A Good Night Full Of Mistakes

Ch. 10

It's 3:12pm and all Mitch can do is sigh.

He may have gone just a bit too far. It's just...it's all too much and he has no idea how to even begin to tackle this whole thing.

What a fucking mess.

He's sitting in the middle of his bedroom floor, head in hands, when he hears the soft shuffle of footsteps approaching down the hall. He recognizes the tread before he looks up wearily, a quiet, grumbly "ehhhhh" confirming that Scott is, in fact, on his way in.

Wow. Boy is a disaster. He grunts an "eh" in Mitch's general direction as he lurches through the doorway, eyes puffy and hair a tangled mop, before he continues on his trajectory with hands reaching forward. Mitch can tell that Scott just woke up, that he's hungover as hell, and that he feels like he was hit by a truck. None of that is stopping Mr. Grabby Hands, though.

"Pretty," Scott murmurs, sounding like he'd been chewing gravel. His outstretched hands meet the pink garment he'd been reaching for just as Mitch yelps. "That is a twenty-fucking-thousand dollar Gucci, go wash your hands right the fuck now!"

Scott frowns. "Just did. Welcome home. Now hush." Mitch isn't sure he believes him; if there's anything nasty on that coat Scott is buying him a new one.

"Hmph. You look like hell," Mitch points out as Scott continues to pet the pink fur jacket.

"Feel like it," Scott replies. "May have overdone things just a bit. You look stressed."

Mitch gestures around him, clothes piled everywhere. "Yeah. I may have overdone the shopping. I don't even know where to start. Please stop stroking my Gucci." Scott's eyes skitter over the half-unpacked suitcases and stacks of clothes surrounding Mitch and one side of his mouth lifts in a semi grin; he finally takes his grubby mitts away from the precious.

And Mitch feels... better. About them, about the awkwardness, about the fear of everything falling apart. He doesn't know why, but maybe there's hope.

"If you come get food with me I'll help you put shit away when I feel more human," Scott offers.

This sounds doable. Mitch looks over the mess and sighs again. "M'kay. As long as it's not Taco Bell."

"Dammit. Fine," Scott mutters. He looks down at the floor for a second, then, "Do I get a hello hug, or...?"

"Did you shower yet?"

Scott sniffs an armpit. "Not today. I just woke up."

"Fucking nasty," Mitch grumbles at him, but softens when Scott looks genuinely hurt. "Fine, but come help me up." Scott carefully navigates the maze of fashion covering the floor and pulls Mitch to his feet.

And the hug brings more comfort to Mitch than he'd been aware he needed.

"I am sorry," Scott says quietly into Mitch's hair. "For being such an asshole and all."

In that moment, Mitch thinks that everything might just be okay.