Sweetheart [Scömíche] #fanficfriday #Slash

The Late Night Shift

"Hey Scott!" Mitch called from the register. I was currently taking an amazing batch of fudge from the fridge to decorate when he called my name.

Mitch had been working ever since school started two weeks ago, and he's become one of us now. And he's very comfortable here, working hard as ever. It's almost pitiful, that the other 3 workers and I took at least a month to stop eating samples, and Mitch comes in and sets this classy example.

"I'm really bored. No customers for hours..." He pouted as he hopped on the top of the counter. After the sun goes down, there aren't as many customers. Unless you count the midnight-snackers. But we aren't usually open that late. It was the boss's' idea to stay for a later shift, to catch the people who listen to their stomach, and not their conscience.

"Yeah...it's really quiet. And not even the Backstreet boys' music can fill that silence," I said, looking around the quaint shop. If Meghan were here, we'd break out her MP3 and we'd play it louder than the music. And once, we actually managed to hack into the music player's system and we played 1 Direction for a full hour.

But Meghan isn't here. Mitch and I are.

"Yeah...So, how long are you planning to work here?" he asked me, fumbling with some chunk of wood that might've broken loose from the side if the counter. "Are you planning to work here through college or...?"

"Maybe. I don't really know. I haven't planned out what I'm going to do with my life," I answered. My job will not be academically based, and I can a at that with confidence. But what do I want to do? All I ever do is go to school, come to work, go home. "I have a lot of big expectations...but I don't want to get my hopes up." I used to compete in talent shows with singing...and I also really enjoy piano. Even though I rarely practice either.

"Well, are they achievable? Do you have any sort of plan to get yourself to your goals?" He asked.

"I don't know..."

"Scott. You're killing me." He hopped off the counter, and took my hand in his as he led me over to one of the tables. His hand was soft, and unlike mine, it wasn't callused and weird. It almost felt...nice. Almost.

"Where do you see yourself in 5 years? A Bar, on a stage, in front of a class, behind a counter...where?"

"I...I've always had a taste for music. And if it comes down to it, I'm okay with working in a restaurant as well," I said.

"Are you good, you know, with music?" He asked, and I swear his eyes lit up. I shrugged.

"Maybe. I don't do it for other people."

"Show me," he said, turning down the volume to the speakers. I had to do one of those double-take things to make sure he was actually serious.

"You want me to sing to you? You're mistaken," I started to stand up, but he grabbed my wrist with his tiny fingers.

And those soft...tiny hands.

"Please?" The way he said it; I'd feel like I kicked a puppy if I didn't. I sighed over dramatically, and plopped back down in the seat beside him. He smiled genuinely, and pulled one of his legs up into the seat with him. "Start."

Singing in the shower is different than singing in front of a person. At least in the shower, I can feel more comfortable with my surroundings.

I sang a small portion of "Carry on My Wayward Son," a song I wouldn't think he'd know. I'm pretty sure it's from the 70's to the early 80's. Either way, I surprised myself. And apparently, I surprised Mitch to, because when I finished, he stood speechless with wide eyes.

"You know Kansas?!" He seemed so shocked. I nodded, and I couldn't help but let my cheeks burn with tint. "I'm really satisfied. That voice is amazing. But if you never preform in front of people, you'll never make it to mainstream..."

"Yeah I know. Thanks. You seem to know great music." It was his turn to blush.

"Thank you. That's literally a classic that is saved on my dad's computer. And I don't ever seem to hear it, since I'm never going back..." He stared back at the ground, away from my view. I bent down next to his chair, and, since I gained a little more confidence, I took his hand in mine. Still soft, if you were wondering.

"We're gonna prove your parents wrong, Mitch. I swear it." And then, I decided to be brave. Bold. Independent. Incredibly stupid.

I leaned down slowly, and I pressed my lips to his cheek. I felt his skin blush and turn warmer underneath my face, and I couldn't last without dying on the inside. I pulled away, but he wasn't smiling like I imagined he would.

Screw comfort.

"You missed," he said, his eyes catching the light from the ceiling. I literally think that my heart plummeted into my stomach and shook up a storm. I had to believe I heard him right.

"W-what?"

"You missed," he repeated. And the next thing I knew, he had my shirt balled up in his fists, and he was actually pulling me closer toward him.

I started to hyperventilate. Nothing could compare me for what was happening. And, I hadn't even thought about the fact that I may or may not be gay. All I ever do is hang our with girls (A girl. Only 1.) and other gay boys.

We were inches away, until the door slammed open, bringing in a gust of cold nighttime air. At first I thought it was a customer, but it was only Meghan. I leaned away when Mitch looked over at the girl who wasn't invited to the party. "Party." Ha.

"If you guys are going to play each other's instruments, please go do it in the bathroom," Meghan said as she hung her coat on the monkey hat stand beside the front door.

"Um...we're done," Mitch said before I could come up with anything. My face was defiantly a pale color, and once again, Mitch's face was a bright pink. We'd be able to confuse people if we walked out with messed up hair and wrinkled clothing. "See you tomorrow, Scott..." I watched as he grabbed his bag from the break room and left without a word.

"Okay, Goliath. Go home and sleep. I can get it from here," Meghan said, patting my back with a smirk. "Seems like you need it."

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