Forced to relax (1)

—3,296 Words—

Marco's car screeched to a halt in front of the Dunphy house, tires kicking up a small cloud of dust. He stepped out, dressed in his usual urban streetwear—ripped black jeans, a loose graphic tee, and his signature backward baseball cap. He locked the car with a beep, pocketed his keys, and strolled up to the front door like he owned the place.

Knock. Knock.

No answer.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

The door swung open to reveal Phil, mid-bite of a protein bar. He squinted at Marco, then—recognition dawned.

"Ohhhh, hey! Marco, right? Alex's—uh—friend?" Phil grinned, immediately shifting into Cool Dad Mode. "What's up, my dude?"

Marco smirked. "Yo, Mr. D. Just droppin' by. You good?"

"Oh, you know, just living the dream," Phil said, leaning against the doorframe like they were old buddies. "Keeping it real. Staying fresh."

Marco nodded solemnly. "Respect."

"So, uh… what brings you to Casa Dunphy?"

"Alex," Marco said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "She's been ghostin' my texts. Figured I'd check in."

Phil's expression shifted to Oh Right, That. "Ah. Yeah. She's, uh… kinda locked herself in her room. Studying for some big test. Barely sleeping. Claire's a little worried, honestly."

Marco raised an eyebrow. "Huh."

"Yeah, I mean—"

"I'll take care of it," Marco said, already stepping past him into the house.

Phil blinked. "Wait, what does that—?"

But Marco was already heading upstairs.

Claire was coming down the stairs, scowling for some reason, when Marco breezed past her.

"'Sup, Mrs. Dunphy," he said casually.

"Hi—wait, what?" Claire did a double-take, but Marco was already at Alex's door.

He didn't knock.

He flung it open like he was making a grand entrance.

"RISE AND SHINE, MAMI—"

Alex jumped, nearly sending her textbook flying. She was in an oversized t-shirt, shorts, bare feet, hair a mess, dark circles under her eyes. She stared at him like he was a hallucination.

"What the—MARCO?! How did you—why are you here?!"

"You've been ignoring me," he said, stepping inside. "That's rude."

"I'm studying," she hissed, scrambling to gather her notes. "I have a test in two days, and I need to—"

"I don't have time to—"

Before she could finish, Marco swooped in, hooked his hands under her armpits, and hoisted her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"MARCO—PUT ME DOWN—OH MY GOD—"

Alex flailed, kicking wildly as Marco carried her out of the room. Claire's jaw dropped in the hallway.

"Uh—what is happening?!"

"Field trip!" Marco called cheerfully as he descended the stairs.

Phil, still at the bottom, gave Alex a thumbs-up. "Have fun, sweetie!"

"DAD—HELP ME—"

"You got this, champ!"

Marco marched out the front door, dumped Alex into his passenger seat, and clicked the lock before she could escape.

"I'M IN PAJAMAS," she seethed. "I DON'T EVEN HAVE SHOES—"

Marco started the engine. "Then I guess we're doin' a barefoot adventure."

And with that, they peeled out of the driveway. The moment Marco's car screeched away from the Dunphy house, Alex crossed her arms and glared at him.

"You are literally kidnapping me," she snapped.

"Nah, kidnapping implies I want something from you," Marco said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "This is a wellness intervention."

"I don't need a wellness intervention!"

"Bruh, you look like you haven't slept in a week."

Alex opened her mouth to argue—then paused. "…Okay, fine. But I have to study. This test is—"

"Important, yeah, yeah." Marco waved a hand. "But you know what's also important? Not turning into a zombie before you even take it."

Alex huffed, slumping in her seat. "Where are you even taking me?"

Marco smirked. "Wouldn't you like to know."

"That's not an answer."

"Sure it is. It's just a bad one."

Alex groaned, rubbing her temples. "I swear to God, if this is another one of your—"

"Relax, mami," Marco cut in, his tone uncharacteristically firm. "We're just gonna chill. No ATVs, no archery, no illegal pumpkin warfare. Just… not studying for a few hours."

Alex side-eyed him. "…That's it?"

"That's it."

She narrowed her eyes. "You're lying."

"Maybe." He grinned. "But you'll find out when we get there."

Alex exhaled sharply, but didn't argue further. The truth was, she was exhausted. And as much as she hated to admit it, Marco's chaotic energy was… weirdly refreshing.

After a beat of silence, Marco glanced at her. "So. What's this test even for?"

"Advanced Chem," Alex muttered. "If I don't ace it, my GPA—"

"Okay, stop." Marco reached over and booped her nose. "No more test talk. You're in Marco's No-Stress Zone now."

Alex swatted his hand away. "That's not a real thing."

"It is today."

She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched. "You're impossible."

The car rolled to a stop at a red light. Marco turned to her, suddenly serious. "Look, I get it. You wanna be perfect. But you're gonna fry your brain if you don't take a break."

Alex blinked. That was… almost insightful.

"…Since when are you the voice of reason?"

"Since right now." The light turned green, and Marco hit the gas. "Now shut up and enjoy the ride."

———

Marco parked outside his house, killed the engine, and hopped out before Alex could even unbuckle. Before she could protest, he swung open her door, leaned in, and—without warning—scooped her up in a princess carry.

"MARCO—WHAT THE HELL?!" Alex flailed, gripping his shoulders for balance as he kicked her door shut with his foot.

"Relax, mami," he said, grinning as he carried her toward the house. "You're barefoot. Pavement's nasty."

"That's not—you could've just let me walk on my tiptoes—"

"Nah. This is more fun."

He set her down inside, where the house was quiet—Rosa out with her friends, as usual. Alex crossed her arms, glaring, but Marco just smirked and jerked his head toward the hallway.

"C'mon. Got somethin' to show you."

She followed, still scowling, until he pushed open his bedroom door with a dramatic flourish.

"BEHOLD," he announced, gesturing to the sleek, massive Sony Bravia NX800 mounted on his wall. "The holy grail of TVs."

Alex blinked. "Oh. Uh. Cool."

Marco's grin didn't waver as he launched into his spiel. "4K HDR, 75-inch display, and it's got Android TV built in. No extra box needed. Oh, and the motion handling? Butter."

Alex shrugged. "Yeah, my family has one like that at home."

Marco's hands froze mid-gesture. His grin flickered—just for a second—before he bit his lip and forced a small smile. "Oh. Right. Yeah, of course."

He turned away, pretending to adjust a nonexistent smudge on the screen, but Alex caught it.

"…What was that?" she asked.

Marco paused. Sighed. Then turned back, rubbing his neck.

"Look, I know it ain't impressive to you," he muttered, uncharacteristically quiet. "But I bought this thing with my own money. Saved up paychecks, skipped dumb shit, all that. Just… wanted to show you."

Alex stared at him.

For the first time, she saw it—the pride in his eyes, the way his jaw tightened like he was bracing for her to laugh.

And suddenly, she got it.

This wasn't just a TV.

It was proof he'd earned something.

"…Marco," she said slowly. "It is impressive."

He glanced up, skeptical.

"I mean it," she insisted. "My parents bought ours. You worked for this. That's… kinda badass."

A beat of silence.

Then Marco's smirk crept back—real this time. "Damn right it is."

He grabbed the remote and tossed it to her. "Now pick a movie. And no educational shit."

Alex rolled her eyes—but she was smiling.

Marco kicked off his shoes, sending them skidding across the floor, then peeled off his hoodie and flopped onto his bed with a satisfied sigh. The mattress bounced slightly under his weight as he sprawled out, arms behind his head.

"Alright, mami, do your worst," he said, nodding toward the TV. "But if you pick anything with subtitles or a plot deeper than a puddle, I'm vetoing it."

Alex rolled her eyes but took a moment to glance around his room. She'd been to his house plenty of times by now, but she'd never actually stepped inside his space.

It was… surprisingly Marco.

Clothes were strewn over a chair, but none on the floor.

A few empty soda cans sat on the desk, but no actual trash.

Posters of lowriders, hip-hop artists, and—weirdly—a vintage NASA launch were taped haphazardly to the walls.

His bedsheets were rumpled, but the room itself wasn't dirty—no dust bunnies, no mysterious stains, just the lived-in chaos of a guy who couldn't be bothered to fold his laundry but would wipe down surfaces when they got gross.

"You just gonna stand there judging my life choices," Marco said, snapping her out of her thoughts, "or are you gonna pick a movie?"

Alex huffed but climbed onto the bed, careful to keep a respectable distance between them as she grabbed the remote. The TV hummed to life, the home screen glowing with streaming apps.

"No horror," she muttered, scrolling. "No rom-coms—"

"Boo," Marco interjected.

"—and definitely no Fast & Furious."

"Wow. Harsh."

She ignored him, thumb hovering over the options. A part of her brain—the part that wasn't exhausted from studying—quietly noted that this technically checked a lot of "date" boxes.

They were alone.

In his room.

About to share a blanket (because of course Marco had already yanked one over his legs).

And neither of them was acknowledging it.

Not a date, she told herself firmly. Just… forced relaxation.

Finally, she landed on a dumb action-comedy she'd seen bits of before—something with car chases, explosions, and zero intellectual value.

"This work?" she asked, tilting the screen toward him.

Marco squinted. "Oh hell yeah. Classic."

She hit play.

Ten minutes in, Marco had already:

Recited half the lines before the actors said them.

Thrown a handful of popcorn at the screen when the villain monologued.

Demanded Alex guess which stunt was definitely CGI.

("That one," she deadpanned, pointing at literally every explosion.)

By the halfway mark, though, even Alex had to admit it was… fun.

She laughed when the hero accidentally set his own pants on fire.

She didn't protest when Marco shifted closer to pass her the snacks.

And she definitely didn't notice how warm his shoulder was when hers brushed against it.

(Okay, she noticed. But she wasn't thinking about it.)

When the credits rolled, Marco stretched, arms over his head. "See? That's how you take a break."

Alex, despite herself, smiled. "…Yeah. Okay. That was… not terrible."

"High praise from you," he teased, nudging her with his knee.

She nudged back.

———

"Yo, you wanna eat something?" Marco asked, stretching his arms behind his head

.

Alex shrugged. "I could eat."

"Pizza?"

"Sure."

Marco grinned and grabbed his phone, already dialing. "Bet. We're gettin' the El Diablo—spicy chorizo, jalapeños, extra cheese. No take-backs."

Alex rolled her eyes but didn't argue. While Marco placed the order, she slid off the bed and wandered around his room, curious.

The first thing that caught her eye was his desk—cluttered, but not chaotic.

A stack of car magazines, dog-eared and well-read.

A half-built model lowrider on the corner, painstakingly detailed.

A framed photo tucked behind a pile of loose change: a younger Marco, maybe 13, grinning next to an older man in a mechanic's jumpsuit. His dad? She'd never heard him mention him.

Next, his bookshelf—or lack thereof. Instead of books, it held:

A shoebox labeled "Important Shit" (she did not peek).

A trophy for "Most Improved" at some long-ago youth mechanic workshop.

A surprisingly well-kept succulent in a chipped Fast & Furious mug.

She smirked. Of course.

Her fingers brushed over a beat-up notebook on the nightstand. Before she could open it—

"Yo, mami, you snoopin'?" Marco called, still on the phone but watching her with amused eyes.

Alex jerked her hand back. "Just… looking."

He winked. "Uh-huh."

Then, to the phone: "Nah, bro, not her—ay, just send the pizza, cabrón!"

The conversation dragged on—apparently, the guy taking orders was an old friend, and they were now deep into debating whether pineapple belonged on pizza (Marco's stance: "Only if you're a monster.").

Alex tuned them out and drifted toward the posters on the wall.

A vintage Chevy Impala mid-hop.

A Wu-Tang Clan album cover.

And, bizarrely, a NASA Mars rover pinned beside a Taco Bell coupon.

Chaotic. But… kinda him.

Finally, Marco hung up and tossed his phone onto the bed. "Pizza's gonna be 30. Homie hooked us up with free garlic knots, though."

Alex raised an eyebrow. "Do you know everyone in this town?"

"Nah, just the cool ones." He flopped onto his back, hands behind his head. "So. You find any dark secrets yet?"

"Just that you're weirdly into space and tacos." She pointed at the NASA poster.

"Hey, astronauts gotta eat too."

Alex hesitated, then nodded at the photo on his desk. "That your dad?"

Marco's grin didn't falter, but his voice went quieter. "Yeah. Dude bounced when I was a kid. But he taught me how to fix an engine before he ditched, so. Silver linings."

Alex blinked. "Oh. I… didn't know."

"S'cool." He sat up suddenly, clapping his hands. "Anyway—important question. You team Die Hard or team Home Alone?"

Alex knew a subject change when she heard one. She played along. "…Die Hard is a Christmas movie?"

"WRONG ANSWER."

———

When the doorbell rang, Marco sprang up from the bed. "Pizza's here—yo, grab the Pepsi from the fridge, will ya?"

Alex blinked. "Why me?"

"'Cause I'm payin'," he said, already halfway down the hall.

She rolled her eyes but followed, padding barefoot to the kitchen to grab the soda. By the time she got back, Marco was at the front door—and, of course, already deep in conversation with the delivery guy.

"Ayy, what's good, Rico?" Marco grinned, leaning against the doorframe.

"Marco, my dude!" The delivery guy—Rico, apparently—held up the pizza box like a trophy. "Knew this was your order soon as I saw 'El Diablo, extra stupid spicy' on the ticket."

"You know it," Marco laughed, then turned to Alex. "Rico, this is Alex. Alex, Rico—we went to juvie together."

Rico's eyebrows shot up. "Oh damn—so this the girl you won't shut up about?"

Alex nearly dropped the Pepsi.

Marco shot Rico a shut up look, but it was too late. Rico's grin widened as he handed the pizza to Marco and the soda to Alex.

"Aight, aight, I won't hold up y'all's date," Rico said, winking as Marco shoved cash at him. "Enjoy the pizza, girlfriend."

Alex's face burned. "We're not—"

"Thanks, homie," Marco cut in, smirking. "Drive safe."

Rico saluted and left, leaving Alex standing there, soda in hand, glaring at Marco.

"What the hell was that?"

Marco shrugged, already heading back to his room. "Rico's a clown. Ignore him."

Alex muttered something under her breath but followed, pizza smell overpowering her annoyance.

Back in Marco's room, they dug into the pizza—Alex cautiously, Marco like a man who'd never heard of heartburn.

Two bites in, the jalapeños hit.

"Oh my God—" Alex gasped, fanning her mouth. "Why is it this hot?!"

Marco cackled, shoving another slice in his mouth like it was nothing. "Weak. This is mild."

"You're a liar," Alex choked out, reaching for the Pepsi like it was a lifeline.

Marco just grinned, watching her struggle with way too much amusement. "Need a milk IV? A fire extinguisher?"

"I need normal pizza," she shot back, but there was no real heat in it.

She managed one more slice before admitting defeat, pushing the box toward Marco. "I'm full."

"Damn. More for me." He grabbed her abandoned slice without hesitation.

Alex leaned back against the headboard, sipping her soda, watching Marco demolish the rest of the pizza like a competitive eater.

Alex kept her eyes glued to the TV, her expression perfectly innocent as she casually reached into the now-empty garlic knot box beside her. She plucked out the last buttery, garlicky piece of heaven and popped it into her mouth with a quiet crunch.

Marco, blissfully unaware, was too busy demolishing the final slice of pizza, sauce smeared at the corner of his mouth. He wiped his hands on a napkin, reached over to grab a garlic knot—

—and froze.

His fingers hovered over the empty box. He blinked. Turned it upside down. Shook it, as if that would magically produce another knot.

Then, slowly, he turned his head toward Alex.

She met his gaze, chewing deliberately, the ghost of a smirk playing on her lips.

Marco's expression morphed into something between betrayal and utter devastation—like a puppy who'd just watched his favorite toy get thrown in the trash.

"…Mami," he said, voice dripping with wounded accusation. "Did you—"

Alex swallowed, then licked her fingers one by one, just to drive the point home. "Did I what?"

Marco stared. "You monster."

She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Guess I was hungrier than I thought."

Marco's jaw dropped. "You lied about being full? That's cold."

Alex just leaned back, smug. "Payback's a bitch."

Marco narrowed his eyes—then lunged for the empty box, crumpling it in his hands like he was mourning a fallen comrade. "I can't believe you'd do this to me. After everything we've been through."

Alex snorted. "Oh please. You literally kidnapped me today."

"For your own good!" Marco flopped back onto the bed, draping an arm over his eyes dramatically. "And this is how you repay me? With betrayal? With theft?"

Alex rolled her eyes, but she was grinning now. "You'll live."

Marco peeked out from under his arm. "…You're lucky you're cute."

Alex's smirk faltered for half a second—just long enough for Marco to notice.

"Shut up," she muttered, grabbing a pillow and whacking him with it.

Marco laughed, dodging.

———

The hours slipped by in a haze of half-watched movies, playful bickering, and stolen snacks. At some point, Marco challenged Alex to a thumb war—which escalated into a full-blown wrestling match when she cheated by tickling him.

"That's not how thumb wars work!" Marco gasped between laughter, trying to pin her flailing hands.

"Says who?" Alex shot back, twisting free and shoving him back with her knee.

Marco retaliated by grabbing a pillow and swinging it at her, but Alex ducked—only for Marco to lose his balance and topple forward.

And suddenly—

He was above her, one hand braced on the mattress beside her head, the other still clutching the pillow. Their laughter died in their throats.

The room went quiet.

Alex's breath hitched as she stared up at him, her pulse suddenly loud in her ears. Marco's usual smirk was gone, replaced by something unreadable—something intense. His eyes flickered over her face, lingering on her lips, then back up to meet her gaze.

Neither of them moved.

The air between them crackled with something electric, something new. Alex's mind raced, but for once, she couldn't think of a single sarcastic remark.

Marco swallowed hard, his grip tightening on the pillow. For a second, she thought he'd pull away—laugh it off, make a joke, anything to break the tension.

But he didn't.

Instead, he steeled himself, his expression shifting into quiet determination.

And then—

He leaned down and kissed her.

It was soft at first, hesitant, as if testing the waters. But when Alex didn't push him away—when she kissed him back—Marco deepened it, his free hand tangling in her hair as the pillow dropped forgotten to the floor.

Time seemed to stop.

When they finally pulled apart, Marco hovered over her, his breath uneven. "…Damn," he murmured, voice rough.

Alex, still dazed, could only manage a breathless: "Yeah."

Marco's grin returned, slow and smug. "Knew you liked me."

Alex rolled her eyes—but she was smiling too. "Shut up."

And then she pulled him back down.