Learn to Live Again

Happy Deathday!

Remember that time Scott decided he wasn't going to stand at the window and pine after Mitch like a housewife whose husband went to war? And then he went to Matt's house instead?

Yeah, well. About that...

First thing's first: the whole going to Matt's house had turned into a pretty regular event. He hadn't really planned it to be, but it kinda just happened.

The thing was, Mitch kept feeding him little excuses for why he needed to sleep in Scott's room, with Scott. And that was Scott's favorite thing in the world. But also, it was driving him insane.

Not because he was sick of having Mitch in there, not at all. He had just been getting ready for the inevitable day when Mitch stopped. Because he'd never ever ever wanted that to happen, but he hadn't had a clue how to tell Mitch that. Or even just tell him that he didn't need to come up with excuses to be there.

Because, when he had gone to Matt's house the first time to whine about it, Matt had pointed out that Mitch had grown up with a very different social outlook on being gay than Scott had. Which Scott hadn't even thought of.

Which also meant that Mitch probably didn't realize that Scott had been high-key flirting with him since he'd come out. (He figured low-key would be better applied to his flirting pre-coming out.) Which also meant that Mitch probably thought that Scott was just trying to be supportive of Mitch coming out, and not interested.

Interested was not nearly a strong enough word anymore.

So, Scott had turned his disappearances to Matt's house to moan over his stupid not-so-little crush to a tri-weekly event, at least.

Which had prompted, four days ago, Mitch asking where he was going all the time.

And Scott, in all his endless genius, hadn't wanted to accidentally confess the details in case Mitch asked Matt about it and inevitably got uncomfortable—or God forbid—asked to come with.

So he'd oversimplified it.

He'd said, "I'm... talking with—a guy."

And Mitch had said, "Oh... okay."

And walked away.

Scott had replayed what he'd said to make Mitch's face fall and make that plastic smile plaster on top. He'd wanted to scream and smack his face into his hands and run back after Mitch, but it was too late. The damage had been done.

Mitch stopped crawling into his bed that night, and hadn't returned since.

So cut to today, where he was standing at the window of the second floor's lounge, overlooking the yard and patio, with wine in hand. Eyes glued to Mitch, sitting alone in the hot tub, facetiming with Kirstie on his new phone over the side.

He was doing his best to remember that he got the hot tub in case Mitch needed something warm and Scott couldn't be there—not so Scott could ogle his best friend.

Is this what Mitch felt like those first days after his undeath? Exhausted and lonely and fairly terrified?

He needs to talk to Mitch at some point and apologize. For being a dumbass. And if at all possible, tell Mitch how he feels already, even if all it does is clear the air between them a bit.

He also needs to stop being a creep, watching Mitch laugh on the phone from the window.

Okay, but he's not wearing a shirt... He's in the hot tub.

Exactly. What if he was the one watching you with your shirt off?

...Ooooh...

Yeah, that didn't help. Fine. He'd compromise for the sake of his own conscience. He'd walk away once his wine was gone.