Worried: A Scomiche Short Story

Part 12: Home

Mitch really didn't remember the details of the ride home all that well, only that they got there safely and that Scott's body was very warm and cuddly. Scott on the other hand was very aware and did his best to take care of his charge. He held open the door and let Mitch slide in first before following a few moments later. As soon as he'd gotten situated and made sure the driver knew where they were going, he'd discreetly checked in one more time to see where Mitch was at on their scale. After receiving a grouchy glare for disturbing his peace, Mitch said that he was at level 4 or 5, but was more tired than anything. Mitch then promptly fitted himself like a puzzle piece into his side and tugged Scott's arm to drape over him like a security blanket, and didn't say a peep for the rest of the way home.

Mitch must have dozed off in the endless LA traffic because the next thing he knew he was being gently shaken and soft words were pulling at the edge of is conscience.

"Mitchy, c'mon. Wake up. We're home."

He roused himself enough to pull himself out of the cab, but it took Scott's hand on the small of his back to guide his sleepy footsteps into the lobby of their apartment building and towards the elevator. Even just standing there waiting for the ding, he was swaying mildly on his feet. He almost stumbled backwards as his mind wandered again but luckily Scott was right there to catch him.

"Careful, Mitch. We're almost there but I need you awake for a few more minutes please," teased Scott. They boarded the empty elevator as it arrived.

"Sorry. M'just so exhausted," slurred Mitch as Scott hit the button. Then, a bit more bitterly, "S'ridiculous. Didn't even do anything today."

Scott frowned. He definitely needed to stop that train of thought before they wandered down that dangerous path any further, though it came with the territory he supposed. Anxiety has a nasty habit of having horrible timing, especially when it came to work and life. And the way it skews reality has a really cruel way of turning sound, clear, perspective into a dizzying kaleidoscope of guilt and self-resentment. The fact of the matter was, anxiety just happens sometimes. Frustrating? Yes, absolutely, but it didn't have to be personal no matter how it may seem. The sooner he could get Mitch to move on from the vicious cycle of those self-deprecating thoughts, the better.

Thus, Scott drew in a deep breath and chose his next words carefully. "You would be the first to say you had a long day, Mitch. You're allowed to feel drained, it's okay. We'll have a quiet evening at home tonight, and we can try to be productive again tomorrow. No one is mad at you for something you can't always control, I promise." He risked a glance over at Mitch and could practically see the wheels turning in his head.

Mitch grumbled a bit because he'd heard it all before, but he also knew his friend was right so they rode silently the rest of the way up. When the doors opened, Mitch trailed blindly behind Scott a few steps down the hallway, until Scott stopped abruptly in front of their apartment door. It caught Mitch off guard for a moment, but after he regained his balance, he allowed his head to come to rest on the doorframe, using it as a crutch, while Scott fished out his keys and opened their door.

Entering the apartment, Scott left the lights off and hung his keys on the hook just inside the door. Wordlessly, Mitch leaned against Scott for support as he kicked his shoes off, adding them to their ever growing pile outside the hall closet, and headed off towards the sanctuary of his bedroom. Scott wandered around the living spaces of apartment for a little longer, tossing their belongings on the couch and heading into the kitchen to grab himself a snack. After a moment of consideration he also filled up a sports bottle of water, grabbed the bottle of Tylenol off the counter, and retrieved Mitch's long forgotten phone from his bag before padding down the hallway towards his room.

"Mitch, I have-" He trailed off as soon as he reached the door to Mitch's room. All of the lights were still on, but there he lay, curled in a ball passed out in the middle of his bed. He'd at least been able to change into some comfier clothing before he collapsed, but he hadn't even had the energy to grab a pillow or burrow under the warm covers.

Scott stepped cautiously across the room to plug Mitch's phone in and put it in Do Not Disturb mode and set it, along with the water and headache medicine, within easy reach on the nightstand. Then, he grabbed the fluffy throw that had been discarded on the floor in the haste to get ready that morning and tossed it over the sleeping boy. Despite Scott's silent yet frantic shooing, Wyatt took this as an invitation to jump up on the bed and curl up at Mitch's feet. For a few heart pounding moments, Scott stood frozen in place praying the disturbance wouldn't startle him awake, but when only a content sigh came from the bed Scott relaxed, quite shocked at how easily he had fallen into a deep slumber.

Continuing around the room, he drew the blinds closed to shut some of the late afternoon light out, and grabbed Mitch's haphazardly strewn clothes off the floor and placed them in the hamper before heading towards the door again. He knew Mitch liked a clean, clutter-free space, and would appreciate the small gesture. After a final scan of the room, he stole one more glance at the small sleeping figure: restful and finally at peace. With a drop of relief spreading through his own body, Scott turned out the light and exited the room. A small sliver of light from the hallway was visible on the wall opposite the bed from the crack he'd left open in the door: a simple reminder that Scott was still here if he needed. 

A/N: Thoughts? I think I've only got one more part left of this short little story! Thank you as always for reading, commenting, and voting!