Lest I Forget

1, 31, 744, 44640

One month. Thirty one days. Seven hundred and forty four hours. Forty four thousand six hundred and forty minutes. Too many seconds to count. That's how long it had been since Mitch last saw Scott. That's how long it's been since Mitch walked out of Scott's apartment and accepted the fate of their relationship. That's how long Mitch's heart has been breaking... yet in eight hours of sleep Scott managed to forget all about it. And maybe that's what hurt the most.

Mitch had been scrolling through Tumblr on day thirty one sans Scott, minding his own business on his day off from the diner and his mental day off from recording. He'd accomplished quite a lot at RCA. Ben was tremendously impressed and satisfied with how much Mitch was putting out. The only difference was in Mitch's lyricism. He seemed a little more Taylor Swift now, putting out lyrics about his break up. Of course, he masked them to be more appropriate for his style. But, he had to remind himself... Taylor had seven Grammy awards for those songs. If one good thing came out of this most depressing break up, it was that he could get a Grammy out of it.

A few times during the past month Mitch would find himself staring at Scott's contact on his phone. He didn't delete it, just like he didn't get rid of those photos. It was his own kryptonite. He stored the photos in a shoe box under his bed and, though he wouldn't admit this out loud, would pull the photos out every now and then and pray to whomever cared to listen. He prayed that Scott would encounter a miracle. That Scott would dream of him and wake up wanting to know why he was pulled out of his life. It was silly, honestly. It was torture. But Mitch loved it, in his twisted way. He felt that maybe knowing that Scott obviously forgot to delete Mitch's contact would lead him into talking to him again. Sure, he wrote down that he wanted him to be gone, but he wrote it down and got rid of the evidence, including the bit where he wrote it down. So, all memories were erased. There was a chance of  them meeting again... but it would just be too painful.

Fia had invited Mitch to the club with her exactly a month after the break-up, trying to get him back to his happy, peppy self. She'd seen his work ethic increase, but noticed a shift in his writing. It just wasn't his normal self. So, she told him to dress to impress and came to pick him up. She knew how much he loved going to the club. It was always like a release for him, as if he got drunk and danced off not only the alcohol, but his troubles. So he agreed, realizing he was going to be depressed had he stayed cooped up in his little hole. She'd even talked to his best friend, Avi, and he hadn't seen him around much at all. Fia and Avi had ganged up on Mitch a few times, trying to interrogate him and get him out of the house. None of the times had worked, but tonight was definitely going to happen.

"You, me, and Avi are going to the club. We're going to dance the night away. You're not going to think about he-who-shall-not-be-named and you're going to have a good time! Your two best friends will make sure of it!" Fia wrapped her tiny arms around Mitch's shoulders, engulfing him in the biggest hug she could offer.

"If you say so." Mitch sighed, looking down at his outfit. He looked snatched in all black, a splash of silver on his shirt to glimmer in the lights. He wouldn't admit it, but he did feel good. He felt that maybe he could get over Scott. The hardest part about it was that he had fallen in love with him, unlike his other relationships. How hard could this one be to overcome?

Mitch and Fia arrived at the club, meeting Avi as he stood in line, letting them in with him. Once they got in the club they went straight to the bar and had their first round of shots, with Avi paying.

"I literally haven't seen you out of the apartment in a month, so cheers to getting out and breathing better!" Avi held out his glass and they all put their glasses in, the satisfactory clinking sound occurring before they all tosses their heads back with their first round of shots.