A Good Night Full Of Mistakes

Ch. 9

It's 3:51am.

Scott's sprawled in a chair in the living room of this fancy-ass hotel suite idly pretending to watch TV but really checking his phone every few minutes to see if Mitch was going to return his Facetime. He'd begged off partying 'til dawn with the intention of getting some sleep - no, really! - but that isn't going so well. The bar three feet away hasn't helped, either. Now instead of drinking alone at home, he's drinking alone in a hotel in Vegas.

Vegas and friends and boys and drinks didn't make everything go away.

It has, however, made him think.

He's been an asshole the last couple weeks. He's been an asshole and the first step in removing his head from said orifice is to apologize to his best friend for being a miserable bitch. And sure, he could wait, what, like 24 hours until they're both back home but he's impatient and guilt-ridden and drunk and now seems as good a time as any.

But Mitch is probably too busy shopping and kissing boys - Scott bites back a frown on that thought - to talk.

Still. Maybe he should try one more time.

Besides, Scott misses him like crazy - as in he feels as though he's going just a little insane.

He taps to call Mitch before he can change his mind and, in the brief second between seeing the call has connected and Mitch's face appearing on his phone screen, Scott nearly vomits from the stress.

Mitch smiles at him, dimples and all. "Hey, Daddy."

Scott forgets everything he'd wanted to say, but he finds himself smiling right back. "Hey...hi." Breathe, breathe, remember to breathe. "You look...you look great."

Mitch rolls his eyes, still smiling. "She looks like a drowned rat. It won't stop fucking raining. And you look like you've been up 'til 4 in the morning drinking. How's Veg?"

"It's...fun. There's a stripper pole in one of the showers."

Mitch tilts his head, smile turning into a look of confusion. "A what? Did you say a stripper pole?"

Suddenly feeling like he has a purpose, Scott staggers to his feet. "Yeah. Yeah, check this shit out." He makes his way zig-zaggedly from the couch, through one of the bedrooms, and into the bathroom. "See?" he says, lining the phone up so it can capture him clumsily holding the pole and faux-seductively rolling his shoulders.

Mitch blinks once, twice, three times and then sputters out a laugh.

Getting up and moving has done ugly things to Scott's head. He lets go of the stripper pole and stumbles towards his bed. "It's absolutely fucking ridiculous," he slurs as he does some semblance of walking. "Remind me to tell you later. This place is ridiculous." The bed is nice as his body hits it.

He can see Mitch gesturing at someone on his end of the call, making a circular motion in the air. "Conduis, s'il vous plaît. Oui. More, go around again."

Scott feels bad. "You have stuff to do, you wanna go, or...?"

Mitch waves his hand dismissively. "It's fine, henny. I hope I told the driver to drive around a little more. I think you need some sleep, though."

Scott nods. "I do. Oh, wait," he suddenly remembers that there was a reason he'd called Mitch at whatever-the-fuck-o'clock it is. He shifts around in bed, getting comfortable and arranging his phone so it's propped against the pillow next to him. "I miss you," he blurts as he racks his brain for the nice apology he'd thought up earlier. The smile it earns him is dazzling. "And I'm - look, I've been an asshole lately. And I'm sorry."

"Lately?" Mitch replies, eyebrow cocked. "You're always an asshole, but you sure have taken it up a few notches."

"I won't be anymore. Well, I'm going to try to be better, at least." Scott feels his eyes well with tears. The words stung, but Scott knows they're true. What's important, though, is that Mitch doesn't look particularly mad. He's not thrilled, but he's not mad.

On the screen, Mitch is shaking his head. "I hope so, but we should save this conversation for when we're both sober and awake. Sleep, okay? Want me to stay on the line until you're out?"

Scott nods and, just in case it's too dark to see clearly, "Yeah."

"M'kay," Mitch says. "I love you."

"Love you, Mitchy."

At 4:38am Vegas time, Facetime disconnects as Scott snores quietly.