2.
The sunlight, filtering through the blinds and splaying itself across Jean's face, woke him before his alarm did. He shut his eyes just as quickly as he had opened them, a tired groan slipping out from between his lips.
Rolling over onto his back and bringing a pillow down over his face, he began to slowly slip back into unconsciousness, his thoughts blurring once again.
A sudden blaring noise sent him bolting upright in bed, cursing and scrambling to slam a hand down over the 'snooze' button on the accursed alarm clock. He sat there for a few moments, letting the now deafening silence wash over him, heart still drumming in his chest from the sudden shock.
He should be used to this routine by now, as he went through it every morning, but it was just something that never got easier or more bearable for him. He hated mornings. So much. He couldn't even begin to imagine how anyone in their right mind could get joy out of them.
His thoughts unexpectedly flashed to Marco, and he snorted. He could definitely see him being a morning person.
Sighing, he slumped back down against the pillows, bringing his hands up and digging them into the sockets of his eyes, attempting to wake himself up.
He hadn't slept well last night, which was strange for him. Usually, as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was out like a light; Sometimes even before his body had touched the bed he would be rendered unconscious. But last night he just hadn't been able to get to sleep, despite how exhausted he had been. He had just laid there in irritation, glaring out into the darkness for what seemed like hours, tossing this way and that. He wasn't sure when he had finally drifted off, but what he was sure of was that the amount of sleep he had gotten was going to be nowhere near enough to get him through this day. He was never very pleasant when he was running low on sleep. Hell, he was never really pleasant anyway, so today it would be in everyone's best interest to just steer clear.
Once again, the alarm clock began screeching at him, causing his body to spasm. Growling, he slapped a hand down over the irritating device, lifting it up and away from his nightstand, and flung it into an unknown corner of the room. He smiled in satisfaction as he heard it clatter to the floor, finally shutting up and leaving him in silence once more.
After allowing himself a few more moments to lounge, enjoying the warmth beneath the covers and the sleepy feeling that was beginning to creep back over him, causing his lids to feel heavy again, he slowly sat up. Rubbing at his eye with the back of his hand, he yawned noisily and slipped out of bed, cringing when the sole of his foot came into contact with the stingingly cold floor below. Resisting the urge to draw his feet back into the bed and under the sheets, he stood, stretching his arms above his head as he padded his way out into the living room.
It was cold, much too cold for his liking. But there wasn't much to be done about it. He struggled to pay rent as it was, and cranking up the heat a few extra notches would definitely not be good for his already nonexistent funds. He crossed his arms over his bare chest, attempting to ignore the goosebumps that he could fill pricking his skin. Still, he thought, it would be nice.
Glancing over to the clock that hung on the wall, just to the left of the fridge, Jean squinted to make out the time. Eleven thirty. Two hours until I have to go back to that shit hole disguised as a bar.
Scowling at the thought of work and dealing with the shitty, drunk customers that frequented there, he turned, making his way over to his beloved coffee pot; the only surefire thing that could brighten his mood. Hopefully.
As he worked on preparing his cup, he thought back to last night, feeling his cheeks redden slightly at remembering Marco having to drive him all the way home. Not that he had to, but he's just so damn nice like that and can't leave well enough alone.
If he had to be honest with himself, Jean wasn't even really annoyed by the fact that Marco had insisted on taking him home, it had actually (strangely) warmed him that he had cared enough to force the help on him. But like fuck he would ever actually say that. He was just… embarrassed? He wasn't really sure why that he was, but he felt it none the less. It just seemed a little humiliating to him, relying on others for help. He had mostly always been on his own, and had become more than accustomed to supporting himself. So, yeah, this was more than a little odd to him.
Shaking off the thought, he drew his eyes away from the wall they had settled on, and onto the coffee pot again. Finding that his coffee had finally brewed, he opened the cabinet above his head and picked out his favorite cup; a large, black coffee mug with the words 'Fuck Off' written across its surface in bold white letters. He smiled at the sight of it. It had been a gift from one of his friends before he had moved away from home. He couldn't remember the occasion, but he could remember being psyched about it. He had used it proudly every day, much to his parents chagrin. They had hated that damn cup.
Once he had poured himself a reasonable amount of coffee, by his standards, he wandered over to the window. Sipping on the near scalding drink and reveling in the earthy aftertaste that it left on his tongue, he parted the blinds slightly, gazing up at the dreary sky. It was going to rain.
Suddenly remembering that he had no way to work other than to walk, he hissed out a quiet "Shit." This day was already looking down for him, and he had only just woken up. He hoped that the rain would hold off long enough for him to get there without being drenched in a downpour.
Xxx
Marco loved mornings; he always had. They were peaceful, and he always found himself looking forward to a cup of steaming tea and a book to lose himself in the moment he opened his eyes. He had been finding himself especially pleased with his mornings since moving to Manhattan a few weeks prior. Having saved up quite a bit of cash throughout high school, thanks to a few odd jobs here and there and more than a fair share of chores, he had been able to afford a rather nice studio apartment with a spectacular view of the city, which he was now enjoying from his balcony.
As he leaned out over the railing, tilting his head back to gaze at the darkening sky, he frowned slightly. Rain.
It wasn't that Marco didn't like rain. Quite the opposite; he loved it. The sound and sight of it had always brought a sort of calm over him, and more than a few of his best memories had taken place during a rainy day.
But no, the reason the sight of the stormy looking clouds had brought his mood down considerably was Jean. He'd taken him home yesterday, due to the fact that he'd had just a bit too much to drink, and he had left his car behind. He was feeling partially to blame for Jean not having a ride to work. After all, he had practically forced him into the car. But what was I supposed to do? Pass him up and leave him there, stranded to walk home in the cold by himself? The thought of that just didn't sit right with him. He had been more than capable of helping out, and if he had just ignored that and went on his way, what kind of person would he be?
Besides, he felt that he kind of owed it to Jean. He had spent the entire afternoon yesterday showing him the ropes and breaking him into his new job. It had been tiring, and he'd snapped at Marco more than a few times, but he had never given up, despite the fact that his patience must have been wearing thin. Every time he had screwed up, nearly sending a plate crashing to the floor or bumping into a table while trying to balance a tray precariously on his arm (causing it to scrape against the wooden floor and emit the most god awful sound Marco sworn he'd ever heard), Jean would just roll his eyes, take a deep breath, and show him again.
Marco found himself grinning at the memory as he gazed up at the stormy looking clouds above. Jean was honestly not that bad. Once you got past his brash attitude and ways of speaking, he was actually really cool to be around. He had ended up enjoying the day because of him, despite how nervous he had been initially. First days are always nerve wracking, but Jean made it not so bad at all.
He discovered, throughout the course of a few conversations, that they had quite a few things in common, such as; Jean liked a lot of the same movies he liked, as well as video games. That was one topic that Jean liked to talk about. He had spent almost twenty minutes chattering away at him about some game that Marco had never heard of, much to Jean's surprise. Of course, that only spurred him on further, as he proceeded inform Marco of every detail of the game that he could recall. It was the most he had said all day, and the excited spark that had lit in his eyes as he spoke left Marco not really minding at all.
He also learned that Jean had moved to Manhattan from another city, same as himself. But where-as Jean had only moved one or two cities over, he had traveled all the way from Boston, Massachusetts. Jean hadn't seemed surprised about that at all, and when Marco had asked about it, he'd replied with a cryptic, "You can just tell you aren't from around here." which had left him semi-self conscious for the remainder of the day.
Snapping himself out of his thoughts, he fished his phone out of the front pocket of his hoodie, unlocking it and scrolling down his contact list until he found who he was looking for.
To: Connie Springer
Hey, can I ask you for a favor?
Sent: 11:51 AM, November 29th, 2013
Slipping his phone back into his pocket, he pressed his thumb against his lips, pushing the tip into his mouth and chewing at the nail absentmindedly.
He had a feeling Jean would be pissed at him if he just showed up to his apartment unannounced, no matter how good his intentions, so it would probably be a good idea to ask first...
Well… he would probably still be pretty irritated for having help forced on him once again, as he seemed like a pretty independent person, but he just couldn't help it! He had to at least offer, if anything.
From: Connie Springer
uhhh maybe who is this?
Received: 11:52 AM, November 29th, 2013
Marco snorted, shaking his head as he typed out his reply.
To: Connie Springer
Marco Bodt
Sent: 11:52 AM, November 29h, 2013
Dropping his phone back into his pocket, he slipped back into the apartment, pressing the door closed behind him with his foot, and making his way towards the couch. Once he had flopped down onto its cushions and made himself comfortable, he turned on the TV, switching it over to the news. He was in luck, as the reporter had just begun to show the forecast for today.
Much to his displeasure, it was apparently going to storm all day, and it was supposed to get pretty bad. That worried him, more than a little. As much as Marco loved the rain, he was not a fan of thunder and lightning. At all.
He had been terrified of it ever since he was seven years old, due to a not so pleasant memory. Thinking back, he could remember more than a few instances where he had laid in bed all night, cowering under the covers and yelping each time a crack of lightening ripped through the sky. It was such a stupid thing for a grown adult to still be afraid of, and knew he was being irrational, as it couldn't actually hurt him. But regardless, it never failed to send him screeching and diving under his covers each time.
I hope it doesn't get too bad tonight.
Shaking away the train of thought, he checked his phone once again.
From: Connie Springer
ohhhhh dude sorry about that. i completely forgot about giving it to you, but yeah whats up
Received: 12:02 PM, November 29th, 2013
He honestly was not surprised at all that Connie didn't remember. He had been more than a little drunk when he'd snatched Marco's phone from his hands and messily typed his number into his contact's list, slurring at him that he should 'hit him up' sometime. Which, honestly, didn't seem like that bad of an idea; Marco liked Connie. Before the drama with Eren and Jean, he'd been really nice to talk to. He also wicked since of humor that had kept him clutching his stomach for a majority of the night.
To: Connie Springer
I was wondering if you would mind giving me Jean's number? I kind of need it
Sent: 12:03 PM, November 29th, 2013
The reply came almost instantly.
From: Connie Springer
trying to hit that?
Sent: 12:03 PM, November 29th, 2013
Marco's mind went blank, void of any responses. He felt his face grow hot under his freckles as he stared at the phone, fingers hovering over the screen as he frantically scrambled for a response. I mean, sure, Jean was attractive. He wasn't going to deny that, it was plain as day to anyone with a pair of eyes, (though he couldn't exactly imagine him telling Jean that), but still. Jean was just a friend, a very new one at that; they barely knew each other, and-
Dammit, Marco, you're taking too long. He's going to get suspicious. But what am I supposed to say to that?!
His phone began buzzing in his palm, causing his eyes to focus back on the screen.
From: Connie Springer
dude im just kidding don't freak out on me
Sent: 12:06 PM, November 29h, 2013
Marco snorted at himself, rolling his eyes and letting out the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding in. Of course he had been kidding.
Shortly after, Connie sent him Jean's number, and after sending him a quick thanks, he shot Jean a text before throwing his phone onto the couch and making his way to the bathroom for a shower.
Xxx
Jean was lounging on the couch, a book flipped open to an unknown page and draped over his face, when his eyes fluttered opened and were met with darkness. Momentarily disoriented and convinced that he had overslept, he shot up like a bullet. But as the book fell away from his vision and snapped shut against his lap, eyes nearly being blinded by the searing light pouring in through the curtains, he sighed and slumped back against the armrest. Of course I wouldn't be so lucky.
Rubbing his hands against his face, he sunk lower into the worn, grey sofa so that his legs were dangling across the other side. It was a cramped couch that was hard pressed to fit his long, wiry form, let alone two. Who am I kidding? I never have anyone over often enough to worry about that problem anyway.
He soon found his thoughts wandering towards pay day, and wondering if it would be enough to purchase himself a decent couch from the furniture store that was about a ten minute drive from his complex, given that traffic wasn't horrific. Might as well trash that hope, Kirschtein, this is Manhattan we're talking about here.
His phone began to violently buzz on the wooden coffee table to his right, where he had dropped it next to a small, empty vase that he had gotten as a house warming gift from an old girlfriend. He couldn't remember her name. He wasn't sure why he had kept it sitting out, in all honesty. He had never once used it in the whole two years he had lived here. No one ever bought him flowers, and he sure as shit wasn't going to buy any for himself. That would just be.. weird. He'd never been a fan of them anyway; they made him sneeze like hell.
Jean stretched out a hand, picked the phone up, and glanced at the screen. 1 New Text. It was from an unknown number. Scrunching his eyebrows together, he unlocked his phone to read it.
From: Unknown Number
Hey, are you awake?
Received: 12:11 PM, November 29th, 2013
As he typed out a reply, his mind began to do a run through of who it could be, seeing as he didn't really know that many people; well, know enough for them to be texting him out of the blue like this. It definitely wasn't anyone he worked with, because he already had all of their numbers saved, though he rarely spoke to any them outside of the bar. And it couldn't be any of his old friends from high school, seeing as he had long since lost contact with most of them after moving away.
To: Unknown Number
who's asking?
Sent: 12:12 PM, November 29th, 2013
After hitting send, he sat up, scratching at the barely noticeable scruff on his chin in thought as he stared at the screen, waiting for the mystery person's reply. There was really only one person that was coming to mind, though he wasn't sure how he would have gotten his number in the first place, seeing as they had only just met yesterday. Unless he had been drunker than he'd thought and had slipped it to him at some point. But, that didn't really seem like something he would do, drunk or not.
After almost three minutes of waiting, Jean lost his patience and tossed his phone back to the table in mild irritation as he stood, where it clattered nosily against the hard wooden surface before coming to a rest, face down. He cringed at the sound, bending to gingerly flip the device back over to make sure that it hadn't shattered, and letting out a small huff of relief when he found that it wasn't. If it had, that would have made the third one he'd had to replace in the span of two months. He was constantly destroying them; whether it be from dropping it on accident, to throwing it in a fit of rage. He couldn't even begin to count how many he had either broken or lost in the past year.
Once he had carefully placed it back down, he made his way towards the bathroom, stopping on the way to grab a towel that had been thrown carelessly to the floor at some point. Raising it to his face, he shoved his nose into the rough fabric and sniffed. It smelled vaguely of old water and shampoo. Shrugging, he slung it over his bare shoulder. Good enough.
As he pushed his way into the bathroom, causing the door to bang unceremoniously against the wall, he picked up an unmistakable buzz sounding from the living room. Too fucking bad, you're just going to have to wait, he thought as he hooked his fingers into the elastic waist band around his hips.
After stepping out of his boxers and kicking them off of the ankle they had somehow managed to loop around, he turned the faucet on the highest setting it would allow before moving to step under the stream. Maybe a steamy, hot shower would help make this rainy Friday a little more bearable. Well, as bearable as it can get working in a bar and dealing with drunk assholes who are constantly sloshing their drinks around and making more messes than Jean, and the few others that worked there, could even begin to keep up with.
Hissing in shock as frigid water immediately began pelting against his chest, he stumbled backwards, shielding himself with his hands before turning to let it hammer against his back. "God dammit!" Even after living in this shitty apartment complex for almost two years now, he could never seem to remember that it took at least five minutes, every single time, for the water to heat up. It was really his fault for not keeping up with that, but right now he was too tired to give a damn, and instead focused his irritation on his stupid landlords, and the stupid shower, and the stupid, fucking freezing water that was drilling into his skin and causing him to shiver.
As he stood there, arms crossed over his chest and scowling sleepily at the creamy white tiled wall in front of him, his thoughts began to drift towards breakfast. He could definitely go for some pancakes right now; warm and buttery, with just the right amount of syrup drizzled over top. Or, or, one of those bacon, egg, and cheese sandwiches, with the cheese melted just right and a steaming cup of black coffee to wash it all down. Or both. Yeah.
Mouth watering at the thought, he turned and allowed the now luke warm water to stream down over his body. Grabbing a bottle of shampoo from the top ledge of the shower, he squirted a bit into his hand, chuckling immaturely as it made a spluttering sound, before snapping the cap closed.
Images of his bed and food danced before his closed eyes as he began to work the shampoo into his scalp. Shifting his weight from foot to foot in a sort of lazy rhythm, he began to sing quietly to himself, voice barely audible over the drumming of the water against the tiles.
"And I feel like I'm living the worst day, over and over again."
xxx
Marco puffed out a sigh of relief as he placed the last of the cardboard boxes down in on the hardwood floor, wiping a hand across his forehead as he smiled down at Mr. Kandinsky, a kindly elder man who lived on the floor above him.
Since moving in, he'd become rather close with Kandinsky after running into him more than a few times at a bookstore that was just down the road from the complex. He, like Marco, was an avid reader, and loved to discuss the books that he'd read and come across throughout his life. He was also big on sharing tales from the past, and reminiscing about all of the places he'd visited and the things that he had seen. Not that Marco minded at all, he loved hearing his stories; he found them fascinating, and the wistful gleam that he got in his eyes as he spoke always left Marco urging him on to share more, because he knew he wasn't the only one that was enjoying their time spent together.
"Spasibo, Marco. My strength just isn't what it used to be or I wouldn't have bothered you with this."
Marco waved his hand dismissively in front of him. "I already told you, it's no problem. I don't mind helping out." Kandinsky nodded, letting his gaze wander over the plethora of boxes that were stacked neatly in the center of the room.
"Since I'm certain you won't let me repay your kindness with money," He paused, glancing at Marco curiously, who only grinned in affirmation. "I guess this will have to do, until I can get you something better."
Before he had a chance to protest, Kandinsky was off and rifling through his desk drawers, cursing quietly in a thick Russian accent as he searched. Marco waited patiently next to a stack of boxes, idly checking his phone for any new texts. Still nothing yet. He frowned as he stared at his empty inbox, wondering what was taking Jean so long to reply. He had texted him back over an hour ago, asking who he was, to which he had responded. But now.. nothing.
Stop being such a worry-wart, Marco. He probably just hasn't checked his phone yet. Though he tried to assure himself that he was over thinking the situation, he couldn't help but feel slightly anxious.
"Aha! Found it." Marco snapped his gaze from his phone, and focused on what was in Kandinsky's hands as he approached.
"A book?" He said, a smile stretching across his face. Kandinsky nodded in confirmation as he held it out to him, which Marco took eagerly, flipping it sideways to read the spine. As his tawny eyes scanned the title, they grew wide with shock. "This," He flipped it over again, examining the front cover before snapping it open and scanning the first few pages. "Bound for Glory, and it's a first edition. These are over three hundred dollars, and really hard to find. How did you-"
Kandinsky only shrugged as Marco managed to tear his eyes away from the pages for a second to glance up at him, smiling warmly at his obvious excitement. "I'll take that as you like it?"
Finally looking up, Marco closed the book and drew him into a quick, tight hug, much to the elder's surprise. "Yes, I- thank you, I love it. But are you sure? This is a really rare book and-"
"Pish posh," He said, waving a hand at him as he pulled away from the embrace. "It was doing nothing besides collecting dust. I want you to have it."
Marco clutched the book to his chest as he looked down on Mr. Kandinsky with warmth and fondness, flailing to find the words to express his overflowing gratitude to this man. But just as he opened his mouth, the buzzing of his phone cut him off.
Flashing him an apologetic smile, he glanced down at the notification.
1 New Message: Jean Kirschtein
His fingers flew to open the text, overly eager for some strange reason.
From: Jean Kirschtein
ohh, ok. yeah, i've been awake for a while now. why?
Received: 12:45 PM, November 29th, 2013
Before he could even touch a finger to the screen, his phone buzzed again, another message following seconds after the other.
From: Jean Kirschtein
wait, how did you get my number?
Received: 12:45 PM, November 29th, 2013
Crap, now he thinks I'm a creep. Marco began to type out a reply, explaining himself, but suddenly remembered the man standing before him and that he was, in fact, supposed to be helping him helping unpack the boxes that he had just unloaded from the UPS truck outside. This could wait.
Pressing the lock button on his phone, he shoved it back into his pocket. "So, which do you want to start with?" He asked, turning his gaze towards the stack to his right.
Kandinsky ignored the question, instead nodding towards Marco's now concealed phone. "Do you have something else you need to be doing?"
He shook his head quickly. "No, no. It's nothing, I-"
"Marco." He cut him off, not being fooled by his assurances. Marco paused, holding Kandinsky's eyes for a moment before sighing in defeat.
"I'm going to pick up a friend for work.. I think."
"You think?"
He laughed, rocking back on his heels. "Yeah, it's a long story. Basically, he doesn't have a way to get there, and I don't want him to have to walk through that." He said, motioning towards the window and at the darkening sky beyond the glass. "He's just really... stubborn. I don't think he likes accepting help."
Kandinsky nodded, a knowing smile playing across his weathered face as he took a seat atop one of the many boxes around them. "Ahh. He's independent, hm?" Marco nodded, smiling. "Nonna was the same, my wife. She was always so strong-willed, pig headed as I liked to call it." He shook his head. "But still, there's nothing like a headstrong woman to make you feel happy to be alive." He paused, seeming to lose himself in thought before glancing back up. "People like that, Marco, they're always tough to crack, and most of the time unwilling to do so. But once you do, and you get to their very core, nothing will ever compare."
Marco looked on as Kandinsky turned his gaze in the general direction of the window, blue eyes holding an emotion that he couldn't quite place. As he turned his head to look to the window as well, he had a feeling that he and the man before him weren't seeing the same thing at all.
They stayed like that for awhile, silence encasing them, save for the light rain pelting against the window, and the faint sounds of traffic drifting up to them from the busy streets below. The atmosphere in the room was thick and gloomy now, in stark contrast to how light it had been only moments ago.
Kandinsky was the one to break the silence first, sliding his gaze away from the window and uttering a short cough, eyes weary. "In any case, you should go. Help your friend. I can take care of the rest of this." He said, motioning around them.
"But I said I would help, and-"
"Marco, it's ok." Kandinsky insisted, looking up at him. "Your friend needs you more than I do right now." Marco stayed where he was, staring back with reluctance and twisting his hands together in front of him. Kandinsky sighed, and then added, "I'll leave the boxes that are too heavy for me lying out so that you can help me with them later, if that will ease your mind."
Marco visible relaxed at this, looking down for a moment in thought before speaking. "You're sure? I really don't mind to stay and help. I don't have to be at work for another.." He paused, checking his watch. "Thirty minutes, give or take."
Kandinsky nodded as he stood, shooing him off in the direction he had come from. "Yes, yes, I'll be fine. Now go, before this weather gets any worse." As he held open the door, Marco shuffled past him and into the hallway. He had only taken a few steps forward, eyes on the elevator doors ahead and mind musing over how he could convince Jean to ride with him, when he heard the man calling out to him again from behind. "Oh, and Marco?" The boy looked over his shoulder at the sound of his name, eyebrows raised.
"Hm?"
Kandinsky looked at him for a moment, mouth set in a thin, worried line, before shaking his head and giving him a quick smile. "Be careful driving, will you?"
Marco's eyes softened as he gave the man a nod, returning the smile. "I will." He raised his hand in a wave as he turned around again. "I'll see you later, Mr. K!"
Once the elevator doors had closed behind him, he pushed the button to the apartment complex's garage before leaning back against the mirrored wall and releasing a quiet sigh. Work.
Marco liked to think of himself as a relatively cheery person. For the most part, he didn't let the small things that he couldn't help weigh on his mind, and he tried to, more or less, see the positive side of things, rather than always focusing on the negative. But right now, the thought of going to work and having to get out in this nasty weather was making him wanting to curl up into a ball under his blankets and sleep for eternity.
It wasn't that he hated this job, honestly. The people he worked with had pretty much welcomed him into their little family with open arms and smiles (apart from Jean, who'd made him feel welcome in his own 'tough love' kind of way), and the work wasn't all that bad. But, work was work, and nobody was really going to look forward to it, he supposed. But still, doesn't mean I wouldn't rather be at home, he thought, looking down at the book in his hands. He was itching to read it, but that would have to wait, for now. Maybe he would have a chance during his break at work to crack it open, if they even had breaks.
Without warning, a deep, ominous rumble of thunder lightly shook the elevator, and no doubt the building it was attached to. Marco whimpered, clutching the book to his chest and gazing upwards as the small, single light that lit the cramped space dimmed momentarily, before returning to normal. This storm is definitely not going to be doing any favors for my mood, today, Marco thought sullenly as the elevator doors slid open with a ding.
As he stepped out and into the car lot, fishing his keys out of his pocket, a sharp gust of icy wind swept through the garage, delivering him a face full of freezing rain water and, what felt to be, ice.
At all.
xxxx
Notes:
I AM SO SORRY
there is really no good reason for why this is so late. i'm just pretty much the biggest procrastinator on the planet. and between that, school, and just life in general, i'm amazed that i got it done at all.
so yeah, chapter two, pretty short and not much going on it it but, enjoy. ╮(─▽─)╭
