Scott's P.O.V.

My best friend could be dead right now, and it would be all my fault.

Mitch's body was sprawled across the floor, and I could see from where I was standing that his forearms were cut up pretty badly. A cologne bottle was shattered on the tile in front of him, it's contents soaking through his tank top.

"Oh God," I muttered to myself, scooping his limp, lifeless body into my arms.

I put my ear close to his face, trying to see if he was breathing. I held my breath, listening intently.

After a few seconds, I heard Mitch emit a shaky breath that was nothing more than a tiny puff of air that rolled across my cheek. But it was enough to let me know he was still breathing.

I let out a relieved sigh and turned around, my thoughts on the tiny boy nestled perfectly in my arms.

I had hoped that Mitch would get better, but obviously I needed something stronger than hope.

I laid him down gently on the bed, his head immediately rolling limply to the side. It was very clear that his arms needed my immediate attention.

I ran to the kitchen and opened the cupboard above the microwave and frantically pawed through the mess, trying to find the materials I needed.

I gathered them all on the counter and double checked to make sure I had everything.

Rubbing alcohol. Antibiotic cream. A couple rolls of gauze. Medical tape. A few extra large bandages. And a washcloth.

Yeah, that was everything. I scooped everything into my arms and reentered Mitch's bedroom, depositing all of it on his nightstand next to the glass that was still full of water.

Okay. Now you've got everything. First things first, I had to clean off all the blood on Mitch's arms. Not only was it prohibiting me from cleaning his wounds, but it was also extremely frightening to see my best friend this way.

I walked into the bathroom and wet the washcloth, being careful not to step on any broken glass, then started to work on Mitch's arms.

He didn't move at all when I wiped them down, thankfully, but I knew the rubbing alcohol would be more of a challenge. The washcloth had turned a disturbingly dark shade of red, so I rinsed it out in the sink.

Sure enough, when I touched the alcohol soaked cloth to Mitch's arm, he squirmed and softy whimpered, still unconscious. I quickly finished cleaning out the cuts, to which Mitch sighed in his sleep and relaxed back into the bed.

I smiled as I started to smear on the antibiotic cream. He was so incredibly beautiful that it hurt to think about. I couldn't have him, no matter how hard I tried. I would always be stuck here, comforting him and watching out for him, and I knew that he would do the same, but it wouldn't mean the same thing.

But I can't blame him for how he feels, I thought to myself as I started to wrap the gauze around his arms. If he wants to stay with that self-centered, lousy, good for nothing asshole, then that was his choice. I couldn't do anything but stick around and hope that he got rid of Troye.

After both of his arms were wrapped and taped, I stripped his shirt off and examined the deeper cuts. They looked pretty nasty. There were two major ones, one in his left shoulder, the other stretching across his right hip bone.

I repeated the process with these cuts, using soap and water to ensure that they were cleaned out thoroughly, then covered them up with the bandages I had brought.

After I had finished, I washed my hands in the sink and returned the supplies to the cabinet before grabbing the broom and dust pan. The glass was still dangerously scattered on the ground in Mitch's bathroom, and I didn't want him to get up and step on it.

The glass made a clinking sound as I dumped it in the trash can. After inspecting the floor for remaining shards, I returned the broom and dust pan to their place next to the fridge and went to turn off all the lights in Mitch's room.

I caught myself just staring at him. He looked better than before, with his cuts being covered up, but he still looked so frail, as if he would break apart if you even touched him. He didn't used to be like this. He used to have so much energy and light surrounding him, but now he was so scared that he didn't even resemble the man that I once knew.

I left before I could think about it too much, grabbing a bag of Cheetos before plopping down on the couch.

I grabbed my phone, suddenly having an idea. I scrolled through my contacts until I found Kirstie's name, immediately calling her.

"Hello?"

I ran my hand through my hair. "Hey. Look, I know we just had breakfast this morning, but I was wondering if you wanted to hang out tonight."

"Scott I'm actually busy tonight."

I frowned. "What are you doing?"

She coughed a little on the other end. "Well I kind of have a date with Avi tonight."

I sighed, knowing that I couldn't break up a date. "Alright."

"Wait. Scott you sound upset. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I lied.

"Scott I know you. Something's wrong. What is it?"

I was silent for a few seconds. "It's Mitch. I'm really worried about him. He's not looking so good."

Her response was immediate. "I'll be over to your house in twenty minutes."

"Thanks Kirst."

"You two are my best friends. I'll be here for you any time that you need me. Now just wait there."

The line clicked off. I smiled, grateful for such a great friend.

"Scott?"

Mitch's voice came from his bedroom, barely audible, but I jumped up from the couch immediately.

He was sitting up, looking dazed and disoriented. His comforter was draped over his bare shoulders, his frail hands gripping it tightly. He was shivering violently, yet his forehead was slick with sweat.

"Mitch, honey, you need to lay back down," I insisted, watching him warily.

"But I don't remember..." His voice trailed off as he stared at a random point across the room.

"You don't remember what?"

He mumbled something unintelligible under his breath, then went silent.

I had no idea what to do. He was obviously extremely sick, but I wasn't entirely sure if I should give him some medicine and see how well it works.

I grabbed the bottle of Tylenol out of the cupboard and shook two out, then handed them to a still unresponsive Mitch.

He looked down at them, then back at me, confusion on his face.

"You need to take those," I said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Why?" His voice was hoarse and quiet.

"Because you have an awful fever and I'm really scared for you Mitchie."

He nodded, then popped the pills into his mouth. I handed him the glass of water next to the bed, which he took a big swig of and swallowed the pills. Then he resumed staring off into space.

After a few moments, it was clear to me that he wasn't going I say anything else, so I got up and returned to the couch, waiting for Kirstie to get here.

About ten minutes later, I heard a knock at the door. I sighed in relief as I got up to let her in.

As soon as I opened the door, she rushed in under my arm, not saying a word. To my surprise, Avi's bearded face popped out from behind the wall as well, his expression tight.

"She's really worried about him," he said, following her in.

I closed the door behind me, happy that we had such close friends that they would come running whenever we needed them. And man, did we need some support right now.