i mmight do a second part to this
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trigger warning: mentions of self-harm
Mitch looked around nervously as he followed his mother into the mental hospital, adjusting the backpack on his back. He played with his fingers, hiding behind her as she spoke to the receptionist. "Yes, I have Mitch Grassi for check-in?" Nel said quietly, peering over the desk. The receptionist nodded and typed that name into the computer, smiling up at the woman. "He's here for depression and suicidal attempts, correct?"
"Yes, sir."
The man nodded, his pleasant smile still on his lips. "Alrighty. My computer tells me he is to be housed in room 2B. Now, there is a patient in there already, so Mitch will have to share. Is that alright?"
Nel glanced back at her son and nodded. "Yes. It would be good for him to make a friend."
The man's smile brightened and he stood up. "Okay! Well, you two can say goodbye, and then I'll take him back to his room." Nel nodded and sighed shakily, turning back to Mitch. Mitch whimpered and pressed himself against her, clutching her shirt. "Please don't make me go..." Nel sighed and hugged him gently. "I'm sorry, honey, but this'll be good for you. You'll get better." Mitch whimpered again, but Nel let go of him and nodded to the receptionist.
The man grinned and took Mitch's hand, leading him away. Mitch started to cry, but he didn't struggle, wrapping his free arm around his stomach. The receptionist stopped in front of a door and knocked. "Scott? Can you open the door, please?" he said gently, his voice one you might use with at two-year-old. There was some shuffling in the room, but a few moments later the door opened, revealing a tall blond boy wearing a onesie. As soon as his eyes laid on Mitch, a bright smile formed on his lips. "Friend? Did you bring a friend for me??" he asked excitedly, and the receptionist nodded, carefully prodding Mitch in front of him. "Yep! His name is Mitch, and he'll be rooming with you. Is that okay?" The man, who was presumably called Scott, didn't seem to hear him, as his eyes had widened at the sight of Mitch. "Pretty!!" he squealed, pulling Mitch into his arms and hugging him tightly. Mitch tensed at his touch, and the receptionist noticed. "Hey, Scott? Maybe you shouldn't—"
"My pretty!" Scott glared at the man and held Mitch more possessively.
"Alright, alright. I'm sorry," the man hurriedly spoke, not wanting to get Scott mad in front of Mitch.
Scott relaxed and smiled happily, not even saying goodbye to the man as he pulled Mitch inside. "You're really pretty! Has anyone ever told you?" he asked, but Mitch didn't get a chance to reply before Scott continued, his words practically falling out of his mouth. "My name is Scott, but you can call me Scotty! I can't wait to be friends! I haven't had a friend in so long. I mean, I don't know why. I'm always so nice to everyone, but Nurse Christina says I scare them. Oh, well. I don't scare you, right??" Scott suddenly appeared worried, and he looked up at Mitch with innocent eyes. "Um, n-no..." Scott grinned relievedly and sat down on the bed on the left side of the room. "This is where I sleep," he said, and Mitch let his eyes wander over the posters and various stuffed animals strewn everywhere. There were no pictures. "Your bed is over there," Scott continue, pointing to the other side of the room. It was absolutely bare.
Mitch nodded slowly and set his backpack on the bed, hesitating before sitting down. Scott began humming to himself and looking around at his various posters, so Mitch carefully began taking out the pictures he had and placing him on the dresser. He adjusted them so he could see them all when he was laying down, then put his clothes away and carefully removed his favorite stuffed animal, a cat named Wyatt, to place it on his pillow. When he finished, he put his backpack away in the corner and sat crisscross on his bed.
"Pretty?"
Mitch didn't realize Scott was talking to him, staring at his lap and playing with his fingers. He wanted to go home.
"Pretty?" Scott repeated, frowning when Mitch didn't reply.
That time, Mitch looked up at the sound of Scott's voice, and the other boy broke into a relieved smile. "Hi, Pretty," he said, waving. Mitch wondered why Scott had called him 'pretty' and decided to assume Scott was talking to someone else, even though they were the only ones in the room — he was in a mental hospital, after all. Scott frowned once again when Mitch didn't reply. "Pretty!" Mitch hesitated, wrapping his arms around himself. "Are- Are you talking to me?" he asked tentatively, and Scott nodded vigorously, happy that Mitch had finally understood. "Yeah!!" Mitch frowned and looked down at his lap. "I'm not pretty," he said quietly, holding himself tighter. Scott frowned and nodded again. "Uh huh. You're very pretty. Pretty, pretty." He got up just to sit back down next to Mitch, hugging him around the middle and resting his head in his neck. "My pretty." Mitch blushed and closed his eyes, leaning his head against Scott's. "S-Scott?"
"Yeah??"
"Why are you here? In this h-hospital?"
Scott shrugged, curling up against Mitch. "I dunno. I can't remember much before here."
"Do you know how long you've been here?"
Scott thought for a moment. "No. A long time. I dunno."
"Do you have a family?"
"What's that?" Scott asked curiously, peeking up at Mitch. Mitch frowned a bit and met his eyes. "You don't know what a family is?" Scott shook his head, subconsciously pressing closer to Mitch. "No," he said quietly, pushing Mitch down so he was laying on his back and crawling on top of him. Mitch tensed slightly, but he quickly relaxed and wrapped his arms around him. "Your family is your mom and dad and your siblings. They love you," he explained, subconsciously rubbing Scott's back. Scott's eyes fluttered closed at the feeling and he sighed softly in contentment, setting his head in Mitch's neck. "I don't think I have one of those." Mitch frowned a bit more and glanced down at him. "Yes, you do. Everyone does," he said quietly, but just Scott shrugged. "I'm not everyone, Pretty. Everyone says I'm different. I don't know what's wrong with me."
"Oh, Scotty. There's nothing wrong with you," Mitch murmured, kissing his forehead. Scott blushed and giggled quietly, moving off of him to stand once more. "We're not supposed to be in the same bed," he said with an apologetic smile at Mitch's disappointed look. Mitch sighed, but sat up and wrapped his arms around himself once more.
However, he wasn't quick enough. His sleeve shifted to reveal the glistening scars on his wrist, and immediately Scott was intrigued. "What were those?" he asked, pointing to Mitch's wrist. Mitch's heartbeat picked up and his other hand subconsciously went to hold his wrist; panicking, he decided to play dumb. "I- I don't know what you're talking about." Scott frowned and sat down beside him once more, grabbing his wrist and rolling up his sleeves. "These."
Mitch stiffened at Scott's touch, but the other boy began tracing them curiously, and somehow the feeling of his warm skin against his caused him to relax. "They're my scars," he answered quietly. Scott looked up at him, tilting his head. "How'd you get them?" Mitch hesitated, but he eventually spoke. "I was really sad for a while. I made the scars because they made me feel better. That was a while ago, and I eventually stopped when I got happy. But now, I'm sad again, and I started making them again. That's why my parents put me in here," he said softly, watching as Scott traced one of the clearly newer lines littering his wrist. "I'm sorry you were sad, Pretty. You don't deserve to be sad." Scott hugged him again, and this time, Mitch closed his eyes and leaned into his touch.
When they broke apart, Scott offered him one last smile and kissed his cheek before he went back to his own bed. Mitch jumped as a bell rang trough the halls of the hospital, but Scott simply got up and headed towards the bathroom. "Don't be scared, Pretty. That just means we have to get ready for bed," he said, just before he disappeared inside.
Mitch waited for him to be finished before he went inside himself. After he brushed his teeth, washed his face, and changed into his pajamas, he emerged once more and crawled onto his bed. Scott was already tucked under the covers, surrounded by a mountain of stuffed animals. Mitch pulled the blankets over himself and grabbed Wyatt, cuddling the stuffed cat to his chest. The bell rang again and the lights clicked off automatically, submerging them in darkness.
"Goodnight, Pretty," Scott spoke quietly into the night.
"Goodnight, Scotty."