reflection | scömìche

chapter twenty-four

this is short i'm sorryyy

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It was around six months later when Mitch first got the news.

He was even thinner than he was before, as his father rarely fed him, and his small body was littered with bruises from the beatings. He missed Scott more than anything, but that feeling of longing was really the only thing he felt. Other than that, he was just numb.

The message was sent to all of the families of the country, and the night Mitch heard was one of the worst in his life. The messenger knocked on the door on a cold and stormy night, just like all deliverers of bad news do, and Mitch was sent to get it. He silently got up and obeyed, ignoring the laughter from Mr. Smith and his father back at the table — the Smiths came over a lot still, even though John wasn't with them. Most of the dinners were spent mocking Mitch for getting sent home from training.

Mitch wrapped one arm around himself and opened the door with the other. He was surprised to see the bedraggled messenger, but he didn't show it. "May I help you, sir?" His voice was soft and weak from lack of use. The messenger nodded and passed Mitch the scroll. "It's a message from the emperor," he said, panting. "Everyone's gotten it." Mitch nodded and clutched the scroll tightly, forcing a tight smile. "Thank you, sir," he murmured, then closed the door and walked back to the dinner table.

"Give it here, Mitchell," Mike commanded lazily, and Mitch obediently passed it over before he sat down. He kept his gaze on his lap as Mike broke the seal and unrolled it, so he didn't see Mike's eyes widen with every word. "What is it?" Mr. Smith asked curiously, noticing this. Mike shook his head solemnly. "Mitchell, you'll be sad to hear this," he mocked, but the coldness in his voice was only halfhearted. Mitch's heart jerked fearfully, and he slowly looked up just as his father threw the scroll at him. He flinched and picked it up from his lap with shaking hands, unrolling it again to read.

People of my country,
I regret to inform you that General Hoying has been severely injured.

Mitch's eyes stopped on the last word. Injured. His hands shook even harder and his breathing started to come quickly and raggedly, and he couldn't bring himself to read the rest of it. The scroll clattered loudly onto the floor as Mitch got up and rushed to his room before he could cry.

The tears came down as soon as Mitch had locked the door. Loud, broken sobs left his lips as he crawled in bed and buried himself under the covers, a sharp pain flaring in his chest with every breath he took. His poor Scott had been injured in the war. What if he died? Mitch didn't think he'd be able to carry on if Scott died. The entire reason he was still alive today was the promise Scott had made to him before he got on that train, the promise that he would come back for him.

Mitch wished more than anything to be back in Scott's bed with him, sleeping together with their naked bodies pressed together. He missed Scott's kiss, he missed Scott's length inside him, he missed Scott's hands on his skin, he missed Scott's arms around him. He missed Scott. So, so much.

Eventually, Mitch's loud sobs were reduced to pathetic whimpers. His pillow was soaked with tears. He was curled in a tight ball, and despite how warm it was under the blankets, he was shivering. Scott's name left his lips over and over, barely louder than a whisper, as though he was savoring the taste of it on his tongue. It felt like it had been forever since he'd last seen him. He wondered vaguely if Scott would still want him when he got back.

It took a while, but Mitch managed to fall asleep. That night, he dreamed of being safely in Scott's arms once more.