"I ought to thank you for what you did back there," Mohamed said, before drawing in a breath of smoke. "It could've cost me my job."

"Don't mention it," I replied, shrugging.

"You seemed quite pissed back at the store," he said, biting his lip. "You know what – how much did it cost? I'll pay you."

He fiddled out his wallet and starting looking through it for notes.

"No, don't worry about it," I said. "It's fine."

He frowned.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked. "I feel so terrible."

"It's fine," I sighed, even though it would've been nice if he paid for it.

"Anyway," he said, cigarette between his fingers. "I uh, didn't catch your name."

"Mateu," I muttered as I blew out another long puff of smoke.

"Right." Mohamed said rather awkwardly. "Nice to meet you I guess."

I only grunted.

"So what are you doing here at this dinner party?" he asked after a brief moment of silence.

I turned around to look into the apartment behind us through the shut glass door. Amélie was walking towards her friends around the coffee table.

"You see her?" I said, pointing at her with my chin. "She invited me."

"I see," he replied. "You're one of her friends from university?"

"No, no," I answered. "We go. . . quite a while back actually."

"I take it you don't know anybody else here other than her."

I turned to look at him, narrowing my eyes.

"How did you know?"

A brief smile came to his lips.

"Well if you did you wouldn't be out here all alone."

I let out a slight chuckle.

"You're right." I relented, drawing in another breath from my cigarette.

"We're in the same boat, you know?" he said. "This was actually only my second time meeting her."

"Then why would she invite you?"

Mohamed frowned. His hazel eyes glossy in the sun's dying light.

"I'm Hasan's brother," he said, a hint of irritation in his voice.

"Well I didn't want to assume," I shrugged. "Just because you have an Arabic name doesn't necessarily mean you're related."

"You always have something smart to say don't you?"

He rolled his eyes, but I noticed the slight hints of a smile on the corner of his lips. I couldn't help but smirk. I was starting to rather enjoy his company.

It was then when the door behind us opened. Hasan peeked out.

"Khoya," he said, pointing his chin at Mohamed. "Dinner's ready."

"Sure thing," the younger brother shrugged. "Took you long enough."

"Well enough smoking and get inside kids," Hasan replied. "Both you and. . . what's your name again?"

Hasan looked at me. I tried my best not to furrow my brows - we literally just met a few minutes ago.

"Mateu," Mohamed interjected, before I could even part my lips.

"Yeah, sorry, not really good with names," Hasan replied with a slight chuckle. "Do come inside Mateu."

I only smiled awkwardly and nodded. Stubbing my cigarette out I tossed it onto the ashtray on the patio table.

Everyone had gathered at the table, with two seats left beside each other. I sat opposite a girl with oversized glasses, sandwiched between Hasan and Mohamed.

There was quite a spread in front of us, the tray of steaming shakshouka just fresh out of the oven being the centrepiece, its bright red sauce catching anyone's eye. Not to be outdone, the ratatouille looked bright and fresh, with its differing shades of orange and yellow. Like a forgotten sibling, the mesclun salad lay in a bowl, dressed in lemon vinaigrette.

Hasan made it a point to let everyone know the shakshouka was his. As if we couldn't tell. Meanwhile, Amélie started pouring the wine.

"Oh, um," Mohamed muttered, as Amélie was about to pour the grenache into his empty glass. "It's alright."

"You sure?" Hasan asked. "I'm not going to tell anyone, you know?"

"Not exactly the best influence now aren't you?" Amélie giggled. "So is it a yes or a no?"

Mohamed shook his head. He seemed a little nervous. Amélie shrugged, and proceeded to pour me a glass.

The food was delicious honestly. I especially loved the shakshouka, it was the perfect balance of tart and spicy and went well with the salad. I barely paid attention to the conversation, they were all talking about things that I barely knew about. Yet time and time again Mohamed was dragged into the conversation by his brother.

"How'd you like the shakshouka?" he asked, his grin beaming with pride. "Just like grandma's?"

"Well, almost," the younger brother replied. "Grandma washes her hands."

The table burst out in laughter.

"I'm going to have to assure all of you that I did wash my hands," Hasan said, chuckling. "You could ask her she was there the whole time!"

Amélie nodded as she giggled shyly.

I wouldn't be the judge, but if Hasan's version was already so good, his grandmother's must've been phenomenal.

"And must I remind you of the time you tried to cook shakshouka?" Hasan teased, returning the favour.

"Oh don't start."

Hasan chuckled, while Mohamed just rolled his eyes. It was nice watching them interact. Made me wish I had a brother.

"Say, Mateu," Hasan said, addressing me for the first time. "You're from Aix-Marseille aren't you?"

"Yeah," I replied. "What about it?"

In the corner of my eye I noticed Mohamed looking at me.

"Well my brother over here's from there as well," he said. "Was wondering if you'd ever seen each other before."

"On campus?" I replied. "I don't think I have."

"Well which faculty are you in?" Mohamed asked me.

"Law."

"No wonder," he replied. "I'm doing Maths at the science faculty."

"Oh that's cool," I said.

"You really think so?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No, not really," I replied.

I couldn't help but feel my lips curl up into a smirk. I could say the same for Mohamed.

He was charming. Real charming.

"Well you two certainly are getting along well," Amélie said. "I was worried that he couldn't make new friends."

I only shook my head.

I had another helping, but only after Hasan's beckoning.

"It's really good," I said.

"Hasan one, Mohamed zero," Hasan chuckled.

"You're almost thirty years old," came Mohamed's reply. "Act like it, old man."

"And you're a baby."

The younger brother ignored him, and the conversation shifted to something else. I could only nod and smile politely, not really being a part of it. Mohamed played with his silverware. I was tempted to just take my phone out and start browsing though it, but I didn't want to seem rude or ungrateful. After all, Amélie had kindly invited me there, and I didn't want to give the impression that they were boring me. I finished off the rest of my wine, occasionally stealing glances to the outside, as well as the boy beside me.

The conversation somehow managed to move towards weddings, I think one of the girls at the table brought up how she discovered the ideal wedding venue while out in the country with her boyfriend.

"I wonder where would be the ideal location for us," Hasan said as he turned towards his girlfriend, a grin on his face.

"Let's not get too ahead of ourselves," Amélie replied, a deflective smile on her cerise lips.

"Well," one of Amélie's friends from university said. "There's this really nice spot up the limestone cliffs just north of town. That's where my cousin and his husband got married."

"I'm sorry, what?" Hasan said.

There was a collective confusion at the table.

"Yeah, it isn't really near the edges so it's quite safe," she responded.

"Oh, I meant the second part," he replied. "Your cousin and his husband?"

The table fell silent.

"Yeah," the girl finally said. "His husband."

"Right, right," Hasan nodded. "It's just. . . strange to me. Like, marriage is you know. . . supposedly to have children so I don't see how it makes sense."

A few looks were exchanged. I noticed Mohamed had placed his fork gently on the side.

"So are you saying gay people shouldn't get married?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

Hasan shrugged.

Amélie shot me a worried look.

"I don't know," he said. "I'm not saying they shouldn't, but it just feels weird seeing a man marry a man. Don't you think so, Mohamed?"

Mohamed was uncharacteristically quiet, his eyes were wandering across the room. The mood at the table had obviously soured.

Suddenly, Mohamed got up.

"I'm going to get some fresh air," he said, a dry smile on his lips. "Thanks for dinner."

With that, he walked out of the living room and out into the balcony. I looked around the table, there were no sounds save for the quiet clinking of cutlery, the clatter of stainless steel on porcelain.

"Thanks for the meal," I muttered as I, too, got up. "I'm going to smoke."

Nobody replied. Hasan wasn't even looking at me.

I found Mohamed leaning against the railing, looking at the harbour lights. His expression was blank.

"Hey there," I said, as I closed the sliding door behind me. "You doing alright?"

The boy shrugged.

"As much as I can be, I guess," he responded.

I stuffed my hands in my pockets.

"You want another one?" I offered, taking out my pack of cigarettes.

"It's alright," he declined. "I just need to get away for awhile and I'll be alright."

"Look, I don't want to presume, but. . ." I muttered, not really knowing what to say. "I'm really sorry you have to go through that."

"Thanks," he said, a sad smile on his lips. "No, I'm just really used to it but you know. . . Sometimes I just think of how sad it is that my own brother would never be able to accept me. Yeah, he loves me now, he acts like that sometimes but he's really, really proud of me and it just makes me sad that if he knew what I truly was like deep inside he'd think differently."

"You know you can always cut off toxic family members – your brother included."

Mohamed shook his head, before turning sharply to look at me.

"Funny," he said, but the way he narrowed his eyes and the edge in his voice was all it took to tell me that he thought it was anything but funny. "An ex of mine told me the same thing, that I should cut him off. That I should cut people who love me off. But it's always like that with you people. You wouldn't understand, you never will."

I only kept quiet. It's true. I wouldn't understand. I never even had to come out to my family. It wasn't even an extraordinary event. Perhaps the fact that we were having breakfast together then, all three of us, was actually what was extraordinary. My mother had asked me if Ferran meant more than a friend to me, since we were hanging out a lot. I put my mug of coffee down and simply said 'yes'. And there was nothing more to it.

"We were just wondering," my mother said.

"Well we wouldn't have to wonder any longer," came my father's reply.

It was just that. Like I said, nothing extraordinary. It was almost as if it were the most normal thing in the world. No judgement, no questions, just silent affirmation.

I hadn't thought about it then, and it just hit me how in that moment they accepted me for who I was. Mohamed didn't have that luxury. I stood next to him but we couldn't have been further apart.

"You're right," I told him. "I don't understand. And I don't ever will. I'm sorry for being so presumptuous."

Mohamed only shrugged.

"Yeah it's alright," he said. "It's good that you're honest. I'm not asking for sympathy or anything but sometimes it's just. . . You know, it's really daunting when you feel you're all alone."

"Like you have the whole weight of the world crushing on you and nobody else gets it?"

"Exactly like that," he said.

I chuckled.

"But that's just natural isn't it," I said. "You struggle – of course, but everyone else is struggling too. But we're all too caught up to realise it and when you finally do, you get the wisdom in why some people say you should be kind to everyone."

A sad smile crept up Mohamed's lips.

"Didn't really sign up for a lecture," he chuckled. "But thanks."

"It's nothing," I shrugged.

We were silent for awhile, as the Mediterranean breeze blew in from the sea.

"You sound like someone who has a lot on his chest," Mohamed said.

"I guess I do," I muttered.

"Well you listened to me," he said. "So I guess right now I'm offering to return the favour."

I bit my lip.

"O-Only if you want to," he continued after noticing my hesitation.

"I lost someone," I eventually told him. "And I keep asking myself why. I ask myself why he did what he did. And over the summer I've been searching for the answers but all I've gotten were more unanswered questions."

"That's terrible," Mohamed murmured. "I'm really sorry."

"It's just," I muttered. "I-I'll get over it, I guess. Eventually."

My voice was breaking. A sudden wave of sadness hit me. I haven't been thinking of Rafel lately, and it all started rushing back. How I lost him. How I lost Ferran.

"Can I give you a hug?" Mohamed asked.

I nodded, and the next thing I knew, I was in his arms. I instantly let out a shaky breath, feeling my shoulders relax.

God knows I needed it. I haven't been hugged in forever, and to know someone cared was comforting, even if it was someone who was basically a stranger. In that moment I just needed to be held. The scent of his sweet cologne still stuck with me, even when he finally let me go.

"Thanks for that Mohamed," I said. "I really needed it."

"Please," he replied. "Just call me Momo."