Take A Walk With Me (One-Shots and More)

"Why I left YouTube"

I dropped everything when this video came out. Literally, threw down my pen and ran to my room.

You can't imagine my surprise to figure out that Mitch was the "good guy" in this situation.

This is a response in the best way I know how.

Enjoy.

(Also I wrote this in fifteen minutes in one shot, don't expect much)

___

Slowly, Mitch sunk back against his office chair.

No words formed, not in his mind, not on his lips. What was there to say?

The night Seto was kicked came to mind. It had been cold where he was, the heater broken. Blankets had been wrapped around his shoulder. The Team was vicious, weren't they? Even Adam didn't have the shred of decency he usually did. He had barely been able to imagine if it were him.

So he messaged Seto, invited him to a call. The faceless avatar had popped up and, throat tight, Mitch told him. "You are going to be removed from the team," he had said, "and there isn't anything either of us can do about it."

Was it something he said? Seto had screamed, broke down, acted as if he was the bad guy here. Some part of his mind told him that he was; he was risking his own ass by telling Seto all of this, after all. But at least this melt down wouldn't happen when the deal was all said and done.

Mitch had exited the call then, some amount of anger boiling under his skin. Keeping his calm had never been his forte, despite how stoic he may have appeared before the viewers. The fact did come with the bitter realization that if he appeared angry, the others would know what he had done, or at least had some inkling of it - if Seto didn't give him away.

What had he been thinking?

Before Doomsday, Mitch shot Jerome a message, then Adam. His jaw had been clenched, his teeth chattering from more than just the cold. It was a stupid idea to talk to Seto. They had never been close and he had an idea that the smaller creator was riding off his coattails. That was Jerome's job, not his.

Maybe Jerome would--

Never.

Now he sat in front of his computer, feeling the same sense of dread and chill settle in his bones. It wasn't vindictive or malicious, though; more nervous than anything.

What flame war would this spark?

Would there be a fight, and if so, who would flee to who? Seto didn't have a leg to stand on, but if any of those names in the credit were to flee to him...

Well, he hated to say it, but Ty was dead anyways. Poor kid.

Truly, though, he was dead too. Some other line of work would have to take him because this wasn't paying the bills the way it needed to, and he felt himself edging towards Seto's position every day. That desperate, primitive need was one he felt that everyone experienced at some point. For some, it was to protect a significant other. For others, it was to make a business in one of the most cutthroat industries.

Oh well. They were where they were, and Seto had apologized, and the last of these Mitch had particularly agreed with. Once he had done the same with Adam, building his own desire to succeed based on others success. But that had stopped minutes after it started, see, because--

"You record with him all the time." If Mitch could see his eyes, he was sure they would be flashing. "You get the fame and the spotlight. Meanwhile, I'm picked last, always quiet and intimidated."

"You think I'm not scared of him?" Mitch tried to keep his voice steady. "Adam terrifies me. If you paid attention, you would know that only Ty, Jason, and Jerome ever actually talk to him, and Jerome only speaks because that's the character he plays."

Seto's voice dropped. "It's your fault I'm being kicked."

"If that's what you want to believe, be my fucking guest." Now he knew he sounded exasperated. "Seto, even with that, you can't rely on any one person, any one individual, to boost you to the top. If you succeed, it's because you did it. Not anyone else."

And Seto had apologized, saying that he was right.

Maybe he was right, in a way, but Mitch knew that he was guilty of it too. YouTube wasn't an easy, useless job. People were cut, culled, and killed. There was no way to hide it.

He sighed, leaning forward until his head rested in his hands. Should he reply?

Would be reply, even if he should?

They hadn't exactly split on the best note.

Yes, he finally decided. Yes, he should. They would never record, never make it public, but it was only right. He should come clean, too. It was fair, just.

With trembling fingers, Mitch searched up his Twitter, and sent him a message.