Little Things {Gumlee}

Chapter 7

Thursday morning rolled around and the three house members were up bright and early. Barnaby didn't serve breakfast like he usually did, instead he was too busy fretting over trying to make the house looked 'lived in'. Printing off fake papers and scattering them on the desk in the office, buying weird foods like Raisin Bran and putting them in the pantry, tuning the old radio to some 70s rock station. Doing whatever he could to make it appear like a man in his forties lived there.

"What time is your uncle coming?" Marshall asked as he poured cereal (not the Raisin Bran) into a bowl with one hand. His other arm had a sleepy baby in it. Barnaby was mumbling German to himself as he stared into the living room, thinking out loud about what he could do next.

"Huh?" he shook his head, coming out of his trance. "Oh. He didn't say. But he usually comes in the evening."

"Then why the hell are you freaking out about this now? You've got plenty of time."

"Key word usually. Technically he could be here at any second. I just wanna be prepared..." Barnaby could feel his pulse racing through his body and he felt on edge, like he was waiting for something horrible to happen. The fast heart rate was normal to him at this point, but feeling anxious wasn't. He never got paranoid like this.

Marshall just hummed took a sip of his coffee before passing the cup to his rights hand (the same arm that had Valerie in it) and picked up his bowl with his left, walking to the dining room. Valerie began reaching her small hand out to the mug in front of her, to which Marshall starting chanting, "No. No. No." in a monotone voice. He hurried to the long, wooden table, setting his food down before his daughter could dip her fingers in the scalding liquid. When her main interest was pulled away from her, Valerie started crying. "Oh I know, how horrible of me. I'm just such a monster for making sure you don't burn your fingers, aren't I." Babies, man. Always getting into something.

After some time of just eating and enjoying his time with Val, he turned to see what his housemate was doing. He didn't know what to think when he saw Barnaby standing in the same exact spot, still and unmoved, staring into the living room. Marshall blinked, and swallowed what he had in his mouth. "Hey, B," he called out, unsuccessfully breaking him from his trance. "Whenever you're done speaking in tongues, why don't you come sit down? You hungry? I'll make you something." It took a moment for the other to finally acknowledge he'd been talked to.

Suddenly the blonde blinked and turned around so fast Marshall was convinced he gave himself whiplash. "That's okay, I'm not hungry," he declined, keeping his voice level. He felt jittery and shaky now, like he needed to move and stay moving. "Does Val need a bottle?" he offered after witnessing Valerie tug harshly at her dad's hair. It was just so long and tuggable, who'd blame her? Definitely not Barnaby, he couldn't deny he's already thought about scenarios that resulted in him yanking a fistful of his hair as he-... It was still breakfast time, he reminded himself, aka the time to be thinking about his attractive housemate swallowing cereal, not his cock. Barnaby felt his eye twitch as he walked to a cupboard. Jeez, this was weird.

"Yeah but I can make it, don't worry about it."

"You sure? It's no problem. Besides, I know how to make one now." Marshall showed him how the other day when he asked, he wanted to be able to help. He stood at the counter, out of sight from Marshall, and held on to it tightly. Honestly he was surprised his voice didn't come out as shaky as he felt.

"Yeah, it's fine. I'm almost done eating anyways." Normally Marshall fed Valerie before himself, or sometimes at the same time. Maybe he was just especially hungry this morning. Barnaby closed his eyes and tried to take a deep breath to steady himself. His legs felt wobbly, just like his hands that were desperately trying to hold still on the counter. Paranoia was still clouding his thoughts, making him question everything. Why am I so jittery? Usually I'm not like this. What if Marshall finds out about my secret, surely he can tell I'm acting weird. I'm acting weird, aren't I? Did I take too much? Am I dying because I took too much? Isn't that what I want anyway, why am I scared about that?