"Are you alright, ser...?" Simon asked, a little worried now.

He swallowed again, and this time his eyes watered a little.

He shook his head, nodded, then coughed again.

Simon quickly got up, walked over and slapped Zech's back.

Zechariah held his hand up to try and stop Simon, but too late. Some carrot chunks and a spitty lettuce leaf came flying out, and the look he cast up at him was akin to an angry but soaked kitten.

Simon took a step back. "Was only tryin' to help, ser." The moment was past, and Simon had remembered his place.

He swallowed and sunk back into his seat.

“Of course,” he sighed with a strained smile. “Of course.”

Simon stiffly walked back to his seat and sat back down He cast a glance at Zech.

Zechariah stared sullenly down at his food, glancing up only briefly when Simon sat again.

“You do not want what I want, do you,” he said flatly.

That caught his interest alright. Simon looked at him, a little on his guard. Were they going to negotiate at last? "What is it you want, ser?"

His face flushed, and he considered his words.

How did he express a yearning to get to know him, man to man? To know each other not as servant and better, but as two young men of an age and an inkling that there could be something between them? Something that the world might not understand, but something nonetheless?

… What would Chaim say?

“I want your father to like me!” he blurted out.

… Probably not that.