5

"My Grandma just found out that being gay isn't a bad thing and just came to terms with it. How am I supposed to make her understand that me being asexual is totally cool?"

"Aromantic."

"What?"

"You're an Aro, not an Ace."

"Oh. What's the difference again?"

Marcos sighed as his best and only friend stared at him through his phone screen. "Asexual means you don't exactly feel sexual attraction for anyone while Aromantic means you don't exactly feel romantic attraction to anyone."

"And I'm what, exactly?"

The male put clothes into the washing machine and set it into rinse before replying. "You are Aromantic. You feel sexual attraction but nothing romantic."

"Oh." Ace said as he ran a finger through his hair and relaxed back into his bed. "That actually sucks now that I think of it that way. Can I get married?"

"Of course, you can get married." Marcos replied, chuckling. "But you don't have to. Do you want to?"

Ace stared at the ceiling for a while before saying in a small voice. "I want kids."

"Are we still talking about the same thing? Cause I have a feeling we aren't." Marcos pointed out then sighed as he stared at the time on his watch.

Was A back home yet?

Worse, was he late? He didn't want to be late. As much as he liked punishments, he liked her praises as well.

He liked how she made him feel if he was good.

And Marcos liked being good. Sometimes.

"Just like you're a femboy but you aren't gay?" 

Marcos let out a sigh. "Yes. Yes, like that. Wait, what are we even comparing?"

"You sure you aren't gay though?" Ace asked, tilting his head. "Cause you haven't exactly dated anyone to know how you swing."

I have, and it's still being kept a secret because she's protecting me from something, which is just pointless since I just want to be with her and I'm not a Princess who needs to be protected by my dragon 24/7.

Then he paused.

Okay, maybe he was her princess but the protection isn't necessary.

"I like boobies, thank you."

Ace reply was immediate. "You sound sarcastic."

Marcos laughed now. "I'm not having this with you." It was surprising how he couldn't stand anyone trying to tell him what his sexuality was, except Ace.

Perhaps, only because it was someone like him who didn't exactly know what he was talking about half the time.

"My love! Could you come to the counter for me?!"

Marcos perked up, taking out one of his ear pods before he looked back at Ace. "Hey, I have to go. My Mother needs me."

His best friend quickly sat up, his dark hair going over his face. "But we haven't found a way for me to explain to my grandma I'm more attracted to my toaster than a person!"

Marcos laughed again. "I think you should leave the toaster part out. Later."

As soon as he hung up, he let out another sigh and ran a hand through his hair before using a band to hold it in place then walked to the counter. "Mother. You called?"

And as soon as Marcos saw the look face, he regretted coming. She had on a smile that was as bright as the sun and possibly, almost as blinding. He could actually swear on it.

And that only happened, when she had found a boyfriend for him. "Honey, the drying part of the machine isn't working anymore."

And she was using English now. Okay. "I'm sure it is, Mama. I'd just go —."

"Oh!" And she was using her high pitched voice as well. Honestly, all this was pointless. He just wanted to go home to his A for heaven's sake. "Have you met Mr Steinfeld?"

He kept a firm face now. "Where is the machine?"

Yet, this was his Mother. She would not be deterred. "He's one of our most popular customers, you know. He actually went to make a ca— Ah. Here he is." When Marcos showed no interest, she hissed in spanish. "Look at him."

I don't want to.

But he did. 

The man closed the door to their laundry shop, his phone still on his ear wearing a white and black suit with blond hair and sunglasses to match.

And he was freakishly tall.

His Mother wasted no time to beam her sun rays at him. "Welcome back, Mr Steinfeld. I was just telling my son here, how you always come to us and are one of our most valued customers."

The man gave a small smile at her and said something rapidly on the phone in another language. (Italian probably, thought Mama wanted a spanish boy.) Then hung up before speaking to her. "You do a good job, Mrs Gomez."

His voice was deep. Sensual possibly. Plus, the smile on his face still gave it an ethereal glow.

Sad luck. Marcos wasn't gay.

"Not only me." Maria practically rushed to her son and pushed him forward like he was a chicken on sale. "My son does as well."

This time, Mr Steinfeld took off his shades, revealing blue crystal eyes, as his eyes moved over Marcos' body, making him feel like he was one of those paintings people stared at in museums. "He's... Beautiful."

That comment, at the beginning, used to be pleasing. Then it became downright embarrassing, now, it was just plain uncomfortable.

His Mother, anyway, was the epitome of pride about her child. "He is, isn't he?"

Mr Steinfeld kept staring. "Yes." Then his hand began to reach out to his face. "I wonder how he —."

Marcos quickly moved out of the way, turning around to face his Mother. "Mama. I want to go home."

His Mother perked up. And in English. "But the machine —."

"I don't feel so good." He completed, which was true. He didn't. Marcos hated disappointing anyone, especially her, but he didn't exactly feel comfortable with this man. At all. "Haven't been, since school. Can I?"

Perhaps she heard the way he sounded and could tell he was being honest because her face fell and became softer. "Oh. Of course, son. Let me go grab some change —."

"No. It's alright. I can drive him home."

He spoke spanish? Was his Mother a psychic?

Maria didn't even seem surprised that he could speak with them as well. "I don't want to bother —."

"It's alright. It's the least I can do for the work you do for me. And my cloths, of course." His smile grew as he faced a now sicker Marcos with his hand out. "Shall we?"

Through the ride back home, Marcos constantly wished he had a little bit of Alex's bravery. If she were him, she'd flip the man a bird and demand he stopped the car.

But he didn't. So he settled with keeping quiet.

"You seemed a little surprise I speak spanish." 

Curse the universe. "I wasn't surprised. I was actually not surprised. I'm not sure how I can explain it and it'd make sense."

Mr Steinfeld grabbed the wheel a little tighter. "Try."

"I'm not gay." 

Shit. He didn't want to say that. Because whenever he did, people looked at him with something close to pity and understanding.

But he really wasn't! So it was extremely exhausting to even explain.

Plus, the face Mr Steinfeld was making made Marcos feel like sinking into his seat. "I know."

Fuck you.

Marcos sighed and looked back at his phone then sat erect. Oh, God. She was back home by now. He was probably dead but somehow, still breathing. "Stop the car."

Steinfeld looked at him. "Your Mother said —."

Marcos turned to him as well. "Stop it."

At his words, the older man stepped on the brakes.  The car lurching forward for a second before Marcos opened the door and walked out. "Where are you going, Marcos?"

"Thank you, Sir." Was all he gave as a reply before he began to jog to her house, which was thankfully not so far away since they were already close to his house.

As soon as he was at her house, Marcos paused to catch his breath, taking a moment to blow warm air into his hand before he noticed that her bike wasn't parked in the frontyard.

He was late. Yes, that was true.

But it couldn't count, because she wasn't home.

Why?

He ignored the slight pain in his chest, knocking on the door for a while and entering when no one answered.

The stale smell of vomit and alcohol hit his nose, causing him to scrunch it before he spotted the woman on the couch.

Adriana had sweat all over her face, some residue of the vomit she had puked beside her still on her lips. Her skin looking pale and sick with some empty bottle of beer around her.

God, he felt sicker than before.

He could ignore this. Just go up to Alex's room and pretend he didn't see it which would even put him on the safety side since she hated it whenever he tried to involve himself including her Mother, but Marcos, wasn't like that.

The thought that she'd even have to come back home to see this. That she had been seeing this for so long made it impossible for him to ignore this.

So he ignored the voice telling him to mind business and cleaned up the mess on the floor, then helped clean up her face and body, before throwing out the bottles and finding a blanket to put over her body.

As he did so, his eyes moved to her face. Alex looked exactly like her, except she was darker skinned, and younger.

Not that he had ever seen Mrs Parker fully awake before, but he was sure that the version of her sleeping brought out her beauty more.

Smiling, he left her, taking his bag and walking up to Alex's room.

As always, even if everything in the house was in a chaotic state, her room was spotless. Everything kept in a perfect order which included the picture of him on her nightstand.

He smiled again, picking it up and moved his finger on the glass. She had taken the picture the first day he had dyed his hair, (which had been a battle for him since he worried about what his Mother would say).

Everytime he was here and she caught him looking at him, she'd always say, "You don't regret it, do you?"

And he'd shake his head, earning a kiss on his forehead with her replying in a small whisper, "Good"

The memory made his heart warm up a bit before it grew cold again. Where was she? She was always a sticker to time, mostly because of her OCD, but also because she liked keeping to it.

She'd never keep him waiting for so long. Unless— Unless she had returned home, didn't find him and gotten upset, which put him in a dangerous position, or something happened to her.

Marcos would rather believe the first one.

Still, he tried texting her, none of his messages getting read before he tried calling.

And her phone was switched off.

Was she— Was she okay?

No, of course, it was Alex. She was most definitely okay. If she found out he was actually worried about her, she'd be pissed.

So she was probably upset. Yep, that was what it was. It was his fault though, which meant he had to prove he was sorry.

Marcos sighed, setting his bag on her chair before heading to her closet. Most of the clothes in it were big shirts and pants that he could probably get lost in but behind those ones, were the clothes she used to wear before.

Before it all happened.

Biting his lip, he took out a lemon long sleeved crop top and a blue with dark green stripes plaid skirt and knee length white socks.

Marcos had ever worn her clothes once, and that had been for Halloween. Just only for her eyes anyway. He didn't want anyone seeing him that way except her.

Plus, he could tell she loved it.

Maybe he could do this, and convince her into forgiving him? Not that he was good at this tempting thing. He wasn't.

But he could at least try, right?

He found the drawer where she kept her makeup bag. Only making use of the eyeliner to darken his eyes and a rouge colored lipstick.

As he ran it across his lips, Marcos spotted the now healing hickey on his neck, an urge to make sure it didn't disappear crawling through his body but he fought it down.

It was the first time he was using something so bold on his lips. And for good measure, he brushed his hair, letting it stay down now before he returned to her bed and stared out the window.

Where was she?

He was really beginning to get worried. It wouldn't be the first time she'd ignore him but now, something felt off.

Like, after today, something's weren't going to be the same way anymore...

Marcos sighed and gave a small prayer.

Please, bring her back to me.