this is rough, i didn't proofread.
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"You didn't call," Scott whispers.
"I know." And Mitch hates it, hates admitting that it's true he never called the beautiful man sitting next to him. He's too scared to even admit that he thought about calling, almost did, many times. "I'm sorry, I was going to."
"Okay," Scott says, smiles at him sweetly but not as brightly as before. It makes Mitch want to burst into tears, seeing this subtle change in Scott's expression. He wants to see him beam again. "I'll let you make it up to me by having coffee with me here, now. Deal?"
Mitch is speechless, honestly. He's confused as to how he stumbled across this absolute sweetheart, wants to know how they crossed paths and how Scott is even of the same species. He's too sweet, could give Mitch cavities.
He finds himself promising, "deal," anyway.
-
They don't talk about much, honestly. Mitch is too shaken up about being caught, and it's obvious that Scott isn't seeming too cheerful. He looks nervous, but Mitch realizes he might just be uncomfortable, maybe regretting giving Mitch another chance.
They make polite conversation, Mitch asking if Scott is in school - finds out they go to the same college - and he asks about Scott's major. It all seems off though, forced even. He thinks Scott doesn't want to be here.
They continue mindlessly chatting, asking impersonal questions with vague answers. Mitch notices Scott suddenly perk up as another similarly tall blonde walks into the coffee shop.
"Alex, hey!"
He turns, and then the blonde - Alex, he assumes - is walking over, and Mitch is feeling cornered. It's suddenly two against one, and he isn't sure he likes being the one. He shrinks into the cushiony seat, his coffee clutched close to his body.
"Hi Scott, how are you?"
"I'm good. How's school been?" They start chatting, and Mitch is a little grateful he isn't forced to converse with the complete stranger - conversing with Scott is hard enough without embarrassing himself. Of course, he realizes the air is only becoming awkward as Scott's friend steals a glance from him here and there. He doesn't want to be impolite, really, but his anxiety is already overflowing.
"I-I'm sorry to interrupt," Mitch says. He is, really, Scott seems so happy to be talking to Alex. "I need to go - sorry." And he hates apologizing, feels his face bursting with red heat as he stands and starts making his way to the door. He needs to get outside, desperately needs some air.
He hears Scott, hears, "wait," and then the sound of a chair scraping across the floor, but he can't stop. He's already beyond embarrassed, and he just needs air.
Mitch gasps, grateful for the fresh air when he pushes open the cafe's glass door. He doesn't stop there, maneuvers himself so he's off to the side, hidden from passerby's and sits on the bench there. He finally let's air flood his lungs, the cold prickling at his hot cheeks.
He barely registers Scott's voice, calling his name. Mitch is trying to ground himself, focuses on his breathing instead of the anxiety gripping at his throat. He knows his hands are shaking, refuses to look at them and instead digs them into his thighs as he stares at a crack in the sidewalk.
He's almost okay, or at least stable enough to get up when he suddenly feels a hand covering his. He jumps, breaking out of focus and resulting back to his anxiety-ridden state. His breath escapes him, and he thinks he might feel hot tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. It's Scott, he realizes, and he almost feels better knowing it's the beautiful man, but he's almost mad at him for interrupting something he shouldn't - for seeing him this way.
"Mitch," he says, and Mitch suddenly realizes that Scott keeps repeating his name, won't stop. He holds onto Mitch's hand, tightly, despite the nails that are trying to press in, digging into Scott's pale flesh. Mitch can't help it, it's reflex. He keeps repeating Mitch's name, the same tone ringing through his ears, and Mitch finds himself holding on to his voice, letting it soothe him. His eyes dart up to Scott's, and he almost instantly regrets it. They're so deep, bottomless, and he doesn't think he can hold eye contact with him much longer.
His breathing steadies, his hands ease their grip, and he lets his eyes focus on the blue, blinding blue.
It's startling really, the brightness in Scott's eyes. He realizes Scott is still quietly saying his name.
"Yes?" He croaks. His voice sounds rough and he almost cringes, knows if it weren't for the icy chill in the air, his cheeks would be on fire.
"You're okay," Scott breathes and Mitch watches as the tension rushes from Scott's
body. His shoulders fall, his hands aren't as stiff and he let's his eyes flicker away from Mitch. "Would you like some water? Do you need anything?"
And Mitch feels it, the humility, flooding back into his veins. It's pumping through him now, swallowing him.
He shakes his head, no.
"Please - I want to help."
But Mitch doesn't want help right now, can feel the gaze of Scott's friend through the window. He hates that Scott is seeing him this way, so vulnerable and raw and intimate. He's only spoken with Scott once before, doesn't want to scare him off so soon.
"I want to go home."
"I'll take you there. Let me just-"
"No!" He's sorry for the outburst, watches as Scott flinches at his raised tone. He regrets it, really, just wants Scott to understand. "I need to be alone, I'm sorry."
He tries to stand, his legs shaking, and hopes Scott doesn't notice. He thinks he's embarrassed himself enough today.
"Okay," and his voice is crestfallen, quiet. Mitch hates himself for upsetting this angel but he can't keep embarrassing himself in front of Scott. "I'm sorry."
Mitch wants to walk away, running away even seems nice, but he's stuck in place. His back is already turned, he's facing the direction of home, but his heart races when he thinks of leaving Scott like this, so he doesn't.
He turns, instead, grabbing Scott's hand to squeeze gently. He wants to reassure him,
wants to let him know that he appreciates the help Scott had attempted to give.
"I'll call you when I'm home."
It's small, really. The gesture seems insignificant.
The smile, small smile that tugs at Scott's lips and creases the corner of his eyes - that is more than significant to Mitch.
