A Marshmallow's Guide to Loving a Complete Idiot (Inanimate Insanity)(Marshple)

Lesson #8: Go the Extra Mile

'Oh dear God, no.'

"An apple a day keeps the doctor away. Marshmallow here needs a place to recover from her cold. You do the math." He paused for a second, then added, "Actually, don't. She's with you and Box."

"Ahaha- yeah, no," Paintbrush interjected. "Did you even hear about what happened?"

"They're like friends now, or whatever."

"That's clearly not the case. She-"

"Hold that thought- I have thirteen more people than usual to feed last-minute — I need to be in the kitchen. So just deal, please?"

"Do you want the hotel to burn down?"

OJ sighed. "Can you stop holding the Christmas challenge against me already?"

Paintbrush sputtered, "This has nothing to do with that!"

"Yeah, well, I don't see Marsh complaining." Marsh briefly looked at OJ, in between ignoring Apple's stare. Before Marsh could decide whether to speak up, OJ went on, "So yeah, if you guys have a problem, do me a favor and work it out without breaking the fires-in-the-hotel rule. Cool?" He punctuated the question with a thumbs-up, but when something shattered the next room over, he ran out without waiting for a response.

Paintbrush immediately picked Apple up by the stem. "You aren't going to bother her, got it?"

"W-wha-"

"No, I'm serious. If you lay a finger on her, or so much as look at her the wrong way, I will show you what it's like to be on the receiving end of breaking the no-fires-in-the-hotel rule." Were their bristles smoking? "You got that straight?"

"What does straight mean?" Apple replied.

Marsh sneezed. "Paintbrush, I can take care of myself."

Paintbrush looked at her with kind eyes. "Do you want me to bring you dinner?"

Marsh briefly weighed her desire to be independent against how drained she felt, then replied, "Sounds good."

"Right. You tell me if there's a problem," they said, giving her shoulder a terse squeeze. Marsh gave them a tiny nod before they strode away.

'Only if I don't solve it myself,' Marsh mentally added, then realized that doing this at all required her to speak to Apple. Easier said than done. '...Nice going, Marshmallow.'

'I'm over it, I'm over it,' Marsh thought, then said, as nonchalantly as she could handle, "Is your room still 206?"

"Nah, they changed it.."

"Real shame. We've had good memories in 206. When you burned me alive, at least I knew what I was getting, right?"

Apple flinched. Marsh did, too. So much for sounding like she was over it.

"It's not 206 anymore. I'll show you, though."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Apple didn't look like she'd been getting much of that lately, come to think of it.. Or maybe that was a figment of Marsh's imagination.

It only occurred to her later on that Apple didn't have to come along, because she could've just told her what door it was. Unlike most of the other contestants', Apple's door was always unlocked. She was way too hard on her things, and lost track of them too easily, to possibly keep a key on her. Just another dimension of the mind game, she supposed.

Walking into the room, at least it was obvious whose bed was whose. The one closer to the door was unmade, but had a surprising amount of personal touches made to it: a few drawings were haphazardly hung on the wall, and a large pillow sat upright on her bed.