Author's Note: Whew! It's been awhile since I've last posted anything to FanFiction. I'm not going to lie, I kind of lost interest in this story, but now I want to continue with it. Hopefully this year I'll be able to get it together and continue posting stories since I love to write. To those of you who reviewed the first chapter to my story, THANK YOU SO VERY MUCH! Thank you for giving me and my story a chance. i appreciate it so much.

This story, like in the chapter before, is all based off of characters created by Eiichiro Oda, so credit goes to him.

Please don't forget to leave a review:)

Not Another Excuse

Chapter 2: Close Encounters

Marco felt his brow twitch in annoyance as his brothers tried, albeit unsuccessfully, to hold in their snickering. They kept their eyes dutifully cast down as Marco's apartment, once more, filled with the near constant sound of bed creaking.

"This isn't funny, yoi," he says dryly, shooting all three of them looks.

His brother Thatch merely shook his head, a silly grin splitting his face. "I know, I know. I'm sorry. It's just…really? This is what you have to deal with on a near constant basis?"

"You have no idea, yoi."

After having talked with Thatch over the phone, Marco had taken the liberty of inviting at least some of his brothers (as there wasn't enough room for all of them) over to let them know just what it was he was dealing with since moving, why he no longer had the energy to move about life like a so-called normal person.

Sometimes he wished the couple upstairs would just give it a rest. Take a break or something or…anything really.

Suddenly, the bed creaking slowed, slowing until it came to an eventual stop. Marco could hear his brothers breathe in relief. Little did they know.

"Well, at least it's over," his tallest brother, Jozu, murmurs from his seat near the window.

Raising a brow, Marco leant back, crossing his arms over his shoulder. "Don't count on it, yoi. They're just getting started."

And, like clockwork, they did. This time, instead of the creaking of the bedsprings, it was shouting—loud and near violent. His brothers groaned in unison.

Throwing their cards down, they each rose from their seats. Marco hated to see them go, but it was probably for the best.

"So, I guess this sort of makes you a pervert, huh?" Jozu asks nonchalantly as he walked with his brothers to the door. "Having to constantly listen to them go at it all the time, y'know."

Marco grimaced. He was a pervert, and he didn't need reminding of that. He still felt a little guilty attempting to get off to his neighbors. It wasn't right. And he knew it wasn't right.

"Oh, don't be so hard on him, Jozu. I'm sure Marco's already having a hard enough time as it is," Izo says winking.

"Have you ever tried talking to these guys, to, you know, complain about the noises?" Thatch asks.

"No…" Marco responds slowly. Honestly, he couldn't see himself ever introducing himself to his neighbors upstairs. If he ever did, it would be incredibly awkward.

"You don't even know who they are, do you?" Izo asks.

"I don't and I don't want to, yoi."

"Well, perhaps you should."

Marco watched his brothers go, leaving him with his apartment and the sounds of fighting from upstairs. Sighing, Marco couldn't help but to feel that his brothers were right. Speaking to them might help make things a bit easier for himself. Maybe tomorrow he'd pay them a visit and put an end to this once and for all.

Or maybe he wouldn't.

Marco awoke to find his apartment unusually devoid of sound. It was pleasantly silent, which put the blond in a pleasant mood.

Hurrying to get ready for work, Marco threw on his uniform, a simple polo and some kakis, before heading out the door. His neighbors, by that point, still hadn't made a noise—not even the scraping of a chair could be heard. Shrugging it off, Marco decided to put it all behind himself, at least for now. He'd go through the day without being bothered by them, but as soon as he returned home, Marco knew that he'd be opening his apartment to them again.

Shaking his head, Marco moved down the hallway to the elevator. He was truly obsessed. He needed to stop thinking about it—to stop thinking about them.

Pressing the button for the elevator, Marco waited patiently for the elevator to come down from the floor above. Once it came down, the doors chiming open loudly, Marco stepped into its old, cramped interior, barely acknowledging the other person standing wedged in the corner.

'I wonder if Izo was right,' Marco mused to himself, leaning back against the elevator's wall. 'Maybe I should just go upstairs and talk to them.' It would, in the end, provide the perfect opportunity for Marco to meet his neighbors, though he still wasn't entirely convinced that he wanted to do that.

Scoffing, Marco looked up, accidentally catching the eyes of the elevator's second patron. Their eyes met for a brief moment before Marco looked away, feeling a bit awkward. He tried to ignore the other, which didn't seem to work. The other man was staring at him…he was staring at him, right?

Looking at him from the corner of his eyes, Marco stiffened. No. It was official. The man was looking at him…well, er, staring was more like it. The man was staring at him with a strange smirk upon his freckled face.

And Marco had no idea why.

Looking back at him, this time turning fully towards the man, he took in his appearance. He couldn't have been more than nineteen or twenty and he was tall, that much was obvious. He was nearing Marco's height but still fell a bit short. There were freckles sprinkled high up upon high cheekbones, framed and accentuated by longish dark hair that contrasted nicely against his pale skin. The man was wearing a baggy green hoodie, but even so, Marco could make out nicely toned muscles.

There was something familiar about the freckled man. He had seen him at one point, he had to. They lived in the same building. But, somehow, Marco felt as if that was not all there was to it.

Opening his mouth, Marco made to say something to the unnerving freckled man. However, before he could, the doors to the elevator chimed open. His floor. Bolting out of the elevator, Marco chanced a look back at the freckled man who followed, but at a much slower pace. There was a grin upon his lips as he continued staring at the blond.

The day was long and tiring as far as Marco was concerned. Returning back to his cruddy apartment was a blessing. Marco's tasks at work were menial and mindless at best that day. And, to top it all off, he couldn't get the freckled man out of his mind.

Throwing off his shoes and shirt, he hopped into bed with a frustrated groan, reveling in the rare silence that permeated the night.

No, he couldn't stop thinking about the freckled man that kept staring at him. There was something familiar about him. Something he couldn't quite place.

Yawning, Marco decided to drop it. He'd figure it out later, when he wasn't so tired. He was sure he'd see the freckled man again, if not soon then later since they lived in the same complex.

Feeling his eyes begin to droop, Marco allowed himself to drift off into a peaceful sleep where there was not the constant creaking of begs or loud shouting.

Only silence…

CRASH!

Bolting up, Marco looked towards his open doorway where the sound had come from. It sounded like glass—expensive glass—shattering into a million tiny shards.

Scrambling from the bed, Marco quickly retrieved his baseball bat, which he kept close to the door in case something like this happened. It was, no doubt, probably a low-end thief. Marco doubted the robber stood a chance against him. After all, he had been trained pretty well by his father in hand-to-hand combat.

Creeping silently out of his room and down towards the kitchen, Marco kept his bat close and ready to strike just in case.

Flipping on the lights, Marco could hardly believe his eyes. Splayed ungracefully on the ground, wrapped up in the curtains, was the freckled boy from the elevator.

The freckled man looked up at him, a wide sheepish grin spread across his freckled face.

"Um, help."

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