Archive of Our Own

A muffled tap echoed about the room. A shadowed figure, framed by the moonlight, stood at the glass balcony door. The figure was lithe with sharp features and shaggy hair. It waited expectantly outside the ornate door, casually peering through the glistening glass.

He knew who it was. This had happened before.

The bed beneath gave a faint creak as he sat up. Slowly, he made his way out of bed and over to the window. His feet felt light as he walked. He stopped at the door and gingerly unlatched the deadbolt. He took the shiny doorknob in his hand and opened the door. A strong gust of warm wind poured in.

“Hey,” the figure greeted, lacing their fingers together.

He sighed. “Hello," he squeezed the visitor's hand and led him to the little tea table at the other end of the room, where he gestured at one of the chairs.

The guest released his hand and sat down, reclining casually.

He walked over to his china closet and opened a small drawer at the bottom. In it were several bottles, from which he selected the one he knew was his guest’s favorite. He opened an adjacent drawer and withdrew two wine glasses from it. They clinked lightly as he walked back over to the tea table and settled into the empty chair. Gently, he placed the bottle and glasses on the table.

The guest helped himself to the wine. “How’s it goin’?”

“Oh, you know. Business as usual I suppose," his finger circled the rim of the empty glass before him. “What brings you here?” he asked, even though he knew the answer. It was always the same.

His friend poured the wine carefully, so as not to spill on the white tablecloth. “I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d stop by." A pause. “I’m feelin’ kinda lonely.”

He sighed, taking the bottle and pouring some wine into his own glass. “As am I, actually. Friends aren’t in short supply, and I don’t need intimacy in my life, but part of me still longs for it," I hate that part of me, he wanted to say. What he wanted didn’t matter; his needs and the needs of his people are the only things he should’ve felt obligations towards.

Predictably, soft fingers brushed his. The surprise was gone, but he still smiled.

His guest leaned on his elbow, smiling back. “Makes two of us, huh?” he agreed as their hands met and the fingers wove together. With his free hand, he took a sip of his wine.

“Yes, I suppose it does," he answered.

Instead of replying, his companion set down the wine glass he was sipping from and took his other hand. They leaned forward towards each other. The lips of the guest met the cheek of the host. “Your cheeks are warm," he commented, as he always did.

“Perhaps it is just your cold lips," he retorted, smiling playfully.

They shared the same kiss they always did. It felt warm, but hollow. His cheek, his fingers, and his lips all seemed numb. He noticed the movement and being touched, but he didn’t feel it. There was a faint smell, the one that had been fading gradually until he really had to try to feel its presence, and even when he did, it wasn’t quite how he remembered it. The taste wasn’t there, but it never really was, even in the beginning. The memories that he fed on, once so vibrant and potent, were now fading. The warm sunshine had dimmed to a soft glow: pleasant in its own right, but never quite like the strong beams of light he knew what felt like so long ago.

As it did whenever he began to overthink it, the colors and shapes around him faded and blurred. His entire body numbed completely. There was no more kissing. He couldn’t feel the fingers intertwined with his. The figure was gone as quickly as it appeared. There was a time when he would grow frustrated as the sensations disappeared, when they were vivid and real. He was weary of the little scenes that played out. They lost their luster as the events and items that sparked them were lost, forgotten, or worn.

The prince stirred lazily in his bed. He could feel the light of morning before he opened his eyes. Though he had slept through the whole night, he didn’t feel well-rested. Blinking away the sunlight, he stared down at his shirt. It was the satin top that went with his matching satin pajama bottoms. He hadn't worn his favorite tee shirt-- that tee shirt-- to sleep in a while.

Blearily, he opened his nightstand drawer and withdrew his dream journal, a red notebook with a worn cover. He took the pen out of its binding and opened up to the next blank page.

For the first time in a long while, I had the recurring dream. Predictably, it was shorter and less pronounced than the previous instance. I can’t help but think that the decrease in frequency and potency of the dream is connected to the loss of my favorite night shirt. I don’t want to say that I’m disappointed. I don’t believe it to be a healthy dream, and the repetitiveness of the scenarios has begun to grate on me. The redundant exchanges bring about an increasingly marked sense of sadness in me. I hope that this is the last instance I will have of this dream.

Feeling drained, he closed the book and placed it back in his nightstand drawer. He gave a long sigh before peeling back the covers and stepping out of bed.

Thus begins another long day, he thought to himself.

♥

“Goodnight, m’lord!” Butterscotch Butler called through the door.

The prince pulled on his nightshirt. “Goodnight, B-Scotch," he yawned and scratched the back of his head. He was tired from a long day of reading through treaties, writing speeches, and doing other royal paperwork. Random excerpts from bills and petitions swirled about his mind. Of all the things he liked the least about being a leader; paperwork had to be number one. His hand would ache from all the writing he had to do, and he would see the fancy print of the documents whenever he would close his eyes. It consumed all of the time he would normally use for baking, and more often than not, he would have to start all over again if he got distracted.

He settled into bed and flicked the light out. He fell asleep almost immediately when his head hit the pillow.

♥

There was a tapping at the window. When the prince looked up, there it was: the shadow of a figure, bathed in moonlight. Same old, same old, he thought.

Gumball blinked. He couldn't help but notice that this dream was different from the previous iterations. When he glanced around the room, he noticed the vividness of the colors and the sharp shapes of the shadows the furniture casted on the wall. He could hear the wind and the sounds of people on the streets far below his balcony, and when the taps echoed through the room, they weren’t muffled. The shadow of the figure wasn’t remaining eerily still, it was bobbing and floating. Most notably of all, he was completely aware that he was dreaming, yet nothing was changing or blurring.

He couldn’t believe it. It had to have been a lucid dream.

The feeling that zipped through him was nothing short of excitement, embarrassed as he was to admit it. He threw his duvet off and hurried over to the balcony door.

There he was, larger than life, realer than a foggy figure. Everything about him was so authentically him: the torn jeans he wore, the ratty grey shirt with the torn off sleeves. On his feet were the beat-up, doodled-on, red sneakers he always wore. The blade of the axe strapped to his back gleamed faintly in the light of the moon and the lanterns outside. His unruly black hair hung in his eyes, and oh, his eyes- bright red-orange, like the color of a perfectly ripe apple. The prince couldn’t fathom how his mind had gotten Marshall Lee down to such a science.

The vampire tapped again. “Are you gonna stare at me or let me in?” he nagged.

Gumball blinked dumbly. “What? Oh, of course!” his hands shook as he worked at the deadbolt and grabbed the handle, swinging the door open. Goosebumps spread over his skin as the cold wind blew in.

Marshall raised his eyebrows. “That was easier than I thought. How’s it goin’, Bubs?” he asked casually as his friend rushed to close the door behind him. The vampire floated in, glancing around the room. He even smelled real: musky, not unlike the damp grass after it rained. Not exactly a pleasant smell to anyone who was unfamiliar with it, but oh, how the prince missed it.

He didn’t even cringe at the nickname, simply because it just felt so genuine and real. He smiled. “Marvelously!” he blurted.

“Whoa, okay," his guest chuckled. “That’s probably good, because I was expecting you to blow me off.”

The prince took his friend’s hand a little more eagerly than he’d like to admit. The hand in his was very cold, likely from the chilly weather outside. Nonetheless, he loved that he could actually feel those coarse, slender fingers against his.

Marshall blushed visibly. “Uh…”

Gumball led him to the tea table as he usually did. To his surprise, the kettle of tea that was there when he fell asleep was still sitting on the table, along with a single empty mug. He thought little of it though, and gestured for his friend to sit down before releasing his hand and hurrying over to the china closet. With a flourish, he opened the little drawer at the bottom, where his dessert wines waited. He picked his darkest wine and slammed the drawer closed. His luck wasn’t so great with the drawer next to it. This dream must have been incredibly realistic, because the wine glasses were gone. They were in the dishwasher in the kitchen downstairs from the banquet he had the previous night. Annoyed, but not perturbed, he searched the other shelves of the closet and found a pair of champagne flutes. Marshall made some offhand remark about something, but he missed it completely.

When he returned to the tea table, the vampire was tipping in his chair with the empty mug in hand. “I luv kitties” he read dryly from the front of it. He had made himself comfortable, kicking off his sneakers and setting his guitar aside.

The prince set the champagne flutes on the table before filling each with wine. He then dropped into his seat and scooped his glass up.

Marshall stared at his glass with nothing short of surprise. He slowly placed the mug on the table, instead picking up the glass of wine. He peered down into it. “You put something weird in this?”

Gumball sipped at his wine, his brow furrowing. “Uh, no?"

The vampire studied the liquid for a moment before raising it to his fangs. "I guess you can't really poison a color," he figured.

"Not to my knowledge," the prince assured, folding his arms. “But nevermind that. What brings you here?”

“Ah, man. I don’t really know how to put this," he trailed off, looking faintly embarrassed.

Gumball raised his eyebrows.

Marshall glanced at him for a split second before his eyes darted away. “Don’t kick me out when I say this but uh…” he began, rubbing the back of his neck.

The prince looked at him expectantly over the rim of his glass.

“Remember when your bathroom door was saran wrapped? Yeah, I sort of, uh, did that.”

Gumball’s smile faltered. Something seemed a bit off about this, but he rolled with it. “Well, Butterscotch Butler told me that she took saran wrap off of one of my doors a few days ago. All I really wondered was how you got into my room," he recalled.

Marshall deflated. “You knew I did it without even falling for it?”

The prince’s cheeks flushed. “Well, it was pretty easy to deduce. My door was locked, and it’s not as if Fionna would scale a several-story tower in the middle of the night just to prank me," his eyes flicked back up to Marshall, who still looked annoyed. “Oh, don’t be hurt. It was clever, I suppose.”

Marshall chuffed. "I’m just bummed that your little servant got to it before you did. I’m not hurt that you didn’t fall for my prank, Bubba," he drained the rest of the red from the wine in one pull.

Gumball folded his arms. "Thanks for regaling me anyway, I suppose," he teased.

"That's not what I came for," Marshall rebuked.

He studied Marshall's face. "What… did you come here for?" he asked carefully.

"My pick," the vampire supplied, "I think I dropped it while I was here."

The prince blinked bewilderedly. It wasn't the answer he expected. 

“Hey, why are you being so sweet and junk? Are you buttering me up for a favor or something?” Marshall probed, studying his friend's face.

Gumball frowned. Something definitely wasn’t right here. Marshall was never this sassy in his dreams. “Hey Marshall,” he asked suddenly. “When was the last time you showered?”

The vampire pursed his lips. "I’ve been really busy,” he began defensively, noticing the look of disgust on his friend’s face. “It’s not a big deal. It’s only been like a few days- maybe a week. Definitely not more than a week," he waved his hands defensively in front him.

Right, Gumball deduced. This definitely isn’t a dream.

The realization really began to sink in when Marshall nervously added, “Why do you care? You’re not my mom.”

The prince’s eyes widened. Oh my gob, I invited him into my room. I served him wine. I held his hand! He could feel his face growing hot. After he hadn’t showered for a week!

Of all the embarrassing mistakes to have made, why this? What a terrible coincidence! He dreamt about the guy, and the very next night, Marshall appeared on his balcony for the first time in years. He couldn’t believe that he acted all gooey towards non-dream, non-showered Marshall Lee. He covered his face in embarrassment.

Marshall misread the gesture, hastily adding, “My mom doesn’t tell me what to do anymore, okay!"

"Oh my god," Gumball muttered to himself, still mortified by his own mistake.

"Don’t laugh at me!” the vampire continued, bringing a fist down heavily on the tea table.

“What? No, no, no. I wasn’t-“ his hands flew away from his face, waving animatedly. “Marshall, it’s not- I don’t-“ he tried to articulate. “I was thinking of something else," he looked up at Marshall, whose face was just as red as his.

The vampire stared daggers into him, although Gumball genuinely had to hold back laughter at how ridiculous he looked. He was trying to look threatening, but he was blushing furiously, and the two just didn’t mix.

“What happened to your pick again?” he pivoted, clearing his throat. He picked up his glass of wine again, simply for the sake of busying his hands. He had completely lost interest in the drink itself.

Marshall deflated, his expression softening. “I dropped it somewhere in here. I mean, I think I did. This is my last shot at finding it," he reiterated.

“Well, we should start looking, then. I don’t want to lose too much sleep over this, Marshall Lee," he nagged, placing his glass back on the table and standing.

“Trust me, Bubba. I’m not exactly itchin’ to stick around, either. Just help me out and I’ll be on my way," the vampire agreed as he stood from his seat, wine in hand.

They dispersed to opposite ends of the room, looking under furniture and lifting up rugs in awkward silence.

“What color is it?” the prince asked. “I assume it’s red, right?”

He heard a muffled sigh from Marshall, who was in his personal bathroom. He poked his head out of the door. “No," he called after a moment’s pause. “It’s purple, like, um…”

“Dark purple?” Gumball guessed distractedly, standing on the tips of his feet to look at the top of his dresser. Knowing Marshall, the pick could be practically anywhere, given that he could fly and shape-shift.

He curled his lip. “No. It’s just like… well, I can’t really think of anything to compare it to. It’s like, light purple. Kinda shiny, too," he explained before disappearing behind the door again.

“Now, I don’t think she did, but Butterscotch Butler may have vacuumed here in the last few days,” he speculated as he searched his bed sheets. If he found the pick here, Marshall would have to stick around for some questions.

There was a muffled, “What!?” from behind the bathroom door.

“Don’t worry," Gumball assured, “I strongly doubt that she did. She usually only vacuums when asked, as she hates vacuuming a room as large as mine," This wasn’t exactly true, but he wanted an excuse to avoid digging through the dust bag of a vacuum cleaner in the middle of the night.

Marshall burst out of the bathroom. “No luck. You’re absolutely sure she didn’t vacuum?” he asked desperately.

“No, I don’t think so," the prince lied as he remade his bed. He hoped that this would be a short ordeal; they would find the pick on the floor and be done with the whole endeavor, but they had combed most of his room at that point. “Surely you’ve already retraced your steps.”

“Duh. That’s what I’ve been wasting moonlight on for the last few nights. Your room was the last place to check," Dejected, the vampire sat on his bed. “I really gotta find it, Bubba.”

Gumball sat next to his friend, chewing the inside of his cheek. “I’m afraid it’s not here, Marshall. What is so important about this particular pick anyway? It’s just a piece of plastic. I’m sure you could find something else to use," he sat next to his friend.

“I can’t use anything else," Marshall whined, shifting to his side. “I’m playing for a huge crowd at Death’s Castle tomorrow night.”

The prince scratched his chin, trying to think of an alternative solution. “Didn’t you tell me about a human guitarist a long time ago who used a coin as a pick?” he suggested, folding his hands in his lap.

Marshall sat up. “What? No. I want my pick," he demanded. “It’s my lucky pick. I need it to perform.”

The prince frowned, putting his hands on his hips. “That’s a load of nonsense. You don’t need a ‘lucky’ anything to perform well.”

“Uh, I haven’t performed without it in years. Last time I lost it, I completely bombed on stage," he explained, looking at Gumball contemptuously. “It’s probably magic or something.”

Gumball rolled his eyes. “No, it isn’t. You can play wonderfully regardless of the pick you’re using, and I refuse to believe otherwise. You cannot just attribute all your skill to a measly pick.”

The vampire gripped the duvet below him, his knuckles whitening. “I need it, Bubba. It’s my lucky pick. Going without it is like walking onstage without any pants.”

The prince flushed at the thought, but shook it off. “It is psychological, Marshall. You believe so strongly that you need it that whenever you don’t, your nerves take control and you self-prophesize failure. The pick isn’t lucky or magic; it’s an object that gives you a false sense of security," he deduced, crossing his legs.

Marshall rolled his eyes. “Ugh, it’s not about any of that. The pick is just like… inspiration I guess.”

“I think that you’re fixating too much on this. You’re a wonderful performer, Marshall Lee,"  Gumball asserted, folding his arms. “I can’t believe someone with your stage presence and ego would rely on a silly pick.”

“Oh, uh, thanks," he mumbled, cocooning himself in the blankets. “But I’m only a 'wonderful performer' when I have my pick. It’s bad juju not to have it, man.”

“’Bad juju’? Oh for grod’s sake," he tore the blankets away from Marshall, who glared in turn. “Just relax and play your songs the way you always do. I know you can do it.”

The vampire sat up. “I know you know I can! It’s not about you. It’s about the hundreds of people that are actually going to be there watching me," he retreated into the blankets again, groaning impotently.

Gumball deflated. He had only ever been to one of Marshall’s shows in the last few years, and that was because Fionna dragged him to it. A horrible sense of guilt stirred in the pit of his stomach. What could his opinion possibly mean if he had hardly seen his friend perform at all? He hadn’t blatantly ignored his concert dates… at least not often, but he didn’t care to look them up, either.

Marshall peeked from his ball of sheets, tossing them away entirely when he noticed Gumball’s expression. “It’s not a big deal when you can't make it, alright? You’re a busy guy. You’ve seen one of my shows; you’ve seen ‘em all," he backpedaled. “I don’t want you or Fionna or anybody showing up out of guilt, okay? You guys get to hear me play all the time anyway," he reoriented himself and sat up before settling into a defeated slouch.

The silence that followed can’t have lasted longer than a minute, but to Gumball, it felt like an eternity.

Marshall lifted himself off of the bed. “Well, uh. I know we never found that pick, but thanks for helping me out. I guess there are other places I would check again. I mean, I went all through Fionna’s house, but there might have been a room I missed, or something…”

“I’m really sorry we were unable to find it, Marshall Lee. I can check with Butterscotch and see if she found it at some point when she was housekeeping," the prince offered, scratching the back of his head.

“Nah, it’s okay. I mean, I’m thankful that you were cool about it. I thought that when I woke you up, you would yell at me and call the Banana Guards," he teased, “Guess I caught you in a good mood, uh? Were you having a good dream or something?”

The prince half-smiled. “I suppose you could say that, yes.”

“Sucks we couldn’t find my pick,"  he groused, pocketing his hands and pursing his lips.

Gumball stood suddenly, facing Marshall. He put his hand on the vampire’s bony shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, Marshall. Like I said, it’s all psychological. You’ll do great, I’m sure.”

“I wouldn’t expect to hear that from you, but… thanks," Marshall replied. He floated to the balcony doors, but paused to glance over his shoulder. “Sorry for waking you up.”

“Good luck with the concert," the prince called as he watched the vampire open the stained-glass doors and fly out into the mild night.

“‘Night, Bubba," he heard Marshall answer after a short pause.

♥

After closing the balcony doors and putting away the wine, Gumball crawled into bed and turned the lights out. He wrapped the severely unmade blankets around himself, noting fondly the smell that lingered on the sheets after his friend had been rolling around in them. He missed that smell. For the last couple years, all he knew of it was what remained in his thoughts and memories, but now, here it was, strong and real and… pleasant in some inexplicable way.

He thought back to how infrequently he attended Marshall Lee’s performances, and how coldly he had been treating him lately. How condemning he was of Fionna for hanging out with him, and how little they still spoke anymore. Guilt washed over him when he recalled the countless times he had thrown Marshall out of the castle simply for being there. He wondered if any of it was ever truly justified.

Years ago, they had been close friends, doing everything and going everywhere together. The vast contrast in their interests meant they were never short of things to do. Some nights, they would go to rock concerts and stay until dawn’s first light, and others, they would just sit and watch the fireflies mingling about in the darkness of the cotton candy forest. Reading the lyrics Marshall scrawled on notebook paper inspired the prince to share some of his German poetry.  They would visit pubs in the Nightosphere and listen to the obscure local bands that had cropped up in Marshall’s hometown. Oh, the many batches of red velvet cupcakes and strawberry gelatin they had whipped up together, and the messes they had made of Gumball’s personal kitchen. He never knew how much red food coloring had actually gone into the desserts and how much of it Marshall had simply sucked directly out of the vial.

It was uncomplicated. Easy.

♥

He recalled their first encounter. Gumball was out in the Evil Forest, searching with a small team of candy people for a patch of coveted black truffles. A ceremonial recipe had recently called for it, and being that he was fascinated with the culinary arts, he wanted to accompany the castle chefs in their search.

The head chef, Madame Candy Apple, led her trained candy pig through the forest at the front of the group. “Stay on the path,” she advised the party behind her, “This forest is wack with evil. You never know what might jump out and try to get at you.”

The prince glanced around anxiously. The Madame had gone on many truffle hunts in the Evil Forest before, and he was sure that she had lost some of her escorts before. “How deep do you intend to go into this forest, Madame?” he asked.

“We can’t go where the canopy is too high or dense, Your Highness, because the truffles only grow where it is dry and hot. There is an isolated clearing about half a mile away where the trees are more sparse, and we have had luck there before," Candy Apple explained, watching closely where her pig stopped. “However, that means that we’ll be crossing sections of dense forest, so make sure your lanterns have enough oil. There are parts of this forest the sun never touches.”

The prince shuddered, gripping his lantern. “How long will it take us to pass through the dense part of the forest?”

Another candy person, a chocolate-dipped strawberry, tugged on the prince’s sleeve. “Don’t worry about it. If we stick to the path, we get in and out of here real quick.”

As they pressed on, the light of the sun grew increasingly dim until they found themselves in a part of the forest where the darkness was so total it felt like a cave. You could even go so far as to say it was a cave, as the layers of dead and living branches tightly intertwined above, forming a tunnel. Gumball could’ve sworn he saw movement in the shadows. He could feel eyes on him and his party.

Suddenly, Candy Apple’s pig squealed and broke free from its leash. It disappeared down the path.

The chocolate-dipped strawberry screamed while the other candy people quaked in fear. Mutters of “What spooked it?” and “Something might be after us," reverberated through the group.

“Don’t just stand there!” the Madame yelled as she took off after the wayward pig. “We gotta go catch him!”

The group broke into a sprint after their leader and her pig. Gumball was able to keep up well, being that his legs were longer than that of most candy people, but the strawberry struggled to match the pace of the others.

The prince noticed that the strawberry was carrying a fairly large backpack. “Would you like me to carry that bag for you?” he offered.

The candy nodded eagerly and tossed him the bag. When it landed in Gumball’s arms, it knocked the wind out of him. His pace began to slow as the strawberry caught up with the rest of the group. The prince was still struggling to put the backpack on when he realized that the group was a few yards away.

He had forgotten how much taller he was than his escorts. Just as he got the backpack on, a branch appeared seemingly out of nowhere. He didn’t even remember hitting the ground after his head collided with the branch.

When he came to, he was propped against a stump in a clearing no larger than Treetrunks’ little house back in the kingdom. There was a small campfire crackling in the center of the otherwise dark clearing. Little butterflies- which the Prince would not expect to find in the Evil Forest- lingered about the area. The only remarkably strange thing about the clearing was the Marshall amplifier that sat next to another stump. Its wire led out of the clearing, through a rather sickly-looking yew bush.

He went to look at his watch, but Gumball gasped when he saw what had happened to his coat. It was once mauve, but It was now a pale grey. He tried to stand and run, but his legs felt weak. He was about to scream when he heard a faint strumming.

“Who’s there?” he demanded, trying to deepen his voice.

The strumming stopped. “Me,” answered an unfamiliar voice. The bushes on one side of the clearing rustled, finally giving way to a surprisingly unthreatening creature.

He looked like an ordinary teenager, excepting the pointed ears and blue skin. The unkempt hair, the ratty clothes, the sneakers: all pretty typical of the average rebellious youth. There were no huge protruding spikes or slimy tentacles, like the type of monster the prince would expect to find in the Evil Forest. He was holding an unplugged electric guitar- Gumball assumed this was the source of the strumming- but the creature was otherwise unremarkable.

“Oh, thank goodness, a normal person. Are you lost here, too?” the prince asked, standing and brushing off his now grey jacket.

“Nah, just chilling,” he said frankly, tuning his guitar.

Gumball frowned. “Oh. Well then, do you know what happened to my jacket?” he asked, gesturing at his coat.

“Oh, right. Yeah, I got hungry and there was no other red around, so it was the jacket or you.”

Gumball gave him a bewildered look.

“I’m a vampire. I drink red,” the guy clarified.

The prince’s eyes widened. He slowly backed away. “You’re evil!”

“I guess," he strummed absently on the instrument, which was dented and scuffed from being hauled around the forest. “Kind of depends on what mood I’m in.”

Gumball straightened, but kept his distance. “Well then, how reasonable would it be for me to ask you for some assistance in getting out of this forest, or at least locating my group?”

The vampire plugged the guitar into the amp and fiddled with the dials, which caused some faint bursts of feedback. “What’s in it for me if I do that for ya?” he asked, idly plucking at the strings.

“You would be rewarded handsomely, of course. I am a prince, you see,” Gumball explained, pointing to the crown on his head.

The teenager began to play a tune. It was very familiar, but the prince couldn’t quite place what song it was. All he could glean was that it was very old. “I don’t want your gold, prince.”

The prince bit his lip. “What would you like, then?”

The vampire didn’t answer. He continued to repeat the same progression on his guitar. It was beginning to annoy Gumball, because he still couldn’t figure out what the song was.

“If you don’t mind me asking, Mr., uh, Vampire, what song is that?” Gumball asked suddenly, walking over to the boy.

He stopped playing and looked up. “It’s a pretty old human song. We’re talking pre-mushroom war old. I’m not sure you would know it.”

The prince folded his arms. “It sounds incredibly familiar to me. What is it called?”

“It’s called ‘Day Tripper’," he answered. “Anyway, I don’t want gold or silver or any of that. All I want is… um…” he trailed off, scratching his chin.

“Castles? Magic?” the prince paused, chewing his tongue. “Women?”

Marshall paused. “Strawberry gelatin," he decided, finally.

Gumball raised an eyebrow. “Did I hear you right?”

“Yeah, strawberry gelatin, and- oh- red velvet cupcakes. And cherry pie. And apples, aw man, I miss apples," he continued to rattle off foods, all of which contained red in some way.

The prince laughed. “You’re in luck, Mr. Vampire. I happen to be a talented cook.”

The teenager snorted and stood. “My name’s not ‘Mr. Vampire’ ya donk, It’s Marshall Lee.”

“Ah, well, Marshall Lee, I am Prince G. Gumball of the Candy Kingdom," he stuck his hand out for the vampire to shake.

Marshall simply slapped his hand, as if it were a low-five. “Candy, huh? What does the ‘G’ stand for?”

“I don’t share that with people," the prince asserted.

The vampire clicked his tongue. “Oh man, that sucks. I mean, I was going to take you out of this forest, but now I’m not so sure," he teased.

“Let me get this straight; you want, in exchange for leading me out of here, for me to tell you my first name and cook you a bunch of red things?” the prince asked wryly. “That doesn’t sound like something a vampire would ask for.”

Marshall smiled. “Would you prefer that I eat you? You caught me in a good mood. Don’t push it.”

“I suppose these terms are reasonable," Gumball sighed. “Well, if you must know about my name, the amorphous mass of bubblegum from which I was born chose to give the rather rustic first name of-”

“Get on with it already," The teenager begged.

The prince rolled his eyes. “Bubba.”

“Bubba?” Marshall repeated. “Aw, that’s so cute," he mocked, pinching the prince’s cheek with his cold fingers.

Gumball slapped the other’s hands away, taking a few steps back. “I can’t believe this," he muttered.

The vampire chuckled. “You’re alright, Bubba. C’mere.”

The prince didn’t move. “I’m not sure I want to. What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to take you out of here, duh," It was clear the other wasn’t going to oblige, so Marshall simply floated over.

Gumball curled his lip when the vampire got close. “Ugh, your breath stinks.”

The vampire chose to ignore the comment, and with surprising strength for someone as bony and gangly as he was, he forcefully picked the prince up bridal-style and rose off the ground. “Don’t fall," he warned wryly.

 In a flash, they were out of the clearing and speeding through the thicket, bound for the Candy Kingdom.

♥

Admittedly, it took the prince a long while to develop feelings for the vampire. It was very rare that he felt attracted to someone, reflected by the multitude of suitors who waited in vain to woo him. It wasn’t until they had gotten to know each other that he even saw Marshall Lee as attractive. He was never one much for the unruly sort, or for the rock n’ roll aesthetic. Inexplicably, though, it grew on him.

Still, he always put off displaying how he felt because he valued their friendship. He knew how things like this usually ended: they would start as friends, things would develop into something more, and after they broke up, they would hate each other and their friendship would be destroyed. It was right to steer clear of it, right?

It felt right. That is, it felt right until the day it was clear that he no longer had an option.

He remembered that part of the ordeal like it was yesterday. They had only spoken over the phone for an entire month when the vampire invited him over out of the blue. He had moved to the treehouse outpost that Fionna and Cake would later call home, but when Gumball knocked on the door, it wasn't Marshall Lee who answered. Instead, it was a demon girl he didn't recognize.

“Who are you?” she asked icily, looking him over. Her skin was more grey than Marshall’s was, but she was very clearly a demon like him. She had punk-rock clothing like he did, and her hair was stark white, and shaved in some places on her head. On her feet were black, studded high heels that clacked loudly when she walked.

He smoothed his purple sweater-vest. “I’m the prince of this kingdom, ma’am, and it’s my understanding that Mar-”

“A mortal prince? You don’t own nothin’. If you’re here for ‘taxes’ you can shove off before I turn you into mulch," she put her hands on the doorframe, guarding the house behind her. “No chumps are allowed here, and don’t think that being a 'prince' makes you any less of one.”

He scowled, but tried to keep his composure. “No, you don’t understand. I must have made some kind of mistake-”

“You bet you did, comin’ here like you own the place," she snapped.

“-I thought that this was the residence of my friend," he explained, barely containing his fury. He wanted to call his legion of Rattleball soldiers to come and throw her in the dungeon for tax evasion.

She smiled snidely. “I’m not your friend, you dip. Get out of here.”

The prince stuck his hand in his pocket, his fingers lingering on the surface of his cellphone. He was strongly considering contacting his police force and having this tranch banished from his kingdom. He gripped the smooth metal surface of the phone and waited for her to close the door so he could make a call to the kingdom and have her arrested.

Suddenly, there was a familiar voice from inside the house.

“Hey Ashley, who’s at the door?” a muffled voice asked.

She narrowed her eyes at the prince and turned around to answer, “Some jerk says this is his kingdom. I think he wants our treasure.”

“What?” The voice answered.

Gumball heard a muffled cacophony of doors closing and things being moved inside the treehouse.

Marshall appeared behind the vampire girl in the doorway, his look of contempt fading upon seeing his friend. He shooed her aside and stepped through the doorway.

She looked smug, as if she thought Marshall was going to tear the prince to pieces when he came to the door.

Gumball gave a small grin. “Marshall, there you are.”

“Hey, Bubba. You’re a little early. It’s only seven," he commented, leaning on the doorway.

The prince removed his hand from his pocket. “Ah, well. I have an appointment early tomorrow and I can’t afford to miss too much sleep. So, what’s the occasion?”

“Oh, uh," Marshall scratched the back of his head. “I wanted you to meet my girlfriend, Ashley," he stepped aside and allowed the demon girl to pass.

“I’m Prince Gumball of the Candy Kingdom. Pleased to meet you," he said stiffly. He offered her hand to her so she could shake it, but she merely glanced at it and returned her gaze to Marshall.

“Yeah, she just moved in. We’ve been dating for a month and a half and she didn’t have anywhere to stay, so we decided to live together. Things are pretty serious,” Marshall boasted.

A metallic taste was slowly spreading through Gumball’s mouth, but he chose to ignore it.

“Hey babe, can I talk to you for a second?” Ashley asked, brushing her hand against Marshall’s cheek.

The vampire furrowed his eyebrows, but obliged anyway. “Okay. Hey uh, can you give us a minute?” He eased the door shut, but because the hinges were rusted and old, it cracked open afterwards.

After some annoyed whispers that the prince struggled to decipher, he heard Ashley’s voice. “That’s your friend? I thought you said he was cool.”

“I mean, he’s not cool-cool, but he’s an alright guy," Marshall explained.

“He’s a grade-A loser, Marsh. You said he might be going to see the Snakeskins with us next Friday? I don’t want to be seen with that wad. What do you think when people see us walking around with that- that stiff on our tail, huh?”

“What the stuff, Ashley? He’s my friend. You’ve barely met the guy," Marshall chastised. “He’s chill, I promise. He’s a great cook and he’s a pretty smart dude.”

“I don’t want that geeky gumdrop near me. He looks like a goody-goody who’ll ruin any kind of fun we try to have. I bet he makes you drink red around him because he’s scared of blood," she ranted.

“I drink red because I want to, Ashley. Also, stop calling him all that junk. He’s my friend," he explained.

Gumball reached into his pocket and gripped his phone. He gritted his teeth. He couldn’t believe the nerve she had. A sourness was brewing in his stomach as he fought the urge to kick the door down and tell her that she was banished from his kingdom. He wanted to be supportive of the girl Marshall loved, but she held such open contempt for him. It made him feel like his friendship with the vampire was some kind of fluke.

“I don’t want to deal with this,” she asserted. “Get him off our porch.”

“He’s my friend, Ashley. At least try to get to know him," The vampire begged.

“Face it Marshall. You need to cut this guy loose. He’s a pixie-dust chump and he’s making you soft," her voice cut like a peppermint blade, and burned like lemon drops.

“Listen, I know he’s a dork, okay? It’s not that bad,” Marshall argued weakly.

“You’re a freakin’ vampire, Marshall. You’re supposed to eat guys like this for breakfast. He has nothing for you. He’s just riding your coattails, and if you want to be the evil heir of the Nightosphere I know you are, you’ll get over this… thing you’ve developed with him,” she ranted.

“Fine, whatever," he snapped.

The prince struggled to fight back the tears that welled in his eyes.

Marshall stomped to the door and opened it. Gumball must not have been doing a good job of hiding how upset he was, because Marshall’s face fell immediately when he saw his friend. “Hey Bubba… um, something just came up and I don’t think we can hang out tonight.”

Gumball shook, struggling to keep his temper. “That’s just fine, Marshall," his tone was cold. “I have to get up early tomorrow, and I can’t afford to keep losing sleep because of you.”

“Sorry about that. I mean, you know that I can’t go out in the sun…” he rambled.

The prince clenched his teeth. “Then I suppose it’s good you've found another creature of the night to spend your time with, then."

“Don’t be this way, man. She isn’t replacing you," he assured pathetically, scratching furiously at his arm. The knuckles of his other hand were whitening on the doorknob.

“I didn’t say she was. Now you have someone you can relate to better,” Gumball struggled to speak. His mouth tasted coppery and his stomach was churning. He wanted desperately to go home. “I’m glad that you have someone you can go to concerts with who isn’t embarrassing to be seen with, and that she isn’t making you reject who you are. She seems like a wonderful girlfriend, Marshall," he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He flipped it open and dialed Butterscotch Butler.

Anger crossed Marshall’s face. “What are you, some kind of baby? I know what you’re doing. You think I’ll stop talking to you because of her. You’re my friend! I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Gumball lowered his phone. “You already have. I haven’t seen you in four weeks, and the first thing that happens when I come see you is this," he listened as the phone rang on the other end. Please pick up, he willed silently.

Marshall kicked the door. “Who do you think you are? I do what I want, and if I don’t want to talk to you, I won’t.”

“Then don’t," The prince growled.

When Gumball glanced up, he saw that tears were pouring down Marshall’s cheeks. “Wait, I didn’t mean that! Bubba, I just- I just… let’s talk this out," he sputtered.

Gumball was relieved when he heard his servant’s voice on the other end. “Hey Butterscotch, I need you to send Mo Cro to pick me up. I’m at the old treehouse outpost.”

“Okay. He’ll be there as soon as he can," she answered.

Ashley shoved past Marshall. “Get out of here before I tear you to shreds!” she threatened.

Gumball closed his phone and put it back in his pocket. He gave Marshall a fleeting look before turning and running in the direction of the Candy Kingdom. He hoped that he would be able to catch Lord Monochromicorn on his way.

“Bubba, I’m sorry! Ashley didn’t mean what she said!” The vampire protested.

The prince never turned around.

♥

After the incident, Gumball made it a point to slow things down with his old friend. He didn’t care how he felt before. It was clear that Marshall had never meant for them to become friends and that all he was doing was ‘cramping his style’. When Marshall would call, their conversations would be bleak. They never hung out in person after that day. The calls grew more infrequent, and more inflammatory. Some calls would just be a few exchanged insults. Eventually the phone calls ended entirely.

Sometimes Marshall would visit the kingdom early in the evening or early in the morning before sunrise, but it was scarce. Attempts at reconciling were made at first, but they were futile. Ashley didn’t want Marshall hanging out with mortals, and Gumball didn’t want to restrict their interactions to a few minutes of pleasantries at four in the morning. If you want to please Ashley so badly, you should just leave me be, Gumball would tell him. Marshall began defending the way Ashley insulted and belittled the prince. “Bubba, she’s right. You’re making me soft. I’m supposed to be evil," he told Marshall to stop visiting, and when he didn’t listen, he would have him escorted out of the kingdom by the banana guards.  Finally, he decided to banish both Marshall and his girlfriend from the kingdom altogether.

He had never forgotten what he had said in the very last phone call they shared: “I don’t know why we became friends in the first place! We have nothing in common. You’re a morally ambiguous vagabond: a slob who doesn’t care about other people. You could not be more my opposite if you tried," The prince’s tone was flat.

“The world isn’t perfect, you know. Maybe if you left your frilly little kingdom for a change, you would realize that," The vampire snapped before hanging up for the last time.

Years went by. They didn’t speak or see each other for a very long time, and Gumball liked it that way. It gave him time to move on. The prince went twenty three years without so much as hearing Marshall Lee’s name.

It wasn’t until they had both befriended Fionna three years ago that they had seen each other again. It would be an understatement to say that their reintroduction began on a sour note, no pun intended. Seeing Marshal again had reignited the feelings of rejection and  betrayal he felt. He assumed Marshal felt similar.

Gumball wondered why, after all these years, he couldn’t just forgive Marshall. He and Ashley had broken up after less than a year, yet they continued to ignore each other for decades afterward. The prince wasn’t just jealous of Ashley: he was upset on the principle of what his friend did. They were so close, but Marshall had put him aside and sided with Ashley from the moment they started dating. He let her manipulate him and tell him who to hang out with and what to wear. Marshall was so used to being around evil people that he didn’t understand the difference between evil and abusive. He must have thought that being manipulative and self-serving was part of being evil, and that Ashley was just better at being evil than he was.

Whatever the case may be, their friendship, though it had somewhat rekindled itself to a minimal extent, had been pretty rocky since Fionna bridged the gap between them. Nonetheless, when Gumball started seeing him on a regular basis again, his old feelings resurfaced. He dug Marshall’s old band-T shirt out of his closet and started wearing it to sleep. He found the old pictures of them together and hung them in his wardrobe. He even let Marshall live in the Candy Kingdom again, repealing the banishment he had put in place before. The longer they were around each other again, the more the prince wanted things to go back to the way they were before. He wanted to go to rock concerts together again. He wanted Marshall to drain all of his red food dye again. He wanted to go stargazing like they used to. He wanted to go deep into the forest and watch Marshall draw all of the skeleton butterflies in with his music. Gumball would even go so far as to say he wanted more than that. He wanted to hold Marshall’s hand. He wanted the vampire to play a song just for him. He wanted to entrust Marshall with all of his secret recipes. He wanted a chance at what he couldn’t have thirty years ago.

♥

Tears rolled down the prince’s cheeks as he lay wide awake in bed, thinking about all that had happened between them. He was growing tired of letting things take their course. He had been passive-aggressive for too long. This grudge of his needed to be broken before he lost Marshall a second time, perhaps forever. They had been avoiding each other, and avoiding talking it out for too long. He may have been a prince, but he needed to realize that he wasn’t beyond swallowing his pride and apologizing. He didn’t want to stand by and watch his friend drift away again. He wanted to right the wrongs and make things better.

Suddenly, he sat up in bed and threw the covers off a second time. The sun had already begun to rise, so it was too late to go to him now, but he still had a day left to make it up to Marshall. He was going to find that pick.

♥

“Hey… Gumball," Fionna croaked groggily when she opened the door to her treehouse.

“Good morning, Fionna. I have recently lost something important and I wish to look in your house," he requested, standing tall. It was hard to get going at six in the morning after only four hours of sleep, but he made do. He was endlessly thankful for the shipment of coffee beans that had been delivered from the breakfast kingdom a few days prior. 

Fionna rubbed the sleep from eyes. “First Marshall, then you. Why do ya’ll gotta be losing stuff all over the place?”

“Actually, we’re both searching for the same item," Gumball bit his lip when he noticed the odd look the girl was giving him. “You see… he asked that I help him look for his lost pick. He has a gig tonight, and it’s his lucky pick. Last night he came to me and whined about how he couldn’t play a good show without it.”

“Pfft,” Fionna paused to yawn, “What a drama queen. C’mon back," she gestured for him to follow her into the kitchen, where Cake was sitting and drinking a glass of orange juice. 

“Gumball’s helping Marshall look for his pick," Fionna explained as she shuffled to the sofa and dropped onto it.

Cake gave a smile that concerned the prince. “You mean the one that Marshall says reminds him of-”

“Cake! You aren’t even supposed to know that! Stop reading Marshall’s journal. It’s creepy," Fionna scolded as she took Cake’s class of orange juice off the table and drank some of it. “Sorry, Gumball. So you’re looking for his lavender pick, right?”

“The prince raised an eyebrow. “He told me it was purple.”

“Trust me, it’s lavender, and shiny like a marble. He’s left it here before, on accident," Fionna clarified.

Cake walked over to the prince, smiling impishly. “It’s the same color as the paint on his house, or lilacs, or, I don’t know… your eyes…”

“Cake!” Fionna chided.

“What an unusual color," The prince thought aloud as he crouched down to look under furniture. “Knowing him, I would assume he would choose red or black.”

Cake walked over to Gumball and rested a paw on his back. “It’s no use, Gumball. We already turned this place upside down for that pick. I did more cleaning the night he came looking for it than I have in the last ten years combined. He’s real frazzled over it.”

Gumball clicked his tongue. “I don’t know where else to look for it. What does Marshall usually do in his free time besides stalk around your treehouse? We already searched my castle last night.”

“You were with him last night?” Cake pressed excitedly. “What were you doin’?”

The prince thought back to when he was holding Marshall’s hand and serving him wine. He blushed faintly with embarrassment. “I just told you. We were looking for his pick. What’s so great about that pick anyway? It’s just a piece of plastic.”

Fionna and Cake exchanged knowing looks.

Gumball narrowed his eyes. “What? What is it?”

Cake resisted laughter. “It reminds him of someone-” she paused to snort, “special!” she burst out laughing.

“‘C’mon Cake, it’s not funny. Marshall is messed up about it," she looked up at Gumball. “He has a weird somewhat-crush on someone and the pick reminds him of… that person.”

“Oh,” The prince tried to hide the dejection in his voice. “Is it someone I know?”

Cake opened her mouth to answer, but Fionna clapped a hand over her muzzle.

"Gumballthepickisn’theretrysomewhereelse!” she yelled anxiously.

“I don’t know where else to look," The prince complained. “Do you have any ideas?

Cake struggled to free herself from Fionna’s grasp, but the girl didn’t budge. “J-just buy him a new pick!” she added hastily.

Gumball scratched the back of his neck. “Are you sure, I mean, it seems to me like something you can’t replace. I think it’s a keepsake to him."

"Yeah, I'm sure!" she wheezed, wrestling Cake to the ground and sitting on her chest. "Get him one that looks similar. Just in the meantime."

Cake wrapped her tail around Fionna's eyes, allowing her to wriggle free. "I can't be contained!"

"We're going to help him look," Fionna asserted as she disentangled herself from the cat's tail. "And that's all we're gonna do. Right, Cake?"

Her tail twitched and she folded her arms. "We'll see about that," she muttered.

"Cake," Fionna warned.

She pouted, her ears flattening against her head. "Fine, fine."

Gumball frowned. "Oh… kay then. I don't really want to be deceitful, but I suppose a decoy is the best we can do for the time being."

"We'll find it," Fionna promised, leading him back to the treasure room.

The prince was skeptical, but he nodded. "I'll let you know how the plan goes."

"Please do," Cake said, smiling widely.

♥

Gumball burst through the front door of his castle. "Butterscotch Butler," he called, "I need you to take me to the Castle of Light in the Land of the Dead. I know you can do it."

She poked her head out of the broom closet. "Why, prince, I haven't the slightest idea of what you're talking about," she lied unconvincingly, "I'm just an ordinary little hard candy."

"I haven't any time for this, B-Scotch. I'm fully aware of your involvement in the Dark Arts and I need you to use your abilities to assist me," he ordered.

She stepped out of the closet and slammed the door in a huff. "How did you find out?"

"All the paraphernalia, for one," the prince jeered.

The tiny maid folded her arms. "Okay, fine. If you don't mind me asking, what do you need to see Death for, anyway, Your Highness?"

"I'm not going to the castle to see her. There's a concert there I wish to attend," he explained.

Butterscotch Butler sighed. "Well, it's not exactly a safe trek, your highness. Creatures of the flesh, especially candy ones, don't fare well with the locals," Noticing the prince's look of confusion, she added, "They try to eat us, sir."

"How on earth do you manage to visit there as much as you do without being harmed, then?" Gumball wondered aloud.

"Death usually takes me there herself," she answered frankly. "But I'm not really sure how willing she would be to do a favor for someone with a soul as pure as yours,"

The prince's forehead creased with concern. "There must be some way we can negotiate it. I desperately need to get to the Castle of Light."

 "I will see what I can do," she agreed as she turned her heel and headed down the ornate hallway. "Follow me."

Butterscotch Butler led the prince into the innermost sanctum of the Candy Castle, to rooms he'd scarcely ever been in. Finally, after a few flights of stairs and a narrow, dimly lit corridor, they stood before what appeared to be an ordinary door.

The prince watched with intrigue as his maid produced a worn key from her blouse and pushed it into the keyhole below the knob, turning it gently. The door opened with a soft creak, and the two stepped in.

The prince slid his hand along the wall blindly, searching for a light switch.

"There isn't any electricity in this room, Your Highness," she clarified, as if she sensed his movements. There was a faint hiss as she struck a match.

The dim light of the match revealed a room with no furniture and bare walls. It was completely empty, save for a few scattered groups of candles and their wax droppings.

Gingerly, Butterscotch Butler went about lighting each candle. From her blouse pocket she unearthed a tiny, leather pouch, from which she pulled a fistful of an unknown, powdery substance. With a flick of her wrist she cast the powder all over the floor in the center of the room, and before the prince could ask anything about it, it shifted to form a glowing circle and several symbols. The flames atop of the candles seemed to stretch higher as the bizarre symbols glowed like the embers of a fire. Finally, she lit a large candle just in front of the circle at the far end of the room.

"I'm going to need you to be completely quiet. We don't want stuff to get all whacked out," she warned as she took a seat in the center of the glowing circle.

Gumball nodded nervously, backing away.

She recited an incantation in foreign tongue for what felt like an eerily long time before returning to English. "Ancient realm of death, we wish to commune with your master, the dark baroness of all spirit realms," she chanted loudly, throwing the strange powder on the flame of the large candle.

The flame faded to red and swelled into a large, oblong shape. The colors and shapes danced, beginning to form what appeared to be a face. An equine skull came into focus in the center of the fire. 

"Butterscotch Butler, don't you ever use a cellphone? I mean, this whole fire-ritual thing never has a good connection and I have to be home to use it," The skull complained.

"I told you, I don't get cellphone service where you live. Do you even know how expensive interdimensional phone packages are?" she argued.

Gumball cleared his throat.

She shifted awkwardly. "Right, right, sorry. Death, could you do me a favor?"

"You still haven't paid me back that twenty bucks from the last time," Death reminded.

"Look, I don't get paid until Wednesday and-" she shook her head. "Listen, my boss needs to travel to your castle, and I don't want him to get eaten."

Death scratched her chin. "I don't know if I could work something out. I'm hosting this concert thing tonight and I don't even know if I have time to give him a ride. That's not what he's coming down here for, is it?"

"W-well," Gumball began, stepping forward, "I'm, um, assisting the performer."

"You're one of his roadies?" she asked.

The prince pursed his lips. "Well, I'm his friend, and he left an important, uh, piece of equipment at my castle and needs it for the show."

Death looked skeptical, but Butterscotch Butler pressed on. "If you do this for me, we'll go to that restaurant you like in the Flame Kingdom, on me."

"You mean the one with those mini tacos? Hmm," Death considered, "I'd do it either way, but I just don't have time to escort him."

Butterscotch Butler's brow furrowed. "Well, do you know any spells that would protect him?"

"No," she said, frowning. "Wait! I have an idea!" 

She rubbed her temples and recited what sounded like a spell.

After a few moments, a small, fiery rift opened in the room just a few feet above Gumball's head. 

He shielded his face from the flames. The rift deposited an object at his feet before immediately closing again. He opened his eyes and stooped down to pick up the item the rift left behind. It was black, with a soft, flannel-like texture. When he unfurled it, his face heated. "Oh my Grod."

The garment resembled long underwear, but the black fabric was printed with white cartoon bones. It was paired with a matching cloth skull mask. The ensemble wouldn't look out of place in the bargain bin at a costume store.

"Sorry I can't actually turn you into a skeleton, but my boyfriend got mad the last time I did that to someone, so..." Death explained, trailing off.

"Couldn't you put a protection spell on a less... bizarre piece of clothing?" Gumball's lip curled.

Death blinked. "It doesn't have a protection spell."

Butterscotch Butler leaned towards Gumball. "Death's subjects aren't very smart, Prince. This disguise is likely to work," she whispered.

"Do I have any other options?" the prince asked pathetically.

Death's expression darkened. "If you don't mind being dead."

"I... think I'll stick with the costume."

♥

The desolate landscape stretched out endlessly around them in every direction. Bleached dunes were dotted with weathered boulders and crumbling ruins. Everything looked windswept, but the air was stagnant, almost stale. The sky above them, if it could even be described as a sky, was a starless, yawning void of inky blackness. Skeletal figures in anachronistic clothing wandered aimlessly, occasionally congregating in small cliques.

"I suppose this is appropriately creepy," the prince remarked, pulling the mask over his head.

Butterscotch peered around, then gestured to a white structure that rose from a tall cluster of dunes. "There's the castle. It's not too far."

Navigating the dunes would be challenging, but he figured it would take about fifteen minutes to walk there, assuming they weren't intercepted by any of the locals. Skeletons peppered the path before them, patrolling or talking amongst themselves.

His assistant appeared unfazed as she leisurely strolled along the well-worn road. To Gumball’s surprise, the vagrant skeletons paid her no mind.

“Why don’t you have to wear a disguise?” the prince wondered aloud.

She smirked. “They know I’m not to be trifled with.”

“Right,” he said slowly, “So are they Death’s guardsmen, or just her subjects?”

Butterscotch stroked her chin. “A little bit of both, I suppose. Those who do not wish to go to their designated Dead World can choose to forfeit all their memories and hang out here. They’d probably listen to Death if she asked them to do something, but she usually doesn’t.”

“So they don’t really have a purpose,” he surmised.

She shrugged. “Pretty much. There are a handful of guys around here who have actual jobs, but they’re dead, too, just less dead-looking. You also get folks like Marshall, visiting for whatever reason-- also typically some shade of dead.”

He side-eyed her. “I’m sensing a pattern,” he joked.

Shortly before they came upon the castle gates, Death appeared before them, seemingly materializing out of thin air. Gumball stumbled backward in surprise, but Butterscotch simply raised her hand in greeting.

“Buenas noches,” Death said cordially, “Come with me.”

Before either of them could say anything, she snapped her fingers. Suddenly, they were in some kind of pale gray foyer with geometric, cave-like architecture and triangular doors. Pale light radiated from green orbs, which sat atop floating fragments of stone. A delicate white partition surrounded an enormous hole in the center of the room. It was just as otherworldly as the landscape outside, but in a completely different way. 

“Is this your home?” Gumball asked.

Death nodded.

“It’s very… minimalist,” he noted.

She smiled, or at least it seemed like she did. It was difficult to tell, since she had no skin. “Thanks.”

“So, where’s the concert taking place?” he asked, shifting his weight awkwardly.

She gestured to the enormous door behind them. “The stage is set up in the courtyard.”

“Is your boyfriend coming to the concert?” Butterscotch asked casually.

Death looked apprehensive. “Yeah. I hope he likes it. I always make him mixtapes and stuff.”

“I think he will,” the prince assured, “Marshall Lee is very talented, and I’ve never seen him disappoint an audience.”

“It’s not about the band, anyway. He came here to see you,” Butterscotch put in, “Just show him a good time.”

Death coughed. “Does my poncho look okay? I wore the white one, but maybe the taupe one would look better…”

The butler turned to Gumball, and lowered her voice. “I’m going to help Death get ready while you get the stuff with Marshall sorted.”

“What if something happens?” he whispered back.

She patted his back. “Think of it this way. If you die, you’ll just end up here again, and Death can bring you back to life.”

“How fortunate,” he retorted dryly.

♥

As he walked through the courtyard, he felt his face heating up under his mask. Most of the guests mulling about weren't skeletons, and they were almost certainly discerning enough to know that he was just a mortal walking around in a cheap costume. Ghosts, demons, and a variety of other magical entities gathered near the stage or waited in line at the merchandise stand. He waded through the crowd, trying not to draw attention to himself, but he inevitably got some strange looks.

Finally, he made it to the side of the stage, where a pair of skeletons stood guard. Gumball hid behind an amp and considered his options. He should have asked Death for some sort of backstage pass, but there's no way he was going to jostle through that crowd again. He glanced up at the skeletons, who were having some sort of discussion about flesh.

Flesh, he thought. He reached under his hood and pulled out a lemon-sized lock of pink hair. He rolled it into a crude ball between his hands and strode up to the skeletons.

"Hey guys," he said, interrupting their conversation, "Check this out."

They looked at him expectantly.

He presented the wad of gum to them with a flourish. "Flesh," he explained, tossing it to one of them.

The skeleton immediately stuck it in his mouth. "Pretty good," he said, chewing thoughtfully.

"Where'd you get flesh?" demanded the other skeleton.

"Someone sold it to me just outside the castle gate," he boasted, "Real candy flesh. A hundred percent mortal."

The skeletons exchanged glances.

"I can watch your post while you get some," he suggested.

They didn't even say yes before practically tripping over each other to get to the gate. Gumball smiled triumphantly as he disappeared into the vomitorium.

Luckily, Marshall wasn't hard to find. He sat on an unplugged amp nearby, tuning his guitar. With his black leather pants and red cowboy boots, he certainly looked the part of a rock star.

"Marshall," Gumball called, pulling off his mask and dropping his hood.

The vampire looked up. "Bubba?" he answered, setting his guitar aside. "What the heck are you wearing?"

"Nevermind that," the prince said, cheeks reddening, "I found your pick."

Marshall blinked at him dumbly.

Gumball reached into his pocket and unearthed a metallic lavender pick, as close to Fionna's description as he could find. He held it up for his friend to see.

Marshall's expression was perfectly unreadable. "That's not my pick," he said, opening his fist to reveal a nearly identical one, "I found mine."

The flush in his cheeks spread to Gumball's entire face. He felt like he was going to melt to the floor in embarrassment. "Oh my god," he breathed.

"I'm sorry, I should've texted you," Marshall continued, pocketing his hands. "Where'd you find that one, anyway?"

The prince covered his face with his hand. "I bought it. I was hoping maybe it would fool you long enough for us to find the real one."

"And you came all the way here to give it to me?" Marshall asked.

"Yes," Gumball admitted.

In a move that caught the prince off guard, Marshall tossed the real lucky pick over his shoulder and plucked the fake one from Gumball's hand.

"Marshall, wh--" he began.

"I'm gonna use yours," the vampire asserted.

Gumball frowned. "But the other one was lucky, wasn't it?"

"I don't need luck," Marshall replied, leaning in. "I've got you here."

Gumball's eyes widened. He wanted to say something, but he couldn't seem to form the words. He brought his hand to the vampire's cheek, and they locked eyes.

"You're on in ten seconds!" barked a voice from the opposite end of the stage.

Marshall jerked away from Gumball's hand and glanced over his shoulder. He smiled wanly. "That's me."

The prince nodded. "Break a leg."

Marshall gazed at him intensely. "Meet me back here after the show."

"I'm not going anywhere," he asserted, grinning lopsidedly.

♥

Gumball situated himself on an unused amp stage-right, just out of view of the audience. At an hour long, it was a relatively short show, but Marshall made the most of what little time he had. Most of the songs on his set were old staples: crowd-pleasers everyone expected to hear at his shows. By now, the prince was familiar with all of these songs. There were a handful of tracks he figured were new based on the reaction of the audience; these were some of the only songs they didn't know the words to.

He knew that Marshall and his backing band were particularly well-liked in the dead worlds, and that they used to tour there regularly before many of them re-settled in Ooo. To him it may have been creepy, but Gumball could see why a place like this would be comfortable for a vampire; it must be a relief not to have to worry about the sun, for one. Whatever kept Marshall Lee in the land of the living must have been worth the trouble.

The vampire indulged the audience, gliding over them as he played, occasionally shape-shifting for dramatic effect. He relished the act of performing, of connecting with other people through music. Marshall once admitted to Gumball that he often relied on it to make new friends, since he wasn't always the easiest to get along with. Ordinarily, he was brash, impulsive, lackadaisical, and more than a little insensitive, but when he picked up a guitar, those things melted away. Even now, the prince could see that in his performance.

Occasionally, Marshall would sneak a glance at him, and they'd lock eyes. The vampire would smile or wink in those fleeting moments: a silent gesture of gratitude. It reminded him of the way they used to be, a pair of perfect opposites who serendipitously forged a sense of mutual understanding. Maybe what they had before wasn't as lost a cause as the prince once believed.

"Alright everybody, it looks like it's the end of the night," Marshall said teasingly. He knew it wasn't over.

The crowd responded with a cacophony of dismayed exclamations, a mix of "no"s and "aw"s.

The vampire smirked. "Well, I guess I could do an encore. You're gonna have to show me how badly you want it."

Cheers and chanting erupted from the audience.

Marshall glanced over at Gumball again. The prince offered him a grin and two thumbs-up.

"Okay, okay," He said, his fangs glinting as he smiled, "One more."

The audience cheered again.

Marshall began strumming his guitar. "This one's for someone special here tonight. You know who you are."

♥

"Slow dance with you, I just wanna slow dance with you," he began, strumming steadily, "I know all the other boys are tough and smooth, and I got the blues."

The prince raised his eyebrows, surprised that Marshall would choose a ballad for the encore. It was more like him to end his performances with a bang, some sort of high-energy song he could close out with a guitar solo.

"I wanna slow dance with you, I just wanna slow dance with you," Marshall went on. His new pick glinted under the stage lights. "Why don't you take the chance? I've got the moves, I'd like to prove I wanna slow dance with you."

Though unexpected, it was a welcome change of pace. Gumball didn't recognize this particular song, but Marshall's other low-tempo tracks were some of his favorites.

"I know I seem real tough, but every night, tears fall from my eyes for you and only you," Marshall sang, glancing up from his guitar and locking eyes with Gumball.

The prince flushed and fidgeted. It wasn't subtle this time; Marshall was supposed to be looking at the people in the audience, who were probably wondering why he was suddenly staring stage-right instead. 

"'Cause  I don't mind being alone, really, I don't," he continued, not breaking his gaze, "But when it comes to you, well, I don't know what else to do, I wanna slow dance."

The crowd was surprisingly amenable to these peculiarities. Fans bobbed to the music and mouthed the words, just as they would have during any other song. If they noticed that Marshall wasn't paying attention to them, it didn't show on their faces. 

Marshall launched back into the chorus. "I wanna slow dance with you, I just wanna slow dance with you. I know all the other boys are tough and smooth, but I just wanna slow dance with you."

Out of the corner of his eye, Gumball could see Life and Death sitting in the front row together. Life seemed pleased with the song, leaning one of his heads against Death's skull. 

"Why don't you take the chance? I got the moves, I'd like to prove I wanna slow dance with you," Marshall repeated, rising from the stage and gliding in a small circle. 

It wasn't particularly comfortable to begin with, but the skeleton costume was beginning to feel entirely too warm.

"Dreaming, dreaming about all the stars in the sky, dreaming 'bout something between you and I," he sang, his gaze returning to the audience, "I've been dreaming of something they'll never know, I wish you'd come here and dance real slow with me."

The crowd erupted into raucous applause when the song ended. Skeletons and zombies tossed their spare ribs on the stage. Demons and ghosts lifted into the air as they cheered. Roses grew on the edge of the stage near where Life was sitting.

Marshall never thanked them, or said anything else. One moment he was center-stage, looking over the crowd, and the next, he was colliding with Gumball. He embraced the prince tightly, dropping his beloved guitar to the floor.

Gumball wrapped his arms around Marshall. "Was that last song… for me?"

"Yeah," he replied softly, his cheeks coloring, "It all was."

He couldn't have stopped himself from kissing the vampire even if he tried. His face was sweaty, and his lips were chapped, but Gumball didn't care. Sharp fangs scraped against his lower lip as they kissed insistently. It was clumsy and fervent in a way it had never been in his dreams.

"I really hope this isn't a dream," Gumball rasped as they parted.

Marshall laughed. "Me too."

♥

The two of them looked out over the barren landscape from inside the eye socket of a gigantic monster skull. It made for a surprisingly good perch; the view of Death's castle was unobstructed by dunes or ruins, and the skeleton vagrants had no way of reaching them.

"I had no idea you were such a romantic," the prince teased, leaning his head on the other boy's shoulder.

"I do what I can," Marshall joked, "I even showered today."

Gumball laughed. "I missed you."

"Speak for yourself," he retorted, wrapping his arm around the other's shoulders and pulling him close, "Giving up on you was the biggest mistake I ever made."

"I gave up on you," Gumball corrected, "Over something completely stupid, no less."

Marshall shook his head. "No, I mean… look, I'll just start from the beginning."

The prince looked at him expectantly.

"Remember the first time we met? Y'know, that night in the woods?" he asked.

"Of course."

"Well, uh. I don't remember if I've ever told you this, but I'd actually been following you," Marshall recalled, "You seemed so out of place in the Evil Forest, and I was curious about you, I guess,"

"I saw you hit your head, and I just sort of ran to you without thinking," he went on, "When I picked you up, I wanted to drink your color so bad, but I… didn't, for some reason. I drained your coat instead."

Gumball chuckled. "How thoughtful."

"I know," Marshall joked, "But uh. To be honest, you looked… too good to eat."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Gumball remarked, grinning lopsidedly.

"So I just brought you to my jamming spot and waited for you to wake up," he explained, "It felt like there was something special about you,"

"There were a lot of times I almost asked you on a date, but as I got to know you more, I figured it wouldn't work. We had a lot of different stuff going on. Still do," he admitted, "So I tried to move on. Started seeing someone else, and that worked out pretty well… until it didn't."

"Marshall," the prince whispered, "I don't know what to say."

The vampire fidgeted. "Sorry, I didn't mean to dump all that on you."

"No, no, I appreciate it," Gumball replied, pausing to kiss Marshall's cheek, "I'm flattered, to say the very least. Not to mention embarrassed at my own reservations."

He smirked. "Your own reservations?"

Gumball's cheeks colored. "Well, since we're being candid, I've… been dreaming about you."

Marshall raised his eyebrows.

"Nothing lurid!" the prince added hastily, "Just little dates, I suppose."

"Like tonight?" He teased.

Gumball chuckled. "A little like last night, actually. Loathe as I am to admit it, when you first appeared on my balcony, I thought I was dreaming."

"So that's why you were being so nice!" Marshall deduced, "Man, you should've said something! We could've had the real thing ages ago."

"I thought you were still mad at me," he explained, "After the way I treated you, I was certain of it."

Marshall's face fell. "I mean, yeah, I guess I was. But I was mostly just bitter, and I kinda blamed myself for screwing everything up between us."

"What I told you on the phone years ago," Gumball said softly, "About how you don't care about anyone else. Even when I said it, I knew it wasn't true."

Marshall squeezed him again. "I cared about you.”

“I'm sorry,” the prince said, leaning into his touch, “For what I said, how I treated you.”

“Same here,” Marshall replied, “I wish I could do it all over.”

Gumball smiled. “I suppose we'll have to make up for all that lost time.”