How Soon is Now? (Jean x Marco)

Part Three

"Hello," A gentle voice of a man says, his hands tapping gently at my aching shoulders, "Hello? Are you okay? You must be so cold...poor thing."

I tear my eyes open to an older man in his early thirties, in an expensive looking coat. His eyes are a deep blue, and his hair is slicked back, however short and cut in a way that seems similar to mine. He is very handsome, strong features and broad shoulders, very tall too. He holds a peaceful smile on his face and I can't help but smile back.

My stomach growls again in an instant, but this time it feels painful. My body is numb.

"I feel...sick." Is all I can say to him.

"God, your skin is blue, it's been throwing hailstones the size of bricks all night and you're in nothing but a shirt," I process his words the best I can, "You must be hungry, come back with me son, to the manor, I'll get you something to eat."

I want to reply, but my lips aren't moving. With a mental smile I wonder if I'm dying finally, god that would be good. I'm not sure though, I have no idea what death feels like. Since I can't die and all.

Suddenly my body moves, I'm floating up into the air as if I'm flying. I swear I'm seeing the light, though it's probably just the hope that surrounds me, hope that this really is death I'm experiencing. I ignore that there are two hands under my back, holding me as I'm lifted into a carriage, a beautiful black Landau carriage with golden details delicately painted on. I guess I'm not dying after all...shame really, however unsurprising.

The man pats my shoulder gently, proceeding to wrap his expensive looking coat over my shivering body. I warm up in an instant. Awakening a little, I dare to part my lips and speak.

"Where are we going?" I ask him quietly.

"To a manor, though it isn't my actual home. I shall discuss some more over dinner. I'm sure you must be clueless, but you're too weak as of now to take in so much information. Not to worry, we will be there soon."

Usually, the rich stick to the rich and the poor to the poor. I have no idea what's going on, and why this man – who obviously owns a lot of money – is driving me in a fucking Landau carriage that looks around £200 when I look like a scrawny piece of litter from the side of the road.

"Dinner?" Is all I can say, my throat being dry and all.

He chuckles softly, "Of course, I couldn't let anyone go without dinner."

"Thank you," I breathe, "Thank you so much, sir."

"No need for such names, son," He pats my shoulder again, comfortingly, "My name is Erwin, Erwin Smith."