the book of fluff (that usually isn't)

hate account (xxx)

this was requested by gonat1121 again

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trigger warning: panic attack and mentions of self-harm

Mitch was in his room on his phone, scrolling through Twitter. He was bored.

He furrowed his brows when he saw a hate account for himself. He knew he shouldn't, but he clicked on it, and he scrolled down, eyes skimming hate Tweet after hate Tweet. Normally, they wouldn't get to him, but he had been feeling quite down on himself lately due to being around his perfect friends on tour and this account certainly did not help.

@mitchgrassisucks: ugh how can anyone like @mitchgrassi? he's so annoying.

@mitchgrassisucks: i don't know if @scotthoying and @mitchgrassi are dating but if they are @scotthoying should break up with @mitchgrassi because he's ugly as fuck and @scotthoying deserves better.

@mitchgrassisucks: everything about @mitchgrassi's voice is annoying, it's way too high for a man. what a fucking faggot.

@mitchgrassisucks: i hope @mitchgrassi kills himself if he ever sees these tweets. the world would be a better place without him.

@mitchgrassisucks: @scotthoying secretly hates @mitchgrassi. he only pretends to like him for publicity. i mean, come on. i can't be the only one that sees the disgust in @scotthoying's eyes when he looks at him-

@mitchgrassisucks: -you'd have to be blind not to see it.

Tears filled Mitch's eyes and he forced himself to shut off his phone, his hands shaking as he set it aside. He tried telling himself that the person who ran the account was probably just a sad and lonely person who was bullied their whole life and now they felt as though the world owed them something. He tried telling himself that what the Tweets said wasn't true.

However, he couldn't help but wonder. It did seem like Scott was spending less and less time with him and more and more time with his other friends. Was it something he did? Was he so ugly that Scott couldn't stand to look at his face anymore? Did all of his friends secretly hate him?

Deep down, Mitch knew he was being irrational. He won three Grammys, he had fifteen million subscribers with Pentatonix and two and a half million subscribers with Superfruit, people loved him. Still, he wasn't in control of his mind at the moment. He was spiraling, thought after thought jumping into his mind, each one more horrible than the last. All of his friends hated him, all of his fans pitied him, all of his family thought he would be better off dead. Mitch wanted to hurt himself, and that wish sent his breathing quickening even more. He hadn't self-harmed since high school, and the fact that he wanted to now made him panic. He didn't want his depression to come back, not when both Superfruit and Pentatonix were about to go on tour.

Soon, Mitch couldn't breathe. His phone was laying on his bed, forgotten, as he clutched at his throat and tried desperately to breathe. He thought he was going to die.

"Hey, Mitchy, do you wanna—" Scott cut himself off when he saw Mitch was in the midst of a panic attack. His eyes widened and he quickly rushed to Mitch's side. "Mitch? Oh, my God, what happened?" he asked worriedly, bringing him into his arms. "Here, it's going to be okay. Breathe with me. In and out." He automatically began breathing deeply, rubbing Mitch's back and rocking them gently. He'd helped Mitch through many panic attacks; most of them were in high school, but he occasionally got them now before a big show or a long flight. It was routine for him, and he could calm Mitch down faster than any of their other friends.