Bent.

4. When my Smile gets Old and Faded, Wait Around, I'll Smile Again

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4. When my Smile gets Old and Faded, Wait Around, I'll Smile Again

Mitch was hungover not only on Sunday, but well into Monday.

The tequila and whiskey mixture sure was a bitch.

He wasn't sure how his body managed to get him to campus, as he walked with his head foggy and his stomach still turning.

And suddenly, he was astounded that he had never realized that his version of Scott couldn't be real, because the real one was actually everywhere.

This time he was reading on a bench outside of Mitch's lecture hall, and Mitch pinched himself just to make sure that he wasn't in some sort of hangover-induced dream sequence.

It made complete sense why the Scott in Mitch's mind was such a reader. He had probably passed this scene hundreds of times without realizing.

"Do you actually go here, or are you stalking me?"

The blond looked up with wide eyes for a moment, before they softened and a smile graced his lips.

"You're one to talk, Bus Boy."

Mitch couldn't help the laugh that escaped his mouth. "Remind me to never try to return lost property again. Apparently, that automatically makes you a stalker." He took a seat next to Scott, and he was proud of himself for having the courage to have this interaction at all.

"I'm flattered, really. But I left your favorite outfit at home. I only have this flannel shirt and normally-fitted jeans today. Had I known that we would run into each other, I would have been better prepared."

Mitch started laughing, and once he started, he simply couldn't stop. Scott watched with widening eyes, and raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry..." Mitch sputtered. "I'm picturing you walking into your class wearing that see-through shirt and those pants..."

Scott closed his book and hit Mitch softly on the knee with it. "Don't act like you'd hate it."

Mitch glanced down at the cover of the book as he willed himself to stop laughing. The title was enough to sober him up immediately.

"You must be a psych major."

"You sound surprised. What? Bartenders at strip clubs can't be aspiring psychologists?" Scott asked with a smirk.

"No, no... that isn't what I meant." The words were empty and Mitch could feel himself panicking as he said them, hoping that Scott wouldn't pick up on his sudden discomfort.

"I'm just teasing." Scott's words were softer and understanding, and Mitch cursed himself for clearly making him uncomfortable. "But back to your original question. No, I'm not a stalker. Yes, I go here. I'm a senior."

His age wasn't right.

No, Mitch. Don't cry over something that stupid. Stop it. Stop it.

He's supposed to be twenty.

He wouldn't be a bartender if he were twenty, you idiot.

Don't you dare cry, Mitchell.

"Are you okay?"

Mitch shook his head quickly to rid the thoughts from his mind, and somehow the tears were kept at bay. "Totally fine. Sorry, I have a test today, and I'm stressing."