Savior | Scömíche {DISCONTINUED}

Chapter 11

Mitch's P.O.V:

"Daddy, daddy, please!"

I sighed, shaking my head and prying the lollipop from his small fingers. "Matthias Bush, do you see how much junk is already in the cart? You need to start picking some fruits. You love mangoes, remember?" My grin increased as his hair flopped around with how fervently he nodded his head. 

"Yeah! You're right, you're always right." I chuckled, pulling him into my leg for a quick hug. 

"That's right!"

"Excuse me..." My body turned instinctively at the voice, which seemed to be directed at me. 

"Yes?"

"I, uh...need you to move away from the potatoes." My cheeks heated whilst I complied; doing a rather unsubtle lookover when he seemed to be turned around. He had curly, long, dirty blonde hair- thrown up into one of those sexy "man buns" that I adore. He seemed to be of mixed race; faint stubble surrounding full, tan lips. I took notice of a slightly European accent-- Italian?

He's Italian, shit. 

Mitch blushed, looking away quickly and starting down the aisle. If I ever mentioned this to my dad he'd never stop going on about it. "Hey, w-wait please!" 

I felt my eyes rolling on instinct, Matt staring over at the man curiously. I heard him jog back over to me; giving me a soft, toothy smile as we met eyes again. "Hey, um...I just...heh..." I couldn't help but smirk at his shy demeanor; what a cutie. I stuck my hand out to save him the trouble. 

"Mitchell Grassi, a pleasure." I could see the relief behind his eyes as he took my hand-- his handshake was weaker than I expected, but not unpleasantly so. "My name is Alessandro Moretti, but you could call me Al; most do." I nodded with a smile. 

"I noticed that you seemed to be of Italian descent?" Again, I found my eyes rolling, but this time a hint of a smile appeared in its wake. "Yeah, my dad moved here from there. Veery Italian." Something shone behind his eyes; something that I didn't know whether to be uncomfortable or humored by. 

"Do you happen to speak any? I just moved a few months ago and I'm...struggling to understand things." 

(get ready for google translate, I learned Italian when I was 5 ok it's been a while and I need help. You're allowed to harass me)

"Sono assolutamente fare." (I absolutely do.)

I glanced at my son as his head whipped up from the peaches he was examining. "Whoa! What does that mean, daddy?"

"Grande! Pensi che potremmo essere amici?" (Great! Can we be friends?)

The little boy's head swiveled between us in complete bewilderment; a wide grin taking up most of his lower face. "What are you saying?!"

I nodded before bringing attention back to my son-- kneeling down and ruffling his hair. "It's grandpa Mike's language, honey~" 

"Can I learn it? It's so cool!"

Al laughed, smiling down at us as I stood back to full height. "Let's just focus on English for now, baby boy~"

---

"Scott, listen to me. Anamanaguchi's 'Endless Fantasy' album came out in 2013, not 2010!"

"No it didn't! I swear on my life."

"I'm looking it up."

"You can look it up by asking me, it's 2010."

I pulled out my phone, jumping slightly in surprise when it began to ring. FaceTime? I angled the phone towards my face before answering the call. 

"Oh, è solo per te. Come sai, Al?" (Oh, it's just you. How are you, Al?)

I held back laughter as Scott's eyes widened comedically at the sight of my new friend. 

"Mitch! Sono contento che hai riposto. Mi stavo chiedendo, cosa significa 'werk' dire?" (Mitch! I'm glad you answered. I was just wondering, what does 'werk' mean?)

"Mitch, you speak...more than one language?" I flicked Scott in the head with my finger before laughing loudly at Al's question. "Of course I do, stupid. Don't you remember I'm Italian?"

"Voul dire...è come...quando si sta facendo qualcosa di molto bene. Come 'oh, la vostra attrezzatura è werking esso!'." (It means...it's like...when you're doing something very well. Like 'oh, your outfit is werking it!')

Al laughed heartily, finally taking notice of Scott silently scrolling through his phone. "Oh, Mitch, è questo il tuo marito?" (Oh, Mitch, is this your husband?)

My cheeks took no time before they were heating up; momentarily forgetting that Scott couldn't understand us. "Uh, heh, no. Lui è il mio migliore amico. Ma non ho interesse per lui." (Uh, heh, no. He is my best friend. But I have interest in him.)

Al turned slightly to smirk at the unaware blonde next to me. "Lui è molto bello!" (He is quite handsome!)

"Sono sicuro che avrebbe grazie se lo sapesse!" (I'm sure he'd thank you if he knew!) My hands lifted to clap together as I laughed-- calling Scott's attention as his gaze flickered between us. 

"What's so funny?"

"Bene, vado. Addio, Mitch!" (Well, I'm gonna go. Goodbye, Mitch!) I said my own goodbyes as he hung up, locking eyes with my neglected friend. "He just made a joke about your hair, is all." 

"My hair?!" He quickly jumped up to run to the nearest mirror, my chirpy giggle ringing through the small bedroom. "Hey, Mitchie..."

"Hmm?"

"Where is Matt?"

I looked up from my hands, leaning forward and tapping the ends of my fingers on my lips as I thought. "With mom. She loves the little guy so much-- almost spends more time with him than me." Scott smiled, sitting back down next to me and wrapping an arm around my shoulders in a brief hug. My hand went to squeeze his knee before returning my attention to my phone; earning a scoff from the other person in the room. 

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Scott's P.O.V:

Al. Al. Al. Al. Where did Al come from?

I shook my head. Why the hell are you acting so insecure? 

Maybe because he's hot as hell. 

It doesn't matter, anyway. I pushed my hair away from my face, standing from my position on the floor (since I had been working out). I looked to my watch-- 8 minutes. That's not bad, right? 

Exercise tended to suppress the visions. I haven't exactly narrowed down why, but they do, and that's all that matters. As important as it might be to have them, I hated having them and I'd do whatever I could to stop them from giving me the usual migraine. 

My thoughts roamed towards Travis. What a piece of shit. How dare he try and abuse my best friend? Just the thought of him had me bench pressing all the harder before I heard my alarm go off-- time to stop. My lips released a breath I didn't know I was holding as I stood, collected my things and headed out to my car.

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There it is, the world's shortest P.O.V. section :'D

I don't know how the hell I did one whole chapter in two days-- that's RARE.

In case you wanted some background on Al's last name: "Moretti is a Jewish-Italian word, taken from the word "maurus", which indirectly means dark haired or dark skinned. Usually given to someone hailing from northern Africa or Mauritius. Other similar surnames include Moriyadi and Morritt." --Top Ten Reviews