By the middle of the next week Mitch finally started to feel like he was over the new guy phase, having graduated from the rookie into just one of the team. The joyous feeling he gained from that realization was stronger than he had expected it to be.

Knowing the inside jokes, being invited in on pranks, having all their phone numbers plus several of their relatives and other friends added into his contact list; it all made him feel like a part of a team in a way he had never before experienced in his life. Even the name Mitchy was growing on him.

On Thursday, near the end of his shift, Avi had come bounding up to him, flinging a dish cloth over the younger man. Removing the wet fabric from his head, Mitch had jumped back slightly from the sight of the chef's beaming face just a few inches from his own.

"You ready for the weekend Mitchy?" he asked excitedly, grinning as the other man mock glared at him.

Mitch tilted his head in confusion. "Um, should I be?" he asked.

Avi's grin faded away. "Did you not know?" At Mitch's look of bewilderment he frowned, shouting unnecessarily loudly over to Kevin who was only standing a few paces away from him. "You were supposed to tell him!"

The older man shrugged. "I thought Scotty would tell him," he explained, pulling a face. "Shouldn't it be up to you to tell everyone anyway?"

Mitch sighed. Sometimes he swore he was working with middle school children, the length of time they could spend ribbing each other. "Tell me what?" he spoke up, looking between the terrible two.

Avi turned back to him, beaming once more and puffing himself up proudly. "The date's been altered," he stated. "We are now celebrating the birthday of yours truly on a Saturday. This coming Saturday. Gonna annoy Antonio that one, having to call in all the casual staff at such short notice..." he glanced away as he spotted a certain blond near by. "But what can you'd do eh Scotty, when your babysitter is letting you down?"

Scott looked up, surprised at being suddenly brought into the conversation, taking a few seconds to comprehend why he had been addressed, before it dawned on him and he gave Mitch a nervous smile. "Sarah...quit," he said slowly, biting his lip. "So I can't be leaving the little guy on his own," he explained, although Mitch was the only one who knew the meaning behind those words. Smiling a little wider, he declared: "He's pretty hyped up to be coming to Uncle Avi's party anyway."

His friend laughed and wrapped an arm around the blond's shoulders. "It'll be all the better because of him," he insisted. "I don't get to see the little guy enough."

Mitch could not know if that revelation was what affected his dreams that night, or if it were just some kind of weird coincidence, but that night, as he dreamt of his father again, his dreams were slightly different.

The first one he had recollection of after waking up was of him sitting at their old kitchen table. He wan't viewing his younger self though, this time he was his younger self. He didn't know how old he was, but could only speculate he was around eight, seeing as his feet only barely touched the floor.

His father was talking to him. He sounded upset, but for a while the sound was muffled to his dreaming ears, and the body he was inhabiting was only interested in the book he had in front of him. Text blurred in front of his eyes, but the young man wasn't interested in what they had to tell him, the only words he wanted to hear the the ones from his father's lips.

I don't remember this. When did we ever really both sit at the table together?

His father was leaning closer to him, he could see out of the corner of young Mitch's eyes, a figure leaning forward, reaching towards his son but not quite touching.

"Mitch," he was saying. "Mitch, please look at me."

He still didn't, no matter how much he tried to. This young version of himself was intent on ignoring the man as much as possible.

"Mitch, son," his father's voice cracked. "I just want to talk to you, I need you to talk to me."

Still the young boy made no motion to show that he was even listening.

Look at him! Why don't you just look at him?

"I'm trying Mitch, really I am. What d'you say, you and me, maybe we could go to the movies or something? You used to love going all the time."

Finally the boy had raised his head and Mitch caught a proper glance at his father. What he saw surprised him. The man looked distraught, in a way he'd never seen him before. His eyes were tired, red rimmed, his face taut from the stress, his hair disheveled, his shirt and tie a sloppy mess. He doesn't look like the man he remembers from his childhood, with his pristine suits and slicked back hair, dazzling practiced smiles and formality when speaking to his son.

"Mitchy?" his father tried once more, voice quivering.

Speak to him, Mitch tried to urge his young self. Go on just say something!

But instead he just carried on staring at the man, blank faced, unforgiving eyes, not a word spoken, and after a while, with still no response, his father sighed, walking over to him and ruffling his hair. "I love you Mitch," he says, before walking out of the kitchen, his footsteps echoing all the way to the front door.

The sound of the door slamming shut is what also jolts him out of his sleep, hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, bed sheets in a tangle, his heart thudding rapidly in his chest.

What was that? Is his first coherent thought. Was that real? He had no recollection of ever having an exchange like that between him and his father. His father had always been the one ignoring him, wanting nothing to do with the turmoil of emotions his son was going through. That was what he remembered; that was the truth. Wasn't it?

Trying to get back to sleep after that was a pointless effort. It seemed every time he closed his eyes some new scene would be before him, one that he had no memory of ever having taken placed. They ranged approximately between ages six and eleven, and each one bode a similar scenario: his father, attempting to speak to him, or offering him some form of comfort. Each time rejected or just plain ignored by a boy who acted as if he did not have any care in the world for the man.

It had left him feeling empty and confused, like his childhood had been a lie, imaginings of a neglectful father created by his own traumatised mind. But Dad was like that. We never had heart to hearts, not since mom died. Up until now, Mitch had only ever remembered the one version of the man, but were his dreams telling him there had been another?

There was no way to really find out for certain and it became another to add to the list of distractions that affected him in his everyday life. So distracted that on Saturday afternoon he ended up getting on the wrong bus to Avi's birthday, which took him ten minutes in the opposite direction before he noticed his error.

Avi and Kevin's house was a bit out of the way, taking him forty something minutes with the early mistake and no actual direct bus route. Even then he ended up walking past the turning for the road until he ran out of houses and had to backtrack on his steps.

Having taken an unnecessarily long route in reaching his destination, Mitch finally arrived at the party location. The house was a one storey cream coloured stone building, the paintwork taken off on one side to reveal the grey rocks underneath. It was a nice house except the windows had bars across them and there were a number of dead potted plants scattered about their driveway.

Having to squeeze past a grey Nissan to actually reach the front door, Mitch could hear music blaring through speakers and the laughter and chatter of at least a dozen people travelling from behind the house and the aroma of herbs and spices filled his nostrils, like Mestizo's kitchen but at the same time not, it was rare he got to smell them mixed in with fresh air and all the scents the outdoors brought with it.

A "Broken" note stuck on the doorbell, Mitch raised his fist and knocked firmly three times on the wood. The door opened almost on impact and Mitch barely had time to breath before he was being pulled into a hug. "Mitchy!" Avi's beard tickled his ear as he shouted out said man's name.

After being released from the other's firm hold, the younger man smiled and presented his host with his gift. "Happy Birthday." It was nothing special, just a box of different sauces that Scott had suggested he'd buy.

"You shouldn't have," the man gushed, deadpanning straight after: "Actually yes you definitely should have. I love presents!" He laughed loudly at the shaking of Mitch's head, stepping aside and holding his arm out. "Come in, come in. Welcome to the Kaplan and Olusola residence!" No sooner had he closed the door, there was another knock. "Oh," Avi turned back around, going to open it again, motioning for Mitch to carry on. "Everybody else is out back if you wanna head on through."

Doing just so, heading down the hallway that lead directly through the middle of the house out to the back, Mitch briefly glanced through the open doors, spying Danny kneeling on the floor looking like he was raiding the cupboards and then a bit farther down, Cesar typically hard at work, having insisted he was going to be doing the cooking for the thirty something guests.

Exiting through the sliding glass doors into the back garden it was clear nearly all the others were here; most of the staff from work plus friends and family members Mitch had yet to meet. Unlike parties back in the big city however, he felt nowhere near the same level of apprehension when it came to mingling with strangers. These people were related to or friends of Avi, so how could they be that bad? Annoying more than anything, but not mean. Almost everyone he used to know had always been so mean...and judgemental.

And the first person to spy him was most certainly neither of those things. "Mitchy!" There was no time to greet anybody else as a little ball of energy coated in dust came barrelling towards him, wrapping their arms around his legs in a tight hug.

Laughing, Mitch crouched down instinctively and lifted the boy up, grinning face to face with the hyperactive, giggling youngster.

"Hello," he said to Fox, who beamed widely a him, his two new front teeth protruding proudly out of pink gums. I'm gonna have to get a photo of you later, Mitch thought. He needed a permanent memento of this kid, especially if he might not have a chance to see him again if things panned out a particular way.

"I'm very super happy excited to see you!" Fox exclaimed, wriggling in his arms.

Mitch spun him around in the air, repeating: "I'm very super happy excited to see you too. How've you been?" he queried, setting the boy back down on the ground very gently, unsure how stable he was exactly on his fairly new limb.

Apparently it was a concern he needn't have had for as soon as his feet were on firm ground again, the four year old was running rings around him. The feeling of guilt suddenly leapt at him. He'd been meaning to visit, but work and maybe more importantly, nervousness at being alone with just Fox and Scott, had taken over.

Fox didn't quite understand what Mitch was asking him anyway, limiting his answer to just his current location. "Um, I've been drinking orange juice and Daddy always says it makes me climb the walls. D'you want to come and play?" the boy asked, immediately stopping in his bouncing and looking up at Mitch with his big, pleading blues.

"I will in a bit," Mitch promised him. "I'm just gonna say hi to the others."

"Okay, Daddy's over there setting up the table thingies," Fox pointed to the long table across the garden, before tearing off back to a game of soccer a group of teens were playing, yelling: "Neymar is back in the game!"

The garden was actually impressively big, bigger than the house itself, and the views it had over the valley were absolutely stunning.

Heading over to where Scott was busy placing a number of alcoholic beverages on a table for people to help themselves, he cleared his throat to announce his presence. "Hey," he said as the blond spun around.

"Oh hi," Scott cheerfully greeted, smiling brightly as was his speciality. "Didn't notice you'd arrived. You get here okay?"

"Got a little lost but it's nothing like trying to locate an address in New York."

The man gave him a wry smirk as he finished with his current task and lent Mitch his full attention. "You're putting me off going there more and more y'know. What with it's violence on every street corner and rats always a few feet away from you and now I'm apparently going to just get lost." He clamped and hand on Mitch's slender shoulder and squeezed it. "You just don't want me in your city, do you ?" he said teasingly.

"Whatever," Mitch rolled his eyes, although he was unable to stop the small smile from breaking out on his own face.

Only you, he thought in frustration, only you could have the ability to make me smile after everything you've done. He jumped as Danny accidentally knocked into his side carrying a cardboard box in front of him.

"Got 'em Scotty," the young man said, voice straining as he dumped the box down on the table, the sound of cutlery getting shaken as he did so.

"Cool you can– no Danny you dumbass, what are you doing?" Scott switched from his usual laid-backness into sudden annoyance, picking up the cutlery the young man had brought out in what could almost pass for horror. "These are fish and serving forks! And this," he picked up another, "this is a salad spoon."

The young black man just stared at him open-mouthed, looking down at everything like he couldn't care less what it was. "Does it matter?" he asked blandly.

"Does it matter," Scott scoffed. "Look, you might not be front of house staff, but I thought you would know your way around cutlery by now," the man chastized him, inspecting the other cutlery the man had brought out and picking out a few that were correct according to him.

"Dude," Danny groaned, throwing his head back in frustration as Scott fussed about. "It looks the same as normal. I didn't even know Avi had different sets anyway. He probably thinks they're all the same as normal too."

"No," Scott fretted, shaking his head adamantly. "See look, the fish one is smaller and has indents here, and the serving one is just heavier than normal." He shoved the spoon he was holding into Danny's face. "This is rounder and shorter than a dinner spoon, see?"

The way the younger man looked at it was similar to how Mitch might have looked at a sports car. Yes, it was mildly interesting. Did he care? No. "Yeah I guess," Danny replied, echoing Mitch's thoughts, "but who cares?"

Tightening his mouth, Scott glared at the cutlery as if it had offended him somehow. "I do," he said stoically.

Danny let out a loud groan of complaint, kicking at the ground like a naughty school boy. "But c'mon Scotty," he pleaded, "it took me ages to sift through their cupboards, they're like a bomb site–"

"No!" Scott interrupted him forcefully, throwing the evil spoon back into the box, the sound of metal on metal ringing out harshly, a dark look on his face. "Things should be done properly, it's Avi's night, things ought to be done right," he started wringing his hands together, bringing his clenched fists up to his forehead and bumping them together in agitation.

Mitch, alarmed by the dramatic and unexpected change in personality, stepped forward automatically, not knowing what he was supposed to do to help however willing to try, but before he even got close, Avi appeared seemingly out of nowhere, stepping in front of the blond and placing two strong hands on his shoulders.

"Hey, it's okay, y'know I don't mind buddy," he said softly, casting a glance back to Mitch and Danny. "You two go and get the correct sets," he requested with a small smile, switching his attention immediately back to his old friend.

Mitch stood by, unsure what exactly had just happened, but after a moment Danny sighed loudly next to him, grabbed the box and stomped off back to the house. "Fine," he called out to the two as Mitch followed hot on his heels.

Leading him back into the room Mitch had spotted him in when he'd first arrived, he threw the cupboard doors open and getting on his knees. Mitch copied his movements and was not entirely surprised to see the younger man had not been lying when he'd used the words "bomb" and "site" to describe the mess.

I guess this is almost like a second home, the amount of time they spend working at the restaurant. Not much time for clear outs.

Picking through the plastic boxes and containers for the specific cutlery, Danny initiated conversation, obviously still in a bit of a foul mood for being sent back inside. "I love Scotty man, he's been like a big brother to me," he said after a while, "but he gets real weird sometimes."

"Weird?" Mitch questioned, interest peaking. "How?"

Danny shrugged. "Like just now," he explained, "occasionally some things just set him off and he gets stressed, little stuff that most people don't pay attention to." A memory came to him and he laughed lightly at the thought. "I accidentally tore a page in one of Cesar's cooking books once and Scotty went crazy, made me go out and buy a whole new one just for a little rip!"

Well that was their superior, and someone Scott clearly had huge amounts of respect for, so it was understandable. "Maybe he's just particular," he suggested, throwing back a fork that looked like it hadn't been updated since the stone age.

"Yeah," the other man mumbled. "Obsessive more like. OCD for the dumbest shit. Oh and there was that one time...weird as fuck."

"What was that?" Mitch asked when he trailed off.

"Oh I dunno," Danny began again, "nothing really, we were all just talking about times we'd got in trouble at school and the type of shit we got up to as kids, and he says summin' like, you get sent upstairs a lot?" Giving Mitch a searching look to check he didn't understand it either, he continued to reenact the conversation. "I was like, you mean to my room?, and he was like no, y'know, upstairs." Throwing the last of the cutlery into the box, he stood up, still locking eyes with Mitch's curious ones. "None of us had a clue what he was on about and he just let it go after a while," he said. "I guess they must just raise kids strange out in the backcountry."

Mitch didn't reply, following the man silently out of the cluttered room. It didn't sound like much but he hadn't been there at the time and if he knew anything, he knew that the incident a few minutes ago had definitely been weird.

Avi and Scott were there to greet them by the table, the latter with a thoroughly apologetic expression. "Thanks guys," he said, taking the box off Danny's hands, smiling ruefully. "Sorry for getting like that Danny, I had no right to get so worked up," he told him, a lot calmer now although Mitch sensed the emotions that had caused the outburst hadn't completely vanished yet.

True to form, the young man took it all in his stride, slapping a hand against the blond's arm. "It's all good dawg," he insisted, gold capped teeth shining, "at least it's right now. How'd you know all that stuff about the difference between them anyway? Cesar been giving you more private tutoring?"

"No...I just know about these sort of things. Read about it once." Danny looked like he was about to argue that point but Avi hastily took him aside and gave him another job to do. Mitch too wasn't sure about that one. He could perhaps believe the blond had picked up a book maybe once or twice in his non-school life, but a book on table etiquette? That seemed a bit unlikely.

He was distracted from his curiosities when a little voice perked up. "Let me help!" Fox shouted, running across the lawn, his clothes even dustier than before and covered in grass stains.

Setting his gaze upon his son, it was like a wave of calm had rushed over Scott's body, his shoulders relaxed and his eyes brightened. "Alright Foxy boy," he said with a big grin, placing a fond hand on top of the little boy's head. "Why don't you help Mitchy lay the table?"

Nodding enthusiastically, the youngster held his hands out for Mitch to pass him the cutlery. "Okie dokie!"

Mitch handed him a handful of forks and the boy strolled around the table, taking twice as long as Mitch probably would have on his own seeing as he could barely reach, but the young man wasn't about to complain. Just being in Fox's company had some sort of affect on him that he was only just beginning to understand. It was being in the presence of someone so pure and innocent, a feeling he couldn't remember experiencing since he was a young boy himself.

Having relieved himself of his duties of his own accord, the young boy took to just following Mitch around, chattering happily to him, mainly about soccer and his favourite players. He had also been staring at his hands and arms for a while, and eventually spoke up about what he found so interesting. "Did that hurt?" he asked, poking at the bats on Mitch's hand, tracing the outline with one tiny finger. "Daddy says his one under his arm hurt."

"Only a little," Mitch told him. "I don't mind it too much."

Fox grinned at him. "They look cool, right?" he affirmed, inspecting the other tattoos he could visibly see and nodding in approval. "I wanna get tattoos when I'm big, loads of 'em! Daddy says I'd be good with pain cause I've already been really brave when my leg got broke off. He says I was the bravest baby in the whole hospital!"

"I'm sure you were," Mitch assured him earnestly. "You should get a fox tattoo," he suggested, his heart warming at the look of delight that spread across the boy's face.

"That was one of my ideas!" Fox claimed, looking at him in adoration. "You guessed that from my name didn't you?"

"You got me," Mitch smirked, setting the last of the cutlery down, hoping that he hadn't put them the wrong distance apart or something else that might set Scott off again. "There I think we're done," he said to the boy, holding his hand up. "High five."

The boy gladly met him up top - or down low, depending on who's perspective you were judging it from - and somehow, using every bit of natural charm he had inherited and tactics he'd learnt over the years, he managed to convince Mitch into playing soccer with him until dinner was ready. Or rather Mitch stood still while the young boy kicked the ball at him.

When food was eventually served it was a sight to behold. Cesar and his brother had pulled out all the stops when it came to feeding the party and then some. The table top was layered with trays of the most delicious food, delicacies capable of making Mitch's mouth water on sight: roast deer with sprigs of rosemary, stuffed with bacon and rye bread, marinated chicken, grilled trout with lemon, smoked sausages and a pineapple glazed ham, mounds of fragrant wild rice, potatoes and diced pumpkin smeared with butter and spices, countless cheeses that went with baskets of crackers and bread rolls shaped as seashells, and all sorts of varieties of salads and side dishes.

Mitch and Fox were mirror images of one another as they stared at the assortment in such astonishment they could have passed for scared. "That. Is. Amazing." A wide eyed Mitch said simply, causing the others to laugh. Clearly they were not quite as foreign to the wonders their executive chef was capable of cooking up with limited time and resources.

Avi was like an excited dog, practically jumping all over the food, throwing everything onto his plate. "It does, doesn't it kid?" he agreed with Mitch, grinning cheekily at his superior. "I knew we kept old Cesar around for a reason."

"Less of the old," the man said gruffly, keeping his head down, but Mitch saw the shadow of a smile grace his lips too.

"Yeah, this is the sort of food we should be serving," Scott spoke up through a mouthful of chicken. "Not the same old stuff again and again."

Everyone called out their agreements to that statement, Mitch included, secretly pleased to be part of their little rebelling, and then for a while the only main sounds were of people contentedly chewing. Of course that could never last for long with this crowd and pretty soon the usual banter had started up.

Mitch took to listening to other people's conversations, not because he felt left out but purely because some of the stuff he heard was hilarious, children's ones included.

The only other child Fox's age was a little girl who seemed to think very highly of herself, talking to the boy who was a very eager if slightly apprehensive listener. "But I'm very special," Mitch heard her telling him, brushing her golden locks to the side as she said so. "I know words like dangerous and dynamite and doppelgänger and dictionary and...I might be the most special here."

She said it so seriously that Mitch almost choked on his drink in laughter. Fox however, stared at her in awe, quickly nodding his head when he realized she was waiting for his reaction. "You might be," he readily agreed.

Mitch did laugh into his drink then, making a gurgling sound that earned him a teasing nudge from Avi, who had also been listening in. Learning the smooth talking moves already. "I'm sure Foxy boy is very special too," Kevin, who was sat next the two kids spoke up, giving the young boy a smile. "What's something special about you kiddo?" he encouraged.

The little boy thought hard for a few seconds, resting his chin on his hand in concentration before his face lit up. "Um, Daddy telled me I got a lion mane and when I grow up I'll have a big beard," he announced loudly so his father could hear. "And if I be very special," the boy continued pointing to his cheeks, sharing a cheeky knowing grin with the blond, "lion whiskers might grow out of my freckles."

Kevin pulled a purposeful astounded expression. "Wow," he said in awe and Mitch cracked up with the others at Fox's description.

Dinner carried on; drinks were thrown back although nowhere near as much as Mitch had expected. In fact, Scott seemed to steer clear of it altogether, sticking to water. Now and then he would catch Mitch's gaze from across the table and smile at him, but they didn't talk much beyond "Can you pass me (insert delicious food)?"

It wasn't until after they had finished eating and Fox almost forcefully pulled them together by his want to play with the both of them, that they had more time to talk. Even then there was something almost forced about the interaction. For the past week Scott would normally have taken the opportunity to continue on with the charade that they had something between them. It was probably because Fox was there, that was what Mitch told himself. It's not like I wanted him to do it. I don't like it anyway.

"And for tonight's entertainment," Kevin called out, silencing the chatter as he disappeared around the side of the house with Mario and rolled out an object covered in a white sheet. "Happy Birthday brother," he said with glee as he pulled off the sheet with a flourish to reveal his gift to the birthday boy.

Avi's first reaction was alarm, his jaw dropping as he stared incredulously at the object he had been presented with. "And where are we supposed to fit this?" he asked.

Kevin grinned evilly at the piano that now stood proudly at the center of attention. "Your room," he retorted, dodging quickly out of the way as Avi made a move to tackle him.

"It's only a digital one, I wouldn't be getting too excited," Scott called out, laughing too.

Still not over his shock, an idea formulating in his mind, his bearded friend turned back to him in excitement. "Really I should be letting our resident pianist do the honors first," Avi said, winking at the younger man.

Kevin coughed into his hands, letting out a muffled "penis" instead, which earned him a cuff about the back of the head from the blond.

"You," Avi clicked his fingers at the younger man, pointing to the piano. "I command that you play for me," he said with an air of put on superiority.

Scott shifted his weight from foot to foot awkwardly, shifting uneasily at the sudden attention and expectant faces on him. "I, uh..."

"C'mon Scotty!" Kevin encouraged him, pushing the younger man forward. "Play something!"

"What?" the young man asked, eyes darting about, hoping for an escape.

"Anything!"

Fox ran up to him, tugging at his hand happily. "Please Daddy!" he begged, putting the pleading puppy face to good use. Scott looked around some more, then back at his son's big eyes, and sighed loudly, sauntering cautiously over to the instrument.

A chair was placed behind it for him and he sat down with a visible apprehension. For someone who seemed to like the limelight so much, Mitch found it amusing that he was getting so flustered.

At first it looked as though the man was going to remain simply staring at the instrument, embarrassment having taken over but he managed to take himself into his own world, relaxing, and after a few deep breaths to ready himself he started to play, a slow, simple yet somehow beautifully crafted melody, his fingers dancing over keys like magic.

And then he started to sing.

"This road I walk, do you know where it takes me?"

His voice was low and gentle, almost reflective, and Mitch found himself immediately lost to it all. There was something about the vibrations that felt so heavenly, as if it were liquid energy seeping right through his skin.

"This road I walk, am I the only one who see's?"

Everyone was already completely enraptured in the performance but Mitch sensed that Scott played for no one but himself, and even though the lyrics were so simple there was also something so sad about them, something so personal.

"Oh life, it shines it's brightest when you're here by my side."

The wistful tune slowed and then he stopped singing and just continued to play, the melodies casting themselves out into the evening air. Still the man was silent, head lowered so his expression was obscured, hair falling in front of his face.

Only a minute later, when you could tell the piece was coming to an end, did he start up again, his voice barely above a whisper but still as soulful and passionate as earlier.

"This road I walk, do you know where it takes me? This road I walk..." His voice tapered off, the words diminishing into silence as the man was unable to finish the lyrics and he ended with a sigh, before turning to face his captive audience and giving them a little nod of his head, indication that the show was over.

As he stood up the pain across his face was clear for all to see, and in the hushed atmosphere he quickly made his way through the crowds to find some empty space.

Mitch watched him go, an unexplained sadness filling his own heart as Kevin quietly spoke up beside him. "That was their song."

"Who's?" Mitch tilted his head in query, still keeping his gaze on Scott's retreating figure.

"Scott and Issy's," Kevin clarified. "Y'know about her, right?"

Mitch nodded.

"I don't think I've heard him play that since she..." He cut off and looking at him, Mitch saw that the song had brought back emotional memories for him too.

"Daddy's sad," Fox stated, equally upset by the sight of his father, little face watching his idol in confusion.

Avi came over at that point, crouching down by the little boy. "Hey," he said, nudging the boy's cheek. "Why don't you and me go clean up and see if there's any left over dessert?"

Somewhat reluctantly the boy left with his Uncle Avi and a little after Kevin followed. Clearly they thought their younger friend needed some time to himself. Mitch went to follow too but instead glanced back to Scott again, who had moved to the back of the garden, where the wooden fence was partially broken. The blond had sat himself in between the two remaining sides of fencing, sat on the floor with his back bent forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Mitch thought to leave him be, but there was something about him that just called for company, even if it wasn't very visible. Mitch of all people knew the signs of silent suffering.

Padding slowly over to the blond, he stood behind him for a moment, waiting to see if he was going to be sent away. When he wasn't he sat himself down next to him. "Not a bad view." From where they sat, they had a perfect view of the sun dipping behind the crest of the opposite hillside, sky awash and ablaze with colors found at the heart of a fire; he couldn't have imagined a better sunset. "You're good," he added, turning to Scott.

"Thanks," the man replied emotionlessly, blinking and rubbing a hand over his eyes a moment later. "Sorry, thank you," he repeated, a lot more sincerely this time, putting on a smile for the other man. "You play anything Mitchy?" he asked.

"A bit of piano. Had lessons when I was younger."

"Me too," Scott replied, chuckling lightly. "They were fucking boring." The orange glow of the sun caused his hair to shine like pure gold as he gazed out across the valley, still smirking. "All I ever played was Beethoven or Mozart of Bach shit."

"What lovely words to describe the music of the greatest composers in history."

The man laughed, the sound only coming out half forced this time. "I'm not against all that stuff. But it's nice to know how to play other genres." He moved so he was facing more towards Mitch. "My teacher always got so mad when I'd spent the week practicing Halo rather than Canon in D. Dad always found that funny..."

Mitch was taken aback for a second, for it was the first time Scott had mentioned either of his parents except for the one time where all the staff had been explaining the stories of how their parents met. Scott had told the story of how his dad had cycled to his mom's house everyday as a teenager to ask her out on a date until she said yes. But other than that sweet story he did not speak of them much. Then again neither did Mitch, or most of the others; it wasn't like talking about their parents was a common topic amongst them.

"Both would make good wedding songs," Mitch added, hoping to keep the man's spirits from dropping any lower.

"You want to?" Scott asked randomly, tilting his head in Mitch's direction. "Get married."

Mitch pulled a face at him. "To you?" he joked.

"Mitchy," the blond gasped and batted his eyes at him. "How very naughty of you."

"Says Mr Been Engaging in Preteen Flirtation All Week," he shot back.

Scott's face dropped. "Am I that obvious?"

"Were you not trying to be?" Mitch asked incredulously. "Are you that corny?"

"Probably," Scott smirked. "Believe it or not I don't have that much experience on the relationship side of things. Learnt most of what I know from movies."

Why does that not surprise me? Somehow though, as annoying as it could be, there was something sweet about knowing the way Scott was flirting with him came straight out of a teen movie.

"Me neither," Mitch slowly admitted. "We're not a thing," he made sure to add, "we only..."

"Only what?" Scott looked at him curiously.

Mitch cursed himself. He had almost slipped up, forgetting that Scott had no memory of the moment of drunken passion they had shared. "I'm still mad at you," he said simply, although his tone hardly carried the feeling of an angry man.

Scott picked at his nails nervously before looking Mitch straight in the eyes. "But you still like me?" he asked quietly.

It would have been easy to say no and shut down any further attempts of flirtation from the blond, easy to just build up his walls and shut him out. That was what the Mitch of the past would have done, that's what he'd taught himself to do. But the truth of the matter was that he had changed, in the short amount of time he'd been living here he'd changed a lot, and this new side to his personality didn't want to shut out all possibilities just because he was scared.

The truth was...the truth was he did like Scott, and that was saying something, for someone who had lied in front of his face and was far from what Mitch considered to be someone good for him. Perhaps however, that had always been the problem. Travis had been too good for him but Scott...well he had the stronger belief each and everyday that the man was just as messed up as he was, a man who hid a deep pain behind carefully constructed barriers; someone who might be able to cope with and emphasize with him, like Mitch had never trusted anyone else to do so before.

And so he didn't deny the man when he asked his question, sighing loudly and giving him a pleading look. "Scott..." He didn't want to talk about it right now.

"Okay, okay, I'll shut up," the man said, but the tiny glimmer of a smirk was proof he was happy with Mitch's reaction. "You haven't moved my hand," he then commented and Mitch looked down in surprise to notice than Scott's hand was indeed placed upon his knee, warm and comforting and most definitely in contact.

Shifting self-consciously, enough that Scott let go, he muttered: "Didn't notice it was there."

"Neither did I," Scott said cheekily, grinning into the lingering rays of orange sunlight. "I'm sorry," he said a moment later, voice serious again, "for all the trouble I've caused you."

"It's alright," Mitch replied, gaining a laugh from the blond.

"You're too nice Mitchy, too forgiving. I wouldn't have blamed you if you'd called the cops or something after...y'know." The hand was there again, although on his shoulder this time. "But you didn't, you stuck by me," Scott declared in admiration. "I'm not going to let you down."

Mitch felt his throat tighten at the man's words, knowing full well that was far from the truth and feeling the urge to reveal everything to Scott, but instead he held his restraint, merely saying: "Make sure you don't let Fox down first. You'd be doing yourself a huge disfavour if you didn't get to watch him grow up."

Though silent, he could see Scott taking in his words carefully, just like he always did when he was listening to something important. "Are you happy here Mitchy?" Scott asked quietly a little later, adding: "Away from your old home, and your old man."

For a moment Mitch was silent too. "I'm not sure," was the only answer he managed to produce after he realised Scott's intense stare was not going to lessen.

No reply. Mitch felt Scott's eyes still on him, piercing and probing. Then came a small laugh. "Y'know what?" Scott said, "I think that's the most honest thing you've ever said to me." Lifting his head back he allowed last of the light shone on his face, highlighting the few freckles around his nose and cheeks - where lion whiskers come from, Mitch smiled in thought.

He didn't know why, perhaps it was because of his good mood, but Mitch found himself revealing more than he was used to. "The past, my past, it can be scary at times but...I dunno, it's still my past, it was still the only life I knew. It's still with me," he whispered.

Scott gazed at him again, a new expression this time, and it was one of pure commonality, a sense of some connection between himself and Mitch that he had maybe only just confirmed. Searching around he picked up a piece of dried wood, placing it Mitch's perplexed hand. Then he found one for himself and smiled at the younger man. Raising the stick into the air in replacement of the usual glass or bottle, he announced: "To our pasts. May they taunt and fuck us, but never rule us."

His blue eyes looked at him expectantly and Mitch stared down at the stick in his own hand. He snorted out a laugh.

This is so dumb.

Nevertheless he gave in to Scott's puppy face and raised his own bit of dead branch towards the blazing crimson sky. "Never rule us," he repeated, taking it more seriously than he expected.

Scott then proceeded to ruin the moment by initiating a "sword fight" with him; Mitch's scream alerting everyone that all was well again with their joint favorite sous chef and bringing a laughing four year old tearing towards them, eager to join in the play.

As soon as Fox joined in, Mitch actually found he had a new found love for stick fighting. He was better at it than soccer anyway.

Giving a few small clues as to Scott's past... ;)

Thanks to everyone who's been commenting and voting, much love!