Seven Levels Below

XIII

"You shaved your head."

"And good afternoon to you too, Captain Obvious," Mitch rolled his eyes as he stepped back to let Scott into his apartment. "Technically, Kirstie shaved it last night, because I don't know shit about hair."

Scott slid his stack of folders onto the coffee table and plopped down in his armchair. It really was Scott's chair at this point.

"I like it. It suits you."

Mitch ran his hand over the new smoothness that was his head. "Thanks." Okay, new topic quick before his face gets all red. "So how was work today, honey?"

Scott snorted at him. "Lame, dear. I honestly have no idea why my father has decided that now is an excellent time to have me review the details of his first few months in office, again. I swear this is like the fourth time since he announced his abdication."

"Ew," Mitch scrunched his nose up as he plopped back down at his makeshift work table, aka his kitchen counter. "Well don't let me keep you from all that exciting paperwork."

Scott groaned as he picked at the top folder. "I don't want toooo," he whined.

"The sooner you do it, the sooner it's done."

"Says the guy who stabs himself with pins all day for a job."

Mitch gasped. "How dare you? I'll have you know I am a professional and I know better than to stab myself when I'm pinning something!"

Mitch turned back to the sleeve he was lining up and immediately pricked himself as he reached for his pincushion.

"Shut up," he sucked his finger into his mouth as he pouted over Scott's unnecessary laughing.

Scott leaned forward, poised to get up. "Do you want a band-aid?"

Mitch glared at him, but oh wait. Ideas!!!

"Stand up." Mitch grabbed his tape measure and a pen, his finger forgotten as Scott hesitantly obeyed.

"What—"

"I just had an amazing idea, shush. I need to measure you, hold still." Mitch poked Scott in the side (with his finger, not a pin, to be clear) and ignored the "owieee". "And stand up straight. I only dyed so much fabric and I am not going to cut it too short because you're slouching."

"Wouldn't you rather ask one of your fangirls to model for you?" Mitch could hear the snarky grin on Scott's face from behind him as he pulled the tape measure around his shoulders. He retaliated with a mature slap to Scott's bicep.

Some of the young, female interns at Modernio had taken Scott's praise for Mitch's work to heart and had begun trailing him like ducklings around the office whenever they got the chance. Mitch had made the mistake of complaining about how he missed being able to work in peace to Scott, who had been far too gleeful at Mitch's pain. He would not stop insinuating that they were as obsessed with Mitch as he was, and that they would do anything for him. Anything. Ew.

"Oh my god, will you let it go already? They're just following me around because they think you're gonna show up sometime and they're gonna get to meet you. Besides, I am way too gay for whatever you're still trying to imply here."

Scott's shoulders tensed under his fingers as he tried to write the measurement down on his arm.

"Relax, Scooter. You're screwing up my numbers."

There was no response. Mitch felt his stomach drop.

Shit.

This can't be happening. There's literally no way Scott didn't figure it out already. Sure he can be oblivious sometimes, but he couldn't possibly have missed something that big? Correction: he couldn't possibly have not figured it out and somehow managed to be homophobic this entire time without Mitch noticing? Mitch can feel himself starting to panic. Why the hell did he have to say that? No, deep breaths. It's probably just a misunderstanding. Scott's way too nice for Mitch's sexuality to be an issue for him. Just take deep breaths. Wait, Scott.