kiss the boy | scömìche

chapter seventeen

Mitch sits at his desk, a brand new notebook open on the space in front of him and his pencil sharp and ready to write. Scott sits behind him on Mitch's bed, his computer on his lap. The only noise is the clicking of the keys as Scott types away, and Mitch wishes he could be that inspired. He doesn't know what Scott is doing, but he's surely making better progress than Mitch is.

See, after Mitch lost his notebook, he's has no inspiration for new music whatsoever. He's panicking because the recording company he works with has told him that they need a new song from him in a week or else they'll have to drop him.

That was five days ago.

Mitch doesn't earn enough money from his job as a piano player for entertainment at parties to support himself. If he can't write a song in two days, he'll probably lose his apartment.

And so Mitch has been sitting at his desk ever since yesterday, not even getting up to get food. Scott, ever the ladies' — well, men's — man, brought him food every time it was a meal time and ate his food behind Mitch on Mitch's bed.

Mitch even refused to get up and go to bed, determined to pull an all-nighter to get his stupid song done, so Scott simply waited until Mitch inevitably fell asleep on the desk and carried him to bed.

Mitch writes another line and stares at it for a few seconds before sighing frustratedly and erasing it. Scott glances up at him, a soft and slightly amused smile playing on his lips. "That's probably about the hundredth time you've erased your song. Everything going alright?"

Mitch shakes his head, angry tears beginning to gather at the corners of his eyes. He hears some shuffling and suddenly Scott is at his side, balancing on his knees so he's at Mitch's height. "How about you start with the word 'you'?" he suggests, and Mitch turns to look at him, an eyebrow raised and his tears forgotten. Scott smiles, gently taking the pencil out of Mitch's hands and scratching out a "y", an "o", and a "u".

The dynamic duo work on their song for hours, finishing the lyrics early in the morning on the last day. Mitch reads over the lyrics one last time, a tired yet proud smile dancing on his lips. He flips to an unused page and quickly scribbles out a note to Scott, who is so tired his head is resting on Mitch's arm and his eyes droop heavily.

Thanks for helping.

Scott forces his head up and reads the note, a weary smile forming on his lips. "You're welcome, Mitchiemoo. Can we go to bed now?" he says, his words slurred from exhaustion. Mitch smiles amusedly and nods.

You can. I'm going to stay up and write the chords and stuff.

Scott stares at him blankly for a few seconds before grabbing Mitch's hand and pulling him to the bed, wrapping his arms around Mitch's waist and holding him to his chest. Mitch tenses, but Scott simply buries his nose in Mitch's hair and closes his eyes, his breathing already evening out.

"G'night, Mitchie," he mumbles, and then he's asleep.

Mitch forces his muscles to relax and closes his eyes, expecting a sleepless night.

However, he slept better than he has in years.