Hey, everyone! Originally this oneshot was supposed to be really uber short...but it turned out a lot, lot longer than expected, which is why it took me longer to update this time.
Description: Mitch has a superpower he is unaware of, a power that holds together everything when it seems all will fall apart. But what if he wants to change it? And speaking of superpowers, maybe Scott has a certain power of his own.
This chapter is dedicated to Nightling, the nicest reviewer on the planet whom has reviewed for nearly every oneshot so far. Thank you so much for your sweet, motivational words! You're fcute!
Happy reading!
Where Are U Now...then Can't Sleep Love...next is Sing. Scott Hoying ran through the names of all of the songs the quintet were supposed to sing in the best order that he could manage. It was one thing to forget the words to a song, but it was even worse to forget what song you were singing in the first place. With the baritone's luck, he'd screw up the entire performance without say a word. Or saying the wrong words.
Currently, Pentatonix was backstage at a major concert event: the word major was being modest, since there were at least ten bands (not including the group themselves and a few others that hadn't arrived yet) performing that night. It was about ten in the morning now, and the first band was to go on in two hours. Even though the first sound of music would be heard in one hundred and twenty minutes, people had already crowded the outside space and were excitedly talking/yelling/laughing.
Scott was becoming frustrated. His crappy memory was evading him at the legitimate worst time. Scott mentally reached out for titles, memories of performances, anything; no luck. The blonde squeezed his eyes shut and massaged his temples, breathing unsteadily. He was not going to panic. He was not going to panic.
"Hey, Scott, do you remember the song we're singing right after Rose Gold?" Mitch Grassi asked from his standing position across from his friend. The brunette's bottom lip was bitten into almost nothing due to nerves. "Is it First Things First or Daft Punk?"
Again, once a mental search had been conducted, Scott procured nothing. He was now trying not to hyperventilate. He was not going to panic. The baritone wrung his hands and cast Mitch a distressed look.
HE WAS NOT GOING TO PANIC.
"Babe, are you alright?" The countertenor walked forwards, paused to let a bundle of Stage Crew member shuttle by (carrying several misshapen drums and a couple not-so-misshapen microphones), then made his way to Scott's side carefully. The tiny brunette pressed a hand to his arm. "What's wrong?"
The blonde had been containing it all, but the moment his strained blue eyes met Mitch's concerned brown ones, he realized that, ah, shit-
He was going to panic.
"I can't remember anything, Mitch." Scott said in a rush, grabbing the startled shorter man's hands and shaking them vigorously to make his point. "I don't know what order we're going to sing in, when we come on, or what I ate for breakfast."
"You had a bagel." The brunette replied, wide-eyed.
His in-control response floored Scott. "How are you not freaking out? Because I'm freaking out!" The baritone started to hyperventilate again. With his quickened breathing and racing heart, the black backstage room was beginning to spin unnaturally. Scott swayed on his feet. "I'm literally going to pass out right now!"
"Scott, no no no no no, Scott, look at me." Mitch brought his hands up to cradle his best friend's face delicately. The blonde's fingers locked around one of his wrists. He wasn't going to pass out: he was going to throw up instead.
Mitch stared at him with solid resolution, his tone ringing and confident. "You're not going to faint on me, Christina." He said slowly. Immediately, Scott began to relax. It was easy to relax when he was meeting the gaze of the tiny brunette, whom carried a soothing, calming effect. "You know these songs like the back of your hand. I'm going to let go of you, and you are going to get your shit together, Hoying. Mmmkay?"
Breathing at a normal rate now, the baritone nodded, his anxiety ebbing away. Mitch sighed, removing his hands from Scott's face and smiling a little. Mission accomplished.
"Let's go find Kirstie." The countertenor suggested, taking the taller man's hand and lacing their fingers together. A jolt of adrenaline shot through Scott's heart at the unexpected (but not unpleasant) contact. "Then all three of us can chill and shove snacks down our faces before we perform."
Scott let Mitch lead him through the confusing twists and turns of backstage. Every now and then, his large body would get in the way and he'd have to stop and allow other people to pass him in the rooms and hallways cramped with equipment and performers. The thinner singer slid between guitars and chattering assistants and big-ass speakers with ease. The blonde tried to ignore how many appreciative once-overs his best friend was receiving (by mostly women: this fact did not comfort him in the slightest), and also tried to ignore how Mitch looked at some of the men.
"Our room should be just around this damn corner..." Mitch drawled, tugging Scott along. As they neared the space and said hello to several other singers, the brunette remarked, "God, there are so many hot straight guys here."
The baritone raised an eyebrow, spotting the plain white door marked 'Pentatonix' in block-like letters. He opened his mouth, but Mitch turned and cut him off before he could speak.
"Don't worry, dearest, my heart belongs only to you." The countertenor trilled teasingly, snuggling against Scott's chest and enjoying the instant warmth. Mitch felt his best friend laugh as the motion made the taller man's body vibrate when the sound rang through him.
"And mine to you, Mitchell Grassi." Scott replied, baiting the brunette. Suddenly (yet as predicted), the smaller man pulled away and smacked his best friend's stomach.
"Ow."
"Don't call me Mitchell, you know I hate it." Mitch scolded him, knowing that he was lying and praying the blonde wouldn't notice. Scott hadn't called him Mitchell in a long time. It was a little strange to hear his name exiting the baritone's lips...good and strange.
A wicked grin spread across Scott's face. Which meant he was plotting something evil. "You're going to regret wounding me like that, Mitchell." In that instance it hit Mitch that oh yeah, um, he was standing right in Scott's arms, and um, oh, yeah, usually the blonde's idea of vengeance revolved around tickling and oh, huh, right, Mitch should probably move like right now.
Like, right now right now.
On cue Scott secured the tinier countertenor in a bear hug and began his rein of demise. Mitch burst into uncontrollable laughter, squirming and wriggling purposefully and twitching and convulsing not-so-purposefully. He laughed so hard that it made his head hurt. The few people walking in the hallway cast the pair weird glances and wondered if the brunette was having a seizure.
"SCOTT YOU BIT-" The baritone dug his fingers into Mitch's side. "HAHAHAHAHA! STOOOOOP! HAHAHAHAHA! I HATE IT!" Mitch continued to roar with laughter, torn between going with it or seething with rage. Scott was chuckling himself, not able to resist doing so while his other half lost his mind. This commenced until Mitch felt the blonde loosen his grip slightly and noticed that it was his chance to escape. Gritting his teeth against his giggles, the small brunette slipped beneath Scott's arms, lunging for the doorknob of the Pentatonix dressing room.
"Not fair!" The blue-eyed singer called, feeling cheated but not resisting the large smile that nearly broke his face. Mitch didn't hear him as he was gasping for breath so noisily that the sound drowned out everything else. He smirked and opened the door, tasting resolution.
Instead of receiving the view he expected when the door swung open (which was his three other friends, grinning nervously and rehearsing and talking excitedly amongst themselves), Mitch was presented with quite the sight; Kirstie had tracks of her mascara staining her face in silent tears, a terrible expression on her usually rejuvenated features. She was curled up on one of the loveseats with Avi at her side, his arm slung around her shoulder in a gesture of the best comfort he could provide. Kevin, the final puzzle piece, stood behind the two, looking strangely somber.
Mitch froze, unmoving and staring. All of the playfulness he had been feeling before vanished faster than a blink. Scott, whom was unaware, walked to the countertenor's side and sneaked a hand down to the belted loops of the other singer's pants, preparing to hook his fingers through them and whisper a joke. He noticed Mitch's sudden tenseness immediately.
Confused, the blonde followed Mitch's gaze to their sorrowful best friend. Unlike the brunette Scott gasped audibly and rushed over to her. Avi removed his arm and stood up to give the best friend's room, choosing to stand by Kevin's side and tug at his beard.
"What happened?" Scott asked, his tone screeching worry. The mezzo shook her head, opened her mouth, closed it again, and put her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook in a single sob. The baritone gathered her in his arms and hugged her tightly, closing his eyes and burying his nose in her sandy, coconut-scented curls. He held her for a minute, and then glared up at the beat boxer and the bass, his eyes sparking dangerously. In his book, if you messed with Kirstin or Mitch, you were messing with him. "What happened?"
Kevin spoke up after wordlessly communicating with Avi. "We were rehearsing because we were waiting for you guys to get here...and she tried to sing..." He stopped, unsure as to whether or not saying what went on would upset his friends further.
Mitch was still standing in the doorway and was still highly concerned (his best friend was not known to cry over nothing: if she was sobbing this hard, something was wrong). Kirstie glanced up from her place at Scott's side, sending him a mental message. It hit the countertenor then. There were only three things that Kirstie would cry over; her parents dying, her friends dying, or...
"She lost her voice." The brunette said. Kirstin nodded and squeezed her eyes shut, fresh tears pooling in her brown orbs. Cautiously, he worked his way over to the mezzo, sensing more things than a lost voice was amiss. "And...she's really stressed out over this show."
Scott wiped the moisture from Kirstie's reddened cheeks. "Can you sing, Kirstie?"
She sniffed, remaining silent. Her friends would look upon her with so much pity and sympathy, she wouldn't be able to take it. Then they'd croon, comfort her the best they could, hug her and attempt to make her feel better. But that wouldn't bring her voice back. At the moment, it was the thing she wanted most in the world.
"C'mon, girl." Mitch moved as if he was a panther, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning all of his weight on one hip. His stance was cocky and impatient (he was sorry, but he had no time for people who were a mess), yet his expression was neutral and waiting. Kirstin picked up what he put down on the table; We need to warm you up before deciding what we're going to do.
The mezzo smiled faintly at Scott, who answered in the like, then turned away to focus on Mitch. He was her anchor in this instance, holding her in place and refusing to move no matter what. After sifting through the songs she knew, she ended up going with one of her favorites.
"Taste the pain right on my tongue," Kirstin sang, her voice sounding nothing like it usually did. It was pitchy, strung-out, and just plain flat.
Scott winced, not able to help himself. She was not in good voice. Definitely not. Mitch ignored the notion, even as he came to the same predicament, and joined her in the next verse.
"Novocaine to make me numb," The blonde realized what was going on and jumped in. "Don't you worry 'cause the night is young. Dance until the morning sun!"
Though the exercise was meant to test Kirstin's tone, it resolved in her beginning to cry again. Mitch and Scott's voices sounded perfect and blended together beautifully; however, if the mezzo sang with them (or tried to sing, in this case), she added her uniquely horrible tone to the mix. She. Was. Terrible.
"Kirstie-" Kevin patted her shoulder, wearing the pitiful face that the brown-eyed singer hated. This made her angry, and she shook off his touch and stood up.
"I sound awful, Mitch." She said, her voice cracking in about ten different places. "I can't perform tonight."
The countertenor knew the group had toiled so long and so hard for the show they were doing tonight. He wasn't going to let this amazing chance to stand out slip by Pentatonix. Hell to the mother freaking no. His eyebrows formed a crease in the middle of his forehead as he strode forward, staring at his best friend dead in the eye. It hurt him when she allowed a tear or two to fall and leave behind more mascara tracks, but he had to be hard on her. Once the night was over she'd understand.
"Oh, yes you the hell are performing tonight, Kirstie. You can do this. Yeah, you're in bad voice. That doesn't mean that you blow the show." Mitch stepped closer, an attractive pink color rising in his cheeks as is determination followed suit. Scott tried not to stare at the sight. "That means that you are going to work with whatever the fuck you've got. You are going to sing tonight, and you are going to sound great. Alright?"
The sandy-haired singer had calmed throughout the speech. She sniffled only one more time, then took a deep breath and pulled herself together. She wasn't letting her friends down. Kirstie gave Mitch a tight hug as her thank-you. Scott, from behind them, also sighed. Mitch had worked his magic. The mezzo was in control.
A knock at the door interrupted the moment. The group turned. Standing where Mitch had been not a few minutes ago was one of the people on Stage Crew. He looked to be a manager. Gesturing with his clipboard and holding his headset away from his mouth, he asked, "Are you guys Pentatonix?"
Avi did not point out that the name of the group was printed very clearly on the front of the door, but he wanted to with extreme intensity. "Yeah, that's us."
"You go on in ten minutes. Are you ready?"
Everybody started at the same time, going wide-eyed with shock at the news. Because no, they were not ready.
"What?" Scott breathed, checking his watch. The band wasn't supposed to perform for another hour. Or two. Or possibly three...
The Stage Manager said something into his headset, irritated. "Did you forget? You signed up to open the show."
Kevin, Avi, and Kirstie weren't understanding a single word exiting this man's lips. Mitch knew better, instantly staring Scott's way. The blonde had been gushing to him about it several weeks beforehand, saying how they would be the first to perform and how, quote unquote, "great it's going to be for us!" Apparently, the blue-eyed singer had not only forgotten to inform his other friends, but he had just plain forgotten.
"You are all sorts of mixed-up today, Lily." Mitch said to Scott, who was blushing a frustrated (and cute) red. The brunette got to watch as Kirstin's eyes lit up in horror; she had been under the impression that she would have more time. Now that number was reduced to zero. Avi and Kevin wore faces that matched hers.
The Stage Manager gritted his teeth, now truly annoyed. "You all need to follow me to your places. Now you go on in eight minutes." He mumbled something else Scott didn't catch (probably involving a lot of profanity). He waved his hand out of the door. "Now. Let's go."
Wordlessly Mitch sent Scott another condescending glance. The baritone did not shrink under his gaze, instead getting up and leading the way out of the door. The rest of the group reluctantly followed him. Avi and Kevin walked behind the Stage Manager; when the grumpy man wasn't looking, the bass stuck out his tongue at his back. The beat boxer stifled a laugh. This was not funny. Avi's expression was NOT funny.
A few more minutes passed until Pentatonix arrived at the stage entrance. Scott could hear the constant roar of fans beyond the door. His nerves began to creep up on him again, and he felt his mind blank and turn into a clean slate. The blonde snatched Mitch's hand, holding it in a vice-like grip. The fact that the color was was beginning to drain from Kirstie's cheeks wasn't helping calm him down.
The Stage Manager huffed. "Five minutes until show time. Listen up: once a Crew Member signals that it's time for you to go on, you go on. Zero delays. This thing has to start off smoothly, and I won't have a group of kids ruining it." Mitch was highly bothered by this statement and looked as if he was going to tell him off (they weren't kids: even though the countertenor was the youngest of them all at 23, he wasn't a kid), but Scott forced a smile and politely nodded.
"Thanks. We'll be sure to go on when we're supposed to." He said as nicely as he could. Satisfied, the Stage Manager left them with a mumbled "Good."
Kirstie buried her face in her hands. "I'm doomed. I doomed us." Her voice sounded slightly better, but it was nothing compared to Kevin's clear tone when he responded with a rushed reassurance. It didn't make her feel any better. Nobody was in high spirits at the moment, thanks to the guilty baritone clutching Mitch's hand.
"Sorry, guys. I forgot."
The smaller man next to him sighed, using his thumb to rub gentle patterns onto the back of Scott's hand. "We are going to be great, you guys. We can do this." His voice carried a slight worry to it. However, his cool confidence covered it up as well as frosting coated a cake. In response, Avi, Kevin, strained Kirstin, and Scott visibly relaxed. Scott leaned down to whisper in the cute brunette's ear.
"Do you have a superpower that you haven't told me about? Everyone gets like really chill whenever you give us a pep talk." His breath tickled the insides of Mitch's ear. The countertenor pursed his lips, trying to hide his smile.
"Maybe I do." Only now was he noticing the effect he had on the group. "Or maybe everyone is just stressed the hell out and they need someone to tell them that everything is ok." Mitch scrunched his nose. "But if that's my superpower, I want to change it."
"To what?"
"Something more interesting." Mitch caught sight of a guy he had been ogling at earlier. He was tall, with black hair and bright green eyes. Attractive and mysterious. By the once-overs the other performer was giving a couple girls, he was straight. "Oh, I know! The power to be so pretty I can turn straight men!"
Scott snorted, the noise loud and echoing down the brunette's eardrums. "Good thing you can't swap powers. Then you'd have boys all over you."
"Stop it." Mitch grinned and shoved his best friend a little. "Anyways, it's easy to swap your secret superpower. All you need to do is snap your fingers-" He snapped his fingers three times. "-and say what you want your new power to be. The catch is that you give up your old one." Mitch's voice morphed into something less than a breath. "I want the power to be so pretty I turn straight men!"
Like magic, the guy with green eyes found his gaze being dragged to a small, thin, pretty brunette standing on the opposite side of the room. He made a move to take a step forward and talk to him, but he saw that the attractive man was with the blue-eyed blonde holding his hand. He backed off, but couldn't resist staring.
Men from every direction found themselves watching Mitch. The tiny brunette seemed to carry an irresistible air about him; how could they not look? Once they caught sight of Scott, however, any ideas of wooing dispelled.
The baritone was shocked. "What the-"
"Mitch, oh, god, I sound so bad!" Kirstin immediately started to freak in a manner that was similar to the way Scott had thirty minutes ago. "How are we going to sound okay if I sound terrible?"
"Relax, girl, you'll be fine-" Mitch tried, but was interrupted by the mezzo shaking her head and turning away. He couldn't calm her anymore. Smiling wide and noticing just how many guys were staring at him, the countertenor sent Scott a glance, like, Ha! Told you so!
A member of Stage Crew ran up to Avi. She was a younger woman with bright red hair pulled into a ponytail. "Hi. You're Pentatonix, right? My manager says it's time for you guys to go on."
The bass begrudgingly hooked his arm through Kevin's and not allowing his concerned thoughts to arrange themselves onto his features. "Well, you heard her. Let's go."
Scott swiftly tugged Mitch from the gazes of all of the staring guys and towards the stage doors, still mesmerized at the prospect of superpowers. Curious, he asked, "If everybody has a superpower, what's mine?"
Mitch bit his lip, one hand reaching for the silver door handle that was to lead them to hell, the other still captured by the blonde. "I don't know. Being my best friend ever, I guess." The screams of the crowd became louder as the announcer outside proclaimed that 'here comes the one and only...Pentatonix!'
The baritone, right before stepping onto the stage, snapped his fingers three times when Mitch wasn't looking. Quietly, so quietly that the brunette couldn't hear him over the crowd, murmured, "I want the power to seduce Mitch Grassi and still be best friends. Please and thank you."
Suddenly, Mitch pivoted on his heel and gave Scott a kiss on the cheek so soft the blonde barely felt it. The countertenor smirked a little at the surprised expression he received in response.
"You looked like you needed that." He said. As if guided by some unseen force, the tinier man stood on his tippy-ties and kissed closer to the corner of Scott's mouth this time, and the did it once more, achingly close to the blonde's lips. Dizzy, he could hardly process the next words that were said by his best friend. "Enough superpower talk. Now, let's get a move on, yeah?
