They sat apart on the bus journey to work, Mitch missing the company of his headphones which he realized he must have left at the restaurant, having to make do with simply staring out of the flimsy glass windows, watching the world pass by.

It was a beautiful day, he couldn't deny it. Streams of sunlight fell through the thick wall of trees that stood alongside the road, filling up every space between the leaves with warm, sugary light. The rays tumbled down onto strands of grass, which gleamed with remains of the morning dew. The sky had ripened from a fresh orange color into a pale blue. Wisps of white clouds stood unmoving. They were so thin they appeared to be stray brush marks on a blue canvas, like the one his mom was painting in his dream, or traces of powdered sugar on a baker's azure counter top.

I've started seeing food everywhere I look. Mitch began hypothesising that if he looked at one location for long enough, the trees would turn into baguettes and the birds would morph into chicken wings.

Scott was sat a couple of rows ahead of him, head back, talking companionably to the driver, feet up on the opposite seats so he gave himself the added task of having to move every time a new passenger got on, inviting them in often with a loud and rambunctious greeting, one they either returned cordially or ignored with averted and sleep deprived eyes. Every so often Mitch would glance over to see the blond staring in his direction, a stare that was quickly flicked away whenever he was caught, doing that thing where he pretended he just happened to be looking in that general direction, not at Mitch himself.

Bathed in the warm glow of sunlight, it would have been hard to believe he was a man who had been out until the early hours of that same morning, drinking his own body weight in alcohol and then only getting a few hours sleep. Maybe his eyes were still slightly red, maybe he didn't hold himself as tall as usual, but unlike Mitch, who was pretty sure there were zombies who'd had better days, he looked pretty well put together.

How do you get to that level of hiding ability? Angry and betrayed he might feel, Mitch couldn't deny the fact that picking the blond's brains to try and analyze the factors that created such a man, would be a fascinating social experiment. What exact experiences had trained Scott's emotions into simulating an almost perfect cover story? That he was happy, relaxed, well put together. Almost perfect...he'd almost had Mitch fooled too; fooled enough anyway for him to not run away when Scott made a move on him at the club. If he closed his eyes, Mitch could still feel the sensation as Scott's tongue slid wantonly around his mouth, how their breaths intermingled as he left a permanent mark on Mitch's lips. The young man had a feeling it was going to leave him with some restless nights, not like he needed any more of those. I'm so stupid.

Breaking too hard as was this driver's apparent habit, the sudden movement at least allowed Mitch to notice they had arrived and his period of solitude had come to an end. Hopping off at the desired stop, he and Scott returned to the awkward silent walk that took them to the restaurant, the older man jogging ahead when they got close enough so he could go and check on "his girl". Scott's bike was safely tucked away around a corner, the red paint shining brightly in the sun, but by the way the man ran to check on it, you would have thought it was his second child.

"Wassup girl?" he called out cheerfully as he gave the vehicle a once over; Beyonce and Art clucking inquisitively as he strolled past their coop, jerking their heads side to side as they excitedly wondered if it was feed time.

Mitch left him to it, marching through the staff door to find a few of the others already inside. Kate and Danny were a welcome change, though clearly hungover they said hello to him warmly as always, two people who were not a part of last night's revelations. Unfortunately they both left just as Scott walked in, and the two were left alone again. Fate was not smiling kindly on him today. Getting changed into their work clothes was also a silent affair, rustlings of fabric and shuffling of feet the soundtrack to their routine, whilst in the background the usual clattering and clanging of a restaurant kitchen rousing from it's own sleep filtered into the room.

"Christmas time, mistletoe and wine!"

"Children singing Christian rhyme!"

By the sounds of Christmas melodies come more than half a year early, comedic geniuses Avi and Kevin had clearly already arrived; two more men who appeared to have limitless supplies of energy. Mitch didn't know where his opinion on them sat anymore either. So far, neither had done anything wrong in his eyes, at least not directly, and they were at least somewhat ignorant to the fact that Scott had been leaving his four year old son to fend for himself in lieu of a good night out. But they also knew about Kirstie, Mitch had heard them talking about her, Avi was still insistent that they were a match made in heaven. They knew who she was and what Scott's deal was with her. So why did it take someone who had known the man mere weeks to be the one to see through his lies?

Well he hasn't tried making out with them, Mitch answered himself. At least not that I know of. He was the only one who had seen Scott behave as he had around Fox that night.

Scott finished changing before Mitch, sauntering off whistling a tune fit for a Disney movie and his smaller counterpart stalked his route, wondering if he stared at the man hard enough he'd be able to see through his flesh to what he was really made of, however the distressed buzzing from the flies caught in the ceiling lights was a slight distraction to his attempted psychic powers and the walk from the staff room to the kitchen was not a long one anyway.

Chains rattling as they were swept aside, the aroma of spices and herbs filling his senses, Mitch lowered his gaze quickly to protect his still sensitive eyes from the intense unnatural white light. "Morning all," Scott greeted with his usual easygoing charm, head held high, sending a bright smile to everyone within range.

"Scotty," Avi gave him a friendly nod complete with his own signature grin, before noticing the smaller man entering behind him. "Mitchy," he nodded again, although this time looking slightly puzzled. It was apparent he hadn't been expecting the two faces at the same time.

Kevin appeared with an equally beaming smile of his own, hands already full with a massive fryer that wobbled precariously as he made sure Mitch knew he was also pleased to see him this fine morning.

Is constant enthusiasm a disease? Do I need to get these lot checked out?

Mitch amused himself as he played out the scenario in his head.

Oh what are you in for?

I've got a respiratory infection. You?

Oh I just really love Beyonce!

"You two arrived together?" Avi asked Scott while Mitch headed straight to where he always knew he was supposed to be first thing in his shift. Chicken, chicken and more chicken. Kevin gave him a friendly nudge as he passed him and a few others called out pleasant greetings. He heard Scott responding to Avi's query with practiced fluidity.

"Yeah lucky coincidence I s'pose," he replied casually, like he hadn't thought much about it himself. "Everybody here?" he asked, creating a natural change in conversation.

His older friend huffed with a knowing smirk. "Mario messaged me five minutes ago saying he's only just woken up."

Scott chuckled leaning back against the counter while slipping his prized notebook out of his jacket pocket and beginning to take his customary notes. "Let me guess: set his alarm to go off ten times but-"

"Threw it across the room the moment the first one went off," Avi finished the sentence for him and the two shared another laugh, although Scott shook his head in slight exasperation afterwards.

"He's gonna need to sort himself out," he declared, loud enough so the other staff could hear it as a warning for themselves as well. "Can't be happening every time."

Mitch drifted off into work mode, his hands working automatically as he completed his tasks quickly and efficiently. Scott's earlier part of the morning was a lot less hands on than his was and so his initial hour or so had the man stopping by every so often to check up on him. His answer was always the same. He was fine thank you and no, there was nothing wrong.

As business picked up, the small talk that was common in the morning shifted seamlessly into demands and barking orders from the more experienced chefs, while the rest of them followed their commands to a tee. Label and stock ingredients, measure ingredients, wash vegetables, chop meat, reduce sauces, parboil food, prepare entrees, repeat. Enjoy might be too strong a word to express how he felt about the work, but it wasn't all that bad, there was even something relaxing about it after his body acclimatised and got into the swing of things.

In fact, the heavy workload was just about enough to keep his mind off the image of a scared little boy, until the subject was broached by Avi when rush hour was long over and they were getting ready for the even busier evenings. "Was Sarah mad last night?" he had asked in the midst of proposing new dishes to Scott.


A pause, enough time for Mitch to perk his head up and glance over just in time to notice the split second when the blond's eyes widened in panic and his shoulders tensed in nervousness before he placed his mask on and nodded, laughing ruefully. "Yeah, you could say that," he lied to his friend's face, "couldn't you Mitchy?" he added, looking over to the stunned prep cook.

Knife sliding dangerously as his hand slipped on the pepper he was chopping, the smaller man sent him a glare that could kill. Are you really asking me that? Not only was Scott asking him not to tell anyone about his failings but now he wanted him to blatantly lie in front of all his co-workers, practically opening up the opportunity for Mitch to come clean and hand off the responsibility to someone else but obviously expecting that he had somehow earned enough respect and loyalty to believe that would not happen.

It was so tempting, God it was so fucking tempting, like he was an eager dog and Scott was waving a tennis ball in front of his face. Go fetch and bring it back to me like a good boy. Well what if Mitch decided he wanted to run off with that tennis ball of information, straight into oncoming traffic. Actually that scenario ended considerably worse for him than anyone else, but maybe that would be true to real life. Think about it. What good am I going to do if I cause a scene now?

A hot and steamy kitchen filled with pointy knives and cleavers, as well as many passionate and fiery people, was decidedly not the best place to bring up Scott's issues in his personal life, no matter how much Mitch felt like sticking it to him for daring to coerce him into in his work of fiction.

And so reluctantly, the young man placed his own mask on, one he used to reserve for only the most pretentious of clients back in the big city, the ones who had to be assured that he thought the sun shined out of their ass before they would agree to work with them. That was the type of character he needed to channel in order to maintain a calm expression and answer with: "I couldn't say. I was very drunk."

Scott made no motion to show if he approved or disapproved of Mitch's little ironic statement, hitting back with a cheeky reply that couldn't have come out more naturally if they'd rehearsed the scene a dozen times over. There they were, the two lead actors in a play only they knew of, each just waiting for the other to slip up.

"Yeah you were," Scott winked at him. "Talking of drunk..." he hurriedly left that line of questioning in the dirt and encouraged everyone to focus on more trivial matters, holding up his scraped up hand for all to see. "D'you boys and girls know where this battle wound came from?" More tales from that night were spun and the other's thoughts on Scott and the imaginary Sarah dissipated.

As the evening drew in Mitch felt his heart grow heavier, the slip of paper in his pocket like a lead weight, unnaturally heavy, making vigorous movement difficult, and was a constant presence in everything he did. No matter how hard he tried, he could not fully rid himself of the overhanging dark cloud. Every dish served up somehow reminded him of last night; dancing at The Den, the cab journey home, Scott shouting at him, Fox's little face poking out from under the covers, his dreams of a childhood that still haunted him.

By the end of his shift both his body and mind were about ready to collapse and he had left as quickly and quietly as possible, only giving Kevin - who might have sensed there was something not quite right with him that day - the time to pull him into a brief hug before he was out of the door, calling out: "Bye guys." They all returned the greeting, even Scott. It was quite nice, the feeling of being...noticed?

Falling asleep on the way home had been impossible but he was lucky enough to be known to the driver by now, and was kindly awoken when they reached his stop. A gust of cool wind swept around him as he kicked the gate open, the first he had felt in a long while without being on the back of a motorcycle.

Wyatt was there to greet him by the door, as had become habit over the past week or so, mewing happily as he did a figure of eight around Mitch's legs before he was given permission to move, trotting off towards the kitchen expectantly so the man was obliged top up the little cat's dish before getting food for himself. Microwave meal, as was the standard. He was really going to have to start doing what the others did, spending a few of his free hours pre-cooking food that he could then store away and eat when he pleased.

He sat in front of the TV, trying to pay attention, but as always the shows bored him and besides, there were much more pressing matters to hand. The dilemma that had been bugging him all day. Setting his plate to one side he reached into his pocket and pulled out the piece of paper, staring over the scrawling writing as if the code to the answer to all his problems was hidden within. Maybe it was, if he just took the initiative.

Should he do it? Was it really the right call?

After what seemed like hours of deliberation but in reality was ten minutes at most he flung his hands into his lap and dropped his head backwards. Groaning out loud he set the paper down on the coffee table, gazing up at the ceiling.

There was going to be no decision making tonight. He needed more time to think on it. Until the end of the week seemed like a sensible period of time. And so that was how long he gave it.

His following four days of work passed even more enjoyably than the previous week, in terms of his growing relationship with his colleagues and his adeptness in the kitchen itself. No one needed to tell him what to do anymore, he knew exactly what was expected of him and when. He was part well oiled machine, and was even accomplice to a few small pranks. He could even have sworn Cesar gifted him with a small smile one time. Good people, they all were, and somehow he was beginning to find himself as one of them.

On Friday he was given leave to clock out early as it was a "quiet night" and for the first time, just before he left, Mitch had a foray into front of house. It definitely wasn't a quiet night from his point of view but then he guessed he never saw what it normally looked like, except for brief glances when the wait staff would dash in and out. The restaurant had been full. An old couple eating side by side, one glass of wine each, studiously bent over their meals. A group of young women in their thirties collapsing with helpless giggles as a stern woman dining alone nearby looked on and frowned. Businessmen in their grey suits letting off steam for the first time that day. Japanese tourists, trying to decipher the menu. A family and their teenage children. The noise level was high and quite frankly Mitch was not the impressed.

I see what Scott meant. There's nothing special about this place, might as well be another chain. The food may have been first class but that was the only special factor Mestizo's had going for it, and even then the chef's weren't given that much leeway with what they could create. Other than that it was bland and compact with stereotypical decor and boring music playing out of old speakers.

But it seemed popular enough, Mitch supposed. Was there really any point in trying to change it when it meant undertaking such a dodgy deal? It wasn't like it was going to earn them millions of dollars, hell they would probably be losing money for the first few months.

As he went home that day, it was with a firm decision in his mind. He'd finally made his choice. Actually Scott had helped him out a lot on that front as when Mitch had asked him multiple times during the week if he'd found anyone to help him with Fox, the blond had brushed him off and told him to stop nagging him about it. A strange approach for someone who at the same time had clearly been trying to win the younger man over, or for want of a better word, flirting. Offers of lifts home or extra breaks, complimenting him for the smallest tasks that a monkey could have carried out with little difficulty, the consistent light touches on his arm and shoulder. If Scott thought that tactic was going to work him back into the good books he had another thing coming.

Mitch never really liked that sort of approach anyway, never been too fond of the long and drawn out flirtatious banter that was meant as ritual for guys his age. His only previous long term relationship had been initiated by the other spilling coffee over him during a boring college lecture and then immediately asking him out, red-faced, for coffee in way of apology. Direct and to the point, no pussyfooting around.

Travis had been a nice boy, a scholarship kid over the moon to be attending the prestigious business college. The type of guy Mitch was always told he was lucky to have; his charismatic and far more outgoing counterpart. Mitch had always been the one punching above his weight in that relationship. Being with Travis meant going out with friends, or actually getting invited out in the first place. It was lazy Saturdays just spend watching movies in bed and a skiing trip to Canada that was one of Mitch's fondest memories, even if he had turned out to be absolutely shit at skiing.

Travis had visited his parents every weekend, often with flowers for his mom or some DIY tool for his dad. Travis had always talked about his want to settle down and raise a family. Travis had always been considerate and giving to Mitch's wants and needs...and Mitch had called it off.

To the outside eye it seemed like he ended the relationship when it couldn't have been stronger, but honestly he couldn't have coped any longer. Just like an addict, Mitch had lived throughout that relationship with a subconscious awareness that he would inevitably destroy whatever good he and Travis had, and that anxiety had been the backdrop to every moment. And so he had self-medicated the fear, worked harder, tried new ways to become a different person and clung more tightly to what he desperately wanted. The times he inevitably self-sabotaged and acted out in ways that betrayed his values, those experiences were laden with soul-crushing shame. Like he had just woken up inside a nightmare. In part it was because he had no idea why he was doing it. He had an almost separate self who was doing those things.

When asked why, he struggled to give an answer he knew would be accepted. The answer of, "I'm going to mess up or mess myself up if I stay in this relationship" didn't seem adequate enough. It wasn't even as if Travis had been forcing him to change, it was just what Mitch had instinctively done. He'd loved what Travis had represented, he'd loved the idea of him and he'd loved the idea of being known as his boyfriend. But he knew all too well that the good things in life were fleeting and yes, you could say he had run. A habit he had yet to drop.

He used to think he admired what Scott represented, had even felt jealousy for the man's situation and attitude to life and all it had gifted him. Now he was starting to think the man might be as messed up as he was.

Him and Travis hadn't stayed together for long, been over before they were out of college. Fleeting though it was Mitch didn't regret it. It had proved a good lesson in dealing with letting go, with accepting that love was never easy and often brutal. It had certainly toughened him up to say the least. He wondered what the man was doing now. He hoped he'd found someone more worthy of his love.

Talking of toughing up, he really needed to give himself a kick up the ass and make the damn phone call. It was now or never. Half past one on a Saturday, hopefully he wouldn't be catching them in a rush.

Taking the call outside into the warm midday air, his hands shook as he pulled the tiny slip of paper from his pocket, the creases firmly worn in from a week of sitting under a magazine on his coffee table.

Glancing around he noticed the only company he had was his elder neighbour, sitting on a deck chair on the opposite balcony who, from the smell of things, was smoking a hell of a lot of weed.

Wrinkling his nose but remaining outside, Mitch shook out the tension his hands and hurriedly dialled the number into his phone, not wanting to wait around any longer. The call was answered after a short period, the dialling ending only to be replaced with an ambient office sound and the sound of paper rustling, followed by a loud crash and someone swearing under their breath.

Mitch swallowed to clear his throat, frowning as he wondered what on earth was going on at the other end of the line. "Hello?" a woman's voice finally echoed down the speaker, slightly out of breath but professional and polite all the same, obviously well practiced in phone manner.

"Hello?" Mitch replied, his own phone etiquette temporarily forgotten as he resorted to simply parroting what he had already heard.

"Um, this is Kirstie speaking, have you got the right number?" She sounded rushed, the noise of papers and what could be a stapler being used, making him wonder if he'd caught her at a bad time.

"Sorry yes...I um," he cleared his throat again. "I'm a colleague of Scott's...Scott Hoying?"

There was another pause and Mitch felt like if he listened hard enough he would be able to hear the other's brain ticking over those few words. "Is this a prank?" she questioned, suspicion evident as was probably prone to those who knew Scott and his associates. Especially someone who was the current infatuation of one Avi Kaplan.

"No," Mitch laughed lightly, reassuring her. "No ma'am not at all, I just wondered if you had a few minutes spare to speak to me...it's about Fox." Polite and to the point, it had the desired affect.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name earlier," she replied.

"Mitch Grassi...we've met once before, when you came to see Scott the other day."

Kirstie gave no indication that she remembered that encounter or had indeed paid attention to who he was, but she was satisfied with his answer. "Go ahead," she responded, all ears now.

And so Mitch began to recount that night for her, explaining briefly the lead up to going out, putting emphasis on Scott's blasé approach to forgoing all parental responsibility and lying to his and the others faces about having someone looking after Fox, but leaving out the parts of the actual partying, the small conversations and the more intimate moments...that wasn't what Kirstie needed to hear anyway.

When he reached the part of the story when he and Scott had arrived at the older man's home, audible sighs could be heard and Mitch made sure to mention the way Scott had acted while in his drunken stupor, uncaring and angry, unpredictable and out of character. He told Kirstie he'd stayed the night out of a guilty conscience not allowing him to leave the boy, skipping the part about him sleeping in the boy's bed.

Once he had finished another long pause followed and Mitch found himself holding in breath in fear he might interrupt some important thought process. "I see," Kirstie finally said, her voice tight as she then left Mitch waiting for another few seconds. When she did speak up, it was not with the question he would have expected first. "And so Scott has no idea that you're calling me?"

Mitch frowned, pacing up and down the balcony. "I don't think he would have let me, he basically begged me to keep the whole thing a secret from everyone." He pursed his lips. "Why does it matter?"

"I just wondered if you were really doing this for the right reasons," she queried lightly, and even though she still sounded just as polite and friendly as earlier, Mitch couldn't help but note a slight judgemental tone to her wording.

Hold on a sec, since when did this turn into a character assessment of me?

Then again, perhaps he was just reading in between the lines too much, as was a bad practice of his, and he bit back a reply that went along the lines of how she should mind her own business, settling for a: "I don't really know what you mean."

"I was just curious as to whether you were contacting me because you love them and want them to be happy," she replied matter of factly.

Leaning over the railing, Mitch peered down into the murky waters of the pool, the leaves floating around like mini gondolas, a few unlucky ants using them as rafts to carry them to safety. "I don't love them," he told the woman shortly. "I barely even know them."

"You know them well enough to take my number from their fridge." she pointed out. He had no reply for that and he didn't bother offering her one. Gathering that she wasn't going to get an answer, Kirstie sighed, pointing out: "It seems Fox has made quite the impression on you."

Mitch smiled despite himself, the limited memories he had with the child warming his chilled heart. "He's a very sweet little boy," he said earnestly.

A laugh from Kirstie, and then: "And Scott?"

Complicated, infuriating, annoying, idiotic, irresponsible, childish; take your pick.

"He's a hard worker," he told her. That much was the truth anyway.

"Not usually the first words people use to describe him."

See above.

"He's just a guy I work with, listen," he didn't want to get bogged down in any deep relationship analysis. He just wanted to get what he called for. "I don't mean to be rude but shouldn't you really be more concerned about Fox rather than my relationship with them?"

"Of course Mitch," Kirstie replied politely. "I just like to make sure I have the full picture in my head before I write out a report, I'm not putting any blame or judgement onto you."

"Okay," Mitch said, nodding and lightly nudging Wyatt, who had come out to join him, out of the way as he began pawing at his leg. "Okay I can understand that," he conceded. He supposed that was part of her job after all. "So you are going to write up a report?" he asked for clarification.

"I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't. I'm gonna have to pass this one on to Angela, my superior." Was that a slight note of regret Mitch could detect in her voice?

"And then what happens?" he asked, eager to know if his days of worrying could be put to one side when it came to Fox and Scott.

More paper shuffling and he heard the sound of pen being put to paper. "We will add it to our list of things to consider in the near future."

"For the investigation, right? You're keeping tabs on him to see if Fox needs to go into foster care." Mitch couldn't help himself, he was going to squeeze Kirstie's brain for every bit of information he could get, like he was doing background research into a client again, an eager hound dog.

"He told you this?" she queried, surprised.

"Not all of it...it's not hard to work out though."

Kirstie clicked her tongue in her mouth. "Scott is one of many young parents we keep tabs on," she stated simply.

Right, this was a big city, there were bound to be plenty of young adults with equally young children and Mitch knew social services were never known for getting huge amounts of funding. But he needed to know that something was going to be done. Action ought to be taken sooner rather than later, less people always got hurt that way.

"Any idea when you'll know what's going to happen?" he pestered her for more.

"Even if I did know, I would not be telling someone who merely considers themselves a work colleague all the details," she answered, the slimmer of judgement creeping back into her tone. "Things as sensitive as this are never rushed though," she insisted.

"It must be soon," he continued. "I heard Scott mention it had been a while, you're gonna come to a conclusion soon."

He stopped. Couldn't be taking it too far with the badgering. He wanted to remain on Kirstie's good side. All was quiet on the other end, for so long that Mitch wondered if she had got up and left him jabbering into her desk.

"I'm afraid I cannot digress Mitch." She spoke so suddenly that he jumped slightly, looking around in embarrassment in case anybody had been close enough to see him. Nope he was good, old guy was still gone to the world in his drug induced trance.

"That's fair enough..." he took a deep breath. He had to say this last one thing. "But I just need to tell you that personally, I don't think he should be looking after a child, not one so young, I don't know if you've ever seen him when he's drunk, but he's not the sort of man you want around a young boy." Licking his lips, he added: "Plus all week, he's just shrugged the whole ordeal off, acted like it was nothing."

"I think the key word in that sentence was acted," Kirstie said knowingly and Mitch wished he could see her expression at that moment. "I appreciate you giving your opinion on the matter...but if I can tell you anything today Mitch, I would say not everything is as black and white as it seems." She sighed. "I know Scott, consider myself a close friend, perhaps that does make me biased...but he's not two dimensional, he's not simply good dad Scott and bad dad Scott," she said quietly. "Perhaps if you allowed yourself to hop over to his side of the valley once in a while you might gain a better understanding of the whole situation."

Alright, if there had been any doubt before, Mitch was now absolutely certain that Scott and this girl had more than just a long term acquaintance relationship. He remembered how Fox had mentioned the two had been friends for a long time and although the boy wouldn't have known exactly how close they were, from the way she was trying to defend the man, it was clear she had some deep and firmly set in stone bond with Scott.

"I know the guys who can't cope with being parents when I meet one," he responded, reddening at the tremor he was unable to keep out of his voice.

He wasn't saying he should have been taken into care. His father was never abusive or neglectful, he always had enough money on hand to make sure his son was looked after properly. He was just never very good at actually acting like a dad, someone his young self had felt he could go to in his hours of need, someone he could share an inside joke with, or simply just act carefree and childlike around.

Scott and Fox have that sort of relationship... No. A relationship like that they may have, but there were two sides to this family coin, and it was the flip side that was the most bothersome.

"So be it," Kirstie softly said, with a hint of sympathy, before she took an audible deep breath. "May I thank you on behalf of San Diego Welfare services for your time and cooperation and bid you a pleasant afternoon. Goodbye." And with that she had hung up and ended the conversation with no room for Mitch to add one more thought to the matter.

The young man held the phone away from him, giving it a look of confusion. Shaking his head, he put it back into his pocket, smiling as Wyatt jumped onto the railing and came and sat directly in front of his face, blinking at him with wide eyes.

"Humans, eh Wyatt?" he murmured, scratching the little cat behind the ear and laughing when the loud motor like purring started up. "Can't understand them, you have no idea how lucky you've got it little one."

Wyatt jumped down, having spotted an insect crawling by Mitch's feet, and began batting at it. The way the cat bounded about him reminded Mitch of the way Fox acted with Scott, the way the little boy excitedly bounced up at his father, and the way the man's grin would grow impossibly large. But that meant nothing if the blond was prone to moments of weakness. Moments of weakness got you nowhere in life. Moments of weakness had you packing your bags to flee the city in disgrace and turned you into a nobody. Moments of weakness had you ending the best relationship you were probably ever going to have. Moments of weakness were not what that little boy deserved.

Mitch thought of the laughter when he and Fox had played make believe in his room, of the beautiful day when he and Scott had spoken over cocktails at his house. He thought of the way he'd felt when Scott had kissed him, how his own body had responded in a way that was natural and instinctive and not like the Mitch he knew at all. He thought of himself as a child, lonely and bitter, too young to understand why his father acted the way he did.

He'd done the right thing. It wasn't like it had been a rash decision, he'd thought carefully about making this call. It was definitely the right thing to do.

So why did he feel so empty inside?

I'm curious to hear what are everyone's thoughts on Mitch's dilemma?