Control - Scomiche

2

The next time Scott saw Mitch was at 11:39 am in the morning. Scott had managed to fall asleep on their shared sofa with Wyatt curled up next to him.

A small thump had awakened him. Adjusting his eyes to the sun filled living room a thin black-haired man in an oversized red sweatshirt and tight jeans. The 23-year-old rubbed his puffy red eyes and preceded to walk into the kitchen. Barefoot he still managed to wake Scott up making Scott blink his eyes repeatedly until they adjusted properly.

Wyatt suddenly jumped from his perch and headed into the kitchen where the sound of the scraping of cat food could be heard. Scott slowly sat up and watched Mitch finish fixing Wyatt's bowl before standing up.

Turning around to face Mitch; grabbing the couch frame, Scott gave the barefoot boy a half-sheepish smile, trying to forget what happened last night. What he had saw. How Mitch had reacted.

"Hey." The half grin disappeared when the long red sleeves whipped around the tiny back, clapping them to together in a quickened pace. Mitch's face remained neutral.

A concerned movement brought Scott up and next to Mitch's face only inches away, staring down into the subtitles of his olive face. Tiny sleep marks could be found on the covers of his wide eyes. His cheeks flushed a light pink interwoven with the high bones sculpting the title of his jaw.

Had he harmed himself before Scott got up? How could he know?

Mitch, seeing the worried expression on Scott's face gave him a hard look.

"Could you stop looking at me like I just slammed into a shovel?"

"Sorry." Scott looked away.

"M- "

"I am okay today." Mitch cut him off with a slight smirk trying to act like his self. Brushing his pants off and heading to his bedroom his lip curled.

"WAIT!"

The sound came out in a forced yell from Scott and Mitch turned around with a shocked expression.

"Stay out here, okay?"

"What?"

Mitch raised his brows as if questioning Scott's forced command.

"Just say here okay? We haven't been hanging out that much since the tour."

"So?"

That hurt a bit. Just a little. The empathic sensation was uncontrollable. Towards the daring Brown eyes to blue. The idea of one's words to affect multiple people in incomplete ways. Excusing them of any repulsive expense was not how Mitch needed Scott to see his point of view.

Scott didn't fucking trust him.

The fact his best friend did not even acknowledge that he couldn't even deal with him being out of the room. Because Mitch FUCKING CUTS HIMSELF!

Mitch was ashamed that he knew. Scott knew his secret that he kept for years. What if he found out about the others? If he was tense with this how would he react to the other secrets? Mitch had so many flaws. His life was fucked up to the point that it was unbearable. His own words hurt. And the pain he felt was a comfort. The scars were visible, exceeding the reach of breaking point.

Feeling tears welled up in his eyes, Mitch raised his arms to his face and rubbed them in a sigh of defeat as he flopped on the sofa. The tears were physically coming down at this point so Mitch turned on his side facing away from Scott's form.

Couldn't Scott just go away because now Mitch was laying in a shaking state, clinging to his sleeves, Because he had to cut, he needed to.

Scott didn't trust him to be by himself. Hell, Mitch didn't trust himself either.

"Hey, Mitch are you crying?" Scott's voice was new to Mitch.

"F-fine." Mitch wiped his eyes and stood up to look towards Scott, sniffing.

"Hey, hey. It's okay." Scott reached out and held the tiny frame in his arms. Mitch angrily sniffed.

"How about we go to Starbucks? A happy drink!"

Mitch froze in Scott's arms. The idea of wet creamy substances falling down his throat. Made him gag.

You'll be fat.

It was revolting.

Scott pulled away from Mitch and smiled. "I am starving let's get something to eat as well."

Not as hungry as me.

The new excuses filled into his head. The ones he used so often but he said them with different body languages every time. A new saying could be added to the word as he picked the phrases.

Maybe later.

I already had something.

I feel sick.

When they did not work, two fingers slide down his throat with ease. When did he really have anything substantial last?

He could not remember.

-

Mitch didn't try and tell Scott he wasn't hungry because that would have brought him more attention than he needed. So instead, he half-heartedly swallowed all of the creamy fillings of his drink.

His taste buds burned in the sense of new flavors. Closing in on Mitch, almost making him gag at the sweetness.

The two were sitting next the window of Starbucks. The coffee smells filled up their fumes grasping onto the leather seats and cushioned pillows. Scott's plaid jacket fit right in, blending with the swirling sounds and different flavors.

Employees hustled around as the sound of grinding beans could be heard from the far left.

Mitch stirred the drink with his fingers, watching the last of the continent's swirl. The silence between them was almost deafening. He wished Scott would speak, the tension between those two was a seven.

Scott wasn't even half done when Mitch stood up.

Catching Mitch's arm Scott asked,"Where are you going?"

"Bathroom." Mitch's voice was firm, tugging at Scott's grip.

"Scott I don't have anything I just need to go!"

"Fine." Scott let go of Mitch's arm as he watched the lanky boy walk away.

How would he be able to tell if his friend wanted to cut. Scott didn't know a lot about self-harm but he was pretty sure that most did it for a reason. But what was Mitch's? For all the time Scott knew him, he never once recognized Mitch as one to self-harm.

Mitch was always happy. Mitch was always the favorite, he had loving fans and a supportive family. What happened? What drove him to this?

So when Mitch came back Scott's face flushed with relief as Mitch gave him a half smile.

Maybe today he is okay.

Grabbing the rest of his drink, the two left. Living so close to a Starbucks had an advantage. It was their everyday thing. They had so many good times there.

Kicking small rocks into the concrete cracks, Mitch sighed. Keeping his hands in his pockets. Knowing what he did there, knowing how fucked up he really was. If Scott knew those things it could be even worse. What if Scott hated him? What if Scott was just waiting until the right time to kick him out of their apartment? What if Scott had told the others and they were planning to kick him out of the band?

Panic flooded across his face, Mitch's breathing came hoarsely. Trying to calm himself before Scott saw, Mitch's insides hurt. All the scary thoughts came back.

"Are you okay?" Not realizing he was shaking, Scott put a comforting arm on Mitch's shoulders. Mitch's eyes went wide. They were so close to their apartment. It didn't matter because Mitch suddenly crumbled to the ground.

_

AN: hopefully you guys are loving reading this as much as I am enjoying writing it. Have a good day, guys.

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