Chapter Text
Scott wakes up at 3:30 in the morning to a burning thirst in his throat, still dehydrated from all the alcohol he’d consumed the past few days. He reaches for his water glass on the bedside table only to find he forgot to put one there before bed. Rolling out of bed with a groan, he makes his way downstairs to the kitchen. After quenching his thirst by chugging an entire glass of tap water, he turns to head back upstairs to bed when he spots the glass door that leads to the balcony is slightly ajar. A cold panic grips him for a second before he sees Mitch sitting outside. He’s curled up on one of the chairs with his knees pulled up to his chest, dwarfed by a giant puffy black coat draped around his shoulders. His chin rests on his knees and he’s looking out toward the city lights. Scott’s heart throbs before he remembers that he’s supposed to be upset with Mitch. He stands frozen for a minute, just watching him through the window. He’s right there, only twenty feet away, but the distance feels greater than the ocean that separated them for the past week.
While Mitch was in Paris, Scott had defiantly partied the week away, snap chatting constantly as evidence of his ability to survive just fine without Mitch. When Mitch had called to check in and suggest he take it easy with the alcohol, Scott had more or less told him to fuck off and accompanied friends to Las Vegas to continue partying. Consequently, Mitch hadn’t called again and there’d been no joyful airport reunion. Mitch had gone straight from the airport to hang out with his friend Kris and must have gotten home sometime after Scott fell asleep.
Scott’s tempted to stay angry with Mitch for basically ignoring him, but realizes the battle’s already lost when he notices him bobbing his head lightly to whatever music he’s listening to and feels his heart swell with affection and longing. He misses his friend. Scott relents and moves quietly out onto the porch.
Mitch startles slightly when he sees Scott and pulls his earbuds out. “Oh. There you are,” he says, like he’s been expecting him which seems a little ridiculous since it’s the middle of the night but in some way, Scott understands what he means. He can’t help but notice the sad, tired undertone to Mitch’s words.
“Here I am,” he answers simply. “Jet lag?” he asks and Mitch nods as Scott sits down in the chair next to him. Mitch holds one of his earbuds out to him, a peace offering. Scott smiles hesitantly and scoots his chair closer so he can listen with Mitch. It’s the song he tweeted earlier and after awhile Scott deciphers the lyrics of the subtle vocal sample. He watches Mitch’s lips move with the words as he nods his head and stares out at the hills.
Mitch has the song on repeat and the endless loop lulls Scott into a contemplative mood and his thoughts end up at Mitch, as they so often do. More specifically, the memory of an agreement they’d made years ago. In a nutshell, they’d both acknowledged the inevitability of a romantic relationship between the two of them. Only 19 and 20 at the time, they were in way over their heads, scrambling to figure out how to maintain a lasting friendship in light of the pivotal realization. So Mitch, sensible as always, had asked for something that turned out to be one of the hardest things for Scott to give: time. Time to grow up a little, and figure themselves out independently.
Since then, Scott has put his everything into Pentatonix, and what’s leftover into Superfruit. He hangs out with friends, he parties. He and Mitch spend time together, never enough time, but that’s okay. They’re doing everything that people in their twenties are supposed to do. It’s a delicate balance, difficult to maintain, but they try. They date other people and get jealous. They slip up when they're drunk and end up making out. It isn’t perfect, and Scott often finds himself simultaneously wishing for more while struggling against the hold Mitch has on him.
Sometimes, one of Scott’s girlfriends will complain to him about a seemingly endless search for their soulmate. They don’t understand how equally difficult it can be to meet your soulmate young. He and Mitch struggle every day with the intensity of a relationship strong beyond their years. It’s hard to be young and careless while carrying a love that feels a century old, and is equal parts fragile and unbreakable.
Scott yearns for the future, a quieter, slower time when he and Mitch will finally be together, when it’s him he’ll fall asleep next to each night and wake up with in the morning. But he knows that he has to appreciate the present, that’s the whole point of this agreement, to enjoy being young and leave the heavy, serious relationship business for later. They know that they’ll spend the rest of their lives together, so why rush? It’s hard, seeing Mitch in the arms of other men, but the jealousy is natural, and Scott knows he has nothing to fear. That confidence, the unwavering knowledge that at the end of the day, Mitch is his and he is Mitch’s, is what makes it possible to let go of the possessiveness. It’s a privilege really, to watch Mitch grow in his confidence and independence and see him come into his own with such grace. Scott doesn’t want to step in too early and stunt Mitch’s progress because watching him develop and become a little more himself each day is one of Scott’s greatest joys.
Scott focuses again on the lyrics of the song that prompted the spiral of introspection, and the melody that fills him with a strong feeling of melancholy. As much as he’d wanted to be okay with Mitch leaving for a week, now that he’s back he can’t ignore the emotional strain that his absence caused him. Scott doesn’t notice the tears rolling down his cheeks until Mitch glances over at him and adopts a look of concern. He pulls his earbud out, then Scott’s, and climbs into his lap, wrapping his arms around his neck. Scott exhales a shaky sigh, it’s the first time they’ve touched since Mitch left for Paris.
“I don’t mean to hurt you,” Mitch whispers. On the surface, it’s an apology for the cold shoulder, but Scott understands the greater implications of his words.
“I don’t mean to hurt you either.”
“But we do it anyway sometimes, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll always remember you and me, no matter where I am or who I’m with. You have to know that Scott.”
“I do know. Guess I just need to be reminded sometimes.”
Mitch gazes at him solemnly for a moment before his eyes flutter closed and he leans forward, pressing their lips together. It’s not like the few hot, intoxicated kisses they’ve shared in loud, hazy clubs or a silly kiss for a skit. Its intentional, for just the two of them. Like a someday kiss, an echo of things that haven’t even happened yet. Scott feels the all the tension from the past week flood from his body and he relaxes into the kiss, reveling in the way their lips move together. Mitch breaks the kiss with a soft sigh, but stays close, hovering in his space. He tilts his head, bumping his nose against Scott’s in a sweet, almost playful gesture. Scott nudges him back, savoring the rare few seconds of honest intimacy.
“I miss you,” Scott breathes against his lips.
“I’m right here Scott,” Mitch breaths back, “I always will be,” and ducks his head to rest it on Scott’s shoulder.
Mitch still isn’t his yet, he knows that. They’ll find their place in love together someday, but for now their place is in their friendship and their youth. They’ll hurt each other and make up and then do it again. They just have to trust that it will all even out one day.
They sit so long that the first hint of daylight starts to warm the horizon and Mitch falls asleep curled on Scott’s lap, breathing softly against neck. Scott adores the feeling of having Mitch gathered in his arms, it feels so achingly right. Before he can get carried away, he adjusts his hold on Mitch, stands carefully, and carries him to his room. He bends over and lays his sleeping friend down gently in his bed but before he can straighten up and tiptoe away, Mitch stirs and closes a hand on the hem of his t-shirt.
“Scott?” Mitch mumbles, eyes still closed.
“Yeah?” he whispers, moving to kneel at the edge of the bed.
“Think I might be ready.”
“Ready for what sweetheart?”
“For you. Ready to do this.” His next words come out as a garbled, sleepy sigh but Scott hears them, clear as day. “Jus you an me.”
When Scott doesn’t reply immediately, Mitch opens his eyes halfway and watches him drowsily, looking like he’s seconds away from losing consciousness. Surprised by the unexpected declaration, Scott has to work to keep his tone soft and soothing when he answers.
“We can talk in the morning, babe," he says, realizing as he speaks that it already is morning. "Rest now.”
“Kay,” Mitch yawns and Scott waits by his bedside until his breathing slows and deepens, trying not to let his noisy thoughts wake him.
Scott can’t allow himself to hope, this is just what happens between the two of them when their inhibitions are lowered by alcohol or sleep deprivation. For Scott, the result is almost always physical. He becomes clingy, and can’t seem to let go of Mitch. For Mitch, it’s usually a verbal infraction. He says things he doesn’t mean, his teasing becoming more suggestive with each drink. But he’s never said it outright like that before. Scott spends the next hour tossing and turing in his bed, trying to untangle his thoughts. As he finally begins to drift off, the small bubble of hope grows inside him despite his efforts to suppress it, and it feels warm like the morning sun starting to peek through the windows.