It was all Marco could do just to sit down with help and then not laugh as he was pelted with questions by someone who was very clearly flustered. He waited till he was finished, a smile curving his lips and inspected his ankle for a moment, electing to see just how much damage had been caused before doing anything else. He prodded it with careful fingers, hissing at a tender spot and flexing it a bit with a pained expression. It wasnāt broken, it wasnāt even a particularly bad sprain and likely as not heād be able to walk on it and ease it out soon enough.
"Marco," he said when he looked back up and his smile grew wider now he was okay, "and less of the kid!" So he had a baby face, no need to rub it in!
"Itās fine, just a twist and itāll be okay in a few minutes Iām sure and yeah, I speak a lot of French. Iām from Belgium." Able to see what the other looked like now and the male in him noticed the two-tone hair, sharp features and light coloured eyes whilst the medic saw the look of someone who was perhaps dehydrated (a hangover?) and over-tired. He felt almost guilty for tripping over his shoes and waking him up.
"What do I call you then?" he prompted and turned to look for his water bottle, seeing it lying a few feet back. "Oh. Ummā¦would you mind?" he nodded over to it.
Jean chuckled, mostly because this guyā Marco, sounded just like him at sixteen with the 'I'm not a kidā stuff. āGot a problem with beingĀ referredĀ to as ākidā, Marco?ā Even if he did try to keep his mouth shut, he called everyone kid. It was force of habit, nothing personal.
Jeanād heard the French and was almost hopeful, maybe someone from around where he grew up came here tooā even if heād rather not think about anywhere or anything near there. No luck, though. Belgium. āOh, man, are you sure? Iād give you a ride somewhere so you didnāt have to walk but I didnāt drive here..ā Jean felt legitimately bad, like he had to do something to make up for ruining a random semi strangerās day. See, he thought to himself, he could have a conscience when it countedā he could at least try to be a good guy. āThatās too bad, Iād uh, thought you might be French or something. Iām uh, Iām from there so.ā He rubbed at the back of his neckā talking about anything even remotely related to his childhood always put Jean in a weird sort of mood, changing the subject was probably his best shot at maintaining any sort of conversation with the guy.
"Ohā Shit, sorry, Jean. And yeah, no, sure, of course." Jean hopped over and grabbed the water bottle, handing it back to Marco and sitting back down beside him. "So, uh, I really just fucked up your whole day, huh?"