Learn to Live Again

Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are

"May I?"

It was an odd question for an odd scenario, Mitch decided. But as much as every ounce of self-preservation instinct in him was screaming to tell Scott no, he'd stay right here where they weren't cuddled up next to each other—

"Yeah."

That sounded too breathy. Goddamnit Mitch, act NORMAL. If Scott's instigating the touching, then it must be normal, even if it only is for Scott.

And then big gentle hands were curling around his shoulders and tugging him over so he was leaning heavily back on Scott's chest, with arms circling around him and pinning him down so, so gently that he was sure it was done purposefully to keep him from feeling trapped.

Fuck Scott. Fuck him. He was so fucking nice and respectful and fucking pretty and considerate and always always always trying to put Mitch first and he was so angry.

Why couldn't he have been born with boobs? Then he would've been able to fucking sit here without feeling so fucking angry that he can't have this.

And the worst part was: what if he could have it—every fucking day? And he was only keeping himself from giving into Scott's constant invitations into his personal space because he felt guilty doing it without saying those fucking words first? Scott deserved to know before Mitch started wiggling his way into his arms on a regular basis.

Matt had figured it out, and he'd managed to fumble his way through telling Kirstie—but he just couldn't tell Scott. The damn words wouldn't come out of his mouth, no matter how hard he tried. It was like his very teeth were trying to protect him from admitting it out loud.

But he'd fucking done it once when he told Kirstie, and he could fucking do it again to Scott if he could just make himself do it. But it was so much more difficult trying to tell Scott than when he told Kirstie.

Why?

He trusted Scott with his life. This one or the last one or whatever he'd had in between. Even if Scott was disgusted—and part of Mitch would always expect that, how could it not when that was his life for years until he fucking died—he just couldn't see Scott kicking him out or yelling at him or anything.

He was just too fucking kind and fucking perfect and Mitch couldn't fucking tell him that he was gay.

Days and days and fucking days worth of scrolling through every news article and watching every Youtube video and seeing every wedding photo he could just couldn't seem to prepare him for getting those words out of his mouth. Matt had helped direct him towards some better resources to learn about this "LGBTQ+" movement when he'd come over a few days later, (he'd struggled remembering all the terms for about one day until his sheer excitement and relief engraved the letters into his brain), and wow, he should probably take Matt up on that offer to learn some basketball to say thanks for everything, shouldn't he?

"How much coffee did you drink today?"

Mitch blinked himself out of his haze of anger. "Uh, just a cup or two, I think...?"

He could feel Scott trying not to laugh. "You're practically vibrating, here. Calm down, watch the movie."

And abruptly, Mitch wasn't angry anymore. Scott's thumbs were rubbing gentle little circles on Mitch's arms and he wanted to weep and cling to Scott like his unconscious mind always taunted him with in his dreams.

But that would be a little weird for watching—what was this? Oh, Back to the Future. The latest on Scott's list of modern movies Mitch needed to watch—but only as long as Scott was there to add his commentary, apparently.