[7]: Little Banters (2)

Chapter 7: Little Banters (2)

'Sometimes, people will only apologize for the thought of doing it. Even if one would say sorry a thousand times, every sorry meant nothing more but just a word that needs to be said.'

"We're sorry, uncle. It would not… probably… happen again," Cooper uncertainly said with difficulty.

He knew full well that his coworkers and friends do not have an ardor for cleaning, and it would not be possible for them to keep the place in order. They wouldn't possibly get used to it, and they might even ignore such customary. It's very likely to happen, especially when they are used to being the epitome of disaster. Always ready to bestrew their disastrous nature.

Cooper could already feel an incoming headache. He could only sigh in his heart and wish for peace of mind in the future.

"We'll clean the workshop thoroughly from now on," the auburn-haired lad assured their boss. He knew they might not keep it for long, but that pledge would at least get them out of their current problem.

Cooper could not help but add, "But I didn't expect you to clean yesterday's mess, Uncle."

"That's right. Ever since I first got here, I haven't seen your workshop this clean," Dacron commented while glancing around, "You really outdid yourself this time, Tito."

The brunette-haired young man turned his head away from his uncle and quietly whispered, "I even thought that you would punish and make us tidy it up ourselves."

Charleston crossed his broad arms over his chest while staring at the two youths. He frowned at them and raised his eyebrow.

"I didn't," Charleston directly turn down their assumption. He scoffed at the gaping youngsters and haughtily asked, "You really thought that I'd clean after your mess?"

Dacron and Cooper fell silent at his question and then nodded in agreement. They have thought of that possibility but could not find any support to that hypothesis. Being meticulous was not fit for their uncle's nature, and knowing him for several years, they knew that it was out of his character.

With Charleston's refusal, the two youths simultaneously looked at the only other person in the room who could do it. It was the very person that they suspected to be an intruder and have tried to threaten but terribly failed.

They feel a little conflicted while staring at the aloof young man leaning on the counter. It actually was not a big deal, but they were the suspect of thrashing around, so they feel a little responsible for it.

"Did you clean this place, kid?" Charles turned to ask Marco after a once-over looks in the area.

Marco, who kept silent the whole time, raised his head when he suddenly heard the elder. He was the only person in the room that Charleston calls kid, after all.

He quietly nodded, confirming their guesses even though it was already obvious by then.

'I just cleaned the place. Was that really that unusual?' Marco asked himself.

He was confused with the sudden attention he has been getting since he came down the stairs. Not to mention the strange reaction they had with him cleaning the shop.

"Wow! What a clean freak," Dacron loudly commented in awe while staring at Marco, who just remained unruffled.

Cooper glanced around the room before he nodded his head in agreement and quietly said, "Clean freak, indeed."

The old man grinned under his golden-like mustache and praised, "Quite useful, aren't you."

"Useful…" Marco echoes in a whisper, the corner of his lips quirked in a mirthless smile.

Marco shrugged those feelings off at once, not letting it interfere with his mood, and maintained a neutral expression. He wouldn't let a mere petty word ruin his morning.

"Leave the shop in a messed up state again, and you both would sleep in the streets," Charleston warned the two boys.

"Aye, aye! Captain!" Dacron playfully responded, as if he were not scared to death earlier to the said captain. He received a glare from the old man, but he just laughed it off.

"Are you just gonna stand there and let your guest starve to death?" The brawny adult motions the bothersome children towards the kitchen, which immediately obeyed him.

Charleston called the distant lad, signaling him to follow, "Kid."

Marco trailed after them, keeping his voice to himself. He knew that the two other youngsters were still cautious of him, so he simply shut his mouth, to not alarm them.

They entered the kitchen, passing through the entryway amid the edge of the staircase and a seven-foot-tall shelf, full of small different vehicle parts and tools. The huge cabinet was at the back of the counter, where there was a gray couch and two wooden stools in between.

Marco had gone to the kitchen the night prior. When he washed the used mugs, and when he was looking for some rags. The interior was simple with cream-white wall paint, and there weren't many appliances except for a small fridge, microwave, coffee maker, and a gas stove.

"Even the kitchen has been blessed by the Iceberg 2.0's sacred hands," Dacron humorously said while roaming his eyes around the room.

Marco heard his remark and fought the urge to chuckle. The corner of his lips slightly curved upwards, instead. No one noticed his reaction except for the old man who let out a laugh like Mr. Clause, the guardian of Xmas.

The young lad subconsciously reached his left hand onto his nape, feeling quite embarrassed for no reason. He was not used to other people seeing him making other expressions than his neutral one.

"I think there's still some pancake mix left on the top cupboard," Charleston said after clearing his throat. He pointed at the hanging wooden shelf before addressing the shortest person in the room, "Coop, mind lending a hand?"

Cooper sighed and couldn't stop rolling his eyes. He isn't scared of this uncle in front of him now. He knew that the storm had already passed and wouldn't probably receive any retribution now that they have a guest. And besides, his brawny uncle only resorts to lightly scolding them and nothing more than just scaring them with his aura.

The auburn-haired lad went over and solemnly said, "Of course, who else? I'm the only one who knows how to cook here."

"Hey! I can cook too, you know! Might even better than you!" Dacron hastily protested.

"Oh, yeah?" Cooper turned to his hopeless friend, giving the latter a bored look, "Says the one who almost burned the shop while cooking just a freaking boiled egg."

The brunette-haired young man visibly flinched. He took a good three seconds before responding, "It was an accident, okay?! I can even cook Sinigang now!" ¹

"Whatever," Cooper indifferently said. He turned to the shelves and started rummaging while trying to find the pancake mix.

They thought that the auburn-haired wouldn't say anything more, but they were wrong as he added, "I'm still a hundred times better than you. At least the food I cook is surely edible and isn't tasteless."

"Hey, you darn mouse!" Dacron glared at his mousey friend.

"If I'm a mouse, then what are you?" Cooper returned the glare, holding the packed pancake mix now. He seemingly thought for a moment before his eyes brightened, "Ah, right! You're a bloody rabid dog!"

"You fuck-" Dacron stopped halfway through his cursing.

"Oh, just shut it, will you?! Go do your things," old man Charles interrupted their bickering, bonking their heads lightly.

The two youngsters childishly stuck out their tongues, scoffed, and glowered at each other.

Marco silently watched them amusedly while leaning onto the wall with his right hand still in his pocket.

'They're all like wee kids,' he thought.

The young lad couldn't help letting out a chuckle this time. Dacron witnessed his reaction and raised an eyebrow at him, but he chose to ignore it. He instead willed himself to speak and offer a helping hand.

"Can I help you with anything? I… can cook," Marco offered, his face was back to his expressionless façade, feeling the need to add the latter.

He has lived almost all his life with only his mother by his side, and so, he has learned to do household chores to help his mother, not wanting to be a burden. Marco could already properly cook fried dishes when he was only seven years old, and he was basically managing their kitchen when he turned twelve.

"Nope," the elder refused. "You already cleaned this dumpster, so let us have some face to provide something to fill your stomach. Just sit and wait for it."

Charleston motioned him to take a seat before the elder went towards the coffee maker. Darting his gaze at the old man, Marco pulled out a chair, and he silently plumped on the six-sitter wooden dining table.

"Do you drink black coffee, kid?" the elder turned his head to the seated lad while opening a cupboard. Marco almost ardently nodded, but his expression did not change one bit.

The old man hummed at his reply, pulling out a can of coffee from the cupboard.

"Hey, Tito! Aren't you gonna ask if I want some too?" Dacron asked while childishly raising his hand to get his uncle's attention. "I also want some, and maybe you could add a creamer as well."

"Shameless. If you want one, then do it yourself. You have your hands," Charleston replied apathetically.

Dacron huffed and immaturely grumbled, "It's like I'm not your nephew."

The elder turned and looked at the brunette young man. He then grinned teasingly, "Yeah. 'Coz you're my niece."

"Haha," the brunette forced out a dry laugh.

It was just normal for them to have this kind of chitchat. The youths and their uncle are already used to teasing each other and exchanging a few remarks. It could not help getting overboard at times, and it can escalate on an out-of-hand situation, but it'll be alright after a while. Squabbling became natural to them and a form of showing their sentiment.

Marco was the unvoiced spectator of those events. Witnessing the three interacting with each other, he felt strangely warm in his heart. It contrasts to the tightening of his chest and how painful it is to breathe while being clenched by that unfamiliar warmth.

He could distinguish their familiarity and how strong the bond they share. It was all shown on their faces, how the corner of their lips curved even when pretending to be angry, how they snicker, how their eyes glint with the tiny joy they feel.

He was there, silently spectating to their fond little banters. He was conflicted while watching their comfortable interactions.

The lone soul fought the growing sense of enviousness in him. He tried to dim down the overwhelming feeling, shoving it far away so there would be nothing left but forced contentment.

***

[1] Sinigang is a Filipino soup or stew characterized by its sour and savory taste. It is most often associated with tamarind, although it can use other sour fruits and leaves as the souring agent. It is one of the more popular dishes in Filipino cuisine. (Wikipedia)