Mitch X Everyone Oneshots

unforgiven- Ssuncanadian

It's worse than the last time you tried to visit. The once-magnificent house had been unkempt before, but now it's grey and grubby, its surface cracked and unraveling. The whole place reeks of grime and misery.

He looks worse, too. He's curled up on the floor, a ball of pail skin and tangled hair. His face is filthy with tears and snot and sweat. He's cradling something in hid hands, and suddenly your stomach clenches: it's a golden dogtag, cracked and scorched black at the edges, but still colour remained.

You swallow the lump in your throat. You don't want to do this, but he's your friend, and you owe him this.

"Ian?" you say quietly.

He lifts his head. You cringe: his eyes are raw and puffy, and they narrow when they find you. "Get out, Adam," he growls, then lowers his head and pressed the necklace to his chest.

You take a hesitant step forward. "Please, Ian. We need to talk."

He doesn't respond. He just lies there, holding the one thing he has left of the person he loved with his whole heart.

You force yourself to take a deep breath and try again. "Ian? I-I need to talk to you."

Nothing.

"Ian, you can't keep doing this. You can't shut yourself away in here for the rest of your life."

Nothing.

"What about your dreams? The channel? He wouldn't want you to throw that away-"

"Shut up."

He snaps it out, his voice strained and cracked, like he has broken glass in his throat.

"Ian-"

"Shut up, shut up, shut up! You don't get to talk about him, you . . . you coward! You stupid, useless, worthless coward!"

You were expecting that, but it still makes you take a step back, trembling.

"It's your fault, Adam!"

"Ian, please, I'm so sorry-"

"It's your fault! It's your fault he's dead!"

"I'm sorry!"

"Sorry won't bring him back, Adam! He died because of you! he died saving you because you were too stupid to save yourself! It should've been you! He should still be here!"

It hurts. It hurts to hear Ian say it. You shudder and squirm, but you can't escape his furious, anguished words or the memories that burn in your head. "I'm sorry," you whisper, even though you know that your sorrow will never be enough.

"I HATE YOU!" he screams. His eyes are wide and wild, his dirty oak hair in disarray, and then his white fists are crashing into your face. You don't try to back away. You let him hit you and hit you and hit you because he's right: it's your fault. You're pathetic. You deserve to be hit for what you did. You deserve the pain, so you don't protest as the vision in your right eye goes red and blurry, or as your nose cracks, or as teeth pop out of your gums. You just sit there and weep silently for Mitch and for the broken boy he left behind.

Sorry for the short and REALLY sad chapter, I'm on holiday in London right now and I'm having a blast.

Peace♡♥