Iceland

i2: see the stars (with you)

Mitch is standing in the center of someone's snow-covered field, and the stars are so bright above him. Cold gusts of wind are nipping at his nose and cheeks, but he barely registers the sting because Scott's standing next to him, an arm draped over his shoulders. It's Mitch's last night in Iceland and they elected to spend a night in together because Candice and Shawn wanted to go out dancing. It's quiet, and it's a soft, comfortable quiet that's so much more natural to the two of them than the heavy, thick silences that have been lingering between them as of late. Mitch senses Scott shift a little, and he knows he's about to speak and god, no, Mitch thinks. Don't break this, please, Scotty, I just want to stay right here with you and not think for a minute.

Mitch knows Scott felt him stiffen, and he knows Scott knows what he's thinking. When Mitch looks up, Scott's eyes are sad.

"Mitch, I-"

"Not now, Scott, please," Mitch says softly, voice breaking. "I know what we need to talk about and we both know I'm going to go downhill after that conversation, and I don't want to leave here like that."

"I'm sorry." Scott's voice is quiet, and the wind carries it away into the swirling galaxies of stars above them. The sky is so clear here, closer to the top of the world than they've ever been, and Mitch can see every star glimmering softly through the dark velvet of the night sky.

Mitch doesn't reply, just pushes himself that much closer, and he feels Scott's arm tighten around him. It's still quiet, but it's an uneasy quiet now, not quite heavy or uncomfortable, but a quiet that's screaming every painful word that hangs unspoken between them.

Mitch catches Scott's gaze lingering on him after an indeterminable amount of time passes, and he looks down, because those looks aren't supposed to be for him, are they? They're the looks he gives Shawn, the looks that Mitch hates so much because of who usually receives them.

It used to be him. Scott used to throw Mitch those looks, and Mitch had loved them then. There's a story there, he knows, but he doesn't want to think about that because they've both come away from that time in their lives now.

When Mitch's eyes start to sting, he brings a hand up to wipe away the tears that are sure to be there. The moment his hand makes contact, though, he doesn't feel liquid. He feels ice, tiny little drops of ice frozen to his cheeks and his lashes, and he traces one with his fingertip, feeling it melt away into nothingness.

He wants to do that. He wants to melt away. Not permanently, no, never, but maybe just for a few days when he gets home and Scott's not going to be there. He wants to be something that hovers just out of existence, watching other people be happy and move forward with their lives and their loves while he's stuck in this painful place in the past- stuck always hoping, always loving, always being there for Scott when he needs a hug, when he needs a shoulder to cry on, when he needs a person to laugh with. Scott's not always there for Mitch, as much as Mitch knows he tries to be, and that's okay. Scott has his own life, his own activities, his own loves. He's not stuck like Mitch is, tethered in place by some unbreakable, cursed chain that's rooted so deep in Mitch's very being that if he tries to pull away, he'll shatter into a million unsalvageable pieces.

"Are you okay?" Scott's voice filters its way through the tangle of thoughts that Mitch is wrestling with. Mitch looks up at him, and the movement makes him aware that more ice drops have frozen onto his cheeks.

"...no. I'm not okay, Scott. I'm sorry." Mitch can hear how quiet his voice is, how it barely sounds in the great realm of stars and snow they're standing in the center of, and it makes him feel so, so small. He knows he's not necessarily physically or emotionally small, but right now, he feels like Scott could break him in half if he said the wrong thing.

Scott just looks at him, and Mitch can read every thought that's running through his head clear as day on his face. He's worried, he's sad, he's a little concerned. He wants to know how he can help.

Mitch sighs, and it feels like there's a vice around his ribcage, keeping him from getting a full breath. "Let's not talk about it until you get home, okay?"

"Are you sure?"

Mitch turns so that he's looking up at Scott. "I'm sure. Please, Scott, just hold me."

Scott opens his arms and Mitch steps into his embrace, laying his head against Scott's chest. He feels Scott breathing, slow, even breaths that calm Mitch down. This is a familiar position, one that they haven't really fallen into in a long, long time.

Mitch doesn't let himself cry, doesn't let himself think of anything besides the way Scott's chest is going in and out and in and out and in and out.

He'll have his chance to cry later, but for now, he just wants Scott to hold him forever.

In and out. No tears.

It's not going to happen, he knows, but that's okay. Whatever makes Scott happy is whatever Mitch is going to accept because all he wants is for Scott to be happy.

In and out. No tears.

It's okay, he keeps telling himself even though he knows he's lying.

In and out. No tears.

It's okay.

-fin.