the book of fluff (that usually isn't)

home alone

trigger warning

Mitch was home alone.

He was watching Spongebob on the couch, a tub of ice cream in his shaking hands and tear-stains on his cheeks. His eyes were glossy and glazed-over, shining with tears he refused to allow himself to shed.

You see, Scott had just left. Now Mitch was all alone.

His best friend was gone. Mitch didn't know if he was ever going to see him again.

Mitch let out a small sob and hurriedly set the ice cream down, rushing into Scott's old room to cry.

+++

*five years later*

Scott hurriedly rushed through the airport, ignoring all his fellow soldiers and the pain in his side.

It was around midnight on July 24, and Scott was determined to get home to Mitch before he woke up.

Scott waved over a cab and slid inside, panting. "Where to, sir?" the cab driver spoke, looking at him through the mirror. Scott gave him his address, the words falling out of his mouth. He's so desperate to get home, the need for Mitch slowly killing him.

The drive couldn't have gone slower, but finally, the cab driver pulled up in front of his and Mitch's residence. Scott threw some money at him and opened the door, scrambling out and slamming it. He was already halfway up the steps before the cab driver could even start to tell him that soldiers and former soldiers in uniform didn't have to pay.

Scott fumbled with the key and finally managed to open the door. Instantly, his rushed demeanor dropped, and was instead replaced by stealth. He crept up the stairs and into Mitch's room, but frowned confusedly when he wasn't in there.

However, he heard soft sobs from his old room, and he felt his heart crack in his chest as he peeked into the room.

Sure enough, Mitch was laying curled in a pathetic ball, tears streaming down his cheeks from closed eyes. Even through the darkness, Scott could see the white bandages wrapped tightly around his best friend's arms, and he pressed his lips together to keep from crying as he carefully and quietly stripped down to just his undershirt and underwear and slipped into the bed next to Mitch.

Mitch sobbed again in his sleep, clutching one of Scott's sweatshirts to his chest and burying his face in the fabric. Scott frowned and carefully wrapped his arms around Mitch's waist, pulling the small man to his chest. Mitch sniffled and buried his face in Scott's chest, his small, delicate hands clutching at Scott's undershirt.

Scott held Mitch closer and closed his own eyes, falling asleep quickly now that Mitch was safe in his arms.

+++

Mitch woke up on the morning of his twenty-fifth birthday to a warm and safe presence surrounding him. He sleepily blinked his eyes open, but when he focused on the peaceful face above him, he gasped loudly and squealed, "Scott!"

The former soldier slowly opened his eyes, smiling. "Happy birthday, princess."