8. Could You Paint Me Better Off?
Three weeks passed rather quickly, and horrifically slowly at the same time.
Mitch reached out to Scott on three occasions. He didn't receive a reply.
It's for the best, Mitch thought. But he certainly didn't believe it.
Mitch walked into the audition with his head held high, despite feeling like he wanted to throw up.
It wasn't nerves for the audition. Somehow, he was never nervous to sing.
He was simply nervous to see Chet and Rozzi. He was nervous to remind himself of his stupid mistake.
He was nervous to feel the sense of longing that had been tugging on his heart for the last three weeks.
Kirstin grabbed his hand and led him to sit in the front row. She shot Rozzi a small wave, who beamed back at them from her place on the stage.
Mitch was thankful that she smiled at him as well. He knew that she didn't have to.
Part of Mitch hoped that Scott would walk in. According to Chet, these chances were slim. According to what Rozzi had told Kirstin, these chances were non-existent. But Mitch held out hope anyway. After all, Scott was seemingly the bravest person Mitch ever knew. Maybe he would overcome this one small insecurity today, solidifying his perfection.
Solidifying the fact that he wasn't Mitch's Scott.
Mitch's imperfect, damaged, painfully beautiful Scott.
Chet explained the rules of the audition. They broke into groups based on their sections, and learned the part to a collective song. They would then sing that part in isolation. They would also sing the melody of any song of their choice.
Scott didn't walk through the door.
So Mitch held onto a new hope.
Scott wasn't perfect.
Thank God.
"Want to grab dinner, new members?" Rozzi asked, slinging an arm around each of them as they walked out. Chet was behind them, beaming like he had hit the lottery.
"Yes! Let's celebrate!" Kirstin said, her tone full of excitement that Mitch felt internally, but couldn't figure out how to express. She leaned over and whispered in Rozzi's ear. Rozzi shook her head.
"He's working tonight."
Mitch thought of Scott behind that bar. He thought of the damn uniform. He thought of the drunken idiots that Scott would have to to entertain. He thought of the comments and the hands on him. Suddenly, he didn't want to go to dinner. He felt sick again.
He went to dinner. He couldn't keep disappointing Kirstin like this.
He was glad that he was being forced out of his comfort zone. They were laughing harder than he had laughed in a long time.
Chet was funny. He was a bit stupid, which gave Rozzi just enough ammo to keep Kirstin and Mitch laughing until there were tears in their eyes. Chet was a fantastic sport about it all.
The dynamic was very different than it had been when he was with Rozzi and Scott.
Scott's intelligence was definitely missed.
"Ugh. I wish Scott were here. He would make you stop making fun of me," Chet pouted, throwing a straw wrapper at his friend. Rozzi laughed.
"Yeah, that big softy can only handle so much teasing."
"I think you mean BULLYING," Chet laughed, and Rozzi's smile faltered.
"I'm sorry. I hope you don't think I'm bullying you."
Chet's eyes widened. "No, no. I'm totally kidding."
But Mitch could tell that the word struck a chord with her, as she finished her dinner with a little less pep in her step.
"I have an idea," Chet announced, wiping his lips when they were finished. The three others turned to him.
"Anyone wanna go to a strip club? I hear there's a cute bartender who will sneak us free drinks."
Mitch felt a burst of excitement in his stomach. Or perhaps it was dread. It was hard to tell. But Kirstin's smile told him one thing for sure. They were going to a strip club.
"Why does he work here?" Kirstin asked as they walked up.
"Because he makes bank," Chet announced from in front of them. "Even on weekdays. The closeted married men come in here and sit at the bar for hours. Scott shoots 'em a smile and they tip him twenty bucks each time. It's insane what a desperate man will do for pretty blue eyes to look their way."
Rozzi rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I'm sure it's the 'pretty blue eyes' that do the trick. It's definitely not the outfit."
"You don't sound like you support this job of his," Kirstin laughed nervously as they approached the door.
"He's better than this. I don't like it when he sells himself short."
Kirstin looked over at Mitch as they handed their IDs to the bouncers. "I know what you mean."
They made their way to the exact same spot that Mitch had perched himself two months prior. Mitch averted his gaze from the men walking around in their glittery briefs, and willed himself to just take deep breaths in preparation for seeing Scott here again.
"Yuck. Jared! Come take care of these guys. I don't want to." Scott yelled, sticking his tongue out at Rozzi as the group approached. She leaned across the bar, pecking him on the cheek.
It was a Thursday, and it was still somewhat early, so the bar was far less crowded. Mitch looked around. Chet had been correct. He watched as an older man watched Scott as he moved behind the bar.
He turned the other way and saw the same thing. An older man, holding onto his glass, watching Scott like a hawk.
"Are we here for a celebration?" Scott asked, raising an eyebrow. "Should I get our best staff to come on over and give some congratulatory lap dances?" Scott asked with feigned seriousness, pouring four shots and sliding them across the bar.
"It's definitely a celebration. These two killed it tonight," Chet exclaimed, grabbing his shot glass as the rest followed suit.
Scott glanced at Mitch for the first time since they walked in, and smiled. "That's great. Congrats."
Before Mitch could reply, Scott made his way over to one of the loners, who was holding up a hand to get Scott's attention. He watched as Scott leaned across the bar, and the man spoke into his ear.
Mitch hated how much he despised watching people do something so simple.
"These are the kind of men that make me hate this job for him," Rozzi muttered, as though she was reading Mitch's mind.
"Come on, they're harmless. Just here for a show," Chet replied.
"Not always. He's not even supposed to be the show. And sometimes they cross the line."
Mitch's heart was aching again.
Scott returned before they could continue voicing their thoughts on the matter.
"So what are you drinking? And if you say whiskey sours, I'm quitting."
Rozzi narrowed her eyes, playfully. "Whiskey sours."
Scott smirked. "Well played."
Mitch was with Rozzi on this one. He certainly didn't like this job.
As the night wore on, the men at the bar multiplied, and Mitch's patience for them dwindled at an alarming rate.
Scott also wasn't talking directly to him, which didn't help. He would include him when talking to the group, but he never looked directly at him and didn't ask him questions personally.
It seemed like the thirtieth time that Scott left them to tend to one of them that Mitch was caught.
"Penny for your thoughts there, Mitch?" Chet asked.
"What do you mean?"
"You just groaned. Like... loud."
"I guess I'm with Rozzi. These guys are gross."
Chet smirked. "Don't like people touching your things?"
"What?"
"Oh, come on. The way you two look at each other is pretty obvious. I was hoping that one of you would make a move by now. What the hell is taking you guys so long?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Sure, Mitch. Sure. You just keep killing these men in your mind every time they put their grubby little hands on him. And we'll just pretend that this conversation never happened."
Chet was an idiot.
The group wanted to leave after about an hour, but Mitch didn't like the idea of leaving Scott with the vultures sitting around the bar.
But Chet was already suspecting his feelings, and he wouldn't give him any further reason to by demanding that they stay to babysit him.
They said their goodbyes and Scott never looked directly at Mitch in the process, turning quickly to continue to do his job as Mitch opened his mouth to demand that they find some time to talk things out.
So the request died on his lips, and he followed the group out, feeling hopeless.
He thought about how his Scott would have acted tonight.
The second one of those men even looked at him wrong, Scott would have made a snide remark. He would have insulted them, and he possibly would have yelled. Then, he would have turned to Mitch for comfort, and Mitch would have given it willingly, holding the larger man and telling him how perfect he was.
This Scott didn't need Mitch to do that.
But Scott being at that bar alone still didn't sit right. He glanced over to the clock on his nightstand. It was nearly 3am, and the bar closed at 2.
Mitch: Can you tell me when you get home safe?
He put the phone down against his chest as he stared at the ceiling. He knew that Scott had probably blocked him. He knew that he would probably never read that message, and that Mitch would most likely be up all night again, wondering if Scott was dead in an alley somewhere, attacked on his way to the bus stop.
Mitch's imagination sure was one of his biggest problems, he noticed, as a lump formed in his throat at the thought.
His phone buzzed against his chest.
Scott: lol I'm home Mom. Thanks.
He hadn't been blocked. Scott was home. All was well.
So why did he want to cry?