested.
Marshall cackled deeply, Sean shook his head.
“All you know is Valorant,” he mumbled.
“Well. It’s my job,” Marshall countered. “Our job. I don’t see the harm in trying to improve.”
“There’s a time and a place for everything,” Sean argued. “When I was in school my teacher used to say study all you want for an exam, but on the day leading up to it you should not touch any study material. Keep your mind fresh and free of pressure.”
Marshall stroked his chin. “I’ve heard that too. But this isn’t an exam, it’s our life on the line.”
“Same thing. We ought to have our mentals in check.”
Sean was starting to get irritated now. He probably wanted a moment of peace, they’d already convened enough today during scrims and Marshall still made him listen to MORE strats. VOD reviewing might be some pro couple’s flavor of foreplay, some orange team in EMEA perchance, but not theirs. Marshall didn’t want to have a fight with his boyfriend, not before a game, not ever, so he just nodded and smiled.
“I always listened to my teacher back then, she encouraged me to go pro. She was like one of the few people who didn’t laugh at my dreams. God bless Mrs. Crowley.” Marshall frowned, so Sean added, “She isn’t dead, just three times divorced. Don’t ask.”
“School was like ages ago,” Marshall chewed on the topic. “I don’t miss it.”
“What was it like for you?”
“Boring. Bland. I did the bare minimum to graduate. Honestly I spent most of my free time playing games.”
“Degen.” As in, degenerate.
“Don’t act like you weren’t the same.” Marshall tsked.
Sean laughed and kissed the side of Marshall’s face, turning his little frown upside down. “Didn’t you go to college before Challengers?”
“For two years, yeah.”
“Planning on returning?”
“Maybe. When I retire.” Marshall blinked sheepishly. “I heard you talk about going to college for seven years with Zach, in New Jersey. How’s that working out for you?”
“Oh just peachy.” Sean rolled his eyes. They both knew Sean wasn’t cut out for school. He could go to college if he really wanted to, but thankfully eSports worked out wonders for him.
For a while they just lied there, talking about random things while someone’s stream played in the background on Sean’s phone, in perfect harmony. Sean was tucked beneath Marshall’s chin while Marshall had an arm around Sean, absentmindedly playing with the hair by Sean’s nape, just too snuggle bugs. Their bodies pressed close, legs tangled under the sheets.
From the outside looking in, with Marshall’s capricious, adventurous personality and Sean’s sensitive, timid and low self-esteem issue; it almost sounded like they’d bicker 24/7. Literally mixing fire with water. Or at least that was what Nicole told them, she said a Pisces and a Sagittarius was an odd bunch. Whatever that meant.
But if someone asked, Marshall would say that Sean was his best friend before he’d say boyfriend, because it felt right, and because it was the truth, they were indeed best friends. They knew each other’s preferences, and only needed to make eye contact to understand the other’s intention. Marshall had never experienced something like this for anyone, and the moment he recognized that was also the moment he knew he was gay as fuck for Sean.
People said that teenage love should fade after approximately three months, hence the “three months rule”. And while the air between them had certainly changed, it wasn’t worsening. Marshall found that after six months of dating since Bangkok, they’d only cared more for each other. Jordan loved giving them the stink-eye for being domestic bitches, but he wasn’t any better with Amine.
(If Marshall knew Paris would transform every aspect of their relationship, expose the flimsy nature of it, deep down, how would he have changed it?)
“And then, and then! Because he wanted to face it head-on, the thing legit took him out! Went kaboom!”
The conversation had drifted into softer hours, and Marshall was recounting an old Minecraft story from their two weeks phase of how Zach got himself blown up. Old tale, but classic.
“I told him not to install that mod, he just would not listen!” Marshall wiped his tears. “What a dumbass.”
“You’re speaking as if you weren’t the one coercing him into it,” Sean scoffed. He would know, he was there when it happened. He had to go and pick up Zach’s inventory, thank Jesus they weren’t in Hardcore mode cause the bunch of them were cowards.
“Nuh uh!”
Marshall laughed so hard his stomach hurt, shoulders hunching. He collapsed on the bed when he ran out of breath. Sean watched him with mild annoyance, but mostly tolerance, the kind of patience you only had for someone you loved.
Sean waited for Marshall to calm down, then said, “I’ve been thinking.”
“Uh oh.”
“Fuck you mean uh oh?”
“You never think, you overthink.”
“I’m being serious.”
“Me too.”
“Look, Marsh.” Sean squeezed his arm. “Have you given it some thought? The apartment?”
“The apartment,” Marshall echoed like he didn’t have a clue.
He did though, he knew exactly what Sean was hinting.
They’d considered this before, about two months into the relationship. It seemed too early at the time, so they just brushed it aside, and the whirlwind of scrims and matches swept them away. But it had always been a sort of thorn on their side, it was there when they slept, and there when they woke up. The prospect of moving in together.
Rent in LA was sky high at the best of times (there weren’t many best of times). Sean lived with his parents so it wasn’t like he was in a rush, he was simply concerned about Marshall. He was constantly concerned about Marshall, and not without a good reason. Marshall’s eating habit and sleep schedule was utter dogshit, as with every man in his 20s.
Sean thought it would be good for them both, he could look out for Marshall, they could look out for each other. “Natural progression in a relationship” he said. Although people usually moved in with each other after two years, not two months. But nothing they did was ever conventional in the first place.
Sean proposed the idea first, right before they left for Toronto. Awful timing really, they didn’t have a moment to breathe, let alone discuss something that important. Marshall dragged it out as long as he could. Conflicted, and confused, he was. After all, running had always been his best trait.
But he couldn’t run from it forever.
Sean was bringing this up at another awful time. Marshall half wanted to delay it even further, put this after Champions, as if they had all the time in the world.
(They didn’t.)
“Yeah OK,” Marshall said.
“I’m just saying, it wou—wait what?” Sean stared at Marshall, wide-eyed.
Marshall rubbed the back of his head cheekily and coughed. “Look, there’s something I haven’t been honest with you about.”
Sean raised an eyebrow skeptically. “…What?”
“Erm… it’s a surprise.”
“A surprise,” Sean repeated. “The fuck you mean a surprise.”
It wasn’t a question, it didn't sound like one. It was a statement of how much of a dumbass Sean thought Marshall was.
“OK, listen.” Marshall raised both his arms up, making the same face as the surrender yellow emoji. “It’s a secret surprise. I’ll tell you all about it when we win Champs.”
“Oh so never.”
Marshall lightly ruffled Sean’s hair. “Don’t be so gloomy.”
“I’m being realistic.”
“You mean pessimistic.”
“No.”
“Just listen to me this once OK?” Marshall’s persuasion skill was subpar, but Sean didn’t need much persuading. “We’re gonna win Champs, and then I’ll spill the beans.”
Sean folded his arms and sighed, resigned. “Fine.”
“Good boy,” Marshall said, snaking his arm into Sean’s shirt, slowly working down, down, down.
“Shut the fuck up,” Sean hissed but did not push Marshall away.
They were close, too close for comfort. Marshall wasn’t one to just get it up at a moment’s notice, he wasn’t barbaric, but the rain, the softness of Sean’s skin, his little purr when Marshall’s fingers brushed over his pebbled flesh, the overwhelming scent of blueberries and chocolate chip cookies… were testing Marshall’s self-control. The inside of Sean’s jersey was rapidly turning into a gropefest.
They hadn’t done it for a while, too caught up in… everything else. Scrims, matches, team bonding, the whole nine yards. Tonight however felt different, like there was electricity in the air. Match tomorrow, so this night might as well be their last peaceful night for a while. They had had sex directly before a game in the past. It didn’t have any effect really, but Marshall wouldn’t say no to sex.
Sean went quiet for a bit, so Marshall took a peek. What he saw only stirred his guts up even more. Sean’s eyes were glazed over, his pupils expanding, the swirl in those chocolaty browns deep and vast as the ocean floor. Sean looked at Marshall like he was the sun, like Sean would dive headfirst into the flame, willing to ignite for a glimpse of him, of them. It was like looking into the Mirror of Erised.
Marshall swallowed. His hard-on was getting hard. On.
“Sean… May I?” he asked. He didn’t even know what he was asking for, but he needed this. Badly.
“Marsh… You know you don’t have to ask.” Sean panted.
Marshall wasn’t the type of person to let an opportunity slip away, so he began leaving trails of kisses along Sean’s face down to his jugular. Not a lot of people knew this (Marshall hoped so) but there was a birthmark on the intersection of his neck and shoulders. It drove Marshall mad. He always focused on it whenever they got freaky.
There was also a light scratch under Sean’s chin, which had healed into a scar. It looked like he nipped himself shaving.
Marshall mouthed at the reddened skin and mumbled, “What did I tell you about shaving?”
“I’m a grown man, I can handle myself,” Sean affirmed weakly. “You need to stop treating me like a child. I can literally grow facial hair.”
“Then what is this on your neck?”
“An accident, that’s all.”
“You should just leave the shaving to me.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Sean wiggled under Marshall’s onslaught.
Marshall obeyed, too busy daubing spits all over Sean’s neck. Somehow he was on top of Sean now, who was red from head to toes, looking to the side and deliberately avoiding eye contact. Marshall found it amusing. This wasn’t their first rodeo, they’d been dating for six months for God’s sake, yet Sean still acted like a damn virgin. No matter, Marshall loved him all the same.
Marshall’s fingers traced the outline of Sean’s jaw, holding his face as if it was precious and breakable. In this proximity, he could smell Sean’s sweats as he hadn’t showered yet. It should be gross, but to Marshall it tasted like an aphrodisiac. His boner was tenting his sweatpants, Sean too was hard as rock.
Marshall continued giving Sean open-mouth kisses as their boners rubbed against each other, making Marshall’s head spin in the best way possible even through two layers of clothes. Soon there was a sizable wet spot down there. He was so hard it hurt.
Sean’s entire body shook in Marshall’s arms. Their breaths mingled, blending in with one another; of blueberries and citrus, of chocolate chip cookies and honey. Both of Sean’s arms were around Marshall’s neck now, and Marshall’s hands had travelled far beyond what was appropriate. I.e. He was fondling Sean’s ass.
Marshall wormed his hands inside Sean’s pants, fingers digging between his crack, ghosting over his entrance. A whimper escaped Sean, Marshall took that chance to deepen the kiss. His ears popped, and the hunger for Sean only escalated.
Clothes were getting in the way, so Marshall threw his chin up. “Take your fucking shirt off.”
Sean blushed. “Impatient much?”
“Before I fucking tear it off you,” Marshall growled.
“I wouldn’t mind.” Sean winked.
Marshall groaned and grinded his hips down. Sean sucked in through his teeth.
“Don’t tempt me Seanzo, I will do it,” Marshall snarled, “now take it off.”
“Bossy.” Sean pressed his lips into a thin line but listened anyway.
Marshall was getting pretty impatient. In swift motion, most of their clothes fell off the bed faster than you can spell “Swift Play”, only their boxers remained. Sean was bare-chested now in all his naked glory, pale, smooth skin with love bites and hickeys all round his neck, his cross necklace glinted silver in the low light. His nipples were red from Marshall’s teasing earlier. Sean writhed under Marshall’s gaze, embarrassed and self-conscious.
It was taking all of Marshall’s mental resilience to not pull Sean close and fuck him six ways to Sunday.
Sean shivered, tugging at Marshall’s wrist. “Stop staring.”
“Sorry.” Marshall shrugged himself off and smiled boyishly. “You’re irresistible.”
“No I’m not.”
“Please,” Marshall said, popping the p. “I would eat you out for hours if we had time.”
Sean’s blush fanned out across his entire face. He swatted lightly at Marshall’s head. Marshall just giggled and bowed down, swallowing whatever Sean was going to say next.
Leisurely, Marshall dragged Sean’s boxers down. His manhood hit Marshall’s abdomen with a wet slap, and he moaned into Marshall’s mouth. Marshall chuckled and removed his own boxers, throwing it somewhere to his left. Then, he briefly broke the kiss, spit into his palms and held both of their erections with one hand. Sean flinched a little but made no attempt to flee.
They kissed again, only messier, more fervid and uncoordinated. Marshall’s hand around their dicks started pumping up and down, and he was sure heaven could only be so much. Each inch of Sean was lit up like a blaze was unfurling, the cross necklace he never took off brushed against Marshall’s skin, a peculiar but not unwelcome sensation. Wherever Marshall touched, it burned. Even if the atmosphere was cool and breezy from the rain, here he still felt lightheaded, blood rushing to his head.
Being close to Sean, touching Sean always flipped his stomach upside down. Marshall would give anything, anything, to loop in this moment forever. Memorizing the way he felt, carefree, care and free, and in love. The sort of love you could only experience once in your life, the high you’d chase for the rest of your existence.
Marshall licked the outside of Sean’s mouth and wrestled his tongue inside. Sean tasted like a blueberry mojito in summer, refreshing and oh so delicious. It hit like crack, better even. While their lips were occupied with each other, one of Marshall’s hands was knotted in Sean’s velvety hair, the other was, well, still tardily pumping their cocks, precum dripping down his slender fingers.
Each of Sean’s little cries and mewls were consumed by Marshall. He held onto Marshall for dear life, leaving long jagged lines down the blond’s back. Gradually, Marshall’s movements turned frantic and disjointed. Really, he could come right then and there. He wasn’t even focusing anymore, too lost in the curve of Sean’s lips.
And so, he didn’t really have a reaction when Sean forcefully shoved him off. Still drunk on the haze within Sean’s angelic eyes, the butterflies trapped in Marshall’s guts did not help in showing him clarity.
He snapped out of it soon enough. He realized that his hand wrapped around their members had gone immobile, though his still flushed an angry red, and Sean’s was no better. Looking up, Sean was heaving heavily, eyes half-lidded, lips swollen, hair rumpled, neck filled with purplish marks. Marshall winced, he himself must look no different.
“What the fuck bro?” Marshall asked, saliva wetting the corner of his mouth. He wiped it away.
“First of all, don’t call me bro while your hand is literally on my fucking dick,” Sean cursed. “Second of all, I can’t come yet.”
A light bulb dinked above Marshall’s head. “So you were close.”
Sean licked his lips. “Don’t make me spell it out. Go get the stuff.”
“Who’s the bossy one again?”
“Go, or I’m gonna bite your dick off.”
“Not a bad way to go out,” Marshall said. Sean kicked him in the butt and he rightfully fell off the bed, but his laughter was clear like a waterfall.
If they had more time, or if Marshall was more patient, he would’ve had Sean give him head. Sucking dick was an art form, unfortunately Sean wasn’t an artist by all means, but he gave it all every time. For a lack of technique and knowledge—normal considering Marshall was his first boyfriend ever—he compensated by sheer enthusiasm, like he really wanted Marshall to feel good. That thought alone drove Marshall past the edge.
But like Sean said, there was a time and a place for everything. They’d had enough foreplay. Marshall was overly eager to get inside Sean, his dick might explode any time now.
He got on his feet, shuddering a tad, and went to fish out a pack of condoms and a bottle of travel size lube. Yes they packed lube on the trip, sue them. Two young men in their early 20s, come on now. It was essential.
It took a while with Marshall’s shaky fingers, but eventually he produced the necessities. When he returned, Sean was losing his mind a little, and his erection had gotten soft.
“Awe, you okay over there?” Marshall slid into bed, drawing near Sean and fondly held his cheek. “Still good to go?”
“Mhm, yeah.” Sean’s eyelids fluttered, melting into the touch.
“You wanna do the honors? Or I can do it for you?”
“It’s OK, you can do it. I’m tired.”
Marshall smirked. “You’re tired? You haven’t done anything.”
“You kept me waiting, now hurry up.”
Sean stumbled forward, tugging Marshall up until he hit the headboard. He took some pillows and propped his back on them, impatience radiating off him. Marshall followed suit, spreading Sean’s legs so softly it almost hurt, letting his hole come into view. Pink and puckered, and so inviting.
Marshall’s throat went dry.
“Stop staring…” Sean muttered bashfully, his hand on Marshall’s bicep, warm, gentle.
“Aye aye.”
Marshall put one of Sean’s legs on his shoulder, giving his ankle a tender kiss. More were scattered from that point all the way up to his inner thigh, just featherlight kisses, not hard enough to leave a mark.
Marshall popped open the lube—blueberries, for obvious reasons—with his teeth, pouring some on his fingers. The lube was cold to the touch, clearing his head, but only just. He rubbed it between his fingers to warm it up, not wanting to startle Sean.
“You’re ready?” Marshall breathed out shakily.
“Dumbass.” Sean pinched Marshall’s arm. “I’m not fragile.”
Marshall circled around Sean’s rim teasingly, smearing lube all over his butt crack. Sean pinched him one more time, only then did he hesitantly insert one finger, testing the waters. Sean gasped, sensitive at the intrusion. Marshall paused for a fraction of a second, then pushed deeper.
He worked quickly, one finger turned into two, then three. Scissoring his fingers, curling them up, massaging Sean’s inner walls, working him open the way he knew would drive him mad. The heat, the softness of it all was familiar. Marshall chewed the inside of his cheeks, painstakingly forcing himself to stay sane, to be careful and thorough and not hurt Sean, deliberately avoiding Sean’s sweet spot as well. Marshall’s other hand was stroking Sean’s girth, bringing it back to full vigor.
Sean stayed mostly silent throughout the whole process, mostly. Small whimpers fell from his lips like a trail of star songs.
Marshall peeked his head up at a particularly sharp cry, and whatever he was going to say died at the doorstep.
There Sean was, lying on his back, legs opened wide, both vulgarly indecent and sublime at the same time. But that didn’t make Marshall’s eyes go wide, no, it was the look in Sean’s eyes. Pure, unadulterated lust. His irises were practically black, the wanting in those eyes were blazing, and hotter than the core of the Earth.
Unable to contain himself, Marshall surged up and gave Sean’s chest filthy kisses, sucking on his birthmark especially hard. His rosy buds were rock hard, he cried out softly when Marshall suckled on the first one and then the other, alternating back and forth, rolling them between his tongue. When he was done, Sean’s nipples were puffy, and his chest was soaked.
“Hi,” Marshall murmured, locking eyes with Sean.
“Hi.”
“You’re good?”
“Can’t complain.”
“Okay, good, good. And uh…” Marshall gnawed his lower lip. “I love you.”
“I sure fucking hope so, you’re fingering me.”
“You’re such a little shit,” Marshall chastised, pressing on Sean’s bundle of nerves as a warning.
“Ah—ah…” Sean jerked. “Just—get this over with.”
Marshall smirked and sped up his fingers. When he deemed Sean prepped enough, he retracted his fingers in a wet squelch. Sean hissed at the sudden emptiness and grabbed harder onto the blond. Marshall rotated to the side and restlessly tore open the pack of condoms, rolling one down onto his shaft. He slathered a generous amount of lube onto himself, as much as he could.
He assumed Sean would just lay there and take it like a good boy, like a pillow princess. Their sexual encounters usually went like that. But, Marshall was hovering above Sean when Sean abruptly forced him off. For the second time tonight.
“Seanzo if you don’t want to be dicked down just say so,” Marshall complained, a bead of sweat flowed down his temple.
“I…” Sean ran a hand through his hair.
Sean looked like he was going to say something, but decided against it. Instead, he maneuvered Marshall around so that their position was swapped. Marshall laying down, Sean perched on top. Confused, a frown line delved between Marshall’s eyebrows, but he let Sean manhandle him.
“What are you—? Oh!” Marshall gasped.
Sean was blushing hard now. In fact, his entire body was red as an apple.
“Just—trust me on this one okay?” Sean said.
Marshall couldn’t react, gawking at Sean with his jaw dropped, failing to make sense of it all. Sean didn’t like being on top, said it made him feel exposed and vulnerable (“Vulnerable? Really Seanzo? When you have another guy’s dick in your ass?” “Shut up!”). They did it from the back sometimes, among other positions, but never this. Sean only indulged Marshall on special occasions, which, admittedly, wasn’t numerous. Marshall surmised it might have something to do with Sean’s low self-esteem, but who knew.
Sean squirmed on Marshall’s lap, trying to find the most comfortable posture. Marshall’s hands flew to his hips, grounding him in place.
“Now now, what’s this all about?” Marshall guffawed. “Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?”
“Shut up! Don’t make fun of me!”
“I’m not!” Marshall’s grin miles wide. “It’s just—what brought this?”
“Urgh…”
A hint of vexation bubbled up in Marshall’s throat. “Sean? Are you alright? We really don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. We can stop now.”
“No I want to! It’s just…” Sean paused as if looking for the right word. Finally he exhaled and dropped his face until he could bury it in the crook of Marshall’s neck. Marshall reached out and caressed his head dearly. “Match tomorrow right? Who knows when we’ll have time to get freaky again. Might as well make the most of it. And besides…”
“…Besides?”
“I don’t know,” Sean stammered. “I just feel like it.”
“Okay… okay. Let’s do it then.”
Sean pecked Marshall then sat up. He lifted his ass and stationed his entrance over Marshall’s currently raging cock. Bit by bit, he lowered onto it, hissing when it first passed through the tight ring of muscles. Marshall’s hands on his waist a dead-grip, now that was definitely going to bruise.
“Relax,” Marshall cooed, his voice wrangled.
“I—I am.”
“You’re being too tense. Take a deep breath.”
Sean inhaled, and kept going, sinking down, down, down. The sight of Marshall’s cock disappearing into Sean’s body made his breath hitch, heart racing. When Sean finally touched the patch of curls at the base, both of them let out a sigh of relief. Marshall closed his eyes and huffed out through his nose, clearly struggling to hold himself back while Sean took a minute to get acquainted, adjusting to the sheer length and size impaling him. Not to boost Marshall’s ego or anything, but he was just fucking huge.
After an… indeterminate amount of time, Sean started moving. Indecisive at first, searching for a rhythm, a sort of song-and-dance that required two people. Marshall remained still, he trusted Sean to figure it out by himself. He roamed a hand along Sean’s back encouragingly.
Marshall felt his tip jabbing at something both soft and hard, then Sean’s walls contracted and vibrated around him. Ah, Sean must’ve found his own sweet pot.
“Fuckkk…” Sean moaned, vocally.
Sean planted his hands on Marshall’s chest, raised his butt and dropped down, without warning. Marshall’s eyes nearly bulged out of his sockets, but Sean was relentless, he just repeated that motion over and over and over again. Literally bouncing on it, his silver cross necklace dangling wildly. Blood left Marshall’s body, along with his sanity apparently. He’d died, and ascended to heaven.
“Marsh—marsh. Ah, ah…” Sean whined.
“Fucking hell Seanzo. You’re doing s-so good,” Marshall praised through bated breath.
“So good, so big, f-fill me up so well,” Sean wailed.
“I know baby, I know. Just—just for you,” Marshall grunted.
A river of cries and whimpers tumbled out from Sean as he rode Marshall with reckless abandon. Bobbing up and down, squeezing Marshall’s entire rod like a vice. Marshall, for once, could just lay back and enjoy the show. And he pretty much did, being swept away by Sean’s wanton moans. He could’ve sworn at one point Sean did trick shot on it, clenching it hard, rocking back and forth in long, slow strokes.
Marshall rolled his hips and felt Sean pushing against his thrusts, the sound of skin slapping skin working him up further. As he rapidly approached climax, heat pooling at the base of his abdomen, he opened his eyes, spared a glance, and he almost wished he didn’t. Because the sight before him would’ve made him come on the spot.
Sean, perching upon him, was the image he’d dreamt about in a thousand fantasies. Eyes closed, lips half parted, face flushed, body glistening with sweats. His torso was dusted the color of a rose, his nipples were perky, purple and red blossoms decorated his neck. His dick, whenever he lifted and sat down, would bob along with the movement and hit Marshall’s center.
He was the reflection of Marshall’s desires, his needs. He loved Sean so, so much. No amount of words nor trophies could ever describe how much love he carried for Sean, so much so that it would burst out of his chest at any time.
Sean was mesmerizing, like an angel reincarnated, Marshall’s own guardian angel. Like if he knocked on heaven’s door and asked God for their most bewitching angel, they’d bring Sean forward. Marshall was intoxicated, drunk on the angel that was Sean Christian “bang” Bezerra.
“I’m—I’m close,” Sean warned.
Marshall heard it loud and clear. “M-me too.”
“I’m g-gonna…” Sean mewled clamorously, tears collecting at the corner of his eyes.
He had been so loud, so vocal, it was a miracle their next door neighbor hadn’t reported them to hotel management. This could very well end up on discord servers and private dms tomorrow, considering they shared the hotel floor with other teams, but Marshall couldn’t care less. People might’ve thought shy, soft-spoken Sean was a mute in bed, but reality was far from it. He wasn’t shy at all, and did not hold back in expressing how good he felt, how good Marshall made him feel. Bloating Marshall’s already inflated ego.
Just one more thing Marshall loved about him during sex.
Marshall gathered his strength and sat up, dragging Sean onto him, his cock hitting the furthest depths imaginable, and into a passionate kiss. He wrapped his arms around Sean, running his hands up Sean’s back until they were tangled in the soft, black hair. He was teetering on the precipice, and he could tell Sean was about to come too, untouched. His rhythm was dissolving into excited bucking.
“Marshhh… Ah—” Sean sobbed into Marshall’s mouth, their foreheads touching. “I love you—I love you…!”
“I know. I-I love you too,” Marshall slurred, drunk and sex-high.
“Marshhh—I l-love you… love y-you…” Sean chanted, like a sacred mantra.
“Seanzo I’m…” Marshall accidentally bit his tongue. The pain only rushed him closer to the edge.
Sean arched his back like a cat in heat. He was trembling now, like a leaf in the wind, scrambling for Marshall, short, half-bitten fingernails digging into his back. Marshall squeezed his boyfriend tighter and kissed every part on his face, his forehead, nose, chin, lips, lapping away the fat tears cascading down his cheeks.
“I’m g-gonna come…!” Sean choked out in a high pitched cry.
Marshall’s nerves were on fire. He could feel the coiling tension where they connected, and pleasure kept building up like a high wave, washing him ashore. At the peak of it he, for reasons he could not explicate nor comprehend, brought his mouth close to Sean’s collarbone and chomped down on it.
There was a scream, someone screamed, Marshall was sure of it. Maybe it was him, or Sean, but it did not matter. All he registered was the ringing in his ears, the pure ecstasy in his bloodstream, and his vision went white. Absolute euphoria coursed through his veins as he blew load after load into the condom, seemingly bursting at the seams.
Marshall didn’t think he’d ever come so hard in his life. A blinding, immolating kind of thrill, goosebumps lining his body, he thought he saw actual galaxies and supernovae. Even worse, Sean’s insides spasmed and twitched around him, milking his very last drop. Fucking bare would’ve given Sean a stomach ache for sure, based on previous experiences.
Sean was convulsing now, but only a little, his dick trapped between them painting ropes of white on their stomachs. His skinny frame slumped forward and got caught in the arms of the man who would die for him, utterly drained. Marshall buried his nose in Sean’s hair, inhaling deeply the faint blueberries and chocolate chip cookies. He held Sean through the aftershock, murmuring sweet nothings into his ears. Sean’s spent dribbled down his thigh, sloppy and sticky.
Eventually they managed to catch their breaths and came down to Earth from the high. Faced with reality, they realized how gross and sweaty they were, and promptly detached from one another. Slowly, Marshall lifted Sean off him, his softening dick slipping out followed by a soppy sound and copious lube. Sean rolled over and landed face first onto the sheets. Marshall sat up, albeit quivering, tied the condom and threw it off the bed. He’d deal with it later.
No one said anything for a while, but the silence wasn’t awkward, it never was between them. Marshall itched for a ciggy, just one, but he brushed it off like brushing a piece of lint.
There was some rustling behind him, Marshall turned around and saw Sean stretching his arms, yawning.
“Holy fucking Jesus,” Sean exclaimed, voice hoarse. It occurred to Marshall who might’ve screamed earlier.
Marshall tilted his head to the side. “What?”
“This monster bro–” Sean used his foot to flick Marshall’s already oversentitive cock. Marshall jumped back “–you can murder a person with this thing.
“I promise you no one has ever died from my dick before,” Marshall disputed, but his cheeks resembled a tomato.
“Now that’s just wrong.”
“Hahaha.” Marshall laughed because he thought Sean was joking. He wasn’t. “What?”
“Me. I died. I’m the victim,” Sean insisted while picking at the sheets.
“Oh come on.” Marshall nudged him. “You’re acting as if we haven’t done this hundreds of times before. You’re fine.”
“Nuh uh.”
“Let’s go take a shower, we’re fucking disgusting.”
“No fucking way,” Sean yelped. “My legs are jelly. I’m never riding you again bro.”
Sean was whining, which all things considered only made Marshall want to fuck him again. But he was spent, they both were, so he just hauled Sean bridal-style to the bathroom despite the protests. He was stronger than he looked, and Sean was just too thin.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Sean exclaimed when he saw himself in the mirror. “Makeup is gonna have a field day with this one.”
Marshall was testing the water temperature. When done, he darted over to check on his masterpiece that was Sean’s neck. Purplish flowers embellished his collarbones.
“It’s not that bad,” Marshall mused. “It’ll fade.”
“Maybe, but not this one.” Sean pointed to the clear hand prints on his hips. “It kinda hurts lowkey.”
“Oops, my bad bro,” Marshall said, though he did not sound sorry at all.
Sean side-eyed him. “Possesive much?”
“Yep.” Marshall kissed Sean’s cheeks wetly. “You’re mine.”
“Fucking shameless.” Sean shook his head, smiling.
They stepped into the showers and soaked together, washing away the grime and grunge of sex and sweat. Warm water hit Marshall’s face as he scrubbed Sean clean from head to toes. Hotel-provided shampoo smelled like lemongrass and peppermint, their soap carried a hint of sandalwood and vanilla. Pretty bougie if you asked Marshall, who was making a mess of soap bubbles out of Sean’s hair.
“Marshall,” Sean cleared his throat.
“What?”
“My voice is fucked.”
“Seems fine to me.”
“If I can’t comm tomorrow it’s your fault,” Sean rasped.
“You dramatic ass.” Marshall shook his head fondly. “You’re okay. We’re okay. Match is in the afternoon, we’ll have plenty of rest.”
Sean sticked his tongue out playfully. “You and your monster cock.”
Marshall’s dick twitched. “Watch it Seanzo. I can go for round two.”
“Bleh.”
It sounded like a joke, but Marshall’s rod would say otherwise. Regardless of that, they didn’t get too freaky in the shower. Sean wasn’t in the mood anymore, and truthfully post nut clarity was getting to Marshall.
Later, when they were clean and satiated, comfy under the covers, the rain stopped. Marshall after trashing the condom and stashing the essentials away had opened up the windows again, night breeze sweeping away the residual carnal. He snuggled close to Sean, breathing in the pleasant smell of blueberries and chocolate chip cookies. Sean was dozing off now, not an ounce of strength left.
Paris’s lights never dimmed, the sound of carnival, the smell of cafe au lait and croissants, the laughter of Parisians… perpetually permeated that cloudy sky. But for one moment, like the love circling within the narrow alleyways and winding streets of this city, their love burned hot like an eternal fire. Encapsulated forever in icy-blue eyes and chocolaty pupils.
And as Marshall fell asleep to the cadenced beating of Sean’s heart, he wished for the best, for the future to be kind.
A futile wish really.
That was the last good day they had before everything crumbled like monuments in the desert, burrowed in the sand. No wonder Marshall remembers it in shocking details, every moment, every laugh.
Paris, France, where dreams are shattered. Miles away from home. He’s still in Europe now, only in a different city, different jersey, different everything. Oh how he wishes to go back, to rewind time, breathe in it, live in it, once more. When he was younger and had yet faced the cruel, bitter ending sketched out for him, for them. When they were still on that team.
But alas, he cannot.
───〃★
That was the last time they had sex, last time actually sleeping in the same bed without animosity. It’s been months, sure, but LewN’s question has opened up multiple cans of worms that are better off entombed.
In regard to that “secret”, it’s about moving in together. Marshall never had the opportunity to notify Sean, but he was very serious about that. He found an apartment you see, halfway between the Sentinels office and 100T compound (just a coincidence). It’s on the third floor of a semi-old building, with a view into an empty street. A little tight for two people, but infinitely too vast for one.
It has looked appealing from the pictures online, and the balcony has lured Marshall in. He went to scope it out and found himself falling in love with it even more. He could imagine it, living there with Sean. Growing old with him, if they made it to the other side.
One bedroom would be their real bedroom, with windows that are never close, come rain or shine, sheets that are washed every weekend, and smell like citrusy blueberries. The other would be their office, two desks, two PCs, two people, in love. Each morning would be filled with laughter over cups of coffee. Each night would be spent grinding ranked and VOD reviewing together, before falling asleep in each other’s arms.
The place has felt real, tangible, in a way that still haunts Marshall to this day. He was determined to bring Sean there, to show him their future, regardless of how Paris ended.
But maybe he bit off more than he can chew, because they didn’t make it to the other side. Paris has ended catastrophically in a sequence of unfortunate events, and the months that came after only dragged him down to the pits of hell. The lease he was going to sign locked behind layers of barbed wires, deep in the drawer, never to see the light of day. The apartment they won’t share probably belongs to someone else now. The future they won’t build, the stories they won’t tell, the passion Marshall won’t feel again; all gone with the wind.
Sometimes, he can't help but wish that somewhere in the multiverse, there is a timeline where everything worked out for them. Where they stuck together through all the obstacles coming at them, and are happy together in a sunny apartment where the rain never stays for too long. Where Sean didn’t break up with him, and he didn’t fuck off to Germany.
Of course, there ain’t no way in hell he is going to reveal any of that shit to LewN, so he just makes up some bullshit about Paris and moves on. LewN knowing better, doesn’t prod or poke further. Marshall is grateful for that because it doesn’t matter anymore. He wants it to not matter anymore.
It’s harder than it looks. Some days he can’t fall asleep, lying awake in agony while memories twist and dance around him. Some days food literally tastes like gravel on his tongue, and he’ll start missing those chocolate chip cookies that Sean used to buy in bulk and bring to the office. Some days he’s on the phone with his mom for mandatory check-up, and all he can think about is whether it’s raining in Los Angeles or not, and whether Sean is eating enough.
He’s tried meeting other people too, apps, blind dates, takeout coffees, casual hook-ups, no strings attached. He slept with two and a half people then he stopped, he would’ve vomited all over the next poor girl or guy or nonbinary pal. He sees Sean’s smile on their faces, Sean’s imprint on their bodies, Sean’s habitual quirks in their movements. It’s a special kind of torture. Thankfully they were all casual, but Marshall had to hold himself back multiple times, not blurting out Sean’s name during the climax.
Some days, he wishes on Sean’s downfall, that if he isn’t successful then Sean shouldn’t be either, then they can both blame it on the breakup. He wishes that the view outside Sean’s home isn’t nice and the streetlights bleed into his bedroom, that everything in his life goes to shit and Sean would call him, or unblock him at least.
But he’s long past that. Such malicious thoughts can do no good. Sure he’s blocked but not on all platforms, after all, he didn’t reach out for a reason. He didn’t even say anything on Sean’s birthday, wanting to keep the memories of last year’s birthday intact. Naive, and pure. If only that Marshall and that Sean could see them now.
Regardless, he hasn’t cried once since January 25th and he thinks he’s incapable of crying now even if he wanted to. He’s stopped thinking about them, about Sean and the breakup, what he could’ve done differently. There’s no point.
Sean is having the time of his life in Los Angeles. Marshall is focusing on himself in Berlin. And time never waits for no one. He has to rid himself of these nightmarish vignettes. Even if coming back to Paris hurts, he still has to.
You can’t live without regrets—regret is what makes us human—and his biggest regret is Sean.
It would’ve been fine if their relationship was like Tyson’s, running its course. Instead what became of them was scars and wounds that Marshall suspects he might have to spend his whole life trying to heal from. How the hell he came to LA with high hopes and left with a crestfallen heart is beyond him. The unfulfilled wishes, the broken promises, are all echoes now.
Maybe we get married one day, but who knows?
Think I'll take that thought to the grave, but who knows?
Sometimes the road less travelled is a road best left behind.
At the end of it all, he just hopes Sean is moving on.