Scott and Mitch have come a long, long way together, through the hard times and the good - but perhaps not far enough...
This is an idea that wouldn't go away, and the snaps of Scott's housewarming only made it worse. It don't get easier.
Need something to distract you from the holiday season and the same 12 carols on repeat in every.single.store? Or do you require some angst with all that Christmas cheer? I got you covered.
Not sure what to say about this one except it popped into my head after a GC convo and wouldn't leave. The throuple is no more... so what's next?
It's a long one and now it's yours. 😏
(and of course it's 100% fiction)
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Wherever he might have thought his life would lead, Scott wouldn't have bet on this particular outcome. The drink in his hand is only water. He's not sure anything stronger would be a good idea, and yet he wishes it were some kind of forgetting potion for numbing the ache and soothing the pain. Something to make it all go away.
The view is lovely as always. Twinkling lights pop out like stars in the hills as the sun slides out of sight, leaving a pink glow in the sky that will turn indigo. It's not unlike his heart. Everything was better than great; it was amazing. His sky was brilliant, lit by twin suns. Now it's dark blue. Soon it will be darker than that, and who knows how long the night will last this time?
Maybe he will have that Grey Goose and tonic after all.
Glass in hand, Scott wanders through his house. It's smart, shiny and spacious. But is it home? It was once filled with laughter and light. He can't go into the bedroom that saw so many hot nights, can't bear the thought of bringing anyone else there. The king-sized bed is made, the comforter smooth, the pillows piled high. Meanwhile he's camped in the guest room. It's smaller, easier to hide in. He's nobody's prince right now.
He feels fragmented, stamped on, torn open and left bleeding. Impossible dreams, broken promises, and disappointment play on a loop in his head. People watch from afar whispering that they knew it would never work. Scott can't meet anyone's eyes, doesn't want to read the pity, schadenfreude or barely disguised glee he thinks he'll see there.
He knows better than anyone that he played a big part in this train wreck. Knows he said and did the wrong things that seemed right at the time. He drains his glass and gets into the shower. No songs pass his lips, instead he lets water stream over his bowed head and tries to think of nothing.
He's slipping into a tee shirt when he hears the doorbell. His heart squeezes tight. He doesn't want to see anyone. So he pulls on sweatpants and ignores the bell and the lit screen of his silenced phone in favour of fixing another drink.
The doorbell rings four, five times before a continuous ringing attacks his ear.
