Sweat, Smoke, and Strobe Lights

Confusion

Mitch buttoned up his shirt, frantically flattening the collar. He chose one of his favorite shirts, a flowered purple number with a cute little collar that would- not- stay- down. He tied his shoes as fast as physically possible and took a moment to appraise himself in the mirror.

He wore his purple shirt from the Rather Be video- Mitch smirked, thinking of how much fun Scott and he had had when filming it (and after filming), his favorite pair of black skinny jeans, and black Converse. He quickly fixed his hair, then rushed out the door, pulling his phone out as he walked.

Mitch: shit shit shit running late sorry
Scott: had to fix your hair?
Mitch: No.
Scott: ...meaning yes?
Mitch: maybe.
Scott: it's fine babe. the reservation's not until eight. I stayed late after rehearsal, so I had to change it.

Mitch's heart beat a little faster at the text. Babe? Was he really Scott's babe?

Mitch: yeah well I will be there at about 7:58.
Scott: I swear it's fine. Be safe Michelle. Ily

Mitch just about dropped his phone. Ily?? Scott loved him. He really did. Mitch smiled, his eyes watering with happiness.

Scott made him really live, not just passively watch from underneath a blanket until the sun went down. Scott kept him from going to the nocturnal side of town, when the neon lights turned on around midnight and featured women in bikinis and cigarettes blowing blue neon smoke. Scott kept him sane, kept him alive. He'd probably saved Mitch's life twelve times in their first few weeks dating, moving him from bathtub (or couch or floor or chair) to bed, getting him water and Advil, holding his hair as he hovered over the toilet at the early hour of 3 PM. Before that, Mitch was a hot mess, living a nomadic lifestyle, from guy to guy, night to night, club to club. The only constant in his life was the alcohol. Well, and the Ecstasy.

Mitch shook himself out of his memories as he pulled into the parking spot. Scott had gotten him reservations to his favorite restaurant, and Mitch would be damned if he were to mess it all up by getting all nostalgic for their horrible early relationship. Mitch shivered. Honestly, he didn't even want to think about it.

Mitch walked up to the restaurant, the door of the place propped open on the lovely day. He sighed and smiled as he caught a glimpse of his boyfriend, but his expression quickly turned into a confused one. Scott was smiling widely and laughing, standing awfully close to... some girl? Mitch leaned to the side, a hand in the doorframe, to glimpse a better view. She had her hand on Scott's arm, and they were talking with their faces almost touching. Mitch scowled, but then gasped in pain as their lips connected. Mitch's eyes spilled over with tears, but he wiped them away, expecting his boyfriend to rear back in surprise. Instead, Scott looked down at their hands touching and... laughed, scooping the skinny blond in for another kiss.

Mitch couldn't watch. He stomped back to his car, sobbing as he turned the key. He started to drive back to their shared home, but soon turned around, heading to his favorite club. Fuck Scott, fuck his new life, fuck this, fuck it. He needed something to erase his pain, and something to wash it down with.