They've seen each other, naturally; their homes are too closely situated for them not to. Brief acknowledgments in passing, maybe a nod or a tense smile, but little more since Lionel's first day, but that's as much his own fault as it is Marshall's. He leaves the hut in the morning and finds every reason to not return again until he needs to sleep.
Today he's back from his riding lesson, sore-hipped and shirt dirtied from a spill. Intent on changing, he finds Marshall's back greeting him from the door instead. Lionel pauses in the yard, swallows back the sudden knot of emotion in his throat and hastily wipes the sweat from his brow.
"You're so lucky I needed to change my shirt," he announces, voice and posture deceptively casual.
"I fell off a horse," Lionel answers, then reconsiders with a tilt of his head. "Actually, I fell before I was even on it. Big surprise, I'm not a world-class equestrian."
He hesitates a moment and jerks his chin toward the plate in Marshall's hands. "Are you actually on my doorstep bringing me cookies?"
"I am actually on your doorstep, bringing you cookies," Marshall confirmed, his lips pressing together in something that never quite managed to be a smile.
"Trying to," Lionel corrects with a dismissive twitch of his shoulder. There isn't anything going on between Jon and himself, not really, not more than friendship and a probably unrequited crush, but he doesn't want to get into that here. Not with Marshall, not when he's brought cookies like he has something to apologize for.
"So," Lionel continues as he steps forward and casually peers down at the plate, "what sort of cookies are these? Welcome to the neighborhood chocolate chip? Sorry you're dead snickerdoodles?" He flicks a glance up to Marshall, his mouth back to its typical wry tilt.
"They were I work at a bakery and we had some extra toffee nut cookies, but you're welcome to assign some greater significance to them," Marshall said with a faint twitch of his lips.
"I kind of can't imagine you on a horse. Not that I don't think you could do it, I just..." he shrugged helplessly.
There's that wall, indifferent and wholly familiar, and Lionel pauses a moment with keen brown eyes narrowed as he picks apart the place where 'welcome to' and 'should' meet in the twitch of Marshall's lips. It isn't simply enough to say yes, I brought you these cookies; they must come with a qualifier, an escape route.
Lionel tilts his head back, looks briefly to the green sway of leaves above them. "I met a guy," he says, offhand, his mind changed on a dime. Whether he's testing waters or simply being honest, Lionel can't say. "He rides horses. He's from some kind of freakish medieval world where everyone does that, apparently."
Lionel's head tips forward again, nothing given away in his expression but his gaze lingering too long before he speaks, a wealth unsaid in the pause. His lips part and tongue touches against the back of his front teeth, the words right there until he dismisses them with a soft huff of laughter.
"You're adorable when you're jealous, did you know that?"
"Who said I'm jealous?" Marshall said, arching a brow, but there was a faint sharpness to his voice that gave him away.
He wasn't jealous, he had no reason to be, but there was something that made him want to ask questions about Lionel and that guy. If he was really just teaching him out to ride, or if there was more to it than that.
"Oh, you're obviously not, my bad," Lionel replies with an unconvinced lift of his eyebrows. "Just take away the part where I called you adorable and don't worry about the rest."
There was confirmation in Marshall's tone, but now that Lionel has what he'd been after, he doesn't know what the hell to do with it. So Marshall is jealous, what does that even mean? It doesn't make anything between them easier or more justified, and it definitely doesn't soothe the ache that always seems so much more present and alive when Marshall's in his general vicinity. It's just one more thing that is, and nothing to be done about it.
Marshall glanced away, his mouth bunching up in as subtle a show of discomfort as he could manage. They'd always had problems understanding each other, but this huge chasm between them seemed insurmountable.
"Do you want these or not?" Marshall asked, shifting the bundle of cookies awkwardly in his hands. "I can give them to someone else."
"I didn't mean it like-" Lionel bites back his words and heaves out a sigh instead. "Yes, I want your fucking cookies, Marshall. I want…" He stops himself again, trailing off, mentally beating back the weakness that makes him want to forget all of the reasons they're horrible for each other.
"Are they metaphorical cookies?" he finally asks instead, watching Marshall carefully. "Or did you really just have extra and don't give a shit who you give them to?"
"I don't know. They were... They were an excuse to come over here. Because awkwardly waving across the path at each other every morning was starting to get kind of pathetic," Marshall admitted with a heavy sigh, "And they weren't extra. I made these because I thought you'd like them, okay?"
Lionel smiles, but has the good grace to duck his head just enough that he doesn't seem like he's gloating. And he really isn't, even though he'd known well enough that Marshall never did anything like this without planning it out to the last detail. This probably isn't how Marshall envisioned it going, but the advantage isn't Lionel's yet, either. He also knows from experience how quickly this puppy-eyed boy can turn Lionel's assumptions into weapons.
"Thank you," he says, not remembering if he'd said as much earlier. "For the cookies, and the gesture."
Today he's back from his riding lesson, sore-hipped and shirt dirtied from a spill. Intent on changing, he finds Marshall's back greeting him from the door instead. Lionel pauses in the yard, swallows back the sudden knot of emotion in his throat and hastily wipes the sweat from his brow.
"You're so lucky I needed to change my shirt," he announces, voice and posture deceptively casual.
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"I, um..." he said, his eyes falling from Lionel's face to the state of his clothes. "What happened to you?"
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He hesitates a moment and jerks his chin toward the plate in Marshall's hands. "Are you actually on my doorstep bringing me cookies?"
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"You're riding horses?"
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"So," Lionel continues as he steps forward and casually peers down at the plate, "what sort of cookies are these? Welcome to the neighborhood chocolate chip? Sorry you're dead snickerdoodles?" He flicks a glance up to Marshall, his mouth back to its typical wry tilt.
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"I kind of can't imagine you on a horse. Not that I don't think you could do it, I just..." he shrugged helplessly.
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Lionel tilts his head back, looks briefly to the green sway of leaves above them. "I met a guy," he says, offhand, his mind changed on a dime. Whether he's testing waters or simply being honest, Lionel can't say. "He rides horses. He's from some kind of freakish medieval world where everyone does that, apparently."
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The problem was, Marshall couldn't figure out why he cared.
"That's cool. I mean, that he's teaching you." Apparently, he'd lost the ability to speak. Great.
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"You're adorable when you're jealous, did you know that?"
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He wasn't jealous, he had no reason to be, but there was something that made him want to ask questions about Lionel and that guy. If he was really just teaching him out to ride, or if there was more to it than that.
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There was confirmation in Marshall's tone, but now that Lionel has what he'd been after, he doesn't know what the hell to do with it. So Marshall is jealous, what does that even mean? It doesn't make anything between them easier or more justified, and it definitely doesn't soothe the ache that always seems so much more present and alive when Marshall's in his general vicinity. It's just one more thing that is, and nothing to be done about it.
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"Do you want these or not?" Marshall asked, shifting the bundle of cookies awkwardly in his hands. "I can give them to someone else."
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"Are they metaphorical cookies?" he finally asks instead, watching Marshall carefully. "Or did you really just have extra and don't give a shit who you give them to?"
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"Thank you," he says, not remembering if he'd said as much earlier. "For the cookies, and the gesture."
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"It's good that you're finding things to do. I had Kate here and I still spent my first couple of months freaking out."
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