Iceland

i7: as i feel myself fall (make a joke of it all)

Mitch doesn't stop crying for another few minutes, and Scott doesn't stop holding him. Mitch wishes he'd stop breaking down like this, but at the present moment, he can't help it.

Even once he does stop crying, Scott keeps holding him, and Mitch savors every moment he has before Scott's sure to push him away.

He doesn't, though, is the thing, even after a full ten minutes of sniffles and silence.

"You okay?" Scott asks softly.

Mitch nods out of habit, pauses.

Is he okay?

He shakes his head, carefully avoiding Scott's gaze. He's not okay, and that's the truth.

Mitch waits. He knows it's coming.

Ten seconds.

Twenty seconds.

Scott takes a breath in.

Five seconds.

"We need to talk."

And there it is.

Mitch can feel his chest tightening again, his relief crumbling into dust that Scott's about to blow away with one puff of air. He pulls back, out of the comforting warmth of Scott's hold, feels the familiar tension buzz to his skin again, feels the clouds rolling into his mind.

He watches Scott close in too, once he leaves his arms. He sees the way the shutters fall, but it's not in anger. It's more... disappointment? There's no reason Scott should be disappointed, because he shouldn't care about what Mitch is going through. He hasn't cared so far, so why should he now?

"Coffee first?" Mitch finds himself offering, and Scott smiles small, just a little ray of sun peeking through the clouds for a moment.

"Okay."

Mitch rolls out of bed, shivering when his feet hit the floor. He's still swathed in Scott's sweater, has been ever since he got home, and he watches the realization dawn in Scott's eyes. Scott catches himself before he reacts, so Mitch can't tell what he's thinking, and he sighs, turning to the door.

They make their silent way to the kitchen, and Mitch gets the Keurig going, setting out his and Scott's mugs- a green mug with small blue hearts for Mitch and a blue mug with small green hearts for Scott. They got them when they moved in, and they've defaulted to using them when they have bad days to remind themselves that they're here for each other, always.

It's just a bit of a jolt that reminds Mitch why they're here in this position right now. He automatically went for their bad day mugs instead of any of their other mugs. The thought tightens around his lungs, but he catches the tail end of a sad little smile from Scott, and he forces himself to take a full breath.

They're going to be okay.

Probably.

Once they have their coffee, they somehow agree without words to sit on opposite ends of the couch, and Mitch curls himself into the corner, cupping his mug between cold hands. Scott perches on the other end, and they both take a breath to speak before stopping, looking at each other and then looking away.

"Go ahead," Mitch says, barely loud enough to reach his own ears. He stares down at his mug, watches the little quasi-foam on the top swirl around.

"So. Um." Scott hesitates, tapping the pads of his fingers on his mug. "Shawn and I aren't dating."

Mitch snorts. "Sure, okay."

"I'm telling you the truth, Mitch."

And Mitch wants to believe him, wants to trust that he's telling the truth, but he can't. He can't convince himself that Scott's not lying, because he's seen the way Scott looks at Shawn. He's seen the way Scott's fingers linger when he brushes against Shawn. There's no way it's just friends.