Snapshots

Home

"When are you coming home?" Mitch asks. He tries to make it sound like an offhand question, like he's merely curious and not clinging to sanity with his fingernails.

Predictably, however, Scott sees right through him. Mitch hears the quick inhale that means he's about to speak, but then he doesn't speak. Instead he sighs, and there's frustration in his tone when he finally says, "You were the one who wanted to be alone."

"Yeah, but—"

"You wanted space. You wanted to be apart for a while. You were the one that got tired—"

"Stop," Mitch cuts him off quickly before Scott can finish the thought. He's pretty sure his fears were—and are—legitimate, not just products of his overly-anxious brain, and he's pretty sure his reasons for wanting space are sound. But it's been days, and it's strange and disheartening and wrong, and Mitch is so lonely in their empty house without even Wyatt to keep him company.

"You were the one who got scared," Scott says. His voice betrays his disappointment, and Mitch's heart sinks to his gut.

"I know," he whispers. "But..."

"But what? Huh? Say it."

"I just—"

"I want to hear you say the words."

It's not hard to get them out. They've been a mantra in Mitch's head the past three days, maybe longer, maybe ever since Scott left. "I miss you," he says, easy as breathing. "Please come home."

Scott doesn't answer for a long, torturous moment. He's quiet and serious when he does speak. "I'll only go so far for you, Mitch. You gotta be careful now."

Mitch remembers the days when Scott professed his endless, undying love. When Scott said he'd do anything for Mitch, give him anything, go to the ends of the earth for him. Somewhere along the way, Scott grew up and established personal boundaries. Mitch hasn't reached that phase—he's still holding Scott at arm's length because of his own damn insecurities. There's no doubt in his mind that he hurt Scott, and he's paying for that now.

"I can't lose you," Mitch says.

"You won't, not ever," Scott assures him. "But you gotta make a decision soon, because I'm not going to wait forever."

It feels like an ultimatum, even though Scott doesn't mean it that way. They've just been on this precipice for too long, and Mitch realized too late that Scott was the one dangling over the edge, barely hanging on. He can't make Scott live like that.

"Please come home," Mitch says again. "I'll figure it out, I promise."

"Either way, things are going to change."

The precipice is comfortable. The precipice is safe and familiar, and Mitch doesn't want it to change. But it only feels that way to him. Scott is living and dying by Mitch's decisions, and that's not fair to him. Something has to change. He swallows the lump in his throat and says, "I know."

"We need to talk," Scott says. And then, like a bright ray of light, he adds, "I'll come home tomorrow."

Mitch nearly drops his phone in relief. "Thank you."

Scott doesn't say anything for a moment, and Mitch isn't sure how to continue talking to him without the conversation taking an intense turn. That talk will happen later, in person. Where Mitch can watch Scott's face, see the flashes of expression he tries to hide.

Finally, Scott says, "I miss you too."

That's what this call needed, that's what Mitch needed to settle the roiling darkness in the pit of his stomach. He breathes a sigh of relief. He can feel the warmth of Scott's smile even through the phone.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Mitchy."

"Yeah," Mitch says, smiling back. "I'll see you then."

fin.