Worried: A Scomiche Short Story

Part 2: Control

As the band greeted each other in the intimate studio set in downtown LA for their afternoon arrangement session, Mitch smiled and went through the expected pleasantries as quickly as he could before strategically wedging himself the corner of the worn and cozy leather couch. From this vantage point he could listen and observe but would not be the center of attention. This was Scott's first clue. Why didn't Mitch, typically being a little bundle of light, radiance, and energy, want to be front and center?

His next clue came when Mitch chose not to make a sassy remark or engage in the friendly banter between Avi and Kevin, which was strange. He always jumped at the chance to make either of the two usually stoic characters of the group blush or at least squirm in their seats a bit, but today he was uncharacteristically reserved and timid about his engagement with the group, and that was if he was even paying attention at all. Even talk of him and Kirstie having a much needed girls night couldn't draw more than a smile and nod out of him. It seemed that the majority of the time he was just staring off into space while his leg jigged nervously and he chewed absentmindedly on his bottom lip.

Now Scott was a bit worried. Knowing someone for more than ten years, living together day in and day out, and working together almost every waking moment of you life gets you pretty in sync with that person. Reading the subtle cues Mitch put out was almost as second nature to Scott as breathing, so he could not bare to see Mitch struggling with the swirling of his anxious mind. Thus, as soon as Scott figured out what was up, he assumed his role as safety net and sturdy rock quietly and without hesitation.

Calm. Steady. Safe. Scott could be all of this and more for Mitch and he knew it would be greatly appreciated. He halted his stray wandering around the room, as he so often did when he was fully engrossed in these creative group sessions, and switched gears to fully focus in on Mitch and his needs. Avi and Kevin were fully engrossed in fleshing out the rhythm section and bass line of their current project and Kirstie was talking quietly with one of their favorite studio techs untill Avi and Kevin were ready to move forward, so he crossed into Mitch's field of view so as not to startle him, and sat gently on the brown sofa next to his best friend allowing him some space so he didn't feel trapped. Once settled, he gestured for Mitch to unfold himself slightly from his safe little corner and invited him to toss his legs over Scott's own lap.

Scott's left arm rested on the back of the couch and his right hand, the one closer to Mitch, hovered over Mitch's knees. He looked up at Mitch with a question poised on his face, and waited for any sort of signal from him. With an almost imperceptible nod, Mitch closed his eyes, took a quiet albeit shuddering deep breath and rested his head back on the sunken cushion behind him as Scott slowly lowered his hand on to the space just above his knee cap and began to rub mindless, slow, and constant spiral designs into his jeans.

This whole nonverbal exchange, though seemingly insignificant, actually meant absolutely everything. Mitch knew it and Scott knew it. It provided Mitch a little sliver of control when it was slipping through his fingertips. It assured Scott that he was helping without smothering, something he would be the first to admit he is guilty of. This particular set of actions was well rehearsed and familiar; Mitch only wished it could bring him just a little bit more calm and peace.