For any of you wondering, the song I'm referencing in this chapter is called "Heaven," by Troye Sivan. I have no license to use this song, and the copyright still belongs to its respective owner. I just love that song, and it holds a lot of meaning for me. I recommend listening to it with headphones in when Scott plays it in this chapter, but keep the volume down so it's white noise in the background. I wrote this chapter that way.

xxx

Scott cupped Mitch's face in his hands, the darkness and seclusion of the night blocking the rest of the world off, leaving only them, "I love you." He whispered, placing his forehead on his.

"I know. I love you too." He closed his eyes, his hands sliding up to encircle Scott's wrists.

Scott reached into his pocket, pulling his cell phone out, and Mitch only had a moment to wonder what it was that he was doing before he set up a song that had come out just a couple of weeks ago. It was one that he'd discovered, and had listened to on loop for hours until the hauntingly nostalgic melody blended together in an endless, blurred wave. Scott knew he loved that song.

The truth runs wild, like a tear down a cheek,

Scott pulled him gently forward until he let his legs uncross and support his weight on the floor, then slid off the countertop to stand in front of Scott. The height difference made it so his eyes were at the level of his clavicles, which peeked from under his neckline. His broad shoulders rose in front of him like a mountain range, and he ran his hands along them to rest around his neck, then pressed a kiss into the indent of his collarbone.

Scott lowered his head to touch his lips to Mitch's neck below his ear and his baritone voice murmured the words if the song into his skin. The two began to slowly sway to the music, and Mitch's sternum touched Scott's. He began to trust his unsteady weight to Scott, letting him support and protect him in his strong arms as they encircled his waist. The friction and warmth of body-on-body sent Mitch into a kind of comfortable haze of trust, love, and peace. The pain was slightly more bearable, and he even managed to forget it was there.

Trying to keep faith and picture his face staring up at me,

Scott was almost completely supporting him now. The two turned slow circles in the yellow light-the only one left on in the house, and they both forgot they were in as unromantic a place as the bathroom. This was a place where Mitch had bad memories: of nights spent in agony, hiding in the dark so Scott couldn't hear his heavy breathing. The times the nausea was too much and he'd emptied his stomach into the toilet. The place where he'd found the razor that almost ended his life. Mitch couldn't see the blood on the sink or the wads of toilet paper Scott had used to stop the bleeding, scattered across the counter. Not the drying, brownish blotches on their clothing, nor the smell of disinfectant. He forgot all that. Right now it was a beautiful moment, his eyes closed as he took in each sensation.

Scott's lips touched below his ear, placing a gentle kiss in the softest place, then moved to his forehead. His hand made its way up his back, feeling the lump of each vertebrae under the skin as he traced his spine.

Mitch smiled into his kiss, the spot where Scott's lips touched him spreading its warmth through his body. He stopped listening to the words of the song, but the mood and echoing percussion lulled them into a fuzzy, loving bubble of time. It was just them, together, their bodies touching and their eyes closed as skin brushed skin.

Mitch wanted more contact. He wanted to be touching the bare Scott, feel his heart close to his, and feel the warmth of the life he almost gave up. He pulled at the hem of Scott's shirt, and they pulled apart enough for Scott to remove it. His chest was deep, with sparse, blonde chest hairs forming a v below his collarbones, and the muscles were cleanly defined under his fair skin. Not like Mitch's.

Mitch didn't want him to-He was self-conscious of the way his torso looked, now that he'd lost weight-but Scott did the same to him, discarding the bloodstained tee to the floor. He smiled like Mitch was the most beautiful thing in the world, even though he knew he must look like a skeleton, and it made him feel so loved. So wanted. Their chests met again, and Mitch's hand slid up his back and into his hair. This was so much better. He felt the reverberating hum of Scott's voice as his range descended into hummed bass tones, the last strains of the song dying into nothing behind them.

The humming continued, even as the music went quiet. It was even more beautiful than the song had been. Mitch had always loved Scott's voice, but now it seemed much more perfect, more on-pitch, more emotional. And his song was for Mitch and no one else. He turned his head and placed it against his sternum where he could hear the low rumble of his voice mixed with his heartbeat and calm breaths, and Scott's arms encircled him, holding him close.

"I don't want to close my eyes," Scott's tune took on words to accompany the familiar melody of an old rock song, "I don't want to fall asleep, 'cause I'd miss you babe, and I don't want to miss a thing."

Mitch hummed a quiet laugh, "I hate Aerosmith,"

"I know. It's true though: I really don't want to go to sleep."