Th*rsty (Scomiche)

California King Bed

“So how come when I reach out my fingers it seems like more distance between us?”

California King Bed by Rihanna

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"Mitchy."

I thought I was just dreaming so I groaned and tried to go back to sleep.

"Mitchyyy..." Scott shook me lightly by the arm.

So I'm not dreaming. I reached for my phone and looked at the time. 1:30 AM. I closed my eyes and mentally counted to 5 before opening them again. "It's late, Scottney. This better be important."

"Can I sleep here?" he asked.

There was something in the way he said it that told me something was wrong. I shifted in place so I could see him properly. Scott wasn't drunk, nor was he crying, but he looked... pissed.

"You fought, huh?" It was the most obvious explanation.

His lips pressed into a thin line and said nothing.

I sighed and pushed the covers away. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

Scott just shook his head.

Fight must've been pretty serious. "Okay. Make yourself comfortable but don’t hog the pillows. And the sheets. And don’t you dare push me off the bed. This isn’t as spacious as your new cal king one.” I wiggled and made space for him. I pulled the covers towards me and closed my eyes.

“Mitchyyy....” he whined as he shook my arms.

I opened my eyes and sighed. Here we go. “Do I need to bring out the big guns?”

His hand disappeared into the opposite side of the bed. “Yours,” he simply said as he handed me a bottle of chardonnay. He reached for something again and I saw that he had a bottle of his own.

I sat up on the bed and rested my back on the headboard, then angled myself so that I could face Scott. “What are we drinking to?”

“Stupidity,” he said flatly.

“Yours or his?” I smirked.

He glared at me and I couldn’t help but chuckle. He opened his bottle wordlessly and started drinking.

“Hey! No cheers?” I joked.

Scott didn’t answer me and instead continued drinking.

“No? Okay.” I started drinking, too. I knew at some point he would talk so I just waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

I sipped my alcohol slowly because I knew the upcoming conversation would require me to be sober. Scott, on the other hand, was going through the alcohol like it was water. Apparently he brought a couple of bottles, and he was already almost finished with his second one.

I kept waiting.

And then finally...

“It was so fucking stupid!” he hissed.

There it is. I said nothing and just continued drinking.

“We were fighting about damn closet space. How fucking stupid was that.”

Sounds pretty stupid. “What about it?” I asked plainly, although in my mind I was laughing. They are fighting about closet space. CLOSET SPACE.

“Just…” He let out an exasperated sigh and ran his hand through his hair. “Closet space, Mitch. CLOSET. SPACE.”

“Yeah, I got it. Closet space.” I wonder how many times he’ll keep repeating closet space. I should do a shot sort of when he mentions either of those words.