Writer's Block

Marshall Lee - Photographs

Photographs – Marshall Lee

Dait

A/N: Modern life AU. Feelsy and angsty but with a happy ending!

The smile that stretched across your face was more intense than the sun as you stood beside the love of your life. A tall, lanky teenage boy with shaggy black hair and creamy skin stood beside you, an arm draped lazily over your shoulders and a dopey grin on his lips, exposing his pointed teeth. His brows were arched, eyes narrowed seductively, though the way he held you to his side exhibited nothing but pure adoration and love. Your arms were secured around his waist, pressing your torsos together, your head tucking ever-so-slightly into his neck.

A bittersweet smile tugged at the corner of your mouth as you placed the framed photo on your bedside table. It was only the first out of the box labeled "Marshall," and you knew the rest of its contents would be as heartbreaking as they were precious. Reaching in, you produced another frame, another piece of memorabilia capturing the love between you and the raven-haired delinquent.

His lips pressed against yours passionately, a slender hand resting delicately upon your cheek. It was your eighteenth birthday, the third consecutive birthday you'd celebrated with your troublesome boyfriend. In your hands was this year's present – a teddy bear wearing one of Marshall's old t-shirts, cut and poorly stitched back together in order to fit the toy's tiny frame.

"So you don't miss me all the time," had been his reasoning, a response to your concerns about attending different colleges. You'd been accepted into the ivy leagues to pursue your dream, while he had only managed to apply to a state college. You'd wanted to attend the same school, but Marshall had insisted that your education and your chosen career was more important, and that your relationship was strong enough to survive the distance of the ocean.

A sniffle tingled its way through your nose, and you scrubbed a hand across your eyes to stifle the budding tears before they could even fully form. You weren't going to cry. You were in college now, unpacking your new dorm room. Marshall was... not there.

One hand held another, the first displaying the second like a masterpiece. Marshall's long fingers wrapped easily around your palm, his thumb caressing your knuckles. Your left hand appeared as it always had, though with one major exception.

On your ring finger sat a silver band with a simple, small gemstone in the center. It wasn't big or flashy, but Marshall could only afford so much, working at the convenience store down the road after school and on weekends.

"It's perfect," you'd insisted when he tried to claim that he'd buy you a better one someday. You didn't want a better one – you wanted this one. This was the one that Marshall chose. This one made your heart flutter and melt and tingle.

Your parents had never approved of your relationship with the troublemaker. You were a proper young lady, destined for amazing things. Marshall was a hoodlum from a broken home, destined to follow in the footsteps of his alcoholic mother and deadbeat father. You'd never believed the harsh stereotypes that the town placed on your boyfriend. You knew how good of a person he could be, how amazing he wanted to become.

Once your father found out that Marshall had proposed (by sauntering into your room unannounced, hoping to catch the two of you in a compromising position so that he had a reason to throw the boy out of his house), he'd been furious. There was screaming, and crying, and swearing, and your father had grasped the front of Marshall's shirt and dragged him all the way through the house. You'd watched in horror as Marshall was harshly thrown out into the rain, landing with a wet thump on the pavement. Before you could call out to him, the front door had been closed and locked, and your father ordered for you to return to your room with the lowest, lividest tone you'd ever heard come from his mouth.