Iceland

i8: fight through this battle (and win)

Mitch doesn't sleep. He can't, not now. He sits still, blanket wrapped around him, dry-eyed. He's not shaking or crying or anything. He's just. Tired. Not sleepy. Tired. He's tired, and he doesn't know what to do.

Me, 10:28am: scott?

Me, 10:34am: scotty please come home

That was fifteen minutes ago. Scott hasn't replied, not that Mitch was expecting him to, but it still stings. He's tempted to start texting Kirstie and Avi and Kevin and Nicole and Candice and everyone else he knows to see where Scott's run to, but he doesn't. He'll be back. He doesn't leave any of these disputes unsettled, at least not the few Mitch remembers. Thing is, everything about this entire situation has been so, so out of ordinary that Mitch doesn't know what to expect. He doesn't know if Scott will come back ready to talk or if he's going to pretend none of it ever happened.

The house is quiet, and Mitch starts picking up the low hum of their refrigerator and their heating system kicking in and out, and he thinks.

He tries to figure out Scott. He tries to list all of the reasons Scott would have to lie, and he can only think of one.

To protect Mitch. The only reason Scott would lie about dating Shawn is to protect Mitch. It's still a stretch, though, Mitch knows. Scott's not a dick like that. He's straightforward, wears his heart on his sleeve, doesn't lie about relationships, especially not to Mitch. Fuck's sake, they've been each other's first confidants since they were ten and Mitch spilled juice on his bedroom carpet and he told Scott, who'd pinky-promised not to tell, ever. Mitch's parents still don't know.

Point is, Scott doesn't lie, never has.

There's a first time for everything, right? And why not this time? This is possibly the single most non-regular situation they've ever been in, so who's to say Scott's going to behave the way he always has?

The next time Mitch glances at his phone, it's 11:10, and he stares blankly at the screen as it ticks over to 11:11. He doesn't believe in 11:11 wishes, not really, even though he's granted several in his time.

11:11. Please let Scott and I figure out what the fuck is happening and how we can resolve it.

He closes the notes app, shuts off his phone, burying his face in his hands, counts to sixty.

At exactly 11:14, Mitch hears the faint rumble of their garage door opening.

One count to sixty later, it's 11:15 and there's a soft knock on his door.

"Mitch?" Scott's voice is absolutely wrecked, raw and rough from tears, and Mitch hasn't heard it this bad since, well. Since he broke up the last time. It slowly dawns on Mitch that the last time it was like this, Scott had been crying for just about as long as he's been gone this time, and the thought makes Mitch's breath catch.

He gets off the bed and unlocks the door to something that's absolutely heartbreaking.

Scott's a mess, eyes red and swollen and still teary and cheeks scrubbed pink and fuck. He's leaning against the doorframe like he's about to collapse where he stands, and Mitch can almost feel his pain. It's what he's been feeling these past few months, basically.

"Oh baby," Mitch breathes, pulling Scott into his arms. Scott essentially falls into his hold, and Mitch stumbles backwards a step so he doesn't fall.

Mitch guides them back to his bed, and he pulls Scott so they're sitting up against the headboard. Mitch holds Scott as best as he can, wrapping his arms around his waist and holding him tight. The irony of their position against this morning's isn't lost on Mitch, but he pushes it aside because his sun isn't shining right now, and that's not okay.