Mitch held Scott's hands in his.
The weight settled in his wrists, caused his arms to relax as they drew downwards towards his knees. As his muscles calmed, his heart, too, began to descend to its usual hideout, its cage of ribs.
The fit of Scott's palms in his own brought tears to his eyes yet again. Their foreheads were still pressed together, and Scott's eyes were closed.
He seemed to be processing hard, like an old computer trying to do too many operations at once. The whirring took the form of shaky breaths as Scott internalized the gift Mitch had given him.
Acceptance. It was a word often thrown about casually, when someone felt included in a group, or liked among friends. But this-- this true acceptance was like nothing Scott had ever felt.
This generosity of time, of emotion. This kindness and care. This need to support the other. The idea that despite the years and the miles and the crash, they were still the same Mitch and Scott they always were.
---
In his later poems, Mitch would write that everything happened so fast after that day. But secretly, he knew: time slowed down.
Every second spent with Scott lasted a year, and every year a second.
That's how it goes when you love someone.
---
Mitch put down his pen and stretched, gently cracking his back as he twisted this way and that. Two weeks flew by faster than he could wrap his head around, and before he knew it he was moving in.
He called Kirstin to talk to her about it. After all, he missed her like crazycakes.
"There's this interior brick wall-- you're gonna die when you see it," he told her.
"I'm not gonna die until after I get my hug and some vegan pancakes! Then my time will come." Mitch loved it when she played along. They both knew they couldn't live without each other, even if they were a phone call away.
"Okay, deal. Hey Kit?"
"Yeah, Moosh?"
"I miss him."
Kirstin grew quiet then, out of respect or out of surprise. Out of sadness. "He isn't far."
"He's not coming back."
---
Scott had trouble getting his words out. His thoughts boiled in his mind until he thought he'd just overflow.
Mitch would ask him questions every day, part of their routine. They'd do the crossword together in the morning, and put together puzzles at night.
One day, Mitch stopped doing the crossword with him. Scott didn't understand why. Sure, it was harder than usual, but certainly they must have moved on to the next level. They got more challenging every week, wasn't that the point?
---
The boxes were scattered around the new apartment, some still sealed up and others open and spilling of contents. Kirstin opened the door and walked in. Two more small boxes were balanced against her chest, a purse hooked over her elbow, and three fingers of her free hand grasped in the tiny hand of her daughter, Giselle.
Mitch caught the door behind her with his foot, just before it closed. He, too, was piled high with boxes up to his chin, which he quickly added to the growing pile in the corner.
"Honey, you can go over to the couch and play with the stuffed animal Auntie Mitch got you, okay?" Kirstin effortlessly set the boxes down on the glasstop table as Giselle scurried off happily. Mitch watched as she tossed her purse over the back of the chair and finally sat down. She was such an amazing mother already. He didn't know how she did it.
---
"Scott! You all dressed? We're leaving for brunch in ten!" Mitch called, doing his final touchups in the mirror. "Scott?"
He finished patting his concealer into place and stood up straight, rounding the corner into the master bedroom.
The second he made eye contact with Scott, he saw him him take a step and, as if it were slow motion, he tripped on the carpet and tumbled forward. His gargantuan body toppled over as he hit his forehead on the dresser and pinned his arm underneath himself.
Mitch screamed.
---
The room was big and breezy with an open plan, gorgeous hardwood flooring, and an interior brick wall as promised. The beams in the ceiling were exposed and an old fashioned chandelier hung from the center beam.
Mitch sipped his iced coffee and looked around at the space. "I think a fluffy white rug will do really nicely here in the middle of the sitting area," he thought out loud.
"Mmmm," Kirstin agreed, staring at the blank wall as the design gears turned in her head. They were at peace in this restless, empty place. It would have to be enough.
"Or maybe not. Scratch that. No rugs."
The apartment was tasteful and gorgeous, and only had room for one.
