Chapter Text
Jean forcefully shoved his bedroom door behind him, causing it to slam and resound throughout the rest of his house.
"Jean, please-" His mother's voice sounded from the other side, but Jean was too angry to stop and listen.
"Shut up!" He bellowed, clenching his fists so tightly, his knuckles began to turn white. His face felt hot with anger, and his shoulders shook.
"I'm only worried about your future," his mother persisted. "You're a wonderful photographer, Jean, but will your photos be enough to pay your bills?"
Jean began to grab things from his room, shoving them into a backpack. He couldn't take another fight with his parents. Especially one about his future. In a way he knew his parents were right when they suggested he change his major, but he didn't know what else he could do. He was hopeless at getting along with people, and hated being confined to a tiny office. Taking photos was the only thing he enjoyed doing. It was the only thing he was good at.
Slinging his backpack over his back, Jean opened the door again, and stormed past his mother. She was a short, plump woman, and didn't look much like Jean at all. He took after his father in many ways.
"Where are you going?" His mother asked, following behind him.
"I don't know. To the University, I guess," he snapped, gliding swiftly down the stairs, the front door now in his sight. Despite his response, he knew exactly where he was going. He didn't want to stay in this house any longer; he would go straight to his university and fill out paperwork to get dorm. Sure, it would be spendy, but he'd get a job, too.
"Do you need any money, dear?"
"I'm fine!"
Jean pushed his key into the ignition, taking a few tries to start the engine. His truck is rather old, but it always does its job of taking him where he needs to go.
He backs his truck out of the driveway and takes one last look at his childhood home before driving off.
It seemed that he fought with his parents at least every week. And it was always something they said to push one of Jean's sensitive buttons. They disapproved of his college, his clothes, the piercings in his ears, and even the way he dyed the top half of his hair. Of course, his parents didn't mean to make Jean so angry; they just did their best to look out for their only son.
Jean was only five minutes from campus when he decided to stop to get a drink somewhere. He needed to calm down before he talked to anyone about getting a dorm room on campus.
The small café before him looked very popular, though he figured it got even busier during lunch hours, and not in the morning when people were usually at work. Jean would usually have classes this early on a Thursday, but his morning class got cancelled. Apparently his professor had a "family emergency".
Dry, colorful leaves crunched under Jean's boots as he stepped up onto the sidewalk, and towards the café door. It was getting chillier everyday, with Autumn just around the corner.
As Jean pushed the door open, it was like walking from winter directly to summer. The café was warm and toasty, and smells of coffee beans and spices wafted past him. The café had two sections- one with a counter and some booths, and another further back with tables. The table area seemed more private, like a place for dinner or dates. But, since Jean only wanted some coffee, the counter seats were the most appealing. He took a seat on one of the red stools, and heard a voice almost immediately say, "I'll be with you in a moment!"
"Fine," Jean answered softly, nodding. He continued to look around the place, a bit surprised he'd never been there before. The lighting inside was bright and warm, and most of the colors were different shades of brown. Behind the counters were large black chalkboards, with various drinks and foods written in neat handwriting, along with the occasional doodle on the sides.
Jean's concentration is broken suddenly as a menu was placed in front of him.
"Ah, sorry about the wait. Would you like anything to drink?"
Jean paused for a moment, eyeing the menu. "Yeah. I'll just have a coffee, please."
"Sure!" Jean heard some scribbling, as the guy before him wrote his order down. "Hey, are you alright, sir?"
Jean finally looked up. Standing behind the counter was a boy about his age, with dark hair parted neatly, and tan skin marked with even darker freckles. The freckles danced over his cheeks, and met at the bridge of his nose. The guy's eyes met Jean's, a kind smile on his face.
Jean stumbled over his words for a moment, though he wasn't sure why. "Y-yeah. I'm fine."
The guy--I'll call him Freckles, Jean decided--smiled even wider. "Okay," he said. "One coffee. Will that be all?"
"Yeah, thank you." Jean lightly pushed the menu away from him, and Freckles took it back. Jean watched as he grabbed a white mug from one of the counters, and pouring dark coffee into it. Freckles' hands worked quickly, with ease, and he had a certain attribute of gracefulness to him as he went along.
Jean frowned suddenly, and looked down at the counter again. Why, of all times, do I choose now to stare at a random guy in a café? Especially when there are other workers here in little skirts and aprons!
Suddenly, Freckles returned to Jean, and set his order before him. Except, along with his coffee, there was also a blueberry muffin on a napkin. Freckles smiled widely, and turned back around.
"Hey, Freckles," Jean called out to him. "I didn't order this muffin."
Oh, my God. Jean stiffens, watching as the guy turns around. I just called him "Freckles" out loud... He knew he had a very small amount of self control after a fight with his parents, but he'd just hit an all time low.
Freckles' cheeks were pink when he turned back around, the wide smile still on his face, even when he was embarrassed. "I know. It's on the house."
Jean quickly looked down, away from Freckles and down to the muffin. "Thanks," he said softly. He couldn't help but think how nice it was of Freckles to notice he was upset, and attempt to make him feel better. Even after Jean insisted he was okay.
Jean finished his coffee, and ate the entire muffin, realizing he'd been hungrier than he thought he was. Now that he was calm, his emotions--other than anger--had returned to him. He tried calling his friend, Ashton, but there was no answer. He often went to Ashton to talk to about his problems, and Ashton did the same to Jean. But, with both of them in different colleges--even though it was less than an hour away--it was difficult to keep in contact sometimes.
He took out money from his wallet, which was embarrassingly thin, and went to the cash register to pay. Freckles met him there, the smile still across his face.
"I don't know how much the muffin was, so here," Jean said, handing over five 1 dollar bills.
Freckles opened the cash register with a chiiing, and put in three of the bills. Then he gave Jean his change; fifty cents, and the remaining two bills. "Like I said, don't worry about the muffin!" He said cheerfully.
It felt weird to be taking charity from this guy, but Jean knew it was useless to argue. He shoved the change into his jean pockets, and mumbled a, "Thank you. That's... nice of you."
Freckles' freckled cheeks were still pink, probably just from smiling so much, and it caused the corners of Jean's lips to involuntarily tug upwards.
"Have a good day!"
"Yeah, you too." Jean turned on his heel, and headed back for his truck. The cold, crisp breeze hit him like a wall as he pushed the café door open, so he zipped his jacket up to his neck.
Get a grip, Jean, he told himself, cursing lightly under his breath. A cup of coffee and a free muffin and now you're too calm.
Now that he was away from the public's eye, his calm demeanor seemed to melt away, and his cheeks blazed red against the cool air as he unlocked his truck. Freckles in there probably gave out a muffin to every sad-looking sap that passed through those doors. In fact, he was sure to pick up a lot of chicks trying out that trick.
After driving for another five minutes, Jean parked at the University, and headed for the main office. There was a woman there that was assigned to deal with dorms and boarding. He had met with her in the past, and debated on getting a dorm once upon a time. He knew, because of that, that his application process wouldn't take very long.
And so, after a fairly short amount of time, Jean had applied for a dorm and added the expenses to his student loans.
Ruby Darwin, an eccentric, frizzy woman of age thirty-something, smiled at Jean. "Perfect. Looks like we're all done here, Jean. You're actually in luck; there's a dorm with another sophomore, and he's been looking for a roommate."
"Sounds great," Jean answered. "Do I have to fill out an application, or go to an interview, or what?"
"No, those won't be necessary. The boy wrote down some preferences, and the preferences you wrote matches him fairly well." Ruby smiled lightly. "You can move in anytime, and you have two weeks to decide if you'll stay or look for another roomie," she explained.
Jean nodded, frowning lightly. "Anytime?"
"Sure. Just let me know the day, and I'll tell..." Ruby shifted through some papers, looking for something specific. "Marco. Marco Bodt."
Weird name, Jean thought. Who am I kidding? His name is pretty normal compared to mine...
"Okay. What about this weekend?"
"This weekend...?" Ruby seemed surprise by how sudden he wanted to move in, but she did say anytime. "Okay. This weekend should be fine. I'll contact Marco."
Ruby later gave him the remaining information, such as the room number and building, and the dorm room key, after she'd confirmed everything with Marco.
Jean somehow managed to nicely tell his parents that he'd finally gotten a dorm room, and he promised to visit them on long weekends and holidays (though he knew it was sort of a lie). He didn't have much in his room, and there was even less he wanted to take with him. He mostly only needed his clothes and college textbooks. And, of course, his camera.
This is it. I'm going to live on campus, away from my parents, and be more involved in campus activities. I can attend parties without my location being questioned, and make new friends, and... Maybe even girlfriends? Jean smiled at the thought, knowing his life was just now starting. Everything before today was just the prologue.
* * *
Marco's fingers twitches nervously as the clock's hands ticked closer and closer to four-thirty. His new roommate was to arrive today, after his final class, which ended around four. Four-thirty was the agreed meeting time.
When he talked on the phone with the boy--his name was Jean--he almost sounded...familiar. But, nevertheless, it was no one Marco could recall disliking or not getting along with.
He looked around the room one last time, making sure it was set up to his satisfaction. His half of the room was neat and tidy, perhaps for the first time since he moved in. He liked to keep his room from getting messy, but it's never exactly been pristine, either.
Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Marco sprang up from where he sat, putting a smile onto his face. The expression felt natural to him, and was almost always involuntary.
Okay, he thought, this is it. I have to make a good impression.
He knew having a roommate for once would be great. Sure, it was nice to have your own space, but it got lonely for Marco after a while. He was a people person; or, at least, a couple-of-people person.
Marco's fingers touched the cool metal of the door handle, and pushed it down to open it.
When the door was fully open, Marco laid his eyes onto his new roommate. And... He recognized him. He was tall and slim, standing with his hands in his coat pockets. He appeared to Marco as a character you would see on a television show; a rebel with an 80s Rock band shirt, the upper half of his hair dyed a lighter color, and the bottom dark, and even ear piercings in his cartilage. He half expected this 'rebel' to have a bandage on his cheek, or a bruised eye from a meaningless fight he'd gotten in. But Jean seemed surprisingly unbruised and uninjured.
As Marco stared at Jean, Jean seemed to have the same sort of epiphany.
"You're-" Jean spoke, but then stopped, pointing a long, slender finger at Marco.
"The guy from the café," Marco finished for him, breathless for no apparent reason.
Well, Marco thought. This will be interesting.