Scent of Love (Scomiche fanfiction)

Final blow

There was sincerity hidden somewhere under all the hurt and anger, there must have been. It showed in the way Scott was squeezing Mitch's hand, like he was unable to let go of him. It showed in how he bit his lip and gave Mitch a look full of something that the boy couldn't quite put his finger on, something akin to... hope, maybe? But it still wasn't until Scott started shifting his weight from one foot to the other and raised his barely-there eyebrows in anticipation that Mitch realized he was waiting for his reaction.

"Well, I'm sorry, but-"

"No," Scott cut him off and his grip on Mitch's hand grew even tighter. "It's not just me, is it? Tell me you don't feel anything when I kiss you. Tell me your heart isn't racing right now, like mine is. Tell me you haven't been thinking about me for the past few weeks. Tell me you didn't miss me. Tell me-"

"I can't," Mitch muttered, breaking their eye contact and looking down to admire the bathroom tile. "I can't."

Those two words gave away much more than he'd meant to reveal. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second and mentally face palmed. In fact, what he said was true on so many levels it was scary. He couldn't repeat any of the things Scott had asked him to, or else he'd be lying. But he also couldn't keep getting involved with the man who was responsible for the most painful seven years of his life. He simply couldn't carry on like that. Being close to Scott felt like a guilty pleasure and Scott himself was the forbidden fruit he would never be allowed to taste without feeling like the greatest of hypocrites.

"You can't... what?" Scott asked, frowning in obvious confusion. Maybe Mitch didn't have to worry about revealing too much of how he really felt, after all.

"Thank God you're drunk," he mumbled, unlacing their fingers before pulling his hand out of Scott's. It was pathetic how he instantly missed the warmth of Scott's bigger hand wrapped around his own. "I'm outta here. Thanks for ruining my night."

And with that, he walked out the door.

"Dirty faggots!" was the last thing he heard before the restroom door shut, and he figured the drunk man who'd been taking a piss while they'd been having their little sentimental conversation must have finally left his stall. He winced. It's been a while since someone called him names, but he was more than used to it. He'd experienced much worse. Seven years ago.

***

"Here," Esther said, handing Mitch a mug of hot chocolate. "Should sober you up a bit."

Mitch took a sip, smiling at the feeling of the warm liquid making its way down his throat. He pulled his legs up to his chest, resting the mug atop them as he waited for the beverage to cool down a little.

"Thanks, mom," he let out a content sigh, genuinely grateful to his friend. "You're the best."

"Riiight," she nodded, crossing her arms over her chest. She looked like she knew exactly what had happened, even though he hadn't breathed a word about it yet. It occurred to him, for the umpteenth time since they'd met, that she had to be a mind reader. That, or he was just really predictable. "So, now that we're done with the pleasantries, would you mind telling me why you decided to wake me up at two in the fucking morning? It'd better be important."

"Queen will do what queen will does," Mitch mumbled and raised a shoulder in a shrug, looking everywhere but Esther's way.

"Excuse me?!"

"What? I didn't say anything," he grinned. "Besides, all that happens in my life is, like, super important, so..."

"Mitch!"

"Alright, alright, chill!" He took another sip of his hot chocolate before sitting the mug on the glass table. "I ran into Scott in this club tonight, and-"