Waking was easier than it had been ... there was no resentment of the morning at 
giving up the refuge of sleep. He leant back into the steady rise and fall of Sean's
chest against his back and the warm breath that barely ruffled his hair. The sun was
already up and Viggo realised they'd both slept in. You fell asleep without setting 
the alarm, he smiled, what am I doing to you Sean?

Viggo closed his eyes and his hand drifted slowly back until it rested lightly on 
Sean's hip. Sean murmured quietly in his sleep although Viggo couldn't make out what
he was saying. The skin was smooth under his palm as he carefully explored the 
contours of Sean's hip bone. Delicate changes in temperature and texture all 
registered behind Viggo's eyelids as his fingers moved down Sean's thigh. He could 
feel the press of Sean against his buttocks and squeezed his eyes tighter trying to 
etch every touch, smell and sound in his memory. He needed this to last.

Soft lips brushed over the back of his neck before the low rumble of Sean's voice, 
"Morning Vig."

"Hey," Viggo answered quietly and withdrew his hand embarrassed that he'd been 
caught touching.

"You don't have to stop," Sean grinned against his neck.

"Yes I do," Viggo sighed, "I think we've slept in."

Sean groaned, eased away from Viggo and craned his head to look back over his 
shoulder, "Shite, I can't remember the last time I slept through my alarm."

"I think you were too exhausted to set it," Viggo muttered with a small smile.

"Mmmm ... oh yeah, I remember," Sean chuckled, "You know maybe we should just leave 
the shop closed today and spend the whole day right here?"

Although Viggo smiled at Sean's suggestion, the intimacy of it made him hesitate. He
appreciated how strange it was to feel this after all they'd been through, but a 
whole day with nothing to distract Sean from him seemed frightening ... too 
revealing. "Maybe not Sean," he said in a very small voice, "or you'll end up out 
there in my home rather than me sharing yours."

The comment, or maybe the tone of voice, made Sean stop. He rested his forehead 
against the nape of Viggo's neck wanting to tell him this was his home too, but he 
knew it wasn't true. The bottom drawer remained empty despite the state of the once
white paper bag.

He sighed, gently rubbed his hand over Viggo's shoulder and said, "Yeah, time to get
up."

Viggo felt the air cool against his back and the mattress shift as Sean got out of 
bed and headed for the bathroom.

Breakfast had already developed a comfortable routine. Viggo organised the coffee 
and set the table with Sean fussed around the frying pan scrambling eggs and adding 
unnecessary condiments. Full plates and steaming mugs were placed on the table and 
they settled to enjoy their food and quiet conversation.

Sean watched Viggo get up to pour another coffee and couldn't help but wonder what 
his life was like before. How long had it been since he shared a simple breakfast 
with his son? When Viggo handed him his mug and sat down Sean asked cautiously, "Did
you do this with Henry?"

Viggo glanced briefly at Sean and then back to his plate. "Henry hates ... hated 
eggs. He used to always try to convince me to that he was allergic."

"Was he?" Sean said hoping Viggo would continue.

Viggo huffed a small laugh and looked up, "Nah, but it was a good excuse to get me 
to make French toast."

"But doesn't that have eggs in it?" Sean frowned.

"Yes," Viggo replied with a broad grin. 

Sean laughed and shook his head, "You sound like a good dad."

Viggo stopped cutting his toast and leant back in his seat with a sighed, "I miss 
him."

Sean was at a loss what to say ... he didn't know Viggo's history; why he wasn't 
part of his son's life anymore. He nodded sadly and suggested, "After yesterday I 
think you need to see him Vig. You still have time to get the bus, take the whole 
day off if you want ... even if that just means catching up on your reading."

Viggo pushed his plate a little further onto the table and rubbed his thumb over a 
coffee mark on the lip of his mug. Sean knew to give him a little time to think it 
over and patiently piled another mouthful of egg onto his fork while he waited. It 
actually took three forkfuls before Viggo answered with a quiet, "Thanks Sean, I 
better get going."

~*~

Viggo stepped into the bus and pulled a couple of balled up notes from his pocket. 
It took him a while to straighten and sort them, no different from every bus trip, 
but this time the driver gave him an irritated look and told him to hurry it up 
rather than looking past him until he could snatch the offered money. Viggo took his
change, mumbled 'thank you' and sat in a seat near the back of the bus.

He gazed out the window and watched the world go by like he usually did, but this 
time it felt very different. He was clean, he'd eaten a real breakfast and the 
money ... well, he was almost proud of the work he'd done for the money. 

When the bus pulled up at the stop, Viggo stepped off. He still kept his head down 
and eyes on his feet. The other passengers quickly moved away, but Viggo took up his
position in the corner of the bus shelter. Although the morning sun warmed his legs
he kept himself in the shadow where he could see out without being easily noticed.

Viggo watched the usual parade of teenagers; some moving quickly from family wagons 
lest they be seen by their friends while others parked barely roadworthy but much 
loved older model cars covered in crude stickers and rust retardant paint splotches.

A couple of kids skulked into the shelter and sat on the bench. They shot Viggo a 
look, but quickly decided he was no threat to their plan to ditch school. Viggo 
listened to their excited chatter and smiled at the possibilities of youth and a 
whole illicit day.

"Hey Mortensen, come here," The taller of the two boys called out when he noticed a
blue car pull up. Viggo's heart started to pound and it suddenly became difficult to
breathe. He didn't dare look up when he heard the shouted reply of, "What?" He tried
to make himself as small as he could in the shadow of the corner.

"Wanna drive us to the city?" The other boy yelled at the driver of the car.

Henry looked over and shook his head, "Get the fucking bus you losers." He laughed 
when they shot him the bird and walked through the school gate.

Viggo didn't take in their derogatory remarks about his son or even their half 
interest in whether he was alright or about to have a heart attack. He sat quietly 
with his head in his hands until the return bus pulled up.

His hand shook when he held out the return ticket to the driver and quickly sat 
down. He'd felt completely trapped in the little bus shelter ... the thought of 
Henry seeing him, recognising him made him feel physically sick. What could I have 
done if he'd come over ... could I speak to him or would he speak to me? Would he 
even know who I am? Questions chased themselves round and round Viggo's mind until 
he forced himself to stop. He narrowed his focus on the glass of the window, mapping
each of the scratches and reading the backwards lettering of the message intended 
for those outside the bus. His breathing gradually eased until he reached the point 
that he could look up and take in his wider surroundings. He was near his stop.

It was still early when Viggo got off the bus and he hesitated unsure whether or not
to head straight back to the shop. The two teenagers jumped down the steps and ran 
off along the sidewalk laughing and arguing over what to actually do now they were 
here. He watched them push each other into oncoming pedestrians and then disappear 
into a music shop. He turned in the other direction; hands shoved deep in his 
pockets and started to walk towards 'Margins'. 

The midmorning sun was warm on his shoulders and helped dispel the cold sweat that 
had lingered since he first heard the boys call Henry's name, but the knot deep in 
the pit of his stomach was still there. Barely two blocks from the shop, Viggo 
stopped and sat on the edge of a concrete planter box. He picked up a couple of 
discarded cigarette butts and a chocolate wrapper and threw them in the trashcan 
next to the planter then looked up at the small tree. Its branches had shed the 
naked grey of winter and tender leaves were already uncurling. Viggo ran his finger 
tips over a patch of mottled bark that had obviously been picked at by another 
pedestrian seeking a quiet moment. But despite neglect and unintentional abuse, the 
tree still followed the seasons and grew. He leant forward and rested his forearms 
on his knees ... it's okay ... let it go ...

After rubbing his hand wearily over his face, Viggo stood up, took a breath and 
started to walk. 

His fingers fiddled idly with the money still in his jeans' pocket as he went to 
pass a small shop with an assortment of back packs hanging outside. Viggo stopped 
and frowned at the range of colours, brands and logos. He pulled the money out of 
his pocket and carefully counted out the change before lifting down a dark blue pack
with several pockets, but no flashy brand name.

~*~


As soon as Viggo walked through the door of 'Margins', Sean knew something was 
wrong. Viggo's body language always gave him away. "Did you see Henry?" he asked 
carefully. Viggo merely nodded without lifting his head and made his way up the 
shop. Sean and Orlando gave each other a look. 

Orlando started to move from behind the counter to follow him, but Sean quickly put
his hand on Orlando's arm and shook his head. "I'll talk to him. How about you flip 
the door sign and go get us some lunch." Orlando sighed and watched Sean walk up the
shop before putting the kettle on a low heat, grabbing some money out of the cash 
register and heading out to do his sandwich run.

Viggo was sitting quietly in his chair, his boots side by side on the floor and his 
feet tucked up underneath him. He knew one of them would be arrive to check on him 
and steeled himself for the questions.

Sean sat quietly in the spare chair and picked up the bag, he turned it over in his 
hands and attempted unsuccessfully to suppress the queasiness building in his 
stomach. He tried very hard to keep the fear out of his voice when he asked, "you 
going somewhere Vig?"

Viggo looked at the bag and then Sean. With a slight frown, he shook his head and 
gently took the pack back, "It's just to put my things in, that's all."

Sean wanted to tell he didn't need a cheap pack for that, but knew to leave it. 
Instead he smiled, closed his hand over Viggo's and murmured with a humourless 
chuckle, "You had me worried there for a minute."

Viggo gently pulled away so he could put the pack down beside his chair and then 
slowly twined his fingers in Sean's. He didn't look up from their clasped hands when
he said, "I'm sorry Sean, I didn't mean to." He paused for a moment before adding 
quietly, "I saw Henry this morning."

Sean cocked his head and watched Viggo's expression carefully as he asked, "I know 
Vig ... what's wrong"

"He nearly saw me," came the near whispered answer.

"Would that have been so bad?"

Viggo nodded and grimaced, "he can't see me like this."

"Like what Viggo? Have you looked at yourself lately?" Sean asked a little surprised.

Viggo ignored the reference to his appearance and muttered, "He's better off without
me."

Sean remembered being told the same thing when his father left and felt his 
frustration rise, "Can't he be the one to decide that?"

Although he didn't answer, Sean could see the tension in Viggo's clenched jaw and 
felt how unresponsive his hand had become. Pushing back his own 'issues', Sean knew 
to leave it for now and squeezed Viggo's fingers, "It's up to you Vig. I know it's 
none of my business."

"I love him so much Sean that it hurts like Hell to stay out of his life, but that's
how it has to be. I know how it was today and I know I couldn't speak to him and 
explain where I've been ... what I've done." He frowned briefly and added, "I 
started writing him letters a while back."

Sean looked at him with genuine curiosity, but before he could ask, Viggo shook his 
head and said, "No ... I didn't send them."

"So you still have them?" Sean queried softly.

Viggo looked down the aisle of books and gave a defeated shrug, "They were written 
in the blank bits of my sketch books ... sometimes as part of the picture. I lost 
most of them when my stuff got taken."

Sean remembered how fiercely Viggo had protected his sketchbooks when he was beaten.
Even the one he saved had the spiral spine partly torn out and many of the pages 
were ripped. With a small sigh, Sean rested a comforting hand on the back of Viggo's
neck and said gently, "Keep writing them Vig ... maybe one day he can see your 
pictures and read your words." Viggo tried to answer, but the thought of Henry 
seeing his book ... his thoughts, was too much and he gulped a breath to struggle
against the tears. Sean pulled him closer with a light kiss to his hair and a 
whispered, "He'll get to read them ... It'll happen one day Vig."

Sean glanced up to see Orlando standing hesitantly with their lunch tray not wanting
to interfere. Seeing Sean's small nod and smile, Orlando put on a grin and said, 
"Man, you two never miss an opportunity for a sneaky snog. Come on, take a lunch 
break."

Viggo gave Orlando a slightly embarrassed look and straightened up with a shaky 
breath. Orlando simply put the tray on the floor and sat cross-legged at Viggo's 
feet stretching an arm over one of his knees. 

The three men shared sandwiches, tea and comfortable conversation until Sean checked
his watch and said, "Better flip the sign again before we have the afternoon seniors
knocking at the door." He looked briefly at the back pack and added, "Put your 
shopping upstairs Vig, while I show Orlando what real work looks like."

Viggo gave a little laugh and ran his hand over Orlando's hair before picking up the
pack and wandering down the shop. Both men watched Viggo leave. 

When he heard the shop door close, Orlando turned to Sean and asked, "What 
happened?"

Sean rubbed his hand over the back of his neck in an attempt to ease the tension 
headache steadily building and grimaced, "Henry almost saw him today ... scared the
Hell out of him."

Orlando shook his head; he couldn't even begin to imagine what Viggo was going 
through. He fiddled with Viggo's empty mug and sighed, "Poor Vig ... it must hurt 
him so much to need to hide from his son."

"Yeah," Sean said quietly and then added, "He bought a new backpack today."

The intent of Sean's words was obvious ... Orlando looked up and frowned, "It 
doesn't have to mean he's gonna leave Sean." He pulled himself up into Viggo's chair
and took hold of Sean's hand, "Maybe he just needs to know he could if he had to, 
yeah?"

Sean knew Orlando was right, but slumped a little and said, "I just wish he didn't 
need to."

~*~

On his own in the apartment, Viggo sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the back
pack. Why did this little cheap bag seem safer than the life Sean offered him. 

Sean said he loved him, but ...

His chest ached as he unzipped the top and reached for the paper bag containing his 
belongings. One by one he pulled out the clothes Sean had bought, each item freshly
laundered and folded. Viggo laid them carefully out on the bed and ran his fingers 
over each one. He lifted his sketchbook and placed it beside them ... everything he
owned. 

With a sigh, Viggo gave himself a mental shake and packed his clothes into the 
bottom of the pack. He methodically emptied his pockets of small change, pencil 
stubs and a couple of sweet biscuits putting them all down the side. The sketchbook 
was slid down the side of his clothes and finally the tattered paper bag was folded 
and placed on top. Viggo pulled the zip closed and put the pack on the floor next to
the chest of drawers.

~*~

The room was dark and quiet when Viggo woke up ... even the seemingly ever present
street noises were silent. He turned carefully and could just make out the sleeping
figure of Sean. One arm was under his pillow and the other folded in front of him so
his fingers curled just out of reach of his open mouth. Listening, Viggo could hear 
the slow soft breath that matched the steady rise and fall of Sean's chest. 

Sliding his legs around until they reached the edge of the mattress, Viggo 
cautiously moved off the bed. He stood and watched for a while longer to ensure he 
hadn't woken Sean then moved across the room to his pack. 

Viggo took hold of the shoulder strap and lifted it, desperately trying not to make 
a sound. By the time he reached the living room his footfall steadied and he walked 
quickly into the kitchen. The sudden flare of the florescent light stung his eyes as
he flicked on the light and he squinted while sorting through his belongings.

His fingers closed around the spiral spine on his sketchbook and he sat at the 
table. Viggo spent several minutes looking through it and reading its content; some 
were simple lists while others were meant only for middle of the night reading. He 
pulled out a pencil and in the dark shading behind the smiling face of a teenage boy
he began to write ... I watched you do the right thing today Henry. I wanted to 
stand up and tell you how proud I am of you instead of cowering in the shadows, but
I couldn't do it. Sean said to me that one day you'll get to read this ... 

*****