#marshall loverly

“Honestly, it’s pretentious,” Droven was saying, kicking a rock down the road. “It’s trying to be deep, and it isn’t.”

Marsh shrugged. “Granted, but I’d rather suffer through it every time rather than have my fingernails peeled off--”

Droven shook his head. “No, you don’t get it. I would willingly have my other hand chopped off to not watch The Breakfast Club again. With a smile.”

“Well, you’ll have to find someone else to do it this time. I’m not going through that agai--”

Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked, breaking Marsh’s sentence off and stopping him in his tracks.

“Plus, the ending sucks,” Droven argued, not noticing Marsh’s concentration. “I think--”

“Shh!” Marsh hissed, straining his ears to listen.

And…there! Again, the bark. Low and rough, from down the highway behind them.

Marsh snapped his head to look back. “Springsteen?” he called.

Droven stepped forward. “It couldn’t be her,” he whispered, more in disbelief than truly doubtful, but Marsh knew his own dog’s bark better than anything. 

“Springsteen!” he shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Spring, c’mere, girl!” He put his fingers to his lips and whistled. Springsteen barked again. “Come here, c’mon!” 

A big black shape emerged from behind one of the rotting abandoned cars on the road, racing towards them. 

Marsh broke into a bright laugh and knelt down, patting his leg. “Good girl, Spring! Come on!” 

Springsteen leaped into his open arms, knocking him onto the ground. The impact jarred his injured leg, but he couldn’t have cared any less. Not when he pet floppy shepherd ears as his dog turned him into a slobbery mess, licking every bit of skin on his face and arms. 

“Alright, dog, okay! Let me up!” he giggled, finally pushing her off him with some effort. 

Springsteen sat on his legs and opened her mouth in what Marsh could only assume was a big doggy smile. He rubbed behind her ears, cooing at her.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmured, flooding his legs in so he could kiss the soft fur at the top of her head. “Good puppy. Look at you! How’d you find me, huh? Where’d you come from?”

Springsteen tilted her head like she was really listening to his questions, then surged forward and licked his face again.

Droven appeared at Marsh’s side, kneeling down so Springsteen could smell the new stranger. “Shouldn’t she be with your sister, though?” he asked, almost carefully, but still perfectly voicing Marsh’s worries.

He grimaced. “I’m trying not to think about it.” He was choosing to believe they had gotten separated somewhere along the road, and the dog was left with no choice but to track him down.

Springsteen seemed to accept Droven and shoved her face in his hand for immediate pets, which Droven happily obliged.

“It’s fine,” Marsh said, though his voice sounded distant now. Neptune was fine--so she didn’t have the dog. She could make it. She was strong, she had every skill Marsh could possibly have taught her in three years. It was fine.

He scratched underneath Springsteen’s chin, now returned to sitting on his legs like she could sense his worry.

“It’s fine,” he repeated, and he made sure to believe it more firmly that time. He held out his hand in an unspoken question and Droven gripped it, helping him to his feet. Springsteen returned to his side like she was a puppy again, listening intently while Marsh trained her in the horse barn after school.

Marsh patted her head. “Good girl,” he whispered. “Good dog.”

“Marsh?” Neptune’s voice was tiny, but it was clear in the silence of the night. Marsh rolled over to look at her, squinting his eyes slightly against the glare of the fire.

“Mhm?” he hummed sleepily. His sister was sitting up next to her sleeping bag, hugging her knees to her chest as she stared at the fire. DeeDee the Dino was gripped in her hand. “What’s up, kiddo?”

She sniffled quietly and rested her chin on top of her knees. “I…I don’t like this.”

Marsh sat up as well, leaning back on his hands as he watched her. “What do you mean? You don’t like the woods? Or camping?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t like…this. The way everything went wrong…we’re all alone, and we have to walk everywhere, and everyone looks scary, and I miss Mom, and it’s cold, and-and I just hate it all!” She’d started sniffling while talking, but now she was crying in hiccuping sobs, burying her face in her knees and clutching her little plush to her chest. Marsh made a mournful sound in his throat. The poor kid hadn’t had a moment to actually process anything. Her parents were dead, and her home was gone, and she’d been forced to take it as it came without stopping.

(So had Marshall, but he was older. He could handle it).

It was hardly a decision at all to sit up fully and open his arms. “C’mon, kiddo.” In an instant, he had an armful of little kid, tucking herself under his chin and shoving her face in his chest while she cried. He sighed quietly and rested his head on her blonde curls, gently rocking them back and forth.

He wasn’t the best with emotions--none of the Loverlys were, it was a staple of the family--but there would never be a time when he wouldn’t try for Neptune.

Neptune nodded slowly. “Loverlys survive,” she echoed, sounding absolutely miserable. "But I'm scared."

“We’ll be alright, Tunes,” he murmured into her hair, when her sobs quieted to gentle hiccups. “Loverlys survive.”

When she didn't answer, he nudged her gently. "Hey. Space Kid. You get me?"

Oh, kiddo.

Marsh swallowed thickly. He wanted to admit the same thing, but somehow, he got the feeling that wouldn’t make her feel better. She was younger. She needed comfort. She needed someone strong. She needed a brother.

He cleared his throat and combed a hand through her hair, smoothing it back. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Ever. I’ve got you.”

“Okay.” Her reply was barely even audible, and a moment later, she erupted into a jaw-cracking yawn. Marsh suppressed his smile as he eased them to the ground, pulling the sleeping bag over both of them and tucking it in around Neptune’s shoulders. He kept his arms wrapped around his sister, and she snuggled close to him again as soon as they were both settled. She was asleep within seconds.

Marsh continued to smooth her hair back, staring out at the treeline. They were far enough away from anywhere to get Infected, but wildlife and who knew what else would be running rampant out here.

Neptune’s breaths were slow and even, her energy drained from crying so hard. Marsh pressed his lips against her head, closing his eyes.

Marsh knew before they ever reached the commune how much he would despise sleeping alone. His first night in San Francisco, when he’d curled up under the comforter on the huge bed in Chris’ spare room, the familiar pit of anxiety settled in his stomach.

Everything was too big, too open, too empty. There was no one at his back in case of an attack. Not even a wall to make sure he wasn’t snuck up on in the middle of the night. Just a huge bed in the middle of a huge room in an unfamiliar city.

The anxiety curled into frustration. He was safe, he knew that. No one was going to attack him. The walls surrounding the city would make sure of it.

His mind just wouldn’t accept it.

After multiple hours of turning and huffing in frustration and turning again, Marsh had drifted into the uneasiest doze of his life, body still tensed for action. When the bed dipped beside him sometime later, Marsh was up in an instant, reaching for his knife under his pillow. 

“Jus’ me, Cowboy,” Droven mumbled, shoving Marsh’s hand down. “Chillax.” 

All the adrenaline drained at once. Marsh fell back against the mattress and tucked his knife away. “Scared the shit outta me,” he huffed. 

"Sorry.” Droven flopped down beside him, his face squished into the pillow. He reached over and pulled one of the blankets over himself. “Stop keeping knives under your pillow, you freak.” 

“Stop creepin’ up on people, weirdo.” He yelped when Droven dug an elbow into his side. “The hell are you doin’ in here anyways? And how’d you get in?”

“Nightmare. Window.”  

“Mmph.” The presence of another human settled the twisting feeling in his gut. Droven pressed his back to Marsh’s like they were back on the road, and Marsh thought he might manage to sleep after all.

Soft rustling sliced through his thoughts, dragging Marsh’s back from the edge of sleep.

“Marsh?” Droven’s voice was closer now, quieter. Marsh rolled over to find they were face-to-face with each other. Droven curled a little closer, picking at a spare thread on the blanket. “We’ll be okay, right?” 

“Sure.” Marsh took Droven’s hand almost instinctively. “We’ll work it out. We always do.” 

Droven cracked a tiny smile. “Yeah, we do,” he agreed. Then, like the action was entirely natural for him, he pressed a fleeting kiss to Marsh’s hand and squeezed it. “G’night, Marsh.”

Like nothing had happened, Droven nodded off within seconds, leaving Marsh silent and stunned. His hand almost burned where Droven’s lips had touched his skin, and Marsh couldn’t decipher if it was a bad thing.

He was no stranger to kisses--besides the few awkward ones he’d shared with the few crushes he’d had in high school, he was familiar with his mom pecking his cheeks before he left for school, and he often found himself kissing Neptune’s head when she sought him out after bad dreams.

Still, this felt different. Not brotherly, like with Neptune, or even weird like in high school. This was something new entirely. Filled with tenderness and familiarity and…love? Maybe? Or just a comforting action from a friend, if he wanted?

Whatever. Marsh didn’t have the energy to figure out exactly what was happening with himself or his deal with Droven. He was tired and he was going to sleep, possible homosexuality be damned.

“Figured I’d find you up here.”

Marsh, for once, didn’t startle at Droven’s quiet intrusion, although quiet was hardly the word. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the crashing of waves against the cliffside below. Still, Marsh just shifted to the side to make room for Droven to sit on the rock beside him.

“You find me everywhere.”

“It’s the middle of the night,” Droven sighed, cutting right to the point. “Why are you brooding all the way out here?”

Marsh huffed, shoving Droven’s shoulder. Even the slight bit of contact sent the spark in his chest flaring. “Brood,” he scoffed. “I don’t brood. I’m thinkin’.”

“Okay, Cowboy, well usually, people don’t hike a half-hour up a cliff in the middle of the night to think.” The waves smashed in time with Droven’s words and the noise made Marsh cringe. His leg throbbed dully in the background, unhappy with the December cold and the unnecessary trek up the hills. He shifted as discreetly as possible to stretch it out, but nothing escaped Droven.

His eyes locked onto the movement immediately and narrowed. “Was your leg bothering you before you left the city?”

“No,” Marsh lied.

“Fucking idiot." Droven sighed. "We should go back down before it gets worse.”

Marsh shook his head. “I’m fine.” Secretly, he hoped Droven would give up and leave him alone. He’d escaped all the way to the top of the city in hopes of getting as far away from whatever was happening to him, but Droven seemed incapable of leaving Marsh to his thoughts.

“Seriously, it’s freezing out here.” Droven nudged his shoe against Marsh’s. “Don’t you at least want to brood somewhere you won’t catch hypothermia?”

Marsh finally looked at Droven, intent on asking him to leave, but his mind shorted out as soon as he saw him. 

Droven glowed, moonlight reflecting off of dark brown skin and black curls that had grown long in the year they’d known each other, still mussed from the sleep he’d no doubt hastily woken from to go retrieve Marsh.

Even in just the jeans and jacket he wore every day, eyes bright as he watched Marsh, he was absolutely gorgeous. Marsh had a sudden strong urge to kiss him.

Droven huffed, one lock of hair fluttering up from his forehead. “Okay, really. What’s wrong with you, Marshall?”

After a long second of trying to comprehend his revelation, Marsh reached forward to tuck the piece of hair behind Droven’s ear. His hand lingered slightly longer than necessary on Droven’s face. 

“You never call me Marshall,” he said smartly. 

Droven seemed frozen under his touch, eyes wide and unsure. “Is that a bad thing?”

“I think I like ‘cowboy’ better,” Marsh admitted, his voice low in his throat. Droven wavered just slightly. At some point, one--or both--of them had shifted closer. Marsh could see each of Droven’s nervous breaths, hear them past the sound of the waves.

Marsh thought briefly that he would do it. He would surge forward, catch Droven’s lips, taste the ocean salt and sand that clung to him now. He was inches away. He should just--

“Okay, then, Cowboy.” Droven shook Marsh’s hand off of him. “We should head back down. You need to rest that leg, you get me?”

Marsh steadily tried to ignore the pang in his chest as Droven stood up, removing his warm presence.

“Yeah, I get you,” he agreed sullenly, allowing Droven to help him to his feet. “Thanks, angel.”

Droven cleared his throat as casually as possible and nodded toward the trail that led them down the cliff. “I can help you down, if you need.”

It was tempting. Marsh would probably appreciate the added support; his leg was really starting to hurt like hell now that he was standing on it. But the way Droven had pulled back just seconds ago…no, he didn’t want to be touching Marsh right now. He was offering out of courtesy.

Marsh frowned and brushed past Droven, masking his limp as much as he could as he started down the hill. “Thanks. I can manage it myself.”

"I have to go," Marsh said firmly.

Droven looked ready to slap him. “Jesus Christ, can you not take a break for two fucking seconds?!” He sounded actually upset, enough for Marsh to snap his mouth shut. “Two. Seconds. You know you don’t have to be flooring it every minute of your life, right? You can chill.”

Marsh sighed. “Droven. I don’t have time to ‘chill’.”

“Oh, you don’t have time to chill,” Droven scoffed, throwing his arms up in exasperation.

“Angel--”

“Don’t you angel me! You don’t get it, you are going to die out there! Not a maybe. Not a risk you’re taking, you will. And I’m sick of watching you throw yourself headfirst into these things without even thinking about it!” Droven started pacing, his boots loud on the cabin floor. “You can’t do that to me, that’s not fair. You need to think about yourself, for once.”

The urge to reach out and pull Droven into his arms grew stronger with every second, so Marsh folded his arms tightly to his chest to avoid it. “Look…no one asked you to come after me,” he tried. Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say.

Droven snapped around and stormed over, his finger shoved in Marsh’s chest.

“No, I decided to come after you. No one needed to ask me anything, I make my own decisions.” A fire raged on his face, in his eyes, fierce enough that Marsh knew his words didn’t show even half of it. 

“Droven--”

“Because you are worth it to me! But I can’t be the one to convince you that you are worth it to yourself. That’s not my job.”

He whirled around, grabbing his jacket off the couch. “If you want to go get yourself killed, then fine. Go fuck off and die in the woods for all I care. At least this time, I can save myself the heartbreak. I know you’re not coming back.”

Marsh watched, stunned, as Droven pulled on the jacket. He would go for his bag next. He would leave, and Marsh would never see him again.

He was right. Marsh would die trying to get to Alaska.

Because he was stupid.

Heartbreak. Droven had said heartbreak. Save him the heartbreak of thinking he would be alive.

Droven, who followed him out into the snow and storm to save him. Droven, who left the safety of San Francisco to take care of his sick, sorry ass.

Droven, who watched that Infected attack him all those months ago in the school, and decided to save him. Whatever reason it was, he still did it. He told every Godly power to fuck off, that Marsh wasn’t dying. He decided Marsh was worth it.

And then decided it again and again.

Marsh would berate himself later for being so clueless, but he had bigger problems. Namely, Droven throwing his bag on his back, ready to leave.

His mouth opened. He hesitated.

Now. Do it now.

“Droven,” he managed, feeling a little out of breath. “Wait. Please.”

To his credit, Droven didn’t storm out. He turned to face Marsh, looking annoyed as hell, face expectant.

Marsh struggled for the right words. “I’m sorry,” he said finally, “People don’t…I mean…you came after me.” Another deep breath. “No one’s done that before. I’m not used to people thinking that much of me. Thank you.”

Droven’s face twisted into solid confusion. Marsh tried again, his hands fidgeting at his sides.

“I…darling, I think you’re worth it.”

“Oh.” Droven didn’t look any less confused--like he was solving a puzzle, taking Marsh apart piece by piece.

Marsh braced himself for whatever rejection he was about to receive. “Angel--”

Droven was across the room in three steps, his bag abandoned on the ground behind him. He cupped the back of Marsh’s neck and pulled him down.

When he kissed him, it felt right.

All the time spent agonizing and tearing apart every moment he felt different suddenly seemed irrelevant. Different didn’t matter. He’d told Droven as much in the truck, but he didn’t believe it for himself until now.

What mattered was Droven. His arms wrapped around Marsh’s neck, his weight on his toes so he could reach.

He pulled back, for just a second, despite how much he wanted to stay like that. “Angel…” Marsh mumbled in the silence that followed. “I’m sorry.”

“Be quiet,” Droven insisted, tugging Marsh back down.

Marsh’s mind blanked out as soon as their lips met again.

He kissed back greedily, his hands naturally resting on Droven’s hips to pull him closer. Droven’s fingers tangled in the hair at the base of his neck. It felt like the perfect conclusion to everytime that odd feeling had kicked in his chest.

For a second--just one short second--time froze in his mind, keeping his body pressed flushed with Droven. Everything else, for that one second, was unimportant.