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 wasn’t broken, it wasn’t even a particularly bad sprain and likely as not he’d 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!
"It’s fine, just a twist and it’ll be okay in a few minutes I’m sure and yeah, I speak a lot of French. I’m 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. Umm…would you mind?" he nodded over to it.
Jean chuckled, mostly because this guy– Marco, sounded just like him at sixteen with the 'I'm not a kid’ stuff. “Got a problem with being referred to as ‘kid’, Marco?” Even if he did try to keep his mouth shut, he called everyone kid. It was force of habit, nothing personal.
Jean’d heard the French and was almost hopeful, maybe someone from around where he grew up came here too– even if he’d rather not think about anywhere or anything near there. No luck, though. Belgium. “Oh, man, are you sure? I’d give you a ride somewhere so you didn’t have to walk but I didn’t drive here..” Jean felt legitimately bad, like he had to do something to make up for ruining a random semi stranger’s day. See, he thought to himself, he could have a conscience when it counted– he could at least try to be a good guy. “That’s too bad, I’d uh, thought you might be French or something. I’m uh, I’m from there so.” He rubbed at the back of his neck– 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.
"Oh– 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?"
