Anything Goes (Scomiche)

Sick

Mitch felt like absolute shit. Anyone could see that from a mile away. He was as pale as Scott, and clammy from head to toe. He was freezing, like he had hypothermia, and he his head was pounding, like someone was smashing it.

He really thought this would have gone away the other day, but looking at his reflection in the mirror, he could see how disgusting and weak he looked. Trying to clean up the apartment before Scott got back seemed like a daunting task to him now.

The blonde had gone out earlier, kissing Mitch's forehead as he said goodbye, wanting to kiss him on the lips, but he managed to dodge that. The confused look on Scott's face quickly disappeared as Mitch smiled at him and pushed him out the door. No way was he getting Scott sick.

It would be catastrophic if Scott got sick. He was always busy with band meetings, singing and playing, or out with his friends, he would be depressed if he got sick. Scott hated being sick.

Besides, it was best that Scott was out of the house as much as possible right now. Mitch was a walking germ fest, and getting his boyfriend sick was a very high possibility at this point. He didn't want to bother him either. Mitch didn't want to be anymore of a nuisance than he already had been for some time now.

It seemed like Mitch was keeping Scott home a lot more often now, between his family coming for a visit, cleaning the apartment, or even rearranging the place, which Mitch thought looked fantastic by the way, but he knew the man was itching to get out of the apartment and if Scott was kept in there any longer he would flip, and Mitch knew it. Everyone needs a break from each other at some point in time.

Now though, Mitch was trying to not fall over as he stumbled in and out of the kitchen, putting things away and wiping things down. Scott had some friends over last night and Mitch knew, even though he was laying down because he already felt like shit then.

It was more than a little annoying because they stumbled in around midnight, being obnoxiously loud. Mitch knew they were drunk, and he couldn't blame him really, since it was his first night out in a while. He had tried to drown them out with some earplugs, but it didn't work so well.

Mitch woke up that morning to the place basically being torn apart. He was going to yell at Scott, but he didn't have the heart too since the tall man had managed to get in bed with him sometime last night, arms wrapped about his waist, face nuzzled into his neck.

He was in the middle of trying to clean up the living room, putting their vinyls away, when a sudden wave of nausea flooded over him. He covered his mouth and ran to the bathroom, astonished that he even made it in time. The next thing he knew his vision was blurry and he gripping the toilet bowl with his slightly shaking hands as tightly as he could. His throat was burning as the vile substance came pouring out of him. This blinding, white hot feeling inched it's way through his body, making him whimper.

It didn't last too long, but his stomach kept clenching, and he tried to get all the contents out of his body, but there was nothing left to throw up seeing as he hadn't ate or drank anything all day. Now he was just heaving into a bowl, and it was horrendous. Maybe he was being a big baby for crying, but he couldn't help it as the tears started to come.

"Mitch?!" A loud voice called out from behind him.

He wanted to get up, look presentable, like nothing had happened, but his stomach was yelling at him to puke, but the more he tried, the more he couldn't. The steps behind him were coming closer, rushing to where he was.

He felt his heart pounding, and his stomach finally settling some as the tears continued to flow. He felt a warm hand on his back, one running softly through his hair. He took a deep breath in a tried to regain his composure.