Good Little Guy (A Gumshall Fanfic)

Strawberry Macaroons

Marshall's POV:

I hung my head, floating aimlessly around my room, sighing dejectedly. What the actual fuck did I do? Why the fuck am I like this, I honestly just belong in hell. I broke the only friendship I had left, the one I had with Fionna. Guess it's another century of loneliness for me, although I do deserve it, I thought bitterly.

The look on Bubba's face haunts me, it was plain heartbreak. Mission accomplished, I thought bitterly. I had managed to convince Fionna and Cake to go on a virtually empty “quest”. Well, it was a quest to get Bubba jealous and props to me, mission accomplished. Why am I so fucked up, I honestly just hate myself. Oh and did I mention that I acted a fuck-boy to Fionna to, toying with her emotions even though they weren’t there. I felt like crawling into a hole and dying by myself, appalled at what I had turned into.  I sighed, I did promise Fionna that I was going to talk to him later on. I was not willing to, thinking about how the last time I had been with Bubba alone had shattered my heart into a thousand pieces.

Not knowing what I was doing, I found myself putting on a random outfit of black jeans, black denim jacket, and a black shirt and flying to the Candy Kingdom. Maybe my black outfit was my subconscious' way of wanting to reflect my mood. I don't know, and if it was, no one probably cares.

The pink towers of Candy Kingdom were growing larger, and I flew up as Bubba's voice whispered through my mind, "If you ever want to come see me, my private chambers are at the tallest tower, the second window from the top."

"Hey Bubba, are you there?" I asked carefully while opening the window.

The room was a mess, with the golden rays of light highlighting the papers all over the floor. The pink furniture stood there innocently before the chaos. What has gotten into him? His room is always neat and elegant, just like him. Is he ok? I looked around the room, specifically at the bed, and bittersweet feelings of nostalgia crept up on me.

Bubba should be in his lab or his kitchen knowing him. He wouldn't tell anyone this, but his secret pleasure is cooking. I was about to leave the room, when I noticed something that caught my eye. It was a picture of me and Bubba hanging out together in Wildberry Kingdom shopping for clothes. That was the day I forced Bubba to buy his first pair of what he calls "punk clothes". I laughed thinking about how his face looked when he saw himself in the mirror with the outfit. The Marshall in the picture looked different, younger and happier. That was to be expected, I thought bitterly to myself. Bubba had drawn a little pink heart at the corner of the picture. My heart somersaulted involuntarily, knowing that Bubba still has the picture of us, or that he still cared about it so much. Maybe there is hope after all.

I finally managed to take my eyes off the picture and I floated towards Bubba's private kitchen in his chambers.

As expected he was there, his back turned, picking ingredients from the fridge.

"Hey, Bubba. Whatchu cooking," I said casually, using his first name.

Bubba turned around dropping the strawberries he was getting onto the floor, his face turning from shock, to surprise, to annoyance.

"Marshall, I don't remember me inviting you here. Please leave," Bubba whimpered, staring at the strawberries.

My eyes widened in surprise as I saw that he was in the rock shirt that I had given him ages ago. My face flushed, secretly loving the fact that he still had it, and even wearing it. I half expected him to throw it out by now, or have a closet that was limited to shades of pink.

"Hey, you did tell me where to find you whenever I wanted to visit you," I smirked.

Bubba blushed, his face turning a shade of pink darker, as he turned his face away. "Marshall! That was 200 years ago! Things have changed Marshall if you haven't noticed," he hesitated, then continued, "We have changed too Marshall.”