marshall understands the hardships of life. he knows that life changes and people do too. he knows that because he changed. the only thing is, mars also knows he tends to be imaginary to those he accepts in his life. because marshall is good, marshall is smart, and kind. he he endless love and he’s an adventurer. he understands that the person he is is fictional. the one he presents to everyone is the best parts of him. they don’t see the bags under his eyes, they don’t read the pages and pages of how much he hates leaving his mother behind. or the fact that he never talks about himself the way he listens to others. how he’s ruined relationships because he’s grown too comfortable and he doesn’t like taking risks when things are going well. he believes casper fits with the rest of them. that he’s on some pedestal to him. he can’t change that. if he tries to explain he’s flawed like the rest of society, he sounds like a prick. he just has to accept that he’s no longer a person to casper, but a passage in a book.
his body is tired. he wants to sleep. they both have dark circles under their eyes and they look like a sadder version of their previous selves. as if he were to look beside him and see the booth with their teenage bodies eating like beasts. how vibrant they looked. how dulled out they were now. he’d wish for them to never see their futures. to keep living the way they did. maybe mars would tell his younger self to just do it, and not be so fucking afraid. because if there’s one person he’s met in his life who would be worth the risk, he knows it’s casper. and had he taken the risk, and it fallen flat, and least he’d hope that maybe casper would know a good thing when it was in front of him, and not choose someone with blood under their fingers.
he keeps on truckin’, though. marshall might know the person he is, is barely real, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t remind himself life is bright, the world has plans for him, and he’s blessed to be on this planet. he’s blessed to being front of casper. even if casper’s words hurt a part of him he no longer thought was there.
his fingers are cold, and mars’ body is always warm like the sun— a source of heat he’d always use as a reason to sneak closer. when they passed out on those colder summer nights and casper shivered, no hesitation their bodies were glued together. but those fingertips, in this room temperature diner, sent a sharp shiver down his spine as he looked at the ghost, and the words poured into his soul like sweet wine. like his lips would tint red and he’d get on his knees for him. he’d grasp those hands, kiss the heavens, tell him that the world is difficult but fate deals is mysterious ways and how badly he wanted to share the maple syrup on his tongue with him. “ casper, “ that name felt fragile and so good to say. “ difficult is not impossible. “ he wanted to whisper it again and press their foreheads together. to tell him casper was not something to give up on. casper was a person. instead of that, he smiled. the kind that poured from the sun. unreal. he knew he was unreal. but godamnit even if there was sorrow in those words, he wanted to see casper again, too. his free hand moved over the one gripping his. delicate. moving gently over the soft, cold skin to prove his point. to say something under the surface he might not have gotten before. “ i don’t want us to be like this either, okay? i’ll fight for you, casper. i will. “ he leans forward, his words growing more quiet, his smile still shining through the darkness. “ i didn’t drive across the country just to give up on you five years later. we all have promises to keep. “ with that, he drew back, freeing both his hands. “ do you want to try this again or would you really like me to leave you be. “ He sat back, eyebrows raised. waiting. “ either way you’ll leave with my number and address. day or night you come to my window. “
casper wishes it didn’t always have to be a fight with him. his mouth is a war zone, and everyone he cares for somehow ends up caught in the crossfire. it’s exhausting, he thinks, to love someone who has a heart like a defibrillator. heart like go, heart like, no, please, stay. heart like an empty stretch of land, bomb testing desert, heart like being left defenceless somewhere in the middle. loving him is like a cease and desist, leaving like dishonourable discharge. casper imagines that when he’s gone, two military uniforms will knock on the doors of every heart that’s had the misfortune of coming under fire in his care, saying, finally, it’s over.
unconsciously, casper’s grip relaxes under marshall’s palm, wanting the closeness, the bridge that he’s so bad at making with his words. there’s an unspoken vulnerability in the way mars' hand rests over his, and casper doesn’t want to get this part wrong, but it’s a lot easier to get things right when he speaks by touch, instead of with his mouth. marshall’s skin is warm, always has been, like he’s soaked up too much dry country sun, and he overflows with it now. the angle of casper’s shoulders drop by a few significant degrees, and he squeezes his friend’s hand, savouring the sun-roughened skin. his heart beats steadily; even; considering, teaching itself to track the seconds he has here with marshall and not count them down.
too soon, it’s over. mars returns to his side of the booth, back into the light, and cas’ hand sits on the table, exposed, until he shelters it in the padded space of his pockets. somehow, it feels colder than before. “ i haven’t done that in a long time, ” he says, in reference to days of climbing into windows and evenings spent teetering on the edge of something more on windowsills. “ ‘don’t suppose you’ve got a door or something at yours, instead ? ” the curve of his mouth feels strange for this hour. or maybe it’s not the time of night, maybe it’s just the long periods of time he spends without one. casper’s smile belongs to him, but it has a funny way of looking like it doesn’t.
casper will be here until the diner’s morning staff rotate in, consuming coffee to stave sleep off because he knows a match-stick mouth will be waiting for him if he sleeps. it’s better to pass out than doze off, it leaves his dreams empty. casper doesn’t say this to marshall. instead, “ you know all the fucked up night drivers start comin’ in after four, so, uh, i don’t know if you want to be here for that. ” it’s an indefinite answer at best, ill-defined and left open to mars’ interpretation. “ but yeah, give me your new number, and we’ll do--- ” pause, blank. “ ----- something. ” brilliant, casper.
