The New Manager (Pentatonix)

11.

"... and I'm sorry for that. I know you guys worried. But I needed time, so I took it. Yah, it took a while. But I'm getting better. I'm sorry, Dad." Mitch said through the phone.

"Why haven't you even called us in the past three years? We didn't even know if you were okay. Well- Nel claimed that motherly instincts told her you were fine- but otherwise we had no idea." Mike said, relief colouring his words.

"I'm sorry... I just needed to heal. I needed to find myself before I found anyone else. And I think that I finally found myself. I'm starting to find other people again. I had to wait until I was ready."

"Geez, Mitch," Mike muttered, "you know Nel is gonna have a mini heart attack. And what about Hoying?"

"I'm... actually on my way to meet him right now. Not my smartest move... but I miss him. I need him." Mitch said.

Mike sighed. "Just watch out for yourself, okay? Promise me." He begged his son.

"I promise, Dad. I promise. I'll see you soon." Mitch said, before hanging up.

He reached up to his fading purple hair, combing it through.

He was at the Starbucks, in the parking lot. He was waiting for Scott. After all, he wouldn't be recognized. He had lost weight, his face has gotten more structured, and his hair had changed dramaticly.

The blonde headed inside, and Mitch waited a moment before following.

MitchGrassi: Fear is a good thing... in certain doses, of course.

Scott's phone dinged instantly from the tweet.

Mitch smiled at the response.

ScottHoying: Fear is just an emotion to hide others behind. For example, love. Pain. Anger. But it isn't an emotion on its own.

MitchGrassi: Cryptic, much?

ScottHoying: Depends on how you look at it.

The baritone glanced up briefly, seeing a figure slip into the seat across from him.

"No, I won't give you an autograph or a picture. Maybe later, but not now. This isn't a good time." Scott mumbled, eyes trained on his phone.

"That's too bad... I had been rather hoping for a picture... other that what the paparazzi takes, of course." The person said.

Scott looked up, actually looking this time. His blue eyes found Mitch's gold-flecked, chocolate coloured eyes.

His mouth hung open.

Mitch smiled, his eyes crinkling slightly in the corners. "Hi. I'm Mitchell Grassi, but just call me Mitch. Or Queen. Whichever you like."

Scott started crying, and saw the smile fade. He observed his best friend though tear blurred eyes.

His cheekbones were deeper, his face slimmer. His frame seemed slimmer. His hair... it was mostly shaved, with long bangs. No longer its beautiful natural brown colour either... it was now a garish purple. It suited him, though.

"You know that purple is the colour of Royalty, right?" Scott whispered.

Mitch laughed softly.

"And I'm in love with being queen." He said, shrugging.

They both started laughing.

"It's nice to see you. You've changed, though. A lot." Scott observed.

"I had to. You seem to have done the same thing, though." Mitch stated.

"Your starbuck addiction hasn't changed yet, though. That's good. I need to recognize something about you other than your eyes and your fashion sense." Scott joked.

Mitch slid around the circular table, and sat beside Scott. He leaned into the larger man's side, and Scott wrapped an arm around the tiny tenor.

"I missed you so much..." Scott whispered.

Mitch bit his lip. "I missed you more. You and Wyatt. But mostly you." He confessed.

Scott pulled away, and Mitch whined in protest of losing the warmth.

"Why did you move?!" Mitch complained.

"Maybe you were too cold." Scott joked.

"Yah well you are super warm. Get back here!" Mitch sassed.

The two leaned up against each other again.

Mitch whipped his phone out.

"Selfie?" Scott asked.

"Duh... I need to prove to my dad that I'm not dead." Mitch joked.

He had actually wanted it to show he could be happy again.

Scott chuckled at his reasoning, before turning dead serious.

"I need to know. Why did you leave?"

Mitch stopped breathing for a minute.

"My... my therapist. She made me."

"But why?" Scott pushed.

"My depression and anxiety were getting worse. I couldn't even wake up without freaking out. My pills didn't help anymore. So, she stepped in." Mitch lowered his eyes. "She suggested a detox. I took it, I was so desperate. And then I started getting better. I didn't go far. Just away. And it got better over time. I was scared to come back after that."

Scott searched for meaning in the tenor's vacant eyes. "Why?"

Mitch shook his head.

"Why?!" Scott asked again.

Mitch whimpered.

"WHY!?" Scott yelled.

"I knew this was a bad idea." Mitch said as he got up.

Scott snapped out of it. "Nonononono! Don't leave! Please don't leave me again!" He begged.

Mitch spun around. "You want to know? You. You were the reason everything happened to me. You were the reason I left."

And with that, the Queen- and Scott's happiness - walked out of the store.

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MitchGrassi: Never make yourself drop to the level where you rely on others. It never ends well.

Esther stared at the tweet.

It was bad enough that the relations in their personal lives were tense. But now it was affecting professional aspects as well.

Esther had been part of a lengthy conversation with an anxious Michelle that afternoon.

"I can't do it, Esther. I'm sorry. But I can't." Michelle cried.

"Once we get our new singer, we can talk. Not until then, though. Stick it out." Esther commanded.

"Fine! But then, I'm gone!" Michelle warned.

"We will see." Esther said, a smile in her tone.