Hello, my readers! Have I ever told y'all how much I seriously appreciate you? Because I really really do. You guys are so sweet to me and I love it.
But onto the oneshot; this was inspired by the most recent Superfruit video to date, 1-800-KISS-MITCH, where the Queen himself explains that after moving into their new place, he thought for a while that he had lost Scott's Grammy, so this chapter depicts those moments. I know that they aren't actually dating (even though they are, but they aren't, but they are, and people would die if they really did), but in this oneshot they are.
The summary: You can trust your best friends. With anything. Even your Grammy, an award given out to a few select people worthy enough to earn it. Except that Mitch Grassi, best friend and boyfriend of Scott Hoying, has somehow managed to lose the precious thing. Meaning that he's freaking out. Meaning that he's pretty damn close to having a panic attack.
One more thing before your eyes start skipping down the page (and its kind of sad); this oneshot will be the third-to-last for now. I always pictured writing about 30, and that number is coming up, so this will be one of the final oneshots. BUT PLEASE DON'T CRY! More Scomiche will be happening soon (I have so many ideas up my sleeves for me to stop now)!
Thank you for all of your reviews, favorites, and follows! Enjoy!
He had lost it.
He had lost it.
He had lost it.
He had motherfucking lost it.
How could he possibly lose the damned thing? It was shiny, gold, precious, valuable; things like that don't just slip from your fingertips. No, things like that aren't easy to lose, because things like that always have a trained set of eyes on them. Watching. Always.
When the word lost is used in the context of an object, you're supposed to say it with an uncaring or caring air depending on what that object is, like, Oh, gosh darn, I lost my pen! or, I lost the ceramic pot you made for me seven years ago. Sorry, darling. Stuff that could be easily fixed or found or whatever.
And this wasn't just some old pot, or used pen. It was shiny and gold and precious and valuable and wasn't very easy to lose because he should've had his eyes on it, always, so that it was impossible to lose. It had been impossible to lose.
But Mitch had lost it anyway.
He
had
lost
it.
If he didn't find it, he would never forgive himself. But even worse, his boyfriend wouldn't forgive him. Never ever in a million years, because guess what, guess what, guess what the worst shitting best friend-turned-boyfriend on the entire fucking planet had done?
He had lost one of the most important things there ever was to lose.
Mitch had lost Scott's Grammy.
Fuck!
The brunette was staring at the boxes piled high in his new bedroom, chewing his bottom lip off, before bringing his hand to his mouth and biting his perfect nails, not even caring that he had already broken the habit years ago. It resurfaced now, when he most needed it; something to allow his nervousness to flow into. It was that, or run around his bedroom in circles screaming like a crazy person and tearing his hair out.
Mitch had picked option number one, because he really, really liked his hair.
His breathing was coming in too quickly, so quickly that he thought he might hyperventilate. He was hyperventilating. Now he realized why people did it when they got scared, it forced your mind to be all fuzzy and feel as light as a feather, drifting away from the current problem at hand.
This was not happening. This was not happening.
But it was and guess what guess what guess what-
He had lost it.
Fuck!
Mitch abruptly yanked himself from his inner hysteria and pulled his fingers away from his mouth so he would stop gnawing on them. Then he focused on taking deep, full, calming breaths, knowing that if he wanted to feel crazy and lightheaded and like nothing else was there all he had to do was kiss Scott and everything else would melt.
If Scott would even kiss him anymore when he found out.
If Scott would even touch him anymore when he found out.
If Scott would even look at him anymore when he found out.
Oh my god, what if Scott left him?
Tears stung the backs of dark brown eyes, his deep calming breaths shuddering on the exhale. Mitch couldn't think like that, because lost Grammy or not, kissing Scott or not, he would go insane if he had that mindset.
Lost Grammy.
...which brought him back to the problem at hand.
The two singers had recently moved out of their apartment and bought a slightly larger, more airy condo. The entire thing was all polished glass and smooth white walls that reminded the countertenor of porcelain. It was honestly very pretty...and very empty. So they were soon to remove their furniture and possessions from their old place and into their new one, meaning they had brought in the couch, the TV, the bookcase, their beds (though it was kind of foolish, since they usually shared Scott's bed most nights...but there was something about having his own room that made Mitch feel a small bit better about leaving his apartment), the coffee table (and the infamous book that always sat atop its see-through frame), and pretty much everything they owned. However, when the topic of everything they owned came around, the thing that the smaller of the two owned the most of was clothes.
Lots and lots of clothes. Where there were lots of clothes, there were lots of boxes.
Mitch had unboxed not only all of his weird trinkets, but dozens upon dozens of articles of clothing for the past hour or so, awaiting his boyfriend's return. Scott had gone out with Kirstie to go shopping, and though the brunette loved shopping as much as he loved coffee, he'd waved away the invitation to accompany them, knowing that dealing with his clothes would take a long while.
It was in the middle of unboxing and folding and putting stuff away and hanging things up that he'd opened the medium cardboard cube that contained his personal Grammy. Every member of Pentatonix had received one (after all, they were a team), and the couple had placed theirs next to each other on their headboard at their old residence.
He'd been happy to see the award he had gotten, giving it a smile before closing the box and setting it aside. That got him thinking, if his Grammy had ended up in his room, maybe Scott's was in there too. So he'd rummaged around, opening box after box after box, but it never showed up. He hadn't looked in any more boxes in his own room (there were only three left. It wasn't really worth it, as he knew they just contained clothing) and instead walked right across the hall to his lover's room and peeked inside.
The room was more bare than his own, obviously. His intent gaze had searched the room and found no glint of gold.
So, because he knew that Scott wouldn't get around to opening his boxes for a while, Mitch opened them for him. It wasn't creepy or anything; the brunette already knew everything about every single possession that his eyes skimmed over, and anyway, he wasn't seeking more knowledge. Hell, he'd been in charge of packing most of the boxes, so he would know what was inside them.
He opened a few boxes.
And then Mitch started to get a little worried. So he opened a few more boxes.
Nothing but nothing.
This is the part where the small man's breath had hitched in panic.
This is also the part where he opened all of the boxes. All of them. No shiny gold award blazed in front of his eyes. He picked himself up from his position on the floor, in the midst of all of the boxes, and sprinted right back across the hall to his room (nearly sliding over the slippery wood in his haste). The movement of grasping the hard edge of cardboard and sticking scissors through tape had become so automatic that he opened the final three boxes in his room.
They were just as he expected. Full of clothes.
Mitch didn't bother to take them out. He straightened, stared, and then the entire biting-his-nails-and-his-brain-going-into-overload happened. What was he going to do?
Now, a person might think that the countertenor was being ridiculous. Yes, it was a Grammy, and that was very important, but how would losing it be his fault? Well, for starters, he had been the one to oversee and pack nearly everything, helped by Kevin and Avi; Scott couldn't help since he was signing papers and deeds and accepting the keys to the new place.
His second reason he knew that it was his fault was because he had grabbed the two Grammys, putting his and Scott's in separate containers, as Avi had tripped over the table and required assistance getting up. Scott had come by later to make sure nothing had been missed, and then they had taped it all up and shoved it in a moving truck.
But the third reason was what made Mitch feel the most guilty; the fact that this wasn't the first time he had lost something important to Scott. When they were teens, he had borrowed the blonde's mathematics notes (he was so damn smart), promising to return them before the week went out so the taller boy could study as well. He lost those, so Scott had to do the entire thing by memory (not only did he get a better grade than Mitch anyway, but it was a really good grade as well). He'd taken countless pairs of earrings that belonged to his friend (with his permission, of course) and forgotten that they weren't his, he'd had them for so long, and by the time he remembered to give them back they'd disappeared. Not to mention the time he lost Wyatt for a short while, allowing the kitty to run out the front door by accident, and not quick enough to catch him. He'd given his best friend a heart attack.
And still, Scott trusted him. With his feelings, with his heart, with his thoughts.
With his Grammy.
And he really shouldn't have, really really shouldn't have, he should have known that Mitch would do what Mitch always did. He lost things, and therefore he lost it.
He had lost it.
Fuck!
Mitch almost sobbed. Seriously. He almost broke down and sobbed, right there on the floor of his new bedroom. Scott wouldn't ever trust him again. How could you trust your boyfriend, your best friend, when all they did was cause you pain by losing the things that meant something to you? How? How could you do it?
You couldn't. Meaning that Scott wouldn't.
Meaning that when the baritone found out, not only would he not trust Mitch, but he might also reconsider his feelings for the tiny man as well.
They had been hesitant to start a relationship together. It seemed risky; two members of the same band dating? That was asking for trouble if it didn't work out. But they were Scott and Mitch and fuck it all, they loved each other, and they did what a person would do if they found the person they loved cared for them back.
They dated.
Light dating, if you could call it that. They were still dating lightly. You know, when all you do is go on simple dates and have fun, don't get too serious with kissing, and generally have an amazing time. It was difficult for them to do this, as they were very touchy-feely and dating basically permitted they do that, touch and feel, but each man was mindful not to take things too far. They might be boyfriends, and they may only be dating lightly, but before anything they were best friends.
The pair were stuck together even more solidly than ever. Them dating made them stronger. Mitch and Scott were always cautious for their friend's sakes, but everyone could tell that the two were getting tired of holding back. They wanted to date seriously, wanted to take gentle kissing further, wanted to have adventures without somebody breathing down their neck and laying out bets on when they would fall apart.
And they did, in secret, away from everyone's prying eyes.
Although, neither man mentioned that the reason they pulled their mouths away just when their make out session was getting good wasn't because they were wary somebody would scold them for it.
Sometimes it was because they were nervous. Sometimes it was because they were scared, too.
Everybody else so nervous and scared about them breaking up and made both of them nervous and scared about breaking up. So they were careful. They were being careful.
Too careful.
Sometimes Mitch wished that Scott wouldn't be so careful. Sometimes he wanted to keep feeling like he was drowning, like he was drunk, like the warmth of the blonde's skin was everything in the world. Sometimes he wanted that.
Fuck that. He wanted that all the time, not just sometimes. Screw sometimes.
Was that such a bad thing, to want to love somebody they way you and they both wanted?
Oh, wait a minute! Don't you need to trust somebody in order to love them, especially the way you want to? And, if you lose the trust, that must mean that they lose the feeling of love they felt in their hearts for you. Right. Duh. And losing trust and therefore losing love wasn't ever a danger in the relationship of Scomiche, because Scott could trust Mitch with anything.
OH WAIT. HE COULDN'T. BECAUSE GUESS WHAT!?
He had lost it.
Fuck!
Mitch was so damn frightened. Not of Scott, but of what Scott would feel; anger, hurt, disbelief, sadness, disappointment, confusion, but most of all distrust.
And you can't love someone you don't trust.
They had only been dating for a month, and already the brunette had messed it up. He messed everything up. He just had really terrible luck when it came to losing things, and now he was paying the price for having that flaw. What was his best friend going to say? Mitch's stomach twisted as he thought of the face Scott would make once he knew. It would feel like someone had poured acid down his throat. It would hurt. Badly.
"Hey, Eleanor, you want some-"
The countertenor screamed a high-pitched scream so forcefully that his entire body shook after he was done. His heart jolted with fright. Turning around quickly, he saw Scott standing in the doorway, holding a bag of Chinese takeout, his face drained so pale from shock that his gorgeous blue eyes were like sapphires against his skin.
"Oh my god, Scotland." Mitch breathed more heavily than he had been when he hyperventilated. "Y-Y-You s-scared me."
The baritone laughed weakly, a tentative smile working its way across his features. "Are you kidding? You scared me." His expression abruptly changed when he realized that his boyfriend was trembling and looked ready to collapse onto his knees. He set the food onto the nearby dresser, picking his way over the opened boxes and gathering Mitch into his arms in a tight hug.
"I-I-I..." Was what shuddered from his tiny frame. Scott kissed him lightly on the forehead. Mitch shook his head, looking up at his stupidly caring boyfriend who always put everyone before himself. Stupid idiot. Stupid, stupid, stupid. "S-Sorry, Scott. I didn't hear you unlock the front door."
"I almost didn't either. The hinges don't squeak and that's really weird."
This earned him a chuckle and a kiss on the nose. "Yeah, I know." He suddenly noticed how much cooler the blonde's face was compared to his chest, which was comfy and warm. "You went out and got food? Thanks, babe."
"Not just food." Scott smiled widely, excited for unknown reasons. "I got you something."
"You did?" Mitch tried to sound happy, but he couldn't while his heart felt like it had dropped to the pit of his stomach. Here he was, losing one of the most important possessions that his boyfriend had, and said boyfriend was getting him gifts. His guilty thoughts swirled. "You...you really didn't have to get me anything..."
"I know, but I was out with Kirstie anyway, so I did." The blonde winked at him, rummaging through the bag he had brought that didn't smell of chow mein. He was victorious after a moment of digging, and returned to the smaller man. He gently placed his gift in Mitch's hand. It felt cold, metal, and circular.
He had a brief moment of true, utter panic that this was a proposal, but it vanished quickly. Scott wouldn't do it like this...wait. Would he?
Mitch looked down at the object. It was a tiny skull ring, almost an exact match to the tattoo on his finger that he shared with the baritone. The surface was smooth, the glass surprisingly warm, and the metal circle cold but comforting. He loved it.
Sick nausea pooled inside of the brunette. He worked up the brightest smile he could to give to his best friend, who was standing in anxious silence and waiting for approval. Mitch nearly cried. Scott was waiting for his approval? Oh no, oh no, this wasn't right, it wasn't right. Mitch should be being punished, not rewarded.
Why was his boyfriend so nice to him?
Maybe he should start dating jackasses who treated him like shit. That pain wouldn't ever feel as bad as the grin on Scott's handsome face.
Not to say that Mitch was planning on breaking up with the perfection standing in front of him anytime soon, but once the perfection knew that it's partner was absolute trash, it would leave. It would. Guaranteed.
"It's really cute. I love it." He stood on his toes to press their lips together, loving Scott and the gift and the feeling of their lips that made him forget about everything else for a moment. Just a moment. Just a moment he needed to forget how badly he failed.
Mitch swiped his tongue along Scott's bottom lip, trying not to shiver at the taste of the taller man. The response was immediate and positive; strong arms wound around his tiny waist, pulling him closer, and the baritone kissed him harder. The small man cupped his partner's face with one hand, and using the other to trail down his warm chest and rest his fingers against the waistband of a pair of jeans that weren't his.
"Mmm..." Scott hummed against his mouth, pressing as much of their bodies together as he could while they were standing. They disconnected their mouths, both breathing in oxygen like they hadn't ever done so. The blonde's eyes had gotten a little darker. That only lead to Mitch biting back a soft moan and pulling their faces together.
The brunette was quickly forgetting everything around him. If somebody had asked him what his name was, he would legitimately have no clue. He detached his mouth from his boyfriend's once more, speaking softly. "Thank you. For the gift and the food."
A slow smile was the answer he received. "I could give you something else, if you wanted." He bent his head until his mouth trailed along Mitch's neck. Soon he found the spot he was looking for, hesitated for only a second, and kissed the area lightly.
Mitch's hands were finding their way into golden locks, tugging them slightly. "What do you-oh, fuck..." Scott had bit down on the area and started sucking the skin there. That was going to leave a lasting mark. And the brunette honestly didn't give a shit. "Scott..."
"We could break in your bed." His already semi-deep voice had dropped an octave, making the tinier man shiver. He continued to plant kisses along his boyfriend's neck, nipping the soft olive skin here and there. Mitch reached down between them and placed his hand on the front of his partner's jeans. Scott whined at the contact.
And then it all rushed back to Mitch in one acute moment of awareness. His mind had probably permitted itself to function properly so that he could give his usual queenly reply, and it had let him remember. The blue-eyed man wanted to...do things with him. Because you do things like that with people you love and trust.
You trust people with your belongings. You trust them not to lose whatever you put in their care.
Oh no.
Because guess what?
He had lost it.
Fuck!
Mitch suddenly pulled away, removing his hand and his lips, and taking a few steps so that his mind could clear properly. Scott looked flustered and confused as to why his best friend had moved so quickly. His mouth looked slightly bruised and a pink blush had risen to his cheeks. He was beautiful.
But Mitch couldn't have him. The guilt now gushing in his veins told him so. It was wrong, it was wrong wrong wrong to hook up with somebody after doing what he had done, no matter how attractive they were. They couldn't. If they did, and then the tall man found out...he'd regret it.
Maybe he should start seeing somebody about his paranoia.
...hmm. That idea wasn't half bad.
"Mitch?" Scott asked, his voice confused. "Did I do something wrong?" He walked to his counterpart slowly and carefully. The countertenor let him, and tried not to vomit at just how disgusted he was with himself. Yeah, lose the most important thing your boyfriend ever owned and then fuck him after. That sounded amazing.
"N-No, you didn't do anything."
"Yes I did." The blonde said, appearing distraught. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have dirty talked you. Or...or kissed you so hard. I'm rushing things way too fast and we should be taking it slow." He gave a small smile. It was so comforting when he smiled like that. "Right?"
"Right." Mitch answered. He breathed in shakily. "B-B-But it's okay t-that you did all that s-s-s-stuff. I liked it." He hadn't just liked it, he'd craved it.
"Then why are you so upset, honey?" Scott's tone was gentle and loving and kind and then something inside of Mitch went
NOPE.
He felt his face crumple, and so swiftly he could barely tell it had happened a sob had wracked its way through his small body, his arms had wrapped around his ribs like he could protect himself from the onslaught of doubt and shame fueling his tears, and the image of Scott's worried blue eyes blurring as wetness leaked down his cheeks. Mitch sniffled, not trying to hold them back, and rubbed his eyes with his fingers.
"Oh, Mitch, what's wrong?" Scott asked, and he was so soft and so sweet but he was too damn good for Mitch, because he never ever in forever would've lost something so precious. He tried to hug his companion, but the brunette turned away from his inviting arms, the refusal so difficult that it took an equal amount of effort to win chess against the world champion of the game.
Mitch couldn't hold it in. The guilt was too overbearing. He tilted his head back to Scott, who looked so damn confused and sad and hurt and let loose the words that would make everything worse.
"I lost it."
The blonde didn't respond, only deepening his expression of puzzlement. "You lost what, honey?"
"I l-l-lost it, Scott." He hiccupped. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to lose it!" He was nearly overcome with the urge to explain himself, to fess up, as honestly as possible. "I swear I watched it hit the bottom of the box I put it in, I swear, and then it was taped up and I saw mine so I tried to find yours but I couldn't, even though I saw it, I saw it before we left, I picked it up! And I looked for it while you were gone with Kirstie but I just-" He hiccupped again, staring at his best friend with eyes that pleaded for forgiveness. "I lost it." Mitch shook his head at himself before muttering quietly, "Fuck!"
"What did you lose?" The taller man asked carefully, still not completely understanding, but knowing that Mitch was hurt and that the hurt needed to go away as fast as it possibly could.
"Y-Y-Your..." The small man didn't want to say it. No no no no no no no no no- "I lost your..." His watery eyes lifted so that he was looking directly into Scott's. Memories of all of the times that he had lost things bombarded his brain. "Please say you won't get mad. Please."
That was all the baritone needed. The words exited him so fast it was like he hadn't thought about them before they were gone. "I won't get mad."
"Promise."
"I promise I won't get mad."
Mitch shook his head. Despite the comforting words, and the promise, he was still reluctant to speak. But he had to do this. Guilt and shame would hang over his head until he did. He was going to do this.
Right now.
"Your Grammy. I lost your Grammy."
Scott's face froze for a second. Blue eyes paled so far that his eyes went from dark, worried sapphires to a clear, blank skies. His expression remained unreadable for so long that his best friend hiccupped and started crying again.
"You said you wouldn't get mad." His high-pitched voice whispered. Mitch's shoulders shook. "Y-Y-You said so!"
The blonde blinked once, twice, and then he finally unfroze. He spoke in that same soft reassuring tone. "I'm not mad, Mitchie."
"Yes you are." Was the crackly response. "You're mad because I'm the worst best friend ever and the worst boyfriend ever because I lost the most important thing that you own! And now you're going to break up with me-"
"Mitch." Scott's tone turned serious, immediately cutting off the incoming string of babble. He was solemn. He took a few steps forward, towards Mitch, who allowed him to wrap his arms around his small waist. "Stop. I'm not going to break up with you."
"Y-You're not?"
"No." He kissed his boyfriend. God, but the brunette would never get over how warm his mouth was, or how he tasted like the outside and newness and the slightest tinge of cinnamon. "You mean more to me than the award."
"How can you say that? That Grammy was everything you ever worked for."
"It was everything we ever worked for. Not just me." Scott trailed his thumb underneath Mitch's eyes and across his cheeks, wiping away the last of the tears. He smiled gently at the tiny man encircled in his arms. "Us. The band. I'm sad about it, yes, and it'll take me a little while to get over, but I'm not going to break up with you because of it. You're more than sorry and I accept that."
The countertenor couldn't believe his ears. Or how much his best friend loved him. "I really didn't mean to lose it. I'll give you mine." It hurt his heart a little to realize that he really was actually going to give up his own reward, but he knew that it would hurt his heart even more to know that Scott wasn't happy. After all, this whole incident was his own fault, and therefore he would be the one to pay the price.
"You don't have to do that-"
"Then let's make a compromise." Mitch lifted his hands up to twist his fingers through bright blonde hair. "We share my Grammy. It's more yours than it is mine, anyway. And then we sit on our new couch and we watch SpongeBob and then...and then we break in my bed when I give you apology sex."
Scott swallowed at the part described last. His fingers trailed up and down his partner's spine, drawing forth shiver after shiver. "I don't like the beginning part...but I don't think I mind the end too much."
"Good." The singer whispered, standing on his toes and gazing into blue eyes and just about to bring their faces together-
The doorbell rang.
Mitch finished his action anyway, kissing his boyfriend and cradling his face in his hands. They reluctantly broke away, and Scott almost didn't let him leave to answer it (this changed after the brunette sent him a look that was a reminder of what they were going to do tonight), yet Mitch grabbed his hand and dragged him down the hall to accompany him. The doorbell rang again, and a shout of "We're almost there, stop ringing!" silenced it.
Kevin was the one standing in the doorway of their new condo, his eyes smiling and his arms carrying a medium-sized cardboard box. "Hey, guys."
"Hey, Kevin." The baritone greeted. He didn't let go of Mitch's hand, and the countertenor felt a thrill run through him at that. "What's up?"
"Avi and I were returning the truck today, y'know, because you two accidentally rented it for too long-" The pair shared a look, each thinking that it was the other person's fault. "And when we were looking in the back to make sure we got everything, this was there. Here you go." He handed the box to Mitch, who accepted it without a second thought.
"Don't you have to go to that cello thing tonight?"
"Yeah, but when I looked inside of the box, I called ahead and told them I would be late." The beat boxer nodded at his two band mates. "Speaking of, I need to get going. Bye!" With a wave, he pivoted on his heel and pretty much bolted in the direction of his car. He was most likely already five minutes behind, and to Kevin that was unacceptable.
Scott and Mitch just stood in their doorway. Both were a little shocked at the abrupt coming-and-going that their friend had displayed, and in unison said, "Bye, Curvy." To the empty space in front of them.
After the door had been shut, the best friends looked at each other warily, wondering what was so important that Kevin was willing to be late to anything related to the cello. Mitch carefully opened it, curiosity winning over patience.
Inside of the box, untouched, unscathed, and undamaged, was Scott Hoying's Grammy; just as shiny, gold, precious, and valuable as it had been the last time Mitch Grassi had accidentally put it there.
