Scattered clouds grown heavy with unfallen rain lingered overhead, the last vestiges of a long winter finally cast off. All around the sounds of resumed life hummed a chaotic melody: frogs hopping and croaking and groaning as they emerged from their muddy riverbeds, eager to save the world in their own special way; sparrows setting about their nest building too early, ever ready to dispense advice but rarely able to follow it; mice scrabbling about out of sight, some of them laden with cheese and trying to hide that fact from those that weren't. The word on the wind was there as well, restlessly rustling the trees and tall grasses with its useful tutorials on photosynthesis and other such vital instructions for plants. Even the ants, nearly invisible amidst the unkempt undergrowth of the Sunshine Forest, thronged to their own unheard song.

One such line of ants marched beneath the drooping eyes of one of the forest's more exotic residents: Fuel the human boy. Sitting upon a nearly petrified tree stump, axe set aside and his chin cupped in his hands, he casually observed the miniscule creatures going about their business while his mind hovered somewhere in the far reaches of space, undisturbed by the world at his fingertips. Even the sudden addition of a new melody to the chorus all around him scarcely registered until it became too insistent to ignore.

"Fuel!"

". . . Huh?"

"I said I need you to head into town," Lighter reiterated.

"Oh. Sure." Fuel nodded passively.

Well aware that he hadn't been heard, Lighter spoke slowly. "Take these axes to Bronson's," he said, setting two of them down on the stump next to the boy. "That one you're using, too. They all need sharpening and we can't lose a whole day's work on doing it ourselves."

"Uh-huh," Fuel acquiesced. "Got'cha. Axes."

"And bring back something for lunch," Lighter went on, slapping his belly to drive the point home. "This is hungry work."

"Sure thing," Fuel said as he forced himself to his feet, the forest's spell over him finally flaking away as he reached down to gather up the tools.

Lighter turned away, the lumber propped against his shoulder swinging wide as he did so, but stopped midway and regarded his son curiously. Normally the boy would have been overjoyed to get away from work and visit Tazmily, but his typical exuberance was nowhere to be found behind his eyes today. "You feeling alright?"

"Yeah."

Although he was unconvinced, Lighter was prepared to let it go. If Fuel didn't want to talk then so be it. But then Flint's advice echoed up from the back of Lighter's mind and gave him pause. Perhaps he hadn't been as attentive as he ought to. "Something bothering you?"

Trying to hold onto all three axes at once, Fuel was caught off-guard by the question. "Huh?"

"You seem a little out of it," Lighter noted, keeping his tone neutral.

"It's nothing. I was . . . never mind." Fuel shook his head dismissively and gave a disarming smile.

Lighter rubbed the stubble on his chin contemplatively. It was pretty clear to him that the boy had something on his mind, but he wasn't sure if he should press the issue or leave him be. After all, it wouldn't do to get into a fight over nothing. "I can get Bud to do it if you'd rather keep working," he offered. "But I thought you might want to see Angie. It's been a little while, hasn't it?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Fuel asked, backing off ever so slightly.

"Don't want you to forget how to bake, is all," Lighter shrugged, mirroring his son's smile. "You might as well know how to do something worthwhile."

Snorting softly at his father's sorry attempt at humor, Fuel echoed it back. "Yeah, well it's better than chopping wood. The last thing I'd want is to turn into you."

Lighter guffawed at the all-too-familiar sentiment. "I think you're a little short to worry about that, pipsqueak."

"Laugh it up while you can, old man," Fuel scoffed proudly, his mouth creased in a self-assured smirk while he held the axes over his shoulder in the same way his father lugged around lumber. "It won't be so funny in a year or two when I'm taller than you."

Whistling as if impressed, Lighter raised his eyebrows at his son. "A year or two, huh? That's a pretty long time, kiddo. You think your voice will stop cracking by then?"

"My voice doesn't crack!" Naturally, Fuel's body picked that very moment to disprove his point. He looked away to sulk, the axes he was carrying swinging around as he did so. "Whatever."

Chuckling to himself, Lighter clapped a hand down on the boy's empty shoulder. "Don't worry: I'm sure Angie doesn't notice."

"Psh. Like I care what she thinks."

"No?" Lighter asked, not entirely believing the boy's claims as he checked for a rosy hue emerging on Fuel's cheeks. "And here I thought winter was over, but it feels like it just got cooler out here."

"You know it," Fuel said with a toothy grin.

"Alright stud, you be your own man," Lighter told him. "One word of advice though: girls like it when guys care."

Craning his neck back around to catch his father's eye, Fuel wasn't about to let the old man off without getting in an easy jab at his ego. "No offense, but if I want advice on girls I'll ask somebody who's talked to one."

"Joke all you want, but I know plenty. You wouldn't be here if I didn't," Lighter reminded him.

Fuel winced at the intrusive implication. "Gross, dad!"

"Heh heh. You're too easy, Fuel." Lighter gave him a playful jostle, glad to see his son's usual breeziness returning. "But hey, if you ever do want advice you can come to me any time."

"Hmph." Fuel turned his nose up at the invitation without a second thought. It was something Lighter had grown to expect – reminding him too much of himself at that age. Fuel was self-assured in a way only a boy on the cusp of manhood can be, certain he already knew everything worth knowing.

"C'mon, now," Lighter prodded gently. "I think you'll find I give darn good advice." Maybe it was inspiration from Flint, or maybe he secretly missed the days when his only son would follow him everywhere, pestering him with endless questions, but Lighter was driven to get a real conversation out of the boy for once. In the doldrums of daily living the two rarely took the time for such things.

Fuel replied with a shrug and a half-smile, shifting the axes on his shoulder awkwardly. "I hate to break it to you, but you don't give advice. You give orders."

"I know it might seem like that, but it's part of being a dad," Lighter admitted.

Fuel rolled his eyes and stuffed his free hand into his pocket. "Gee. I didn't know you were everybody's dad," he murmured.

"That's enough sass out of you," Lighter replied sourly.

"Whatever," Fuel shrugged. "It's not like you were gonna listen anyway."

Lighter was ready to scold his son for talking back, but caught himself before the first sound escaped his lips. Maybe Flint was right; he could stand to shut up and hear the boy out once in a while. Sighing, he relaxed his stance and said, "Alright then, mister smart-guy. I'm listening."

Fuel's ears perked up at the unexpected invitation. "Huh?"

Extending a hand in front of himself, Lighter went on. "If you want to say something, then go right ahead."

"Oh. Okay." The boy awkwardly ground the dirt underfoot, expecting some sort of trick. Or perhaps he simply wasn't ready for the conversation to take such a turn and wasn't sure where to go from there.

Looking at Fuel out of the corner of his eye, Lighter suppressed the urge to say something snarky. He was going to prove – if only to himself – that he could listen.

Feeling emboldened by the quiet, Fuel took a deep breath and finally spoke his mind. "I don't wanna be a woodcutter."

Lighter instantly proved to be unable to hold his tongue. "So then what do you want to be?"

Fuel looked away. "I dunno," he admitted meekly.

"Do you want to be a baker?" Lighter asked, trying to spin the conversation in a productive direction. "Goodness knows you've spent enough time with Caroline and Angie . . ."

"Maybe," Fuel shrugged. "Or something else."

"Well you can't goof off all day long," Lighter reminded him.

"Gee, thanks," the boy scoffed sarcastically. "I figured that much out on my own."

"You'll have to do better than that," Lighter pushed back, subconsciously squeezing the piece of lumber he carried. "I'm doing my best to show you the ropes, but chopping trees, making furniture, fixing houses . . . that's all I know. If you want to do something else, I can't help you."

"I'm not asking you to fix my problems or tell me what to do!" Fuel snapped. "All I want is for you to hear what I'm saying."

Squinting beneath a furrowed brow, Lighter rolled his shoulders. "Fixing's what I do," he explained calmly. "I'm not the sort of fella to sit on his hands when something needs doing."

Fuel sighed, already kicking himself for starting this conversation when he knew it wouldn't do him any good. "Well maybe certain things should stay broken for a while. The only way for somethin' to get fixed is for it to break first, right?"

"You sure that's not just being lazy?"

"I dunno," he answered with a halfhearted shrug.

Defeated, Fuel eased his payload back down, leaning against one of the axes for support. Neither father nor son were willing to meet the other's gaze, preferring instead the company of their own thoughts. Perhaps they had both made mistakes in having this talk now. Whether it would have been better to put it off forever or to have done it long ago, neither could say. Meanwhile, the forest and its many creatures big and small hummed along to their tuneless song.

"Y'know, I really am doing my best," Lighter finally grumbled.

"Yeah."

"It's not easy being a dad," the man persisted.

"Hey, it's not like everything's all sunshine and rainbows for me."

"No, I suppose not." As much as he might trivialize the problems of youth in his own mind, a piece of Lighter's soul still remembered how much bigger those troubles seemed to him once upon a time. ". . . And it won't get any easier."

"I get where you're coming from." Fuel had spent a lot of quiet days fantasizing how much better life would be when he was on his own, but he'd come to realize that it was only half true. Every passing birthday had brought with it an ever-expanding list of responsibilities; every inch he grew meant more burdens on his shoulders. "Sorry if I'm making things harder on you."

"It's okay, kiddo," Lighter told his son with admittedly diminished enthusiasm. "I know you don't mean to. Besides, if it helps make things easier on you, then I can take it. That's also part of being a dad."

"I just wish I knew what I wanted," Fuel groaned.

"I think—" Lighter caught himself mid-sentence. "Actually, it doesn't matter what I think. It's your decision."

"But what if I never figure it out?"

Reaching out again to clasp a hand on his son's shoulder, Lighter gave him a reassuring smile. "You will. Give it time. Just because you don't know the answer right now doesn't mean you won't later. Shoot, sometimes there might not even be an answer."

"You always seem to have one," Fuel pointed out, poorly mimicking his father's smile with a less confident version.

"Well . . . when you've got people counting on you, you might need to act like you've got a handle on things even when you don't," Lighter confessed.

Fuel's meager smile broadened into a genuine grin and he met his father's eyes again. "Heh. Really?"

"Don't get any smart ideas," Lighter warned the boy. "I know exactly what I'm doing for the most part."

"Okay, okay. I'm glad it's not just me, though." Knowing that much still made Fuel feel lighter on his feet and took some of the weight off the axe his was leaning on.

"Trust me, it's not just you. Nobody's got it all figured out. They might pretend like they do, but they don't."

"I do feel a little better knowing that."

"Then I guess I've done my job." It may not have been the eye-opening experience he'd hoped for, but Lighter felt better all the same. The tension between him and his son finally had a bit of slack in it again.

"Huh. Maybe you're not so bad at advice after all," Fuel shrugged.

"Nah. You were right in the first place. I'm just winging it," Lighter chortled.

Shaking his head and sharing in the laughter, Fuel added: "Could've fooled me."

"Well you are too easy," the man repeated.

"Yeah right." Fuel collected the axes up onto his shoulder again, pondering his impending trip into town. But rather than heading off he lingered a few seconds longer, biting his lip as the nagging question in the back of his mind demanded to be heard. He was finally ready to give into it. "So, um . . . since you're giving out advice and stuff, can I ask you something?"

"Shoot."

"Not for me or nothin'," the boy added hastily.

"Of course not."

"It's about a friend."

"Right," Lighter nodded.

Swallowing nervously, Fuel turned and looked off into the woods. "What, uh . . . what's a guy supposed to do when somebody likes him?"

Quick to hide his amusement, Lighter cleared his throat and stroked the stubble on his chin. "Well now, that depends," he answered slowly. "Does this friend of yours like that somebody back?"

"I dunno."

By this point, Lighter didn't know what other answer to expect from the boy. "Well that does make things tricky. In that case I guess the best a man can do is be honest."

"How am – is he supposed to be honest if he doesn't know?"

"He could always admit as much," Lighter suggested. "No guarantees it won't hurt somebody's feelings, but there's not a whole lot you can do about that."

Fuel scowled in disappointment. "Well that sucks. I don't want anyone to get hurt."

"Of course you don't: you're a good kid," Lighter told him with an uncharacteristically soft smile. "But even if somebody did wind up with a broken heart, it could be for the best. Maybe some things do need to get broken, if only so they can get fixed up better than new. Don't you think?"

"Yeah. I guess." Feeling his face heating up, Fuel quickly turned toward the path into town. "Thanks. I'll, uh . . . tell him what you said."

"Be sure you do."

"What, um . . ." Fuel coughed. "What do you want for lunch?"

"Surprise me," Lighter replied before heading back to work.