A Good Night Full Of Mistakes

Ch. 14

7:12pm Mitch: just landed. get dinner, i'll grab food on the way or room svc or something.

7:13pm Scott: I can wait if u want.

7:16pm Mitch: nah, gonna be a while

7:17pm Scott: :( ok, call me when you're settled. x

Because of course the flight would be delayed. Because of course. Mitch is already on edge as it is. This week in NYC is a Big Fucking Deal and he already has a million other things on his mind and having to spend even more time in yet another fucking airport is just the cherry on the whole shit sundae.

It's 9:48pm when he finally drops his bags in his hotel room and two minutes later he's got a room service order placed. Thirteen minutes after that he's got dinner and a bottle of wine in front of him and is no closer to relaxing than he was before.

This is scary. The next few days are going to intertwine their lives even more than they already are and with everything going on that thought is, frankly, terrifying. Everything he's ever wanted - it's in hand, or just about to be, and the fragility of it all has never seemed as certain as it does right now.

10:20pm Scott: getting a little worried, let me know you're safe?

10:22pm Mitch: I'm fine, room service just brought dinner. Fuck United.

At 10:24pm there's a knock at the door and Scott's blue eye on the other side of the peephole.

"Hey - oof," Mitch's greeting when he opens the door is cut off as Scott nearly tackles him in a hug.

"Oh my god, I am so glad to see you! I've been here for hours and I'm so excited and nervous and I had no one to talk to. This week is going to be amazing! Archer is so cute, I have a billion pictures to show you." Scott chatters excitedly as he flails his way into the room. "How was the flight? What'd you get for dinner?"

Mitch blinks at him.

"What?" Scott asks.

"Fuck, Catherine, settle," Mitch says, sitting back down at his uneaten dinner. "Flight was shitty, I have some bullshit kale and quinoa thing but I wish it was pizza with a side of pizza, and why is it like two degrees outside? It's fucking March. Now hush and let me pretend to enjoy eating this."

Scott pantomimes pulling a zipper across his lips and flops on the bed, scrolling through Twitter on his phone. From experience Mitch knows he's got approximately seven minutes of blessed silence.

Make that five minutes. "Did the front desk give you my extra room key?" Scott asks. "I told them to but you know how that goes."

Fuck this kale shit. Mitch nods and pushes the room service cart out of the way. "Yeah. Here's mine," he says, reaching for his bag and digging around to find the extra key card to his room. He tosses it at Scott.

"Okay, werk. So tomorrow we've got a writing sesh at 10, and then..." Scott begins rattling off their itinerary for the week but Mitch can't bring himself to pay attention. He's still stuck on the uncertainty.

Mitch isn't sure how long he tuned Scott out, but he becomes dimly aware of his friend trying to get his attention. "Hey, Cassandra. Helllooooo. Mitchy?" He blinks as Scott's hand waves in front of his face.

We can talk to each other about anything.

Mitch looks up and meets Scott's eyes. "I know when you're lying to me. You know that, right?"

The carefree smile fades from Scott's face. "....wait, what?"

Mitch tops up his wine glass. "Monday. You were lying to me. You've always been a terrible liar. You weren't being an asshole for the last month because you felt guilty. I don't know the real reason, but guilt wasn't it."

Scott gapes at him like a fish out of water and suddenly there's too much pent-up anxiety for Mitch to sit still. He stands and begins to pace, a little wine sloshing out of the glass and over his hand. "So now here we are in New York fucking City with a week's worth of writing sessions and meetings and studio time ahead of us and all I can fucking think about is that you had no problem looking me in the eye and lying to me. And, see, that's an issue because moving ahead with the Superfruit music is another way that we're stuck together - like, legally stuck together. Like, might as well be married-legally stuck together, and you know hard it is for me to trust someone enough to go on more than like five dates let alone music contracts and shit. And now I feel like I'm staring down the barrel of a gun because we're about to jump off a fucking cliff here and you lied to my face."

Mitch drains the glass in one gulp, pausing in his restless pacing to, on some level, enjoy the panic positively radiating from Scott. "I...wait - no..." Scott stammers, but Mitch doesn't let him finish.

"You know the worst part? The absolute worst part about all of this? I have no fucking idea if it was worth it! We apparently can't talk to each other anymore. You're lying about what you think of me. We - you and me - are falling apart. I'm terrified to take the next step in our fucking dream because we can't make music if we hate each other. And I don't know if the sex was worth everything that's gone tits-up because I sure as fuck don't remember it no matter how much I want to. And I really, really want to."

There are tears now - from both of them.

"I didn't want to upset you," Scott manages when Mitch stops for a breath. "I didn't - I didn't want to tell you the truth because I didn't want to put my stupid confused feelings on you."

"What about my feelings?" Mitch erupts, and suddenly the anger and hurt and stress and confusion boils over. In one fluid, and oddly masculine, motion, Mitch turns and throws his empty wineglass into the bathroom where it explodes into a million pieces on the tile. He's pretty sure his heart is faring about as well.

The shattering of glass seems to echo forever.

Mitch slowly turns his head to look at Scott. He's frozen in shock, but after a moment he takes a few steps closer, arms reaching out.

"Are you hurt? Did you get cut?" he asks quietly. Mitch shakes his head.

"Are you drunk?" The question jars Mitch back to reality.

"What? No. I didn't even finish one glass before losing my mind," it's such an odd question that Mitch reflexively answers in a calm, conversational tone. "Why would you ask me if I'm drunk?"

Scott stares at him for what nearly becomes an uncomfortably long time. "Because," he says finally. "I'm going to tell you the truth. And after I do that I'm probably going to kiss you."