Hold My Heart (Scomiche AU)

9: Stress

 It was three minutes past 4 AM and Scott felt more exhausted than he had since his college days. Now, faced with a daunting pile of term projects waiting to be graded, Scott was worn-down and he was fairly sure that if he so much as touched a pillow, he'd be passed out for the next three days. With a sigh, he took another sip of his coffee and pulled the next paper from the pile. Statistics and P. Diddy: The Role of Statistics in Rap Culture. Scott groaned. The fact that he was now reading a fourth consecutive badly written paper that stretched way beyond any reasonable limits to connect statistics to a horribly over-appreciated rapper was not doing anything to help him fight his utter despair and inhuman exhaustion.

He had spent every free moment he'd had in the past four days planning and perfecting everything for his parents' anniversary party; it was on the coming Saturday--only two days away--and neither of his sisters had been able to help him with the final arrangements. If that wasn't enough, Kirstie and Jeremy's wedding was a week away, and he'd had to deal with a never-ending barrage of unpredictable disasters that he was sure could only happen to someone with luck as horrible as his own. Unfortunately, that left him no time to do his own work--finishing up his final lectures of the semester, writing final exams for his 3 courses, and grading a giant pile of term papers that he now regretted assigning. He hadn't had a moment to breathe, let alone sleep, all week, and he could feel it catching up with him as he struggled to keep his eyes open and focused on the dauntingly long paper in his hands; not even coffee was doing much to keep him awake at this point.

The only thing keeping him awake was the rhythmic thrumming of ridiculously loud music playing from his speakers. Every now and then, just as he began to drift off, a particularly loud beat or a key change would snap him out of his hazy, half-asleep state and bring his focus back to the work before him for a few minutes before he began to doze off again. By the time it hit 4:15 AM, though, Scott was so tired, his vision blurry and mind spinning, that not even the ear-splitting music blasting from his speakers was enough to help his sleepy state. It wasn't until he heard a sharp knock on his door, at thirty-six minutes past 4, that he came fully into consciousness again, standing and rubbing sleepily at his eyes as he trudged towards the door.

It didn't strike him that it would be smart to check through the peephole who might be knocking on his door at 4:36 AM on a Friday morning until he was already wrenching the door open; the moment it did, he froze, eyes wide and heart beating fast at the thought of possibly facing an armed robber or axe murderer on the other side. However, the door was already open far enough for Scott to catch a glimpse of the person on the other side, and as soon as his brain caught up with his eyes, a smile spread across his face. Standing in the hallway, wrapped in a blanket and looking sleepy and adorable in a pair of flannel pajama pants and a sweater with sleeves that fell over his hands in the cutest way, was Mitch.

"Mitch," he said breathlessly, his exhaustion so clear even he could hear it in his own voice.

"You know Tori Kelly is my queen, but it's literally the a**crack of dawn and I'm pretty sure the people three blocks down can hear this song," Mitch said, his voice raspy with sleep, as he curled his hands into fists and rubbed at his eyes, looking so adorable and tiny that Scott couldn't think anything except Mitch and f*ck and what if my heart explodes right now. "Scott?"

Scott blinked, staring at Mitch blankly for another moment before the words processed in his brain. "Oh, god, I'm so sorry," he murmured immediately, turning and hurrying over to his speaker to turn off the music. He turned back to find Mitch standing in the entrance of his apartment, softly shutting the door behind himself. "I forgot how thin these walls are."

Mitch cocked an eyebrow, still adorable, but looking slightly less sleepy than before. "These walls could be fifteen feet thick and soundproof and I think your music would still be louder than my alarm clock," he deadpanned. "What were you doing, throwing a one-man rave at 4 in the morning?"