Scomiche One Shots

Frat Boy

Two updates in one day? Yeah, don't get used to it! Have a short one shot with some soft bashful frat Scott. <3

Also shoutout to caesarlester for brainstorming with me and being a stan for college AUs.

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The frat house is loud, classic rock banging out of the speakers that are threaded through the rooms. Mitch is only here because Kirstin had begged him to come along, said that all the frat boys were hot and that some were even gay so it wouldn't be a complete waste of his Friday night. He doesn't care - there aren't classes tomorrow so it doesn't matter if he gets completely hammered and returns to his dorm alone at 4 in the morning.

Kirstin finds the group of frat boys playing beer pong on the dining room table. Mitch hovers awkwardly to the side, watching the game as she chats up a tall brunet, cheering for him when he lands the ball into the cup.

The other team groans and a tall blond - a guy who looks like he could be the head of the house if his "leader of the pack" sweatshirt is anything to go by - picks up the cup, a confident smirk on his face as he downs it quickly. The frat boys across the table let out lewd howls that have Mitch rolling his eyes.

Mitch thought Kirstin had to have been lying to him earlier - there is no way any of these no-homo-bro's could be gay.

He elects to refill his cup, doesn't realize that it's already empty until he goes to sip at it again. He has to pass the frat boys to get to the kitchen where all the alcohol is, and it's honestly more work than he cares to admit to maneuver through the crowd of them.

Mitch is pouring a drink when he feels a presence behind him, turns to find the blond frat boy standing by.

"Sorry," he mumbles, eyes downcast as he moves to shuffle around him.

"No," the frat boy insists, "no need to be sorry. I - uh - wanted to talk to you actually." Mitch's eyes travel up, meet the pretty blue ones this frat boy has. "Your shirt - Dua Lipa, right?"

Mitch glances down at himself, remembers that he did put on a merch tee of hers. "Oh, yeah."

The blond smiles, "I love her music - I have a signed vinyl, actually!"

Mitch blanks, "what? No way."

The other nods, "yeah, really! I can show you, if you want. I've got a whole record collection in my room."

"Are you kidding?"

"I'd never joke about my collection - and especially not Dua Lipa."

Mitch notices his eyes have lit up beautifully, shine a very bright blue and he finds himself nodding, agreeing to follow this guy upstairs, despite not even knowing his name. "I'd love to see it."

"Well, I'd love to show you." He smiles, bright and straight and perfect, and says a quiet, "follow me." And then Mitch is being led upstairs, ushered past the frat boys still playing beer pong, his hand held in the blond's large one. For a moment it crosses his mind that the frat boy might've been simply seducing him, just trying to get him into bed and he gets a little nervous, almost embarrassed that he might have been so oblivious. The fear is only deepened as they maneuver through the beer pong teams. The frat boys all whistle and holler, adding a few cheers of, "get it Scott!" Mitch feels a little relieved as Scott turns his head to them, frowns and shushes them as his cheeks tinge bright pink. Maybe he hadn't misread the situation, after all.

They walk upstairs silently, head to the door at the very end of the hallway. Scott's name is on the door on a page with music notes and a poorly-drawn keyboard. Scott pauses outside the door, turning to Mitch with a smirk on his face.

"Prepare yourself," he says, and then he is pushing open the door, opening it into a blue room. The walls are a deep blue, his bed made perfectly with a pretty white duvet and black pillows. What really takes Mitch's breath away, though, is all the shelves lining the wall. There are millions of records, it seems and it's more than Mitch could ever dream.

"Woah."

Scott smiles, makes his way to the left, shuffling through some records before pulling out a SIGNED DUA LIPA ALBUM.

Mitch gasps, rushing over to his side to admire it. "Oh my god, Scott."

He smiles, runs his hand over the cover, his cheeks slightly red. "I can put it on if you'd like."

Mitch shakes his head, laughs, "you can't play this art - no way."

"Well - wait - I didn't catch your name."

"Mitch," he smiles, looks down at his feet as Scott slides the record back into its place.

"Ah, well, Mitch, anything you'd like to hear?"

"Hmm," he hums, "Got any Beyonce?"

Scott rolls his eyes, "of course. Would I truly be gay if I didn't have the Queen?"

Mitch laughs, admires as Scott expertly shuffles through his music, grabbing Lemonade and setting it up on his record player. It's a beautiful sound as it plays and Scott settles onto his bed, gestures for Mitch to sit with him.

"This sounds amazing," Mitch says. "I've always wanted a record player."

Scott smiles, "you can come listen with me anytime you want - I mean it - and I don't just show my collection to anyone, I'll have you know."

"Oh yeah?" Mitch teases, bumping his arm with his elbow.

Scott flashes him a fond smile, his eyes going soft as a subtle pink graces his cheeks, "yeah."