Pentatonix One Shots

I Promise

I had been sitting, eyes glued to the plain wall in front of me, for about half an hour before a figure came and sat beside me. I stared down into my lap, aware of what he would say next, and tried my best not to cry. It was always going to happen, I told myself over and over as the brunette man beside me scooted closer and wrapped his arms around me in a warm hug.

"Kirstie, it's okay," Mitch whispered to me, and I let out a sob.

"It's not, it's not," I mumbled over and over again as I pressed my head into his shoulder. His friendly, comforting embrace was the only thing that was holding me together. I was afraid that, if he were to let go, I would fall apart completely.

"We're going to help you," he told me, rubbing my back in an attempt to soothe me. In all honesty, I was glad that it was Mitch who had come to talk to me. I felt that he'd be able to help me more than any of the others - he always knew what to say to make someone feel better. My gasping breaths began to slow as my tears began to subside, and I pulled myself back from my friend a little bit.

"Do you hate me?" I blurted out. I'd been trying to hold it back, but I had been unable to convince myself that they would still think of me as the same person as I was yesterday, or last week, or even last year. Mitch gently took the sleeve of my sweater, and pushed it up slightly. He brushed his finger over a couple of the scars he could see, being careful not to touch any of the cuts that were still healing. He then looked directly into my eyes.

"We could never hate you, Kirst," he told me with a sincere smile, "We're your friends - fuck it, we're practically a family - there's no way that any of us could hate you. We just want you to talk to us, okay?"

"It's hard to talk," I managed to say, my voice nothing more than a mere fragile whisper that was instantly swallowed by the room.

"I know, honey, I know," Mitch pulled me in for another hug, and gently kissed my forehead, "We're here for you, okay?"

"What if I don't want to stop?" I confessed quietly, screwing my eyes shut tightly so that I didn't have to see the disappointment that I knew would be etched over Mitch's face. He was one of my best friends, and I hated seeing him hurt - even more so when I was the cause of his pain.

"I know that it seems like it's the only way, but there are better ways of dealing with how you feel, Kirst," he told me. I pushed him away, fighting away his embrace.

"You don't know! You don't know what it's like!" I cried out, feeling fresh tears burning in my eyes. I heard Mitch inhale deeply.

"I do, though," his voice was fully of pain, "I know how you feel - and that's why I want to help you." I opened my eyes, and was greeted by Mitch's sad face, tears running from his brown eyes. 

"Wh-when?" I managed to force out, too shocked to coherently express my thoughts.

"High school, The Sing-Off, a fair few of my break ups - I'm pretty good at relapsing," he laughed, his words hollow, "I'm trying my best not to go back, and it's hard, but... I know it'll be worth it, someday... That's why I wanted to be the one to talk to you," he said, showing a small amount of emotion in those words. I knew that that was his way of stopping himself from crying, so I just nodded numbly, unsure of what to say or do to help him. He leaned towards me and we hugged once again, the pair of us crying openly now.

"Do the others know about..." I began, unsure of how to ask the question that was burning to be asked.

"About what I was doing?" he finished for me. I nodded. "Scott does," he told me, wiping away his tears before he wiped away a few of mine. The corners of his mouth turned upwards slightly, which confused me.

"Wha-"

"Your make-up's run, and it looks all... rainbow-y" Mitch told me, pulling out his phone and selecting the camera option. He handed the phone to me, and, as soon as I saw my reflection, I rolled my eyes, but couldn't suppress a grin. Sure, I looked absolutely awful, but Mitch did have a point - I'd been trying out a few different colored eyeliners that day, and they'd all smudged together to create a rather interesting style. I was grateful to be able to call Mitch one of my closest friends.

"Thank you," I told him as I hugged him again.

"We can get through this, okay? You're going to be okay - I promise."