twilight hangs peacefully over the city that never sleeps, painting the cloudless winter sky in brilliant shades of orange and pink. it’s nearing six o’clock as a frigid wind tears through manhattan and parker shivers. he should’ve worn a heavier jacket. fortunately, the rommel’s posh upper east side penthouse isn’t too far away now; just another block or two. he quickens his pace, charging forward with a little more fervor. he’s been trying not to think about the significance of tonight, about how he’s never once met a girl’s parents because that’s what people do when they’re in serious relationships, and parker is never serious about anything, let alone who he’s currently fucking. yet, all valentina had to do was ask and now he’s scurrying through the upper east side in clean blue jeans and a harley davidson t-shirt, his scent a mixture of cigarette smoke and the expensive cologne his father gave him for christmas. it’s...jarring. it means something, but parker isn’t sure what. he does, however, recognize the rommel family’s residence. it’s a tall, finely crafted building located on one of manhattan’s most painstakingly cleanly streets. only the richest and most elite citizens can afford to live around here. ( thus, the parker family penthouse is nearby, as is the main residence of new york city’s beloved delacroix family whom parker cannot stand, because they’re total fucking tools. ) the doorman lets him in with a huff and slight quirk of his bushy right eyebrow. parker isn’t sure if the older gentleman recognized him as the bourgeoisie’s favorite trainwreck or if it was simply a silent criticism of his unkempt appearance, but parker also doesn’t care, so he breezes right through the lobby and steps onto the spacious elevator. it’s empty aside from him and miraculously stays that way for the entire lengthy journey to the building’s topmost floors. finally — ding! parker’s shoulders roll as he pushes off of the wall and steps out into the long, generously carpeted hallway. apartment number seven, valentina had told him to look for. he locates it easily and rings the doorbell straight away, characteristically allowing himself no time to hesitate. there are several muffled voices — none of which are familiar — before parker can hear the pitter patter of hurried footsteps getting closer. when the door finally swings open, he blinks, then looks down upon realizing that whoever came to greet him was rather short. she’s also slim and gawky, with features reminiscent of both a child and a young teenager. they stand there in relative silence for a moment as all types of noises burst out of what appears to be an enormous, exquisitely furnished penthouse. parker opens his mouth to speak when the girl ( whose face has inexplicably turned scarlet ) parts her thickly glossed lips. “holy wow.” she follows the outburst with a tiny squeal, her glimmering brown eyes widening in horror. bewildered, parker chuckles awkwardly as his mouth falls open. “sorry?” he quirks a brow. the girl’s face is alarmingly red now, and parker’s certain that she hasn’t blinked once. she whimpers in a way that’s vaguely reminiscent of a frightened house cat or dying roadkill as he speaks, which is both confusing and somewhat unsettling, but he just chuckles again and offers his peculiar conversation partner a crooked little smile. maybe he had the wrong place.
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