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“Sir, stop fidgeting,” Butterscotch Butler said around the pins in her mouth. She held out her hand and waited.

Prince Gumball sighed, but handed over his notebook. Butterscotch Butler tossed it over her shoulder. It landed on the bed with a muffled flapping of pages and Gumball held in a groan. He’d struggle to find his page of carefully printed equations within the mess of the nearly full notebook.

“Arms up,” Butterscotch Butler ordered.

BB was fast at this kind of work, but it was another lost hour. He mentally ran through his to do list. Prep for the ball. Finish the vaccine for the new cases of rock candy pox that had run amuck through the preschool. Call Lumpy Space Prince to remind him that he had an invitation to the ball and didn’t have to crash it. Order the Gumball Guardians to keep an eye out for Ice Queen, who hadn’t visited in far too long. Send back RSVPs to the sixteen different Prince retreats and conferences he’d been invited to.

“Why am I doing this?” Gumball mused while Butterscotch bustled around him, fitting the last of the outfit.

“Do you mean the obvious of getting a new suit, or the bigger picture of allowing Fionna and Cake to wander to the Fire Kingdom instead of coming to the ball, or the existential crisis of why you alone bear the weight of the Candy Kingdom on your pretty pink head?” Butterscotch asked as she pinned his cuff.

And like that, the ideas screaming through Gumball’s head came to a screeching halt, all thanks to one word.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there on the step in front of the mirror, staring blankly at the pale pink wall of his bedroom while his butler ensured the suit was properly tailored. When she finished, she patted his arm, told him to watch for the pins when he removed the garments, and left the room.

Only when the door clicked shut behind her did Gumball finally register an emotion clawing its way from behind his ribs.

“Oh, Glob. Oh, Glob, oh, Glob!” he mumbled.

The analytical part of his brain sat back and observed the symptoms running unchecked through his body. Rapid pulse, quickening breath, strange flutter in the stomach, sweaty palms and forehead. Logical deduction: panic attack.

“I don’t have time for a panic attack,” he said to no one.

Breathe, Gumball.

He sucked in fresh lungfuls of air.

Refocus on the task at hand.

Right. Time to change so BB could finish his outfit in time. He started to remove the jacket, wincing when a stray pin stuck his wrist. The pulse of pain seemed to radiate up through his arm, settling somewhere in his throat, cutting off his air.

Breathe. Refocus.

So much to do. Too much to do.

The last formula he’d worked out for the vaccine hadn’t worked thanks to a stupid math error. That’s what he’d been trying to fix before BB took away his notebook. He hadn’t noticed his error until too late since he’d been up until three in the morning, bleary eyed by the time he reviewed his work. Tons of supplies wasted. He’d messed up so badly he couldn’t even repurpose the slop he’d created.

And if he couldn’t fix the vaccine in time, he’d have to turn down Breakfast Prince’s invitation to visit. That meant he wouldn’t get a chance to learn more about the newest syrups being born in the Breakfast Kingdom or plug the exchange program to young students who could bring new ideas to the Candy Kingdom. Oh, and Breakfast Prince would be hurt and wouldn’t understand why Gumball couldn’t visit, no matter what he did to try to explain. He didn’t have a parent or brother or sister or lover to help run the kingdom while he took a trip away.

Breathe.

It wasn’t helping.

He tugged the rest of the jacket off and started on his undershirt. He got it untucked, but when he tried to lift it over his head, one of the pins in the waist of the slacks stuck the fabric. He froze, trapped, and the panic he’d so been so carefully controlling erupted.

He spun, flailing, trying to free himself from the fabric chrysalis he’d accidentally created. He couldn’t see anything. Couldn’t suck in air. Couldn’t stop the horrible, terrifying truth creeping up on him, burrowing itself into his brain and heart.

Alone.

He, Prince Gumball, ruler of the Candy Kingdom, was alone.

His friends had their own lives. They were there if he needed them, but they couldn’t share his burden. That’s what he wanted. A partner. Someone he could rely on. Someone who knew the way his brain worked and stepped in to assist because Glob only knew he couldn’t bring himself to ask for their help.

He tugged at the shirt, gritting his teeth when his slacks pulled higher with the motion. He didn’t need a ton of room, just enough to slip his shoulder and head under the hem. Finally, his hand found a space and he started wriggling free. He was halfway out when a low chuckle emanated from the space above his bed.

He knew that laugh.

Gumball stilled, partially trapped, watching the empty air through a gap between the jacket buttons. “Marshall?”

“What’s with the fancy duds?”

“How long have you been there?”

“Long enough.”

As Gumball expected, Marshall Lee appeared. In all the years they’d been friends, enemies, and ... whatever else they’d been, Gumball had never known Marshall to be able to have a real conversation while invisible. It was probably just because he enjoyed when people looked at him.

People couldn’t help looking at Marshall. Maybe it was his clothes. Worn out jeans, a tight tank top and ragged flannel, heavy boots. Marshall was the only citizen of Ooh who could wear clothes like that and look cool instead of lazy. Rocker chic, something Gumball had never been brave enough to attempt. Or, maybe people couldn’t tear their gazes away because of him. Thick, tousled black hair. Smooth, greyish skin unmarred by any mark except the twin punctures on his neck. Dark eyes that had a habit of piercing the soul and dismissing it out of hand because it was too boring. Prim. Proper. Professional. Dear Glob, how many times had Marshall lamented about Gumball’s responsibilities getting in the way of potential adventures?

“Need help, Gumwad?” Marshall asked. He lay above the bed, hovering with his head hanging down, watching Gumball’s attempts to free himself with vague interest.

“I’ve got it.”

“Doesn’t look like it. Here ...”

He flipped, moved closer, and reached out. Gumball swallowed when Marshall fiddled around with the waistband at the back of his slacks. He hummed while he worked and Gumball caught faint snatches of the melody. Sounded like a new song.

“So, new suit?” Marshall asked.

“Yes.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“The Biennial Gumball Ball. Didn’t you get your invitation?”

Marshall made a dismissive noise. “I just got back. Haven’t gone home to check my mail, Your Highness.”

“Oh.” Gumball knew it was a set up, but he couldn’t resist. “Where were you?”

“The Nightosphere. Okay, you’re free.”

“Thanks.” Gumball finished tugging off the shirt and jacket and tossed them onto his dresser.

Marshall hadn’t moved away. Gumball shifted his weight back and forth, waiting. When Marshall didn’t take the hint, he scowled. “Turn around.”

“Why? It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Sweet jellybeans ... The blush rose so fast it scalded his skin. “Oh, honestly.”

Marshall rolled his eyes, but returned to his place by the bed. He clasped his hands behind his head, closed his eyes, and continued humming.

Gumball skinned off the slacks as quickly as he could manage while avoiding the pins and dragged on a pair of pants he’d left out from the day before. They weren’t too badly stained from the vaccine gone awry. A quick trip to the armoire netted him a comfortable sweater. He tugged it on, refusing to believe that he’d just caught Marshall peeking at him as he changed.

To distract himself from that path of temptation, Gumball asked, “Why were you in the Nightosphere?”

“Mom wanted me to meet some visiting dignitaries.”

“Anyone interesting?”

Marshall shrugged. “Not really. They didn’t even like music. Seriously, who doesn’t like music? So, why were you flipping out?”

The randomness of the second question stunned Gumball. He squeaked, mouth working uselessly.

“I know you’re going to tell me, so let’s just hear it.” Marshall cracked open an eye and fixed Gumball with a far too canny stare.

“I ... I ...” He couldn’t choke the words out.

“Bubs, you looked like you were about to explode. And not in a good way.”

“I’m busy,” he whispered.

Marshall laughed, rolling over to face Gumball with an insouciance that he wished he possessed. “You’re always busy. It couldn’t be that much worse than normal.”

“It’s worse.”

Silence. Gumball wished he could take the words back. They’d just spilled out, like some kind of verbal diarrhea. Marshall would laugh at him for admitting that he was struggling. Gumball tensed, bracing himself for the impact of those words.

Except, they didn’t come.

“Hey,” Marshall said, “stop looking like you expect me to punch a marshmallow.”

“Aren’t you going to make fun of me?”

“Nah. It’s no fun when there’s a serious problem going on. I may be evil, but I’m not a jerk.”

“Oh.” Gumball tugged at the sleeve of his sweater, unsure how to proceed.

Marshall “Soooooo ... want to tell me about it?”

“You’ll think it’s stupid.”

“Right now I think you’re stupid. Talk already.”

He couldn’t bring himself to look at Marshall, so he crossed to the bed instead and picked up his notebook. The words started to pour out. “The Candy Kingdom used to be so small. It was easy to know everyone. To protect everyone. And now it’s so big ... There’s always some new disaster to prepare against.”

His hands were shaking. Gumball sat on the edge of his bed, making a show of flipping through the pages, praying to Glob that Marshall didn’t notice. “There aren’t enough hours in the day. And I never have time for what I want to do ...”

“And what’s that?”

“I’m not sure.” And, unbidden, a strange idea rose. “I want to dance.”

“Dance?”

Gumball glanced over his shoulder. Marshall wore a look of genuine consternation, nose wrinkled, squinting at Gumball like he couldn’t tell if it was a joke.

“Yes,” Gumball said. “I never have time to dance at these things. I have to greet everyone and make sure there’s enough food and keep everyone happy. Besides,” he added quietly, “there’s never anyone I want to dance with.”

“So why do you go in the first place? Throw the party and ditch out of it once it gets going. There. Problem solved.”

Gumball laughed, but couldn’t keep the bitterness from it. “You make it sound so easy.”

Marshall scowled. “It is that easy. Stop being a wad and do something you want to do for a change. It’s not a difficult concept, Bubs. You don’t need an equation for it.”

Frustrated, he set down the notebook and pointed at his uninvited guest. “How could you understand? You always do what you want.”

Marshall’s eyes flashed red and his fangs grew, muffling the edges of his words. “Then why the flip did I go to the Nightosphere when I knew Mom would introduce me to the future Vampire Queen?”

“Wh–what?”

But Marshall was already dragging a blanket over himself and heading for the window. “She wants me to marry some crazy demon lady. So I took responsibility and went there to meet her. And when I found out she doesn’t like music and is so boring that plucking my eyeballs out of their sockets would be more fun, I left.”

The world still spun. Worse, the ache in his chest was growing, splitting into something bigger and scarier. “You’re getting married?”

The upper part of the blanket moved, probably from Marshall shrugging. “I dunno. Maybe? Being lonely kind of sucks, you know?”

Dazed, Gumball nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“Anyway, I tried to do what was right for everyone else and it didn’t work. I’m not saying for you to ditch everything, you dweeb. You have to keep trying, but when it doesn’t work out just ... don’t be so hard on yourself.” He extended a single hand from under the blanket and gave a short wave. “Later, Bubs.”

Description

“Sir, stop fidgeting,” Butterscotch Butler said around the pins in her mouth. She held out her hand and waited.

Prince Gumball sighed, but handed over his notebook. Butterscotch Butler tossed it over her shoulder. It landed on the bed with a muffled flapping of pages and Gumball held in a groan. He’d struggle to find his page of carefully printed equations within the mess of the nearly full notebook.

“Arms up,” Butterscotch Butler ordered.

BB was fast at this kind of work, but it was another lost hour. He mentally ran through his to do list. Prep for the ball. Finish the vaccine for the new cases of rock candy pox that had run amuck through the preschool. Call Lumpy Space Prince to remind him that he had an invitation to the ball and didn’t have to crash it. Order the Gumball Guardians to keep an eye out for Ice Queen, who hadn’t visited in far too long. Send back RSVPs to the sixteen different Prince retreats and conferences he’d been invited to.

“Why am I doing this?” Gumball mused while Butterscotch bustled around him, fitting the last of the outfit.

“Do you mean the obvious of getting a new suit, or the bigger picture of allowing Fionna and Cake to wander to the Fire Kingdom instead of coming to the ball, or the existential crisis of why you alone bear the weight of the Candy Kingdom on your pretty pink head?” Butterscotch asked as she pinned his cuff.

And like that, the ideas screaming through Gumball’s head came to a screeching halt, all thanks to one word.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there on the step in front of the mirror, staring blankly at the pale pink wall of his bedroom while his butler ensured the suit was properly tailored. When she finished, she patted his arm, told him to watch for the pins when he removed the garments, and left the room.

Only when the door clicked shut behind her did Gumball finally register an emotion clawing its way from behind his ribs.

“Oh, Glob. Oh, Glob, oh, Glob!” he mumbled.

The analytical part of his brain sat back and observed the symptoms running unchecked through his body. Rapid pulse, quickening breath, strange flutter in the stomach, sweaty palms and forehead. Logical deduction: panic attack.

“I don’t have time for a panic attack,” he said to no one.

Breathe, Gumball.

He sucked in fresh lungfuls of air.

Refocus on the task at hand.

Right. Time to change so BB could finish his outfit in time. He started to remove the jacket, wincing when a stray pin stuck his wrist. The pulse of pain seemed to radiate up through his arm, settling somewhere in his throat, cutting off his air.

Breathe. Refocus.

So much to do. Too much to do.

The last formula he’d worked out for the vaccine hadn’t worked thanks to a stupid math error. That’s what he’d been trying to fix before BB took away his notebook. He hadn’t noticed his error until too late since he’d been up until three in the morning, bleary eyed by the time he reviewed his work. Tons of supplies wasted. He’d messed up so badly he couldn’t even repurpose the slop he’d created.

And if he couldn’t fix the vaccine in time, he’d have to turn down Breakfast Prince’s invitation to visit. That meant he wouldn’t get a chance to learn more about the newest syrups being born in the Breakfast Kingdom or plug the exchange program to young students who could bring new ideas to the Candy Kingdom. Oh, and Breakfast Prince would be hurt and wouldn’t understand why Gumball couldn’t visit, no matter what he did to try to explain. He didn’t have a parent or brother or sister or lover to help run the kingdom while he took a trip away.

Breathe.

It wasn’t helping.

He tugged the rest of the jacket off and started on his undershirt. He got it untucked, but when he tried to lift it over his head, one of the pins in the waist of the slacks stuck the fabric. He froze, trapped, and the panic he’d so been so carefully controlling erupted.

He spun, flailing, trying to free himself from the fabric chrysalis he’d accidentally created. He couldn’t see anything. Couldn’t suck in air. Couldn’t stop the horrible, terrifying truth creeping up on him, burrowing itself into his brain and heart.

Alone.

He, Prince Gumball, ruler of the Candy Kingdom, was alone.

His friends had their own lives. They were there if he needed them, but they couldn’t share his burden. That’s what he wanted. A partner. Someone he could rely on. Someone who knew the way his brain worked and stepped in to assist because Glob only knew he couldn’t bring himself to ask for their help.

He tugged at the shirt, gritting his teeth when his slacks pulled higher with the motion. He didn’t need a ton of room, just enough to slip his shoulder and head under the hem. Finally, his hand found a space and he started wriggling free. He was halfway out when a low chuckle emanated from the space above his bed.

He knew that laugh.

Gumball stilled, partially trapped, watching the empty air through a gap between the jacket buttons. “Marshall?”

“What’s with the fancy duds?”

“How long have you been there?”

“Long enough.”

As Gumball expected, Marshall Lee appeared. In all the years they’d been friends, enemies, and ... whatever else they’d been, Gumball had never known Marshall to be able to have a real conversation while invisible. It was probably just because he enjoyed when people looked at him.

People couldn’t help looking at Marshall. Maybe it was his clothes. Worn out jeans, a tight tank top and ragged flannel, heavy boots. Marshall was the only citizen of Ooh who could wear clothes like that and look cool instead of lazy. Rocker chic, something Gumball had never been brave enough to attempt. Or, maybe people couldn’t tear their gazes away because of him. Thick, tousled black hair. Smooth, greyish skin unmarred by any mark except the twin punctures on his neck. Dark eyes that had a habit of piercing the soul and dismissing it out of hand because it was too boring. Prim. Proper. Professional. Dear Glob, how many times had Marshall lamented about Gumball’s responsibilities getting in the way of potential adventures?

“Need help, Gumwad?” Marshall asked. He lay above the bed, hovering with his head hanging down, watching Gumball’s attempts to free himself with vague interest.

“I’ve got it.”

“Doesn’t look like it. Here ...”

He flipped, moved closer, and reached out. Gumball swallowed when Marshall fiddled around with the waistband at the back of his slacks. He hummed while he worked and Gumball caught faint snatches of the melody. Sounded like a new song.

“So, new suit?” Marshall asked.

“Yes.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“The Biennial Gumball Ball. Didn’t you get your invitation?”

Marshall made a dismissive noise. “I just got back. Haven’t gone home to check my mail, Your Highness.”

“Oh.” Gumball knew it was a set up, but he couldn’t resist. “Where were you?”

“The Nightosphere. Okay, you’re free.”

“Thanks.” Gumball finished tugging off the shirt and jacket and tossed them onto his dresser.

Marshall hadn’t moved away. Gumball shifted his weight back and forth, waiting. When Marshall didn’t take the hint, he scowled. “Turn around.”

“Why? It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Sweet jellybeans ... The blush rose so fast it scalded his skin. “Oh, honestly.”

Marshall rolled his eyes, but returned to his place by the bed. He clasped his hands behind his head, closed his eyes, and continued humming.

Gumball skinned off the slacks as quickly as he could manage while avoiding the pins and dragged on a pair of pants he’d left out from the day before. They weren’t too badly stained from the vaccine gone awry. A quick trip to the armoire netted him a comfortable sweater. He tugged it on, refusing to believe that he’d just caught Marshall peeking at him as he changed.

To distract himself from that path of temptation, Gumball asked, “Why were you in the Nightosphere?”

“Mom wanted me to meet some visiting dignitaries.”

“Anyone interesting?”

Marshall shrugged. “Not really. They didn’t even like music. Seriously, who doesn’t like music? So, why were you flipping out?”

The randomness of the second question stunned Gumball. He squeaked, mouth working uselessly.

“I know you’re going to tell me, so let’s just hear it.” Marshall cracked open an eye and fixed Gumball with a far too canny stare.

“I ... I ...” He couldn’t choke the words out.

“Bubs, you looked like you were about to explode. And not in a good way.”

“I’m busy,” he whispered.

Marshall laughed, rolling over to face Gumball with an insouciance that he wished he possessed. “You’re always busy. It couldn’t be that much worse than normal.”

“It’s worse.”

Silence. Gumball wished he could take the words back. They’d just spilled out, like some kind of verbal diarrhea. Marshall would laugh at him for admitting that he was struggling. Gumball tensed, bracing himself for the impact of those words.

Except, they didn’t come.

“Hey,” Marshall said, “stop looking like you expect me to punch a marshmallow.”

“Aren’t you going to make fun of me?”

“Nah. It’s no fun when there’s a serious problem going on. I may be evil, but I’m not a jerk.”

“Oh.” Gumball tugged at the sleeve of his sweater, unsure how to proceed.

Marshall “Soooooo ... want to tell me about it?”

“You’ll think it’s stupid.”

“Right now I think you’re stupid. Talk already.”

He couldn’t bring himself to look at Marshall, so he crossed to the bed instead and picked up his notebook. The words started to pour out. “The Candy Kingdom used to be so small. It was easy to know everyone. To protect everyone. And now it’s so big ... There’s always some new disaster to prepare against.”

His hands were shaking. Gumball sat on the edge of his bed, making a show of flipping through the pages, praying to Glob that Marshall didn’t notice. “There aren’t enough hours in the day. And I never have time for what I want to do ...”

“And what’s that?”

“I’m not sure.” And, unbidden, a strange idea rose. “I want to dance.”

“Dance?”

Gumball glanced over his shoulder. Marshall wore a look of genuine consternation, nose wrinkled, squinting at Gumball like he couldn’t tell if it was a joke.

“Yes,” Gumball said. “I never have time to dance at these things. I have to greet everyone and make sure there’s enough food and keep everyone happy. Besides,” he added quietly, “there’s never anyone I want to dance with.”

“So why do you go in the first place? Throw the party and ditch out of it once it gets going. There. Problem solved.”

Gumball laughed, but couldn’t keep the bitterness from it. “You make it sound so easy.”

Marshall scowled. “It is that easy. Stop being a wad and do something you want to do for a change. It’s not a difficult concept, Bubs. You don’t need an equation for it.”

Frustrated, he set down the notebook and pointed at his uninvited guest. “How could you understand? You always do what you want.”

Marshall’s eyes flashed red and his fangs grew, muffling the edges of his words. “Then why the flip did I go to the Nightosphere when I knew Mom would introduce me to the future Vampire Queen?”

“Wh–what?”

But Marshall was already dragging a blanket over himself and heading for the window. “She wants me to marry some crazy demon lady. So I took responsibility and went there to meet her. And when I found out she doesn’t like music and is so boring that plucking my eyeballs out of their sockets would be more fun, I left.”

The world still spun. Worse, the ache in his chest was growing, splitting into something bigger and scarier. “You’re getting married?”

The upper part of the blanket moved, probably from Marshall shrugging. “I dunno. Maybe? Being lonely kind of sucks, you know?”

Dazed, Gumball nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“Anyway, I tried to do what was right for everyone else and it didn’t work. I’m not saying for you to ditch everything, you dweeb. You have to keep trying, but when it doesn’t work out just ... don’t be so hard on yourself.” He extended a single hand from under the blanket and gave a short wave. “Later, Bubs.”