Chapter Text
Glancing around, Marco’s smile had fully returned. Jean had slammed the tiny door leading behind the counter, sitting himself down and throwing his feet onto the counter. After he finished finding a piece of paper amongst a pile, the room went silent. Compared to what Marco was used to, the room (could he call it a parlor?) was constrictive. Much too tiny to be functional, but considering it was still in existence, it worked just fine. In the area not portioned off by the counter, there was a small square table covered in a plain cloth and two chairs. Next to that, there was an organizer filled with different brochures advertising various tourist traps.
Marco’s family had told him not to fall into that too hard, he would get to see the place by living there, and it wasn’t worth the lost money. Letting his gaze get pulled away, his head snapped in the direction of a grunt. Jean was squinting at the aforementioned paper with a pencil in his hand. “Fucking…” He mumbled, tapping the pencil against the table before erasing something and replacing it with something else. Letting an exaggerated sigh slip out, he looked up at the freckled teen in front of him. “You ‘gunna stand there forever?” He questioned, staring at Marco and his luggage with judging eyes.
Self-consciously adjusting his shirt, Marco looked at his feet before meeting Jean’s stare. “You uh, never told me what room I’m in. Or given me a key.” He stated, fumbling when Jean stood up, mumbling some cusses with a “sorry” in between before he opened a drawer and pulled out a key on a stretchy key ring. “Feel free to replace the holder, just give it back, ‘right? You’re room seven. Guest rooms start on the third floor, you’re on the fourth. The last floor.” He paused for a moment, shaking the key a bit, reminding Marco that he still needed to grab it. When he did, Jean sat back down, “If you have any issues, feel free to ask my father or I. I don’t know how shit works where you’re from, but lock your door, we’re not responsible if you lose any of your shit.” Then he proceeded to look at a new piece of paper. Marco was holding back a snigger before he replied, “You’re in a pretty… Shitty mood.”
“Huh?”
“I-It was a joke…”
“It wassa’ terrible joke. Don’t ever make it again.”
“I feel obliged to make it whenever I can, now.”
“I don’t think you have it in you to cuss so much.” Jean finished their bickering with a smirk, laughing a bit before putting on a pair of glasses and waving Marco on. “Go put your stuff away, take a nap, whatever you country boys do. But you heard what I said before, right?” He asked, comparing the paper in his hand with another on the counter.
Now smiling as well, Marco raised a hand while picking up his luggage with the other. “Yeah, yeah. Lock my door. Ask if I have problems. You’re not responsible for my stupidity. Don’t lose my snazzy bracelet.” He responded, now using both hands to help the suitcase up the stairs. Jean just rolled his eyes, “You’re a quick learner, Freckles.”
“It’s Marco.”
Jean didn’t gratify him with a response, instead he smiled amusedly to himself, proud of the little (cliché) nickname he made for the boy with the southern twang. Whatever, Marco thought, as long as it meant he wasn’t mad at him anymore.
When Marco made it to his new room, he was once again shocked about the sheer lack of size. “How much is the rent for this place, again…?” He muttered to himself, glad he wouldn’t have to deal with it for another few months. The city may be a big place, but the rooms sure were small. Propping his suitcase next to the door, he surveyed his new living quarters. Alright, it was quite literally just a room, but it wasn’t too bad. He had a twin-sized bed against one wall, a desk on the opposite, and next to the desk was the closet. Besides that, the walls were an off-white creamy colour and paired with a wood paneled floor.
Shutting the door, Marco decided that a nap didn’t sound half-bad anymore. He did a quick sniff-check on his shirt before sitting on the bed, pulling off his shoes, and falling back on the mattress. There was a comforter at the end of the bed, but he didn’t think he’d need it. He knew he’d have to get curtains of some sort though, the window didn’t have anything to cover it and it made the room seem… Drab. “Maybe I should get a fern, too.” He chuckled, making a joke to himself before closing his eyes and allowing himself to get some sleep after his very busy day.
…
When Marco awoke, it wasn’t gentle or calm. More like a loud banging on his door jolted him out of bed and he nearly landed on his face for the second time that day. Trying to make sense of the situation, he jumped as the banging resumed on his door. This time, the barrage didn’t stop until he went over and unlocked the door, which was immediately opened. “Don’t say yes.” Was all Marco heard as he was shoved out of the way, Jean shouldering himself in, then shutting the door.
“Yes to… What, exactly?” The brunette questioned, wiping sleepies from his eyes as another knock was heard on his door. “Say no.”
“I don’t know what I’m saying no to… Also why are you in my room?”
“I’m your landlord.” Jean quipped, his eyes taking turns between glaring at the door and at the boy in front of him.
“The landlord’s son.” Marco retaliated, shuffling to the door to open it. There was the man that Marco assumed was Jean’s father, behind him was a short bald man… Boy… Man-child. The bald guy was all smiles and his grin sat perfectly on his face, symmetrical to the point of it being almost off-putting. “Ahh, Marco, just the man I wanted to speak to.” Mr. Kirschtein started taking a step inside Marco’s room, and the bald man followed. “You see, I came across this positively lively young man while I was out, very nice, very nice indeed. He followed his girlfriend all the way here to New York to help her out, it was quite the story. None the less, he doesn’t exactly have proper rooming and he can’t afford much… So I figured, why not have him stay here? It is an inn after all! But…” The older man’s expression grew gloomy, and a frown deepened the wrinkles set in his skin. “I have quite the number of people booked for a wedding soon. He won’t be able to stay unless… Perhaps you could find it in your heart to—“
“Dad, I—“
“Jean, don’t start this again. Where was I…? Oh, yes, do you think you could room with Jean? It won’t be for long, going over reservations and what rooms are actually available to stay in… A month? Tops.” The man gazed expectantly at Marco, his receding hairline and slight beer belly radiating a strange paternal image. Then Marco looked back at Jean, who looked ready to rip his own hair out, or at least whatever wasn’t already shaven down. His line of sight reverted back in-front of him, staring at the bald (shaven?) man, his eyes wide and hopeful and god, Marco hated being a nice guy.
“Uhm… If…” Marco’s hands were slightly raised in a gesturing motion and he was still staring at the man, who quickly offered his own name, “Connie.”
“If Connie wouldn’t mind, I wouldn’t object to sharing this room with him for a month. We could split the rent, of course, correct?” Marco ventured, letting his hands drop to his sides. That should be enough to please all the parties.
For a moment Mr. Kirschtein seemed to be mulling over the information. Eventually he nodded, bobbing his head a bit. “Sounds like a plan. Connie, meet your new roommate for the time being, Marco Bodt.” At the mention of his own name, Marco extended his hand towards Connie, offering him a lopsided smile.
“Nice to meet you, Marco.” Connie said, his voice tinted with it’s own brand of a southern drawl, not as deep south a Marco’s own, but definitely south of New York. When he clasped the taller boy’s hand in his own, giving it a firm shake, Marco returned the greeting, then they all went downstairs to help Connie with his things.
Walking down the steps two at a time, Jean fell in pace with Marco, “Thanks.” He muttered, attempting not to look too much like a complaining child in front of Marco. “It’s no bother, really. You seemed uncomfortable so…” Marco laughed, “I dunno.”
Jean’s face took on a look of confusion before he smiled as well, concluding that things didn’t turn out as horribly as he thought they could.