“Oh my god, I can’t believe this!” Victor repeated several times over as he gawked around the room and took in students, alumni, and roster members alike. He also made sure to point out to everyone that it certainly wasn’t his 50th birthday, and each mention of it, the number seemed to dwindle further and further, until he reached Mitch.

“Happy 40th birthday, Victor,” Mitch offered before Victor could even start.

“My sweet, sweet boy! Thank you!” An arm was thrown around Mitch and, as was tradition now, a kiss was planted on each of his cheeks. He’d always found it endearing. Victor had started doing it when he learned that Mitch was a fellow immigrant, albeit from a different part of the world; it was an example of one of the measures he’d taken to try to make him feel more at home. Although Valence hadn’t been home in nearly two decades, being taken in by Jodie’s family alongside her had, more or less, become the new definition of that. “Glad that you get it, unlike a certain someone.”

“Of course,” smiled Mitch. The hug was released, but Victor’s hand hovered above Mitch’s right bicep.

“So tell me about this. Jodie said you got hurt. And…some other stuff.” Brow furrowed, Victor’s tone turned serious, and Mitch held it together long enough to keep himself from squirming.

“We’ll talk about it later. It’s your birthday, and, like. C’mon. A party’s not the best place for it,” Mitch waved it off, and thankfully, Victor put no protest.

“Later,” he agreed, loosening his grasp. “At the after party?”

“There’s an after party?” laughed Mitch.

“We are the after party,” Victor broke into a wide grin, then heartily laughed back. Once he settled down, he offered, “I’m gonna go get a beer. You want one?”

“All set, but thanks,” replied Mitch, getting progressively more distracted by Jodie looming nearby at the edge of his peripheral.

When Victor departed, she sidled up to him. “Hey, sorry that I forgot to lock the front door,” he apologized before she could say anything.

“Don’t worry about it, you did great.” She reached up and ruffled his hair, and his face scrunched as she did. “Y’know, I give you a lot of shit, but I really appreciate all of your help this past week. This,” her hand motioned to the room, “means a lot to me. Like I’m sure it does to Dad as well, but I really wanted to do this for him.”

“I gotcha,” he smiled. “Just sorry I couldn’t do more. Like be a decent errand boy or whatever.”

“Come help me bring the cake out, and we’ll call it square on your servitude.” Tugging at his shirt sleeve, he put up no resistance while she led them both towards the small kitchen that was on the other side of the building. As she dug through the fridge, cursing about the overwhelming amount of half-empty water bottles and old takeout containers, she asked, “Remind me again why I made you errand boy?”

“Payment for shelter.” He held back from pointing out the irony of her gripes, considering the state of the fridge back at the house. Instead, he busied himself by gathering paper plates and cutlery from various cabinets, because that much could be managed.

“That tracks.” Some of the containers were yanked out and slammed onto the counter with a huff. “So listen, forget what I said a moment ago. I do need to ask you for another favor.”

“Oh? What’s that?” Mitch couldn’t even pretend to be surprised.

“Ingrid can’t do commentary this week. Would you be comfortable with giving it a shot?”

“I…” Mitch swallowed hard. “I’ve never done it. You sure you want me to?”

“You’re familiar enough with a mic,” she retorted. “Besides, I want you involved. Fans have taken a shine to you recently, and frankly, it’d be stupid to not capitalize on that. Besides, I don’t need you to do play-by-plays, just be Zevon and talk mad shit about everyone that he doesn’t like or whatever.”

“Alright.” Guess that wouldn’t be too hard,” he warily agreed.

A large sheetcake was at last produced and she turned around, her face lighting up when she spotted Mitch holding the diningware. “Aw, so helpful!”

“I know, I’m the best,” he teased. “By the way, Victor called me his ‘sweet, sweet boy’. Sounds like he wants me.”

“Great,” Jodie rolled her eyes and deadpanned. With her hip, she shut the fridge door, head shaking a little as she passed by Mitch. She was just about to leave the room, then stopped in the doorway and turned around.

“Aw shit, could you grab Avi’s cupcake for me? Since you’re the best and all that?” She requested, taking off before Mitch could protest.

“For fuck’s…I only have the one hand!” Everything he was holding was set down onto the flimsy folding table which graced the corner of the room, and he grabbed the elaborately packaged dessert from off of the fridge’s top shelf. It took a minute, but with some finagling, he managed to carry all of the items and headed into the training area.