Mitch Grassi's POV
I REMEMBER WAKING UP LAST night and being in immense pain, but Scott helped me. And then I kissed him for a second, but that's it. And so when we woke up the next morning again, I felt bad for waking him in the middle of the night, and so I figured I could go with him on the possible date tonight to make it up to him. If he wanted to, anyways.
"Scott?" I looked in my living room. He refused to leave after my injury, and I wasn't complaining. "Yeah?" He looked up at me from his phone.
"Uh, so, sorry about waking you up last night. We could do that thing you wanted to tonight, if you want," I shrugged, blushing a bit. "The thing? Do you mean the date?"
"Date. Yeah," I confirmed.
"Okay, sure. But what about your wound? Are you gonna be able to go with it?"
"Even if it hurts, I'll get through it. I want to go, don't worry."
"If you say so," he stared at me with a look that made me think he was examining me. "What?" I looked behind myself self consciously. "Nothing, nothing," he shook his head and went back to his phone.
***
I wasn't really sure where we were going, or when, so when I went back to my guest bedroom, where I saw him an hour ago, he looked like he was about to explode. I wanted to ask him why, but somehow I knew he didn't want to talk about it. "Hey," I said softly.
His attention snapped to me, and his features softened a little. "Hi."
"Where and when are we going?" I inquired.
"Where is none of your concern and when is in about an hour. Wear something warm and casual," he smiled. I furrowed my eyebrows, but nodded, "Okay, well, come get me when we are leaving."
He nodded as I left the room and returned my own. Something warm?
I eventually chose a black, long sleeved sweater with the logo 'Vetements' on it, and light blue jeans. I didn't know what to do with my hair, and I felt as if I should dye it soon. Scott mentioned I was rambling about it while I came back here, and I was confused, but now I understand. I think I'd rock blond or purple.
I let out a deep breath in an attempt to calm my nerves and myself down, and unfortunately it didn't do much, but I could focus a little bit better. I let my hair fall to the side of my face like usual, and I added some concealer to my face, mostly because I felt a little self conscious. I know Scott wouldn't judge me like that, but just in case, right?
I figured I was done, and I think I dressed warm enough. It was only January, almost February, so it wasn't that cold. Eventually, after some time, I was about to leave my room when Scott decided to come in, so when I opened the door, I jumped in surprise, holding my heart. "God, don't fucking scare me like that," I breathed. "Sorry, Mitch," he shrugged and smiled sheepishly. "Whatever," I chuckled. "Did you come in here to get me?"
"Yeah, actually. Are you ready?" He inquired, looking at my 'casual' and 'warm' outfit. His was a simple Disneyland sweatshirt and some black skinny jeans, but he looked amazing nonetheless. I nodded, "Can you tell me where you're taking me. Please?"
"Nope, but it won't be as good as it sounds, unfortunately," he said. I wanted to tell him that it was probably going to end up being the best date of my life, but I didn't. We both walked down hallway to the door, and then I decided it wouldn't do much harm if I held his hand, so I grabbed his oddly cold hand and squeezed with a smile. "Your hands are really cold," I noted out loud. "I know. They usually are," he mumbled. "But yours are warm."
"I know," I mimicked. "They usually are."
He scoffed with a laugh, and eventually we were in a car — probably his — and we never stopped holding hands, besides going to opposite sides of the vehicle. Him being driver, me being passenger. Then he entwined our fingers once more, and I softly rubbed his hand with my thumb. Finally, the car was moving and I still hadn't let go of his hand.
I rolled down the window just a bit, and the cold January air hit me and probably Scott too. "Tell me if you want this back up," I said, staring at the dark sky. I checked the time on the radio. 7:30. "It's fine. You can keep it down."
"Okay," I mumbled. The stars were brighter than usual tonight, and I wanted to find the moon since I couldn't see it from my angle, but as I looked for it in a confused manner, probably confusing Scott himself, too, he chuckled. "What are you looking for?"
"The moon," I frowned at him.
"It's to my left," he let a smile cross his lips and I felt myself melt at how cute he looked when he did smile instead of a cold, dead stare all the time. I instantaneously looked over in his window, and there it was: the moon. It was a full one tonight, and it was very pretty.
I didn't exactly check where we were going, so when we arrived in the parking lot of a bowling alley, I blushed because I had no idea how to bowl, as cliche as it may sound. I found the "sport" — if you'd even call it that — boring. I mean, I never actually tried it, but it looked boring so I never did.
"Scott," I said as we got out of the dark blue car. "Yeah?"
"I, uh, don't know how to bowl," I looked down, then back up at him. "It's fine," he grasped my hand for the third time that night. "I'll teach you. I'm not that good, but I think you're gonna do great."
"Whatever you say," I said in a doubtful manner. "What if people watch me?"
"Nobody will," he declared. We entered, and a woman was at the desk. "Just one round of bowling."
She nodded, "Shoe sizes?"
He looked at me, then I recited my shoe size, Scott doing his after mine. My feet weren't that small, maybe a size or two smaller than Scott's, but like I said, they weren't that small.
"That's our lane," he said, pointing to one that was clear. Ten white pins landed at the end, all in a triangular formation [a/n: tour - Beyoncé] and all evenly placed. There was an object in the middle at the end of the lane with a hole in the middle. I figured that's where you put the bowling balls.
"What score is a good score?" I asked.
"I'd guess 150 or so."
"If I get 150 points, then you have to take me to dye my hair blond," I smirked. "If you get 150, then I'll get you ice cream. Deal?"
"Deal," he smirked as well, as if he'd win. He probably will since I hadn't played the game before. "What do you want your name entered as?" Scott asked from behind me as I examined the bowling balls and determined which one to get. "Mitch," I said with a confused tone. "What else?"
"Fine, don't be creative."
I rolled my eyes, grabbing a pink one. Mostly because it was pink, but also because it didn't weigh as heavy as the others. This one should be easy for me to pick up and throw. Scott appeared by me eventually and grabbed the one next to the pink aisle, a bunch of orange ones. His was marked with an eleven and mine was marked with an eight.
"Let's go. And I may have entered our names differently."
I furrowed my eyebrows, looking up at the screen. P and N. "N? P?"
"Pasta and Noodle."
"Are you serious? Who's who?" I let out a chuckle. "I'm Noodle, you're Pasta."
"Fine, fine. It'll be hard for me to remember though," I stated, walking toward the lane since I was first.
"Uh," I pursed my lips for a moment. "How?"
He stared at me, "You haven't seen anyone play before?"
"Well, no—" I was interrupted by a sudden ball hitting the floor. I looked at a focused Scott, staring at the lane with no ball in his hand. I looked over to the lane again, and the ball hit the middle pin, causing all of them to fly down.
"What?" I frowned. "I didn't see that!"
"I'll do it again," he said. "You go twice unless you get a strike, which is knocking them all down. This is my turn since I got you a strike. Watch this time."
I gazed at him, and then he lifted the ball to his chest, then went back down to somewhat behind himself, and then made the ball glide down the lane. I stared at it as it hit about nine or eight pins, and he smiled. "See?"
"Sort of," I shrugged.
"Come here," he instructed and I followed him. "Are you a lefty or a righty?" I then pulled my left hand up.
"Good. I'm gonna guide you through this then," he stated, going to my left and grabbing my hand gently. "Swing it back, then let it go," he said, demonstrating with my hand, but I didn't let the ball go.
"Good job. Now try it yourself."
I did as he demanded, and it wasn't that bad. I hit about five or six pins. "Nice," he smiled. "You have 29 points and I have 24, but only because I got you a strike!"
"Mhm," I mumbled sarcastically and sassily, even though we both knew it was true. He smiled slightly, then we realized it was my turn again, since I had to go for my "first" try at it. I did as he taught me again, and this time I hit about eight. I grinned, but then frowned when the last two pins were on the very opposite sides — one on the very left, and one on the very right.
"Try to get them both by hitting one's side and making it fling to the other," Scott suggested.
I smiled that he actually tried to give me advice, but I hid my smile from him. Then I did exactly as he said again, and I hit one but not the other. "At least you got nine!" He grinned enthusiastically. My score bumped to 37, and his stayed at 24 for now.
***
It turns out that he won, since he was obviously the better bowler, and I was fake sad about the fact I had to get him ice cream. I totally wanted to, but when we got to Baskin Robins, he refused to let me pay for it (despite the fact I was supposed to) and told me we'd get my hair dyed if I wanted sometime that week.
As he dropped me off, I insisted that I was fine and didn't need him to stay with me anymore, and he was a little hesitant but eventually let me. I stared at my house, then looked over at Scott. I blushed at the fact he was staring right at me, and I smiled, my insides igniting.
"Uh, thank you for tonight, Scott. I really liked it, and I still owe you that ice cream," I slightly laughed. "It's fine," he smiled for a mere second. He kept staring at me, and I looked down to my lap before I grabbed for the door handle. Once I was out, I quickly shut the door and hurried to inside, but then I stopped dead in my tracks and slowly looked back to his car which was still waiting.
Then I walked up to his car window, and he rolled it down, confused as usual, and the my cheeks were red, mostly because of what I wanted to do and because of the cold. I quickly kissed his cheek, then smiled, scurrying back to my house before he could speak to me. I opened the door to the inside, my heart racing and my head spinning.
And yet, my injury never hurt once that night, but what did sure as hell make anywhere of that region explode was my stomach because of the lingering kiss I left on his cheek.
***
a/n:: lol early bc I was like "oh my god I want to write their date" and it's a lot longer than I thought.