Lest I Forget

Safety Pin

Flashback // Two days before the break-up.
Photo courtesy of @tigertail94 on DeviantArt

Trigger: Self Harm - Search for // to know when it begins and ends. Message me if you're unsure.

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One of their favorite pastimes was to lay down and do nothing... and when they did this, they often did nothing (which, in this society translates to Netflix and chill.) Scott always liked to be introduced to shows that came out the year he got in his accident, watching through endless episodes in one sitting and being so engrossed. He was super into a show called Once Upon a Time which was a show about Disney and Fairy Tale characters living double lives. He was also into The Office, disheartened to know that the show finished its course in 2013. But, of course, he would re-watch the same episodes countless times. Mitch didn't have the heart to tell him he had seen these episodes before, so he refrained as best as possible. It was just nice to see Scott so enthused about something that he absolutely couldn't break it.

"Hey, Mitchy?" Scott nudged Mitch's shoulder, the brunette dozing off after seeing the same episode over a dozen times that he could could basically recite the entire episode. He hadn't realized how tired he was. His brain wouldn't reset. He could sleep, though he often felt guilty if he slept in Scott's presence, claiming he was with Scott on borrowed time. The tenor's eyes fluttered open and he angled his body to face Scott a bit better. When he moved, the sleeping cat atop his back stirred, jumping off and walking away.

"Yeah, babe?" He yawned loudly and begun picking on one of the safety pins on his jacket, opening one and plucking it, letting the needle make indentations in his skin but not actually breaking the skin.

"I've got a random question for you." Mitch glanced up for a moment, acknowledging that he was listening. "Do I ever tell you the same stories over and over again?"

It was a simple question and, truthfully, a simple answer. Mitch didn't have to dig deep to find stories that Scott had told him countless times. His favorite story was about how he almost had brain damage as a kid (well, it felt like that at his young age.) It was his first day riding a bicycle without training wheels and he was so excited and so confident. It was also the same day that his parents were hanging the new house numbers up on the front half of the home, so they had their backs turned for a split second while young Scott, tall, lanky, and ambitious, was pedaling without training wheels on. He was so excited, felt like he was on top of the world... until he ran into a curb, flipped forward completely and smashed his forehead against the hard ground. He cried out, delivering the most shrill, heart-dropping scream that the entire block could hear. It turns out that he had slammed against the ground hard enough to split a scar open, a few small rocks wedging themselves under the skin. This trip sent him straight to the emergency room, though it wasn't even that severe. They removed the small rocks, and stitched him up, the new stitches not even stretching farther than his pinkie. That's the story of how I almost caused damage to my brain. It seems like I'm quite accident prone, he would say. The story would be very similar each time, yet it was always a funny one for Mitch to listen to. Scott loved telling childhood stories... maybe for the mere fact that he was grateful to still have those memories.

"You want my honest answer?" He felt Scott nod against him. He responded while he felt a gentle hand stroke the side of Mitch's head. He always felt he was a cat in another life because he could be content with someone stroking his head for hours, until they stroked the hair in the opposite direction and struck a nerve. Somehow Scott always remembered to do it the right way... somehow. "You tell me stories about your childhood. You tell me about how life was so simple, yet challenging because, well, everything seems challenging as a child. The world is this wide open space and there's so much to do and we're these tiny little things and we feel so insignificant. But, you know what's significant?" Scott gently hummed, acknowledging he was listening. "Your memories. Those aren't insignificant. They remind me that you still have memories. You can still enjoy the parts of your life where you reflect and remember. You have told me so many details about your parents that I feel I have met them before, though I am sad that I will never get to meet the fantastic people who brought you to this world.