Speak to Me. (Scömítche)

Chapter 6

POV: Scott
The club was loud and was filled with lots of people. I would say 3/4 of the people who were here were drunk.
Our group was seated in a booth near the bar and the stage, so we got 2 different sets of sounds that could bust out eardrums out. And don't even get me started on the music.
"More shots!" Kirstie ordered, and then started giggling uncontrollably. It was pretty obvious that she and Mitch-who was going around hugging strangers- were drunk. Avi and Kevin don't drink, Jeremy and I were on our 2nd bottle, Mitch and Kirstie had had 3 times as many.
"I think you need to go home," Jeremy said softly, causing Kirstie to look at him and frown.
"Fine. You can go, but I don't wanna," Kirstie said, pouting like a 2 year old. But she couldn't keep her face like that for long before she started a giggling fit.
"Baby, your drunk," Jeremy whispered into her ear. "I am not!" She yelled loudly in response, and she pushed his arm playfully.
There was a commotion on the dance floor, which caused people to get up from their tables.
"I'll go see," I say to the group, and I all but laugh when I see it for myself.
Mitch has started a hugging circle. Translation, he hugged a drunk person, and someone else hugged him, and another hugged that guy. It looked like they all knew each other, which they didn't. So I had to walk and shove my way to the middle of the circle, where Mitch stood with his arms around some girl who looked pretty underage.
"Hey, Mitchie. You uh, you make some friends?" I ask awkwardly, trying not to start laughing. He opened one eye, smiled, and opened the other.
"The world is my friend, Scottie. The world," he hiccups, and makes the underage girl laugh. I didn't like that.
"Well, we're going home now, so tell your friends you have to go," I say, putting my hand on his shoulder. He lets go of the girl to face me, and when he does, he trips over his own feet. I hold out my arm to catch him. He starts to laugh, then I ends up in a coughing fit. With him still in my arms, I start to pull him free of the next man's grasp, causing half the circle to fall to the ground. Man, aren't people something?
"Where are we g-going?" Mitch asked, slurring his words. I manage to drag him out to my car, and prop him up against the side door.
"We're going to your apartment. Do you can sleep," I say, awkwardly opening the door and holding him up at the same time. I bet people watching from across the street were getting the wrong idea about what I was doing, so I repositioned myself.
"But home is b-b-boring," he whines, which was cute. Wait...... What?
"Yeah. But you'll be out like a light. I promise," I say, getting him in the seat and buckling him in. He pokes my chest, which makes me uncomfortable.
"Wow. Your chest is, is-"
"Hard? Yeah, sometimes you gotta have a hard chest," I say, cutting him off before he said something..... Different. I don't even know why I meant when I said "Hard," but it did the trick.
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I made Mitch change his shirt and pants before he went to bed. Even though he had sobered up a little bit, I decided to stay and help him get to bed because I didn't want to take any chances. I locked the door to his balcony, in case his drunken state wanted a "view." Then I decided to tuck him in. He sat on the bed like he was a robot, waiting t be wired In the head for a mission.
"Well?"
"Well..." He said.
"Aren't you going to bed?" I asked, and ran my hand through my hair. My head hurt. I wanted to sleep, like now. He was pretty sobered up though, which was good for me.
"Oh yeah!" He said, and he laughed as he crawled under the covers. I laughed along as I pulled up the covers to his waist. He smiled up at me for a few seconds and closed his eyes. I was going to leave, until I felt his Han wrap around my wrist.
"Wait."
"Wait what?"
"Will you stay here? You know, until I fall asleep?"
"Now Mitchie, you know-"
"Please?" He pleaded, his eyes still closed. I thought about it. About what this could possibly mean for our friendship, and his relationship with Travis. About how he would react the next day. About Pentatonix.
"Mitch."
"Scott," he said, mocking my tone. I sighed, and sat back down. He cuddled up to me, and he smirked.
"Mitch Grassi, you are one crazy, strange, drunk little man. You know that?" I ask. His smile grows, and then fades slowly as his breathing becomes slower, and he slips further into unconsciousness sleep.
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