The East End sun beat down, hotter and harsher than the controlled chill of Le Ciel. Alex hauled another splintered length of two-by-four, his shoulders screaming in protest. Plaster dust coated his skin like a second layer, mixing with sweat and turning into gritty mud in the creases of his neck. He dumped the wood onto the groaning pile near the dumpster, wiping his forehead with the back of his arm, leaving a grey streak.
"Looking good, Moretti!" Marco called out, grinning as he effortlessly maneuvered a wheelbarrow full of broken drywall past him. He looked at home in the chaos of the renovation site – faded work boots, dusty jeans, muscles flexing under his sweat-dampened t-shirt. "Only three more dumpsters to fill!"
Alex groaned, bending to pick up another armful of debris. "Remind me why I thought manual labor was better than polishing silverware?"
"Because polishing silverware involves remembering which fork is for fish," Marco shot back, setting the wheelbarrow down with a thud. "And because you get paid in cash. Today." He pulled a thick envelope from his back pocket, crisp bills visible inside. He peeled off several and shoved them into Alex's dusty hand. "Half now. Rest at the end of the week. Foreman says you're not totally useless."
The weight of the bills in his hand was tangible, immediate. Rent money. Electricity money. Sofia's shoe money. The ache in his muscles momentarily faded. "Thanks, Marco. Seriously. I owe you."
Marco waved him off, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Nah. Just buy me a decent beer later. Not that swill I brought over." He clapped Alex on the back, the touch firm and lingering just a fraction longer than strictly necessary. "Lunch break. Come on. Sandwiches are on me."
They found a relatively clean patch of curb in the shade of the half-gutted building. Marco produced two hefty subs wrapped in wax paper. Alex bit into his gratefully, the simple flavors exploding – salty ham, sharp cheese, crisp lettuce. It tasted like survival.
"Ma's worried," Alex confessed between bites, the dust making his throat dry. "Trying to act like it's fine, but... she took that extra cleaning job at Ricci's place. She looked exhausted this morning."
Marco nodded, his expression sobering. "She's tough, your mom. But yeah. Two weeks is a hit." He nudged Alex's knee with his own. "We'll get through it. This gig might even run longer. Foreman likes how you don't complain. Much." He offered a small smile.
Alex managed a tired smile back. "Just channeling my inner Thorne. Zero tolerance for incompetence, right?" He tried to make it sound like a joke, but the bitterness seeped through.
Marco's smile faded. "Don't even joke about that ice prince. Forget him, Al. He's in his tower counting gold coins while you're here actually *earning* yours." There was a protective heat in his voice. "He doesn't deserve a second thought."
Alex stared down at his sandwich. Marco was right. Ethan Thorne was a world away, a blip of arrogant cruelty in his otherwise difficult life. Why did the memory of those cold, furious eyes still sting? "Yeah," he muttered. "Forget him."
"So," Marco said, changing the subject with forced cheer, "Sofia still obsessed with that space book?"
Alex brightened. "Totally. Dragging me to the library again Saturday. Says she needs pictures of nebulae for some project." He felt a familiar pang of guilt. "Wish I could buy her that telescope she keeps pointing out in the thrift store window..."
"Hey," Marco said softly, his voice gentle. "She's got you reading space books with her. That's better than any telescope." He met Alex's eyes, his gaze warm and steady. "You're a good brother, Al. A good son." The unspoken *You're good* hung in the air, charged with something deeper than friendship.
Alex looked away first, suddenly intensely aware of the press of Marco's knee against his, the dust smudged on Marco's cheekbone. The comfort was there, solid and real, but a new, confusing undercurrent vibrated beneath it. He focused on his sandwich. "Thanks, Marco."
Later, as they walked back towards Alex's apartment building, Sofia came barreling out of the community center across the street, her backpack bouncing. "Alex! Marco!" She skidded to a stop, beaming. "Guess what? Ms. Flores says we might get *new stuff* for the center! Some rich company is coming to give us money on Thursday! Maybe even new paints for the art room!" Her eyes shone with hope.
Alex exchanged a glance with Marco. "That's great, Sof," Alex said, ruffling her hair. "Who's the rich company?"
Sofia shrugged, already bouncing on her toes. "Dunno. Someone important. They're sending people to clean up before they come! Can you help tomorrow, Alex? Please? Ms. Flores needs people to move boxes and stuff."
Alex hesitated. His body already ached from the construction site. But Sofia's hopeful face, the thought of the struggling community center getting help... "Yeah, okay, Sof. I'll help tomorrow after work."
"Me too," Marco added instantly. "Can't let Alex lift all the heavy boxes alone. He'll strain his delicate waiter muscles." He grinned, dodging Alex's playful shove.
As Sofia chattered excitedly about the possibilities, Alex felt a flicker of optimism. Maybe things were looking up. A temporary job, Sofia happy, the center getting help. He pushed the lingering image of glacial blue eyes and a ruined suit firmly out of his mind. Marco was right. Ethan Thorne belonged to a different universe. Their paths would never cross again.
**(End of Chapter 5)**