Mistake

Password

{A/N

Little bit of a shorter one today, but still kinda important for the plot though.

Love y'all, thanks for reading!!!!}

Mitch woke up in a cold sweat, his forehead still burning but the rest of him freezing like the Arctic. He was conflicted.

He was also confused, his mind blinded with the heavy slumber he just arose from, his thoughts in one big heap of questions with no answers. Why was he still at Scott's? What happened? Was he alive? He didn't know. He didn't have any clue what was going on. But he did know that the headache he had was beginning to dull, but still lingering. It thumped against his temples, and it was times like these he was happy he lived in such a rainy place, the sun barely shining through the curtains to save him the extra pain of light sensitivity. He was weighed down by two heavy blankets and a thin sheet, not to mention his clothes, yet he was still covered in chills. But his forehead was so fiery he was afraid to touch it.

His mouth felt like he had tried to swallow cotton, and maybe didn't succeed. He tried to say something, just to test the waters, but the words got caught in his throat immediately, resulting in a bone-jerking cough. He gripped his throat lightly, his vocal chords banging against each other painfully, but he couldn't stop coughing. He tried to hide under the blankets to muffle the sound, knowing this was Scott's dorm and he was most likely still in the other room. He didn't want Scott coming in or hearing him. He remembered Scott telling him he could leave before he clonked out, and he planned to keep his word.

But he was in no such luck. From where Scott lounged on his couch, which was right up against the wall of his bedroom, he could hear pained coughs over the TV. His brows furrowed for a moment, staying still to see if it would pass and Mitch would fall back asleep, but after a while it didn't. He grew concerned, finally standing up and quickly jogging to the kitchen, pouring Mitch a glass of water and making his way to his bedroom. The coughs and sputters had died down, but he could still hear him clearing his throat, and lightly sniffling.

He knocked on the door with his free hand, resting his forehead against the cheap wood. He winced as he heard Mitch try to speak, only resulting in another fit of coughs. He sounded so pained that Scott could practically feel it himself. He didn't bother waiting for an answer any longer, gently easing into the dimly lit room to find Mitch buried under the blankets.

"Mitch? I brought you some water," Scott spoke smoothly, walking in a few more steps but not proceeding any further. It took a few beats before Mitch poked his head out from under the blanket fort he'd nestled into, his nose red and face pale, a small tinge of pink staining his cheeks.

Mitch just looked at him, before his dark eyes landed on the clear glass, filled to the brim with cold, icy waters. He craved it more than he had craved anything in a long time. He licked his lips, praying Scott would get the message and bring it to him, he still didn't want to move yet. His body ached and his throat throbbed but he knew after he had some water he'd feel good enough to go back home and take care of himself.

And luckily, Scott did notice, but he couldn't help but watch as Mitch's tongue poked out to wet his lips. Scott caught himself before he stared too long, and sat on the bed next to where Mitch was still laying. Scott's brain was still foggy from replaying that scene over and over, how sensual it felt and how attractive it was, but he still handed the glass to Mitch steadily. He needed to compose himself quickly, and he soon did, taking a deep breath and letting those thoughts slip out of his mind.

Mitch propped himself up on one elbow, reaching his other hand out to wrap it around the glass, the cool condensation that had formed around the cup cooling his hand. He brought it to his lips and drank, sighing in relief when it cleared his airways a bit more, though a hot drink would've been more ideal. He told himself he'd make some tea when he got home, but right now this would do just great. Now his throat was much less dry, still aching and swollen, but nonetheless better. He finished the whole glass, leaving non to spare. He hadn't had a drink all day it he knew it probably didn't help with his fever, too.