The phrase, "Yo, asshole," isnât often used by the brunet, but when it is it always manages to capture Jeanâs attention. Turning around with brows raised to the highest form of questioning, he heaves a rough but playful sigh- itâs never taken with an utter form of seriousness, and the smirk on his lips translates that fact with ease. If Marcoâs got something to show off other than high test scores, he wants to know.Â
â'Yo, asshole,' yourself there, bud.â He laughs faintly, nudging Marcoâs shoulder â these gestures go pretty far, if you ask him. "Yeah? HmmâŚ" heâs not exactly inspecting the newest from of clothing, just making sure that he can be seen with Marco in public without getting embarrassed. "ââ I approve. It suits you anâ all. Never thought youâd be thâ type for biker jackets, now câmon, weâve got places tâ be."
The nudge is returned to the other as the two set on their way-to where, Marco has no idea, but he'll bet any amount of money that they'll end up at the arcade within an hour. It's not quite cold enough for a jacket, what with the leaves just beginning to turn vibrant shades of red and yellow and the cool autumn wind breezing by and ruffling their hair as they stroll, but hell, he's got cool new threads and he's going to show them off. What's a little uncomfortable warmth if you look awesome, right?
     "I never really thought this style would suit me, but I think I look pretty cool." Maybe now the others at school won't call him a nerd so much. "Trying to change my image a little, toughen up, y'know? No more Mr. Nice Marco." He backs up his words with a few air punches that honestly make him look like even more of a dork than he did before. It's a hopeless case, this one.
