Love On Ice [scomiche|scömìche]

Home

my poor blues didn't make it in the playoffs </3

but happy Friday!

--

Scott was cold. Scott Hoying, the heater, was cold.

"I think I'm just going to head home," Mitch had said as he pulled his suitcase off of the conveyer belt. Scott watched, waiting for his to roll into view. "Kirstie dropped my cat off earlier today and I want to get home to him."

"Oh," Scott shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket. "Okay."

"I'll text you though, okay? Remember I promised you barbecue."

Scott smiled at the small memory of Mitch promising him barbecue while they were at the zoo in Dallas.

"We can have barbecue when we get back to Anaheim."

Scott smiled and looked over his menu at Mitch. "You won't be tired of me by then?"

Mitch hummed and shook his head. "I don't think so. I like you."

"I wouldn't let you forget."

Mitch smiled and fiddled with his phone in his hand. "Okay, I'll talk to you later."

Scott nodded. "Of course."

Mitch released his grip from around his suitcase handle and wrapped his arms around Scott's waist. He squeezed him tightly and took a deep breath. Mitch found himself relaxing into the hug as Scott hugged him back, thinking that perhaps everything between the two would be okay, whether they decided to stay friends or become more than friends.

Mitch pulled away and looked up at Scott, right into those blue eyes that always pulled him in. They didn't seem as bright as they normally were. He could see exhaustion all over Scott's face, there were dark circles under his eyes and his eyes alone were bloodshot.

"I'll miss you. Get some sleep, yeah? Without me there hogging the blankets."

Scott felt a small smile pull at the corner of his mouth. "You never hog them. I'll miss you too."

Mitch reached back for his suitcase and Scott finally unwrapped his arms from around him. "Let me know you made it home safe."

"I will. Bye, Scotty."

Scott watched Mitch walk off, pulling his suitcase behind him. He glanced back once to wave at Scott before walking through the sliding glass doors of the airport. Scott focused his eyes back onto the conveyer belt to watch for his suitcase, already missing Mitch more than he thought was healthy.

And so that's how he ended up alone in his bed, his queen sized bed with its boring grey sheets. The bed was too big. Scott had never experienced a problem with his bed being too big, but he'd gotten used to sharing with Mitch. He didn't starfish when he slept with Mitch and now he couldn't get comfortable. There was nothing to wrap his arms around. A pillow just wasn't the same. Mitch had texted him about a half an hour ago saying he'd made it home safely. And Scott had replied, but received no message back.

Scott missed Mitch. He missed holding him and wrapping his arms around him, he missed the feeling of Mitch's arm laying over his waist and the feeling of another body next to his. He missed when their legs would intertwine with one another during the night because Mitch was always so cold. Sometimes the feeling of Mitch's cold toes pressing there way between his legs would wake him up, but he never minded it.

Scott shifted in his bed and tried his starfish position, legs and limbs spreading out. He inhaled and exhaled, counted backwards from one hundred, tried progressive muscle relaxation starting with his toes and working his way up, he even tried envisioning himself sleeping peaceful. Nothing was working so he flipped onto his back and stared up into darkness, mindlessly wonder if Mitch was sleeping.