My fingers are killing me, my spine just popped, and maybe I've gone half-blind in one eye from staring at my computer screen for so long, but THIS ONESHOT IS FINALLY FINISHED! YAY! I felt the urge to write a longer one for you guys (that's why I'm updating a day later than my usual week) since I feel like I've just been presenting you with really short stuff. Thank all of the Gods of Olympus this thing is done.

I know I promised that the partially-French oneshot I'm writing would be the next one I posted, but that one is also pretty long (I think it may turn out to be as long as Do Not Disturb, which is around 6,500 words), so that specific one will have to wait a little while. But I am definitely cracking down on that sucker every chance I get.

So! Enough of my babble and onto the description/summary; firstly, it takes place while Scott and Mitch are in elementary school (I know, weird, but why not) and it tells of the time that they first meet and show off their singing skills to each other. We all know they become best friends in the end, and this oneshot shows how the best friends started. This isn't essentially Scomiche per say, as in it doesn't focus on the romantic aspect of the ship, and it centers more around their friendship and their mutual beginning attraction to each other. I'm also planning on writing one more oneshot that takes place in their elementary school years (one focused around their auditions for Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and explains the moment in which Scott realizes he's obsessed with the brunette...BUT THAT'S ANOTHER ONESHOT).

Eeesh, all of that was long. There's just so much to update you guys on, it's hard to fit it all into only a few short paragraphs. Thanks to you if you spared the time to read all of that.

Thank you for all of your kind reviews! Happy reading!

"You sound like a girl!" Preston called, pointing at Mitch and therefore singling him out. Within the span of five seconds every fourth grader on the playground had their eyes trained on the small brunette boy, who wore a hurt expression that almost nobody cared about. They were going to have entertainment for the next few minutes; did it matter if a kid or two got wounded in the process?

Mitch (whose tiny ears were ringing because Preston had literally yelled in his face) blinked at the loud proclaimation. He noticed that now everybody was staring at him. He felt himself beginning to flush red in embarrassment. Standing by the basketball hoops and trying to make friends was now the absolute worst mistake of his life.

"No I don't!" He protested. His voice was strained due to his nervousness, making it sound even higher than its usual near-soprano. At the sound of Mitch's tone, Preston guffawed loudly, gesturing for more children to come closer and join him.

Gabriel, one of Preston's friends, sniggered at the tiny boy before him. "Do you like pink and wear girls clothes, Pipsqueak?" The two bullies laughed again. Several kids surrounding the scene giggled as well. More and more children on the playground dropped their jump ropes and called a pause to their games of hopscotch or four square in order to rush over and see which of their classmates were being picked on.

Tears of humiliation gathered in Mitch's eyes. "Why are you so mean?" He said, on the verge of sobbing. Oh, where was his mother when he needed her? Her yells might've drowned out Preston's taunts.

"Aww." Preston smiled an evil, evil smile. "Are you gonna cry like a little girl too, Pipsqueak? Go on, cry and run home to your mommy and your sister! And while you're at it, play dress-up with them too!"

Finally, the kids whom were watching couldn't help themselves any longer and burst into laughter. Mitch's lower lip wobbled as wetness fell down his cheeks and his throat closed up so that he couldn't talk even if he wanted to. Good thing he didn't want to; he'd just get made fun of again.

In that moment, ten-year-old Mitchell Grassi hated the voice that God had given him. His anger rose to match his sadness and his face twisted in a terrible expression.

"You bullies!" Mitch shrieked thickly, nearly taken aback by how mean another human being could be. Gabriel snickered and mimicked his partner-in-crime by pointing an outstretched hand at the brunette as he teased.

"Ha, ha! Pipsqueak's a girl! Pipsqueak's a girl!" Preston began to chant. The dynamics of the phrase grew and grew. Soon Mitch found himself listening to an endless replay of cat-calls and endless views of rude faces and cruel grins. "Pipsqueak's a girl! Pipsqueak's a girl! Pipsqueak's a-"

"I AM NOT A GIRL!" Mitch screamed at the top of his lungs, with so much force that it hurt his swollen throat. As always, the words carried an unnaturally high pitch that seemed to suggest otherwise. Everyone immediately quieted.

The brunette hiccupped, turned on his heel, and ran across the blacktop while furiously wiping at his face to rid it of any moisture. He only paused to yank the door of his school open, before he disappeared behind the metal rectangle with nothing more than a simple click. The kids on the playground whom had not participated in making fun of their classmate instantly felt sympathy (for many of them had previously been bullied by Preston and Gabriel), and the ones who had felt a sliver of regret. Mitch was a good kid, and a good friend, but...his voice was just so high, and the temptation to poke fun at him had been too great.

All of the children stared at Preston and Gabriel.

"What are you all looking at?" The bullies asked, and everybody returned to playing like they had before.

Mitch had quickly tired from running throughout the halls and chose to walk instead (this partially had to do with the fact that he didn't want to get in trouble for running inside of school, or being inside of the school when he should be on the playground). His mind raced as he passed the first grade hallway, full of hand-drawn pictures and sketches that were colored in the lines. Some of the classroom doors were open so Mitch could hear many giggles and the usual buzz of class conversation.

After another minute went by the brunette realized that he had been walking in circles, alternating between the first, second, and third grade halls. He froze when he heard the sharp crack of heels against tile. A teacher was coming! What should he do? Mitch's brain couldn't think fast enough, however, because two seconds later he was face-to-stomach (why was he so short, oh why) with a woman that gave off a serious aura that was matched by her solemn dark green eyes.

"Young man? What are you doing in the hallway without a pass?" She questioned primly, the clack of her shoes coming to an abrupt halt. The smaller student resisted the urge to hang his head in shame. He rarely misbehaved. Being put on the spot was new to him.

"I-I came from recess." His voice rang, pitchy and stuttering.

"Then why aren't you still on the playground?" The harshness of her tone was only making Mitch feel worse about his voice and his situation. He was going to start crying again, and he knew it. This was too much for one day.

"I-I-I'm s-sorry, I-I just..."

The middle-aged woman noticed right then how stressed the boy before her was, on top of how guilty he looked, and also noticed his eyes were red and puffy. Instantly she softened, her own jade gaze calming as she bent down to match the student's height.

"Why are you wandering the halls, boy?" She asked not unkindly. Mitch glanced up to see her smiling at him slightly. He sniffed, making no reply even though he was secretly happy that this teacher was one of the nice ones. Maybe he could talk to her. But when he opened his mouth, he found his vocal chords unwilling and his tongue in equal dismay, and so no sound exited his throat.

The woman somehow understood. "How about you go walk to the office and call your parents so that they can pick you up? I'm sure your teacher would be okay with that."

Mitch shook his head. No way in heck were his parents going to know about this before he told his sister. And anyway, that would only cause more of a stir and bring forth more embarrassment; he had already run away crying, and now his mom had to pick him up? Not that he minded, yet still. His mother didn't have to hear Preston's taunts for herself.

The teacher with dark green eyes offered up a new option. "Then...you can go to the office and sit in one of the comfy chairs there, just to think in the peace and quiet for a little while. When you're ready you can go back to class. I'll go to your teacher and tell her that you'll be late. What's her name?"

Now Mitch had to speak. "Mrs. Angelo."

Smiling more openly now, the woman rose. "Thank you. Off to the main office, before someone who's not as nice as me catches you, okay?" She briskly raised an eyebrow, and waved one hand away from her. "Go on!"

The brunette boy gave her a slight grin; then the two turned and went opposite ways. Mitch was feeling a little better (he wasn't bawling his eyes out, which was an improvement) even though his eyes still itched along with the constant throb in his head, but for now he was okay. He examined more hand-drawn pictures and heard at least five more giggles and at least two more teachers telling their students to hush before he finally arrived at a big wooden door that had the word OFFICE on it in bold black lettering.

Mitch looked up at the looming entrance, feeling off-putted. He had never gotten in trouble, not once, therefore he was never sent to go see the principal. He was never sent on errand runs, or to put something in a teacher's mailbox, or to serve a detention or anything like that. His breathing slightly unsteady now, Mitch lifted a hand and twisted the cold silver knob in front of him.

Immediately he wanted to plug his nose. The room smelled of bitter rose perfume and stagnant coffee. Five ladies were working behind a large desk, three sipping tea and musing at their computers, one sorting papers, and one whom had told a fifth grader that 'if they ever threw a grilled cheese sandwich at Mike Vicell Thornburrow again they would lop off his head and feed it to the wolves', or something like that.

The fifth grader's mouth pulled into a sneer, and he stomped off with his hall pass right by Mitch's surprised face. The taller child flung the office door open and made sure it slammed with a bang. That was when the lady whom had been threatening the other boy noticed the brown-haired one that had just entered. She had her grey hair in curls that fell to right above her shoulders.

"What are you here for?" The lady asked, her voice guttural and low (she blamed it on the cigarettes). Mitch swallowed, spotted an array of chairs set far away from the working desk of the ladies, and pointed to it.

The lady peered at Mitch, her glasses glinting in the florescent lights. "Eh? You were told to sit here?"

The brunette with the high voice nodded.

"Fine." She said, gesturing at him to shoo. "Don't cause any trouble, boy. The principal has his hands full with another student, so if you wanna talk to him, you're gonna have to wait."

That was more than okay with Mitch. He nodded again (gosh, but he hated to speak) and scurried over to the circular set of leather chairs waiting for him. As soon as he sat down on a chestnut-colored loveseat, the cushions began to swallow him up. Giggling a little and forgetting where he was for a moment, Mitch wiggled his legs and laughed a bit louder: this was like sitting on a squashy bouncy house.

Suddenly, the door to the principal's office flew open. Mitch froze in his chair, not wanting to look like he was doing something he shouldn't be doing (even if he was doing nothing wrong, but still) and watched as a boy with bright blonde hair walked out. The principal stood in the doorway and said, "Your mom will be here in a while, so I suggest you take a seat and wait for her."

"Yes, Mr. McGlocken." The boy's voice was a solid, smooth timbre that made Mitch instantly jealous. Why did that boy have a tone like chocolate and his own tone be nails on a chalkboard?

Mitch was yanked from his thoughts when the principal closed the door in the boy's face. The blonde stared for a moment at the slightly see-through glass, sighed, and spun on his heel. The brunette tilted his face away, not wanting to draw unwanted attention to himself. For all he knew, that kid could be one of Preston's friends, and if he was, then the blonde was nothing more than another bully ready to tease him for his voice.

Light footsteps crept up next to Mitch, whom was pretending to be very interested in the bland beige of the office walls. In the following moment the loveseat sank as somebody else's body weight was added to it. The brunette twisted his neck in shock so fast that he might've heard it pop.

Mitch met the piercing gaze of two bold blue eyes. The boy who was looking at him had a defined jaw and a medium build, and he also smiled when their gazes met, asking in that low voice of his, "What'd you do to get in here, huh?"

The smaller boy made no response (how could he, with a voice that sounded like it belonged to a girl?) except to bow his head and play with his fingers. The boy with blue eyes let it slide for only a moment, before he said, "Something really bad, maybe?" He gasped quietly when Mitch didn't reply. "Did you hit a girl?"

The brunette's eyes widened and he shook his head frantically. He'd never thrown a punch in his life and he didn't plan to; the thought of even minorly harming one of his friends (who, yes, we're mostly girls. Okay, all of them were girls. In Mitch's defense, he found boys a lot meaner) made him blink in surprise. The blonde sitting next to him sighed.

"Well, what did you do then? There's nothing as bad as hitting a girl...did you break something? Steal a kids lunch? Write a bad word on the whiteboard?" When Mitch remained silent, the taller boy had to resist the urge to throw his hands in the air in exasperation. Perhaps he was asking the wrong questions. Maybe he should start with, "Are you a mute?"

Mitch bit his lip and shook his head.

"Then why can't you talk?"

Clearing his throat, the smaller boy glanced up at the blonde, saying in his near-soprano that was very quiet, "I can."

The blonde boy blinked, slightly shocked at the pitch of the other child's voice. After another moment passed, with Mitch sweating and wondering whether or not he was going to be made fun of and the blonde's face still and unmoving, the silence between the pair broke when the kid with blue eyes grinned.

"Good." He said warmly. "I thought I was talking to a brick wall." He stuck out a hand. "My name is Scott."

Dark brown eyes flickered from the blonde's honest face to his outstretched hand. Tentatively Mitch reached and shook it.

"I'm Mitch." He returned shyly, peeking up at his new friend from beneath his eyelashes. The corners of Scott's mouth instantly titled upwards.

"I like your name. I think it's cute." The blonde boy said to a taken aback Mitch.

"Thanks. I like yours too."

A solid beat passed between the two boys as they sized each other up. Scott was once again the one to initiate the first move, because the fact that the brunette was hesitant to talk was so obvious, so he tilted his head to the side and questioned, "So will you tell me now, why you're in here?"

The smaller boy's expression went from curious and flattered to sour within the span of a few seconds. "I needed a place to think." He replied shortly, not wanting to relive or remember the cruel taunts of his classmates.

Scott was no idiot, as he sensed something amiss, and pressed, "There must be more to it than that. If you wanted a place to think you should've gone home. This school is the noisiest place on the planet."

Ripping himself away from his current conversation, Mitch realized that yeah, the building was buzzing with a constant roar of noise that he had temporarily forgotten about. Therefore, every time one of the five ladies coughed or sneezed or a paper was thrown away or faxed or sorted or somebody opened their mouth to talk, Scott was being proven right.

"Fine." Mitch said in his high tone, biting his lip out of nervousness again. "Preston was bullying me."

"Preston Whitticker?" Scott pulled a face. Even though he was a fifth grader, everyone up to the sixth grade knew of the ten-year-old bully, whose victims usually started off standing under the basketball hoop. "Why was he bullying you?"

The smaller child hesitated, unsure, but the sincerity in Scott's eyes was driving him to talk. "He was teasing me for my voice."

"Because it's so high?"

In response the other kid nodded. He knew his voice was high before being bullied for it (if your voice was a higher pitch than your sister's, then it was kinda obvious), yet he never thought it would morph into an obstacle. He didn't like his tone. He wanted Scott's.

Said blonde paused for a moment, mulling over the sound of the brunette's pitchy melody that was unusual and strange. He said honestly, "I think your voice is beautiful."

Mitch's breath caught in his throat. He hadn't ever received a compliment like that in his entire life, not only spoken by an almost-stranger, but an almost-stranger who said it like they meant it. A warmth began to fill the small boy's cheeks, a feat he was not familiar with, making butterflies in his stomach he didn't know existed twirl and to spins in midair. "Thank you. No one's ever told me that before." Mitch sighed, gazing at Scott wistfully. "I wish I had your voice, though."

The taller boy scoffed. "Yeah, right. Mine's really average and boring. Everybody has my voice."

The brunette thought for a moment, his mother coming to his mind. "My mom, 'cause she knows I have a high voice, always said that it doesn't matter what your voice sounds like, it's what you can do with it that counts."

"Your mom sounds cool." Scott's eyebrows furrowed. A mischievous glint became pronounced in his eyes as he sent Mitch a look that was only a tish devious. "...can you do anything with your voice? Besides talk?" He playfully nudged his new friend.

Mitch grinned. "I sing sometimes. Along to the radio. And in the shower."

"I bet you sound great." Scott reached a hand to awkwardly rub the back of his neck, his mouth sheepish. "I sing too. My mom says I should try to get a part in the musical. You know, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory? She says that maybe I could get a part."

"You should try out, Scott." The brunette encouraged, visions of the blonde dancing across the auditorium and belting his heart out forcing him to giggle. "You'd be great too."

"Sure. Tell that to the directors."

A moment passed in comfortable silence between the pair. Scott watched Mitch glance up at him every now and then, realize that he was being stared at in return, and would then hide his eyes by looking quite intently at the ground or obscuring them from view by letting his bangs go in his line of sight. The hustle and bustle of the office sounded bizarrely loud all of a sudden; it felt like the two had been wrapped up in their own private little bubble that Mitch didn't want to pop so quickly. He thought up another inquiry.

"What's the lowest note you can sing?" He asked, partly because he wished to know more about Scott in general, partly because he wished to hear how well the blonde sang.

The child with blue eyes shrugged. "I tried a really really really low note once, but I couldn't get it out. My dad told me that I sound like a baritone or something like that and baritone's can't go as low as I was trying to go."

"What's a baritone?" Mitch had never heard the term before.

"A boy who sings higher than a bass, those are guys who sing super-de-duper low, and lower than a tenor. My dad taught me that stuff." The blonde tilted his head at Mitch, an idea blooming in his head, as he was also intent on hearing the tone of the other child's voice in song. "How high can you sing? Maybe you're a tenor."

The brunette lifted a sassy eyebrow. It was so easy to be himself around Scott. "You go first."

Scott smiled, cleared his throat, opened his mouth, and made the lowest sound Mitch had heard ever. After a few seconds the noise tired the soon-to-be baritone's vocal chords and he had to stop. As the other child's face lit up and his hands came together in claps, Scott bowed the best he could while still staying in his sitting position. "Thank you, thank you very much." He jutted his chin at Mitch, barely able to contain his excitement. "Your turn."

"You want me to sing my highest note?"

"Yup."

"Like, my whistle?"

"Your what?"

"My whistle notes. That's what my mom calls them, anyway. I can make noises like a whistle." Mitch blushed shyly. "Want me to show you?"

"Yes."

The brunette copied Scott by clearing his throat, waiting a beat, and then sang, "Hi, Scott, how are you doing today?" In such a high pitch that one of the ladies working behind the desk called, "Somebody shut the damn window, I can hear the birds all the way over here!"

Scott (who was awed at Mitch's vocal ability) immediately recovered and collapsed into mirth, trying and failing to cover the noise by hiding his lips behind his hand. The brunette laughed along with him for a good minute or so until the two calmed down.

"That was amazing! You must be a countertenor." Scott said, throwing in a friendly wink.

"Uh..."

"A boy who can sing higher than a tenor. It's the highest male voice type." Mitch didn't understand half of the words exiting the blonde's mouth, but they sounded impressive, so he grinned. "You should audition with me in a couple days, Mitch. It would be a lot more fun if you were there with me."

"Well..." The aspiring countertenor wasn't absolutely positive. Though, if he did go, it wouldn't be so bad since Scott would be there too. "I'll think about it."

"Great! It'll be so much-"

"Mr. Hoying?" The voice of the principal boomed. Scott's face jumped from happy to neutral in a second flat. Mr. McGlocken pointed to the doorway of the office. Since the door wasn't completely transparent (it was made up of that were semi-see-though glass that offices always favored. "Your mother is here to pick you up. And watch your tongue next time, Mr. Hoying, or it'll be more than an early dismissal." The dark-suited man disappeared, closing his personal door and presuming to do whatever mysterious tasks that principals do.

Mitch found himself saddening. "You have to go?" He said softly, not wanting to part with the funny, gushing-with-life-and-energy blonde with pretty blue eyes.

"Yeah." Scott didn't want to leave either. "But I kind of have to. I lost a dare...so I went up to my teacher and told her she smelled like a wet dog."

The smaller child giggled. Scott gave a smile.

"How about we meet on the blacktop, all the way in the left corner, right before school starts tomorrow morning?" The baritone proposed, biting his lip nervously and praying the brunette accepted the invitation. Mitch nodded eagerly. Scott's smile became wide and easy. He slowly backed away from Mitch, wishing to stay and stare into his dark, dark brown eyes.

"Bye, Mitch." The blue-eyed child waved.

"Bye Scott. See you tomorrow." Mitch said in his voice that matched a countertenor's so perfectly. With a last look, Scott opened the office door and closed it firmly after his feet left the carpeted ground and found solid tile.

The tiny fourth grader sighed. He stayed in silence, missing the blonde and already teeming for the following day. The butterflies in his stomach weren't helping matters.

"Jeez, kid, ya don't have to be so dramatic." One of the office ladies said (she was a little younger than the other four old wretches), raising a thin eyebrow at Mitch. "You'll see him tomorrow." She pointed to the door that Scott had stepped out of. "And you've been here a while and haven't done nothin'. Time to get back to class."

Mitch heaved himself from his seat, wobbled on his toes, regained his balance, and walked forward a few steps. Right after his hand touched the cool metal of the office door, he turn around and said, "Miss?" To the lady that had shooed him out.

"Yeah, kid?"

"Do you know what a tenor is...and how high they can sing?"

"Beats me. I never got into all of that music crap. Go on to class, boy, and make sure you're not late. I don't need Mrs. Angelo yapping at me that her 'high-pitched prodigy' disappeared into thin air, that's bad press. Now, move along, please." A bird, a real one this time, sang it's tune that could be heard from outside of the window, which was still open. "And would someone please close that window!?"

Mitch waited until the office door was securely closed and he had made it halfway down the hallway before he allowed himself to burst into silent laugher, thinking of whistle notes, his own high voice, and a certain blue-eyed blonde. His sister was going to freak once he told her the moment he got home.

And, with luck, perhaps she and his mother would beat up Preston and Gabriel for him. Those two kids were right meanies. Though, their demise would require some bribery...how much money was in his piggy bank again?