Alex was jolted awake by the sound of her bedroom door swinging open.
"Alex, I'm just picking up the—" Claire's voice cut off abruptly as she froze in the doorway, laundry basket in hand, her eyes locking onto the scene in front of her.
Alex sat up with a gasp, yanking the blanket up to her chest. "Mom?! What the hell?!"
Claire's mouth opened—then closed—then opened again. "I—you—why are you—?"
Then Marco sat up beside her, rubbing his eyes, gloriously shirtless and completely unbothered. "Mornin', Mrs. D. What's up?"
Claire's face went through approximately seven emotions in two seconds—shock, horror, disbelief, exasperation, resignation, fury, and finally, deep maternal suffering.
"Oh my GOD—"
"Mom, get out—" Alex hissed, clutching the blanket tighter.
"I knew it!" Claire pointed an accusing finger at Marco. "I knew you were trouble!"
Marco, still half-asleep, just grinned. "Trouble's my middle name."
"MARCO!" Alex elbowed him.
The commotion must have been loud enough because, suddenly, Phil appeared in the doorway, still in his pajamas, blinking blearily. "What's all the yelling—"
Then he saw Marco in bed with his daughter.
"Oh."
"DAD, OUT—" Alex shrieked.
Phil's face went slack. "Uh. Hi, Marco."
Marco gave a lazy salute. "What's up, Mr. D?"
Phil made a noise like a deflating balloon.
Alex couldn't take it anymore. She grabbed Marco's discarded hoodie from the floor, yanked it over her head (it drowned her, the sleeves hanging past her fingertips), and launched herself out of bed, shoving both her parents toward the door.
"OUT. NOW."
Claire was still sputtering. "We are talking about this—"
"NO, WE'RE NOT—"
Marco, still lounging in bed, called after them: "Hey, Mr. D, you got any coffee? I take mine black—"
Alex slammed the door in her parents' faces, locked it, and pressed her forehead against the wood, groaning.
From the bed, Marco stretched, arms behind his head. "So. That went well."
Alex turned slowly, glaring at him. "I. Hate. You."
Marco smirked. "Liar."
———
Alex finished dressing quickly, throwing on a sweater and jeans while Marco casually strolled around her room, examining everything with amused curiosity.
"Ava would love it in here," he mused, poking at a stack of textbooks. "So many dark corners to hide in."
Alex shot him a glare. "If you even think about bringing that tarantula into my room, I will set your car on fire."
Marco grinned. "Noted."
Downstairs, the Dunphy family was already seated at the breakfast table—Claire stiff-backed and clearly fuming, Phil awkwardly shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth like he was trying to disappear, Luke mimicking his dad's energy, and Haley smirking like she knew something scandalous.
Alex noticed immediately—there was no plate set for Marco.
"Mom," she said sharply, "you didn't make him anything?"
Claire didn't even look up from her coffee. "I didn't realize we had company."
Marco, unfazed, just shrugged. "S'cool. I'm not hungry anyway."
Alex wasn't buying it. She grabbed an extra fork and plate, sliding half her pancakes and bacon toward him without another word.
Marco blinked, then smirked. "Damn. You do care."
Alex rolled her eyes but didn't deny it.
"So," Haley drawled, twirling a strand of hair around her finger as she eyed Marco. "You're the guy my sister's been sneaking around with."
Marco took a bite of pancake. "Yep."
"You're way hotter than I expected," Haley continued, leaning forward. "Like, way hotter."
Alex's grip on her fork tightened.
Luke, mouth full, chimed in. "Dude, did you actually climb through her window last night?"
Marco smirked. "Like a ninja."
Phil choked on his orange juice.
Claire's glare could've melted steel.
"So, Marco," she purred, "if you ever get tired of my genius sister, you should totally hit me up."
The table went silent.
Alex's face burned. "Haley—"
But Marco was already leaning forward, resting his chin on his hand, a dangerous glint in his eye.
"Nah, I'm good," he said, voice dripping with fake sweetness. "See, I like girls who can spell. And, y'know, exist without a mirror."
Haley's jaw dropped.
Luke snorted into his cereal.
Alex bit her lip to keep from smiling.
"Also," Marco continued, "your eyeliner's super uneven. Just sayin'."
Haley gasped, immediately reaching for her phone to check her reflection. "IT IS NOT—"
"Left side's thicker," Marco said, shrugging. "Kinda looks like you did it with your eyes closed. Oh wait—did you?"
Alex lost it, coughing to cover her laugh.
Claire looked like she was considering disowning everyone at the table.
Phil just sighed. "Can we… just eat?"
Marco took another bite of pancake, grinning. "Sure thing, Mr. D."
———
After breakfast, Marco stretched and announced he had to head out. "Gotta make up for lost time at the shop," he said, ruffling Luke's hair on his way out—much to Claire's further irritation.
Alex walked him to his car, which was parked a little ways down the street (probably to avoid further parental scrutiny). The morning air was crisp, and Marco exhaled sharply, rubbing his hands together.
"Well, that was fun," he said, grinning.
Alex shoved him lightly. "You enjoyed that way too much."
"Hell yeah, I did. Your sister's face? Priceless."
Alex rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a small smile. Before he could open the car door, she grabbed the front of his hoodie and pulled him into a kiss—quick but firm.
Marco smirked against her lips. "See you later, mi amor," he murmured, before sliding into the driver's seat and revving the engine.
Alex watched him drive off, her stomach doing a weird little flip at the casual use of mi amor.
The moment Alex stepped back inside, she was met with the full force of Claire Dunphy's Disapproval™.
Her mom was standing in the living room, arms crossed, Phil hovering awkwardly beside her like a hostage.
"Alexandra," Claire began, in that tone.
Alex braced herself. "Mom."
"We need to talk about Marco."
"No, we don't."
Claire's eye twitched. "He sneaked into your room—"
"I'm eighteen—"
"—he has no job prospects—"
"He's a mechanic, Mom. That is a job."
"—and he was arrested—"
"Juvie, not prison. And he was fifteen." Alex crossed her arms. "You don't even know him."
Claire opened her mouth, but Phil—bless his soul—chimed in weakly. "She's got a point, Claire. We don't really know the guy."
Claire whirled on him. "Phil! Help me!"
Phil floundered. "I—uh—he does seem like a bad influence?"
Alex threw her hands up. "Based on what? The fact that he's not some preppy college guy? That he actually works instead of just talking about it?"
Claire's face reddened. "He's rude—"
"He's honest," Alex shot back. "And he doesn't pretend to be something he's not just to make people like him."
Claire looked like she was about to combust. "You're being naive—"
"And you're being judgmental," Alex snapped. "You didn't even give him a chance. You didn't talk to him. You just decided he wasn't good enough because he doesn't fit your idea of what I should be with."
Silence.
Phil shifted uncomfortably. Claire's lips pressed into a thin line.
Finally, Alex exhaled sharply. "I'm going to my room."
She didn't wait for a response, stomping upstairs and slamming the door behind her.