by Darcia Helle
He was starved, plain and simple. If Mitchell had food, he was there.
"Come on, you fucking mooch," Mitchell sighed. He led the way into his cubbyhole of a kitchen and jumped easily onto a square of counter that was barely bigger than the knees that suddenly occupied it. He stuck his head in a cabinet. "There should be some pancake mix left… Eric said he hadn't finished it."
Trevor strained to hear Mitchell's muffled voice. It was useless to say that he didn't like pancakes. Mitchell knew. And, like the brotherly-type he was, Mitchell didn't care. He knew Trevor would shut up and eat almost anything -- including, their first time in Edinburgh, haggis. If he'd survived that smelly shit, he could survive anything Mitchell could concoct on that grill of his.
Mitchell pulled out of the cabinet, the pancake mix in his hand. The fine dust that fell out when the box was upended made Trevor suspicious.
"Weren't you at the grocery to pick up last night's dinner? Start cooking."
"No." Mitchell jumped down and disappeared into his bedroom. When he returned, having added a t-shirt and his usual black tennis shoes to his oh-so-fashionable attire, he motioned Trevor out of the apartment.
"Or was the redhead dinner?" Trev asked as innocently as he could.
Mitchell snorted. "I need something to eat tonight. I'm sick of going out so damn much." He smiled indulgently. "Even if she was worth it. Trev, I'm telling you…"
"Where we headed?" he interrupted, not overly surprised when Mitchell grabbed his beat-up leather instead of his tour jacket. The guy looked like a slob. He could have been anyone instead of ShapeShifter's oh-so-hot frontman. Probably wanted to be, too.
Trevor tossed his head, feeling his hair move in a sheet, it was so long. Trevor Wolff reeked of rock star, not of who he'd been. That kid had been left behind, almost from the day the Vosses had said he would live with them.
"We're going to Roach's, of course," Mitchell said. "I'll drive."
"That's 'cause your sorry ass is too chicken to get on my bike."
"After last time, my ass is glad to be alive."
"Your ass would've been even happier today if you'd kept your date last night."
"I doubt that," Mitchell said and took another companionable swipe at the back of Trevor's head.
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