Scent of Love (Scomiche fanfiction)

Speed dating

A buzz startled him out of his thoughts.

He must have looked pretty lost for a moment as a man across the table raised his eyebrows in confusion before slight irritation took over his features.

"You know, it would be nice if you at least tried to pretend that you've been listening."

"Sorry, I-" Mitch started, embarrassed, but realized there was no point in trying to explain himself - the man had already vacated the seat across from him. He sighed. He didn't want to do it in the first place. Speed dating was definitely not his idea of a perfect way to spend the evening, but he'd dare anyone to say that to Esther while she's sporting that trademark glare of her. He'd rather have a loaded gun pressed to his temple.

"Hi, I'm Jack. How you doin'?" Mitch half jumped on his chair at the sound of a slightly irritating, shaky voice. He didn't even realize another man had taken a seat across from him.

"Fine. Good, yeah, good, I guess," he stumbled over his words. "Sorry. I'm a little spacey today."

"Just one of these days, huh?" the man laughed and Mitch almost winced. The man's laughter was even more obnoxious than his regular voice. "You don't look like you want to be here."

Mitch wondered for a moment if that was a statement or an actual question.

"Well," he hesitated. "My friend kinda forced me to come. She got me a ticket as a gift. Couldn't really say no, she's scary."

The man, Jack, laughed again. Mitch wanted to roll his eyes.

"You know, since you don't want to be here, and I think I've found what I came for, how about we get out of here?" He winked suggestively and this time Mitch did roll his eyes.

"Straight to the point, aren't you," he shook his head. "I guess I'm flattered, but I'll have to decline."

He tried to be as polite as he could afford to be in those circumstances, but the Jack guy didn't seem to appreciate the effort.

"Whatever," he hissed. "You're missing out."

"I bet," Mitch thought to himself, letting out a sigh of relief as he heard a telltale buzz. The chair across from him was yet again left empty after Jack had kicked it back with a little too much force than necessary, obviously more annoyed than he let it show. Mitch looked down at his wrist and cursed internally. All he could do was brace himself for another 15 minutes of torture.

And it was this very moment that his heart chose to skip a beat. He had yet to look back up at the (now again occupied) seat in front of him, but he already felt the presence of the person most likely staring at him in confusion while he was busy looking at his watch and praying for the time to just speed up. He didn't have to look to know who was sitting opposite him at the very same table though - he would recognize this scent anywhere, anytime, always. The curious concoction of heavy musk and bitterness, and something indefinable, something he could never quite put his finger on.

Now, it is probably worth mentioning that Mitch has always showed a curious inclination for scents. He liked to think he possessed a superior olfactory sense, one that allowed him to associate scents with particular people, events and emotions, something he found both a blessing and a curse. It did come in handy from time to time, yes, but at that very moment all he wished for was to shut out all his senses and force out of his head the image of the man who was without a doubt sitting in front of him, putting his self-control to the test.

"Uh, hi?"

His head shot up instantly. That voice. The voice he simultaneously hated and couldn't get enough of. Yet again, his nose did not fail him.

He wanted to force out a reply but didn't seem capable of forming a single word. All he could muster was a half-smile which in fact resembled a nondescript grimace rather than anything else.

"Are you okay?" the voice invaded Mitch's ears again, and that's when it hit him. Since this man was there, right in front of him, taking part in a ridiculous speed dating event, he had to be...

"Gay."

Mitch's hand flew up to his mouth but it was clearly too late. The word was already out and two crinkled eyes met his own. Now that was definitely not the kind of reaction he was expecting.

"Do I take it as an insult?" the man in the seat across from him chuckled. "Or should I rather praise your perceptiveness?"

He smiled and Mitch's breath sort of hitched in his throat. The muskiness still lingered in the air. The pair of blue eyes narrowed. For the moment there, Mitch felt like it was all too much. He wasn't prepared for it, wasn't ready to face it, wasn't willing to. But he knew this short moment of panic was all he could afford, much like he knew that he was no longer the Mitch from seven years ago, no longer a fearful teenager, lonely and unable to stand up for himself.

"I'll let you decide," he said cheekily, allowing his lips to stretch slightly in a smirk.

"So generous of you," the blue-eyed man replied with a smirk of his own. "I'm Scott."

Mitch took the extended hand in his, thankful to God and all deities that he had not been recognized. He has changed over those seven years after all, got rid of his glasses, lost what was probably half of his weight, got a stylish haircut and filled his closet with clothes that did not resemble potato sacks. All of a sudden, he was ready to celebrate his victory.

"I'm M-Max," he said, as Scott gave his hand a little squeeze.