Stabbed

For the lovely author Olympiaaa.

Scott sat on the couch, watching Sherlock absentmindedly and anxiously checking his watch every five minutes or so. He twisted around in his place on the sofa and checked the bouquet of roses he had gotten Mitch, making sure they weren’t wilted yet.

It was just Scott’s luck that on the night he had planned to ask Mitch out on a date, Mitch was late from whatever he was doing out with Kirstie. Scott had been invited, but he had told them he wasn’t feeling very well and would rather not go, while in reality he just needed time to prepare everything.

He nervously checked his watch again, noting that Mitch was now an hour and half late. Scott was starting to worry, and had taken to pacing back and forth throughout the apartment, Wyatt nipping at his heels and meowing.

Scott sighed and lifted the sphinx up, carrying him to the kitchen where he began to dish out his food. His heart was beginning to race as a few inklings of panic welled up inside his chest. Mitch had never been this late without calling before. He whipped out his phone and dialed Kirstie’s number.

“Hello?” Kirstie mumbled drowsily.

“Kirstie, its Scott.” Scott said, feeling a little impatient when she didn’t say anything immediately in response.

 “Why are you calling so late?” Kirstie sounded more awake than before, although she was definitely irritated. “It’s midnight, Scott!”

“I know, that’s why I’m calling,” Scott paused, calming himself. “Mitch isn’t home yet.”

All the irritation had left Kirstie’s tone when she spoke next. “What? He’s not? The last I saw him was when he got off the bus!” She sounded panicked, which only increased Scott’s own worry. “You need to go tell Kevin and Avi to wake up and help look for him. I’m going out there right now,” Scott said with determination, already pulling on his jacket.

Scott was pleasantly surprised when Kirstie didn’t protest against him. “Alright. I’m calling them right now. Goodbye.” Scott heard the click that signified that Kirstie had hung up, and he slipped his phone into his jacket pocket.

He wasted no time at getting outside, and he was hit with an icy wind that bit through his jacket and shirt, making him shiver. The temperature didn’t help him gain confidence at all, and instead images of Mitch, lying dead and cold in some alleyway, burst uninvited into Scott’s head.

He set down the street, calling Mitch’s name and shining the flashlight into the alleyways he passed. His search was still fruitless by the time the other three appeared, wide awake. Scott knew that the nearest bus-stop to their apartment was up on Douglas Street, so they headed towards the road, Scott way ahead of the others.

Somewhere near the bus stop Scott shined the beam of his flashlight down an alleyway, and he was so glad that he did. Mitch was lying, crumpled in a lifeless heap, at the end of the alleyway, blood in a pool around him.

“Mitch!” Scott screamed desperately, racing towards the smaller man and gathering him into his arms. Mitch’s eyelids flickered open, and he squinted up at Scott, his brown irises glazed with pain. “Scott?” he murmured. Scott placed his hand reassuringly on Mitch’s cheek and said softly, “I’m here; don’t worry.”

He then raised his head and shouted for the others. “I’ve found him! He’s hurt! Someone call 911!”

He turned his attention back to Mitch, whose eyes were again closed. “It… hurts….” He whimpered, and Scott subconsciously hugged Mitch tighter against him, muttering, “I will never let you go, I’ll make it stop hurting, help is on the way….”