One Shots

1: Nightmares (Scomiche)

So this one was requested by one of my best friends, Madison (@/ptxmadison on twitter), while we were video chatting on Rabbit last night. I'd say that this request was the one that started them all, so bam. Here we go, kids.

It wasn't often that Scott felt like the world was going to end, but at this very moment, he could feel nothing but the ringing in his ears and the rawness of his heart.

In a frenzy, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, hands clutching desperately at tufts of his blond hair. His body reeked of the cold sweat that beaded in bunches across the surface of his skin, chest drumming, eyes darting across his room. He was home. He was safe.

But Scott couldn't care less about himself right now.

His throat began to tighten as he wheezed every breath, hand groping through his sheets to locate his phone. He needed something tangible to prove his mind wrong, some form of physical assurance to stop his heart from palpitating. He eventually found it tucked in neatly under his pillow, snatching it and smashing his trembling thumb against the home button.

3:46am.

He must've fallen asleep early that night. Scott didn't quite remember getting ready for bed that evening, though things often passed in a haze for him.

Where the fuck was Mitch?

His breathing began to quicken once again, fingers swiping desperately through his last texts with his dark-haired counterpart, body freezing at the sight of his last message.

Mitchy: b back soon :) driving home w/ Candice.

That was exactly how it happened in his nightmare. He was home with a fresh batch of chicken noodle soup ready (Mitch was coming down with something, so Scott had prepared something to help), when he had gotten the phone call from the police –

The blond began to shake, phone slipping between his quivering fingertips onto his mattress. He couldn't take the weight of his uncertainty any longer.

Scott jumped to his feet and yanked the door open, breaths muffled by the sobs that clawed their way up his throat. He raced towards Mitch's spare room, pausing for a brief second to rest his ear on his door, eyes shutting as his mind spun. If his best friend wasn't behind this door, Scott didn't know what he would do to himself.

Gently, he creaked the door open and peeked behind it. To his relief, Mitch was sleeping soundly in a ball under his covers, left hand resting lightly against his phone on the bedside table. Scott had to admit that he looked beautiful like this: raw, innocent...fucking alive. Unintentionally, he allowed a small sob to sneak past his lips, hand slapping against his mouth shortly afterwards lest Mitch heard it.

But, of course, with Scott's dumb luck, the boy began to stir. Mitch rolled onto his back, eyes fluttering open as he slowly began to regain consciousness, hands reaching up to his face to wipe away the remnants of his sleep. He blinked hard for a few seconds to adjust to the stream of light that bled in from the hallway, face morphing to immediate confusion. "Scott? What – what are you doing?"

"I – " Scott felt like a deer trapped in headlights. "I, um..."

Mitch's eyebrows pinched together. "Are you crying?"

Scott wanted to brush it off. He really did. But instead he allowed every repressed fear he experienced in the past ten minutes to overcome him, the force of it buckling his knees and throwing him on the ground. He was an absolute wreck; hot tears streamed down his cheeks as he cried, eyes squeezed tight in effort to stop the flow, but to no avail.