It'd been almost 3 years since he'd gone missing. Marshall was sat on their bed, now 23, almost 24, still hoping for his boyfriend to bounce through the door and tackle him in a hug.

Nothing in the room had been changed other than the weekly bedsheet change. Even then that was Rocky and Chase's doing.

Tomorrow was three years to the day since Tracker had gone.

He went out to the shop, and never came home. What made it worse was that Marshall couldn't try and call him because the Spanish male had left his phone behind to charge.

No one knew what happened and most expected the worst.

Chase opened his friend's bedroom door, still in his pyjamas (consisting of grey sweatpants and a blue t-shirt). It was 10 am, but a Sunday so no one had work.

Through the door the black haired male could smell cinnamon from the kitchen. Rocky was making French toast with syrup; Marshall's favourite.

He knew it was an attempt to coax him out of his room. He tended to hibernate this week for the past three years.

"Morning." Chase said, leaning on the doorframe.

"Hmm." Came the monotone reply.

"Your phone's been ringing an hour. We could hear it down the hall." The brunette walked closer to his best friend.

"Didn't wanna answer it." Marshall shrugged.

"Did you even know who called?"

"No." Silence again.

"You okay?"

Marshall was about to reply when Rocky beat him to it.

"You're attempts at small talk are appalling." He said, shooing his fiancé away. The grey haired male turned to their melancholy friend. "I made breakfast. I know you don't wanna do anything but please come and eat something." He said.

Such a mother hen.

"'Am I okay?' What does he think?" Marshall grumbled.

"You know Chase," Rocky sighed, sitting beside Marshall and wrapping an arm around his shoulder while the other leaned into him. "Emotionally constipated, little bit thick."

"I heard that!"

"Good!" Marshall couldn't help but laugh at his housemates.

"Okay." He whispered. "I'll come eat. Gimme a few minutes." Rocky nodded and gave a reassuring squeeze to his friend before leaving the room, no doubt to keep Chase from eating all the food.

He sighed as he stood up, rubbing his face and looking at the Polaroid on his nightstand. It was one of him and Tracker - the night he gave him his promise ring. Five years ago - they were just 18, and had been dating for three years. Skye had taken it with her camera and had managed to catch them mid-kiss.

Despite the fact that they were pretty much devouring one another, you could still see they were smiling.

"Wherever you are, I hope you're okay." He whispered. "Please come home."

He decided to leave the room before 'Mother Rocky' came to find him again and was suspicious when his friends stopped talking as he sat down.

"What?" He asked.

"Nothing, just..." Rocky tried to find an excuse. "To hell with it. I was gonna tell you after breakfast. I still want you to eat though." He pointed a finger at Marshall.

"Okay Mum." He rolled his eyes and started eating.

"We had a phone call after you wouldn't pick up your phone for an hour." Chase said.

"And?" Never more had Marshall felt like a child being lectured to by their parents than he did now.

"It was the police. In Spain actually." Rocky chipped in. Marshall froze, his forkful of food in the air.

"...and..."

Rocky reached over and held his free hand, smiling slightly.

"We need to go there. They found him."