Just for Show

22. Aftermath

22. Aftermath

Mitch wasn't sure how he had become so drunk.

That was a lie. It was one-hundred-percent Uncle Jim's fault. He had insisted that Mitch partake in a bottle of whiskey with him.

Damn you, Jim.

So when Scott had to essentially drag Mitch back to the room at the end of the evening, it was no surprise.

Scott approached the bed and backed Mitch towards it, letting Mitch's waist go so the smaller man could flop backwards on his back with a whine.

"You gonna be okay?" Scott asked teasingly.

"No, 'm dying."

"That's a shame," Scott replied with a chuckle.

"No s'not. S'not a sh- shame," Mitch drunkenly protested with his eyes closed.

"It isn't?"

"No' fer you. You don' even... like me."

He heard the blond chuckle again, and if he could reach the closest pillow without becoming dizzy and throwing up all over himself, he would have thrown it at his pretty, dumb face.

"S'not funny. Hurts my heart," Mitch pouted, instead.

He felt the bed dip next to him, and he resisted the urge to pull Scott backwards to cuddle with him.

"I'm sorry. I don't want to hurt your heart. And anyway, I thought we established that I do like you."

"Not the way I want," Mitch replied, and even through his drunken stupor he could tell that he sounded like a petulant child.

"Mitch... go to sleep before you say something you'll regret."

"The only thing I regret is -hic­­- letting you go that night. To -hic- Joe. Letting 'im hurt you... Letting you -hic- sleep with him. Letting him touch you. No one should touch you... never ever ever..." Mitch rambled, placing his arm over his eyes.

Maybe he shouldn't have said that.

But for some reason, he kept going.

"I wanna be the one -hic- you're sleeping with."

He sat up so quickly once he realized what he had said, he was surprised that he hadn't thrown up everywhere with the sudden movement.

His eyes were wide as he searched Scott's blue ones. He didn't want Scott to take that the wrong way. That wasn't how Mitch viewed him. He was so much more than that.

"I meant... really sleeping... where I know you're safe..." Mitch clarified, suddenly able to speak clearly. He could tell that he had begun to blush. "And... maybe some kissing. I like kissing you."

God, Mitch. Shut UP.

Scott stood then, disappearing into the bathroom, and Mitch sighed when he heard the shower begin to run.

When the bed dipped next to him again, he realized that he had dozed off for a minute or two. He cracked an eye open to find that Scott was pulling back the covers on each side, and approached the edge of the bed where Mitch's feet were dangling off.

"Let's get your shoes off, at least..." Scott muttered, taking Mitch's foot in his hand and giving it a pull.

Mitch watched the blond take each shoe off, and frowned at the bruises on his face again.

If he ever ran into that man from the bar again, there would surely be hell to pay.

Scott disappeared again after discarding the shoes, and returned with Mitch's sweatpants and a tee shirt in his hands. "Think you can help me get these on you?"