Kirstie's P.O.V.

"Is he in his room?" I asked, not seeing the brunette in the living room.

Scott nodded. "But be gentle Kirstie. I'm serious."

"Alright. I'll be gentle with him," I assured Scott, my hand on the doorknob.

He grabbed my arm. It wasn't forceful, but I could tell he wasn't going to let me go.

"I'm not joking Kirstie. Mitch isn't okay right now. He needs comfort, not a scolding or anything like that. This...this is different than anything we've dealt with before."

His hand was shaking on my arm, and all I could see in his crystal blue eyes was fear. It honestly scared me to see this usually carefree friend reduced down to a worried mess. This must be bad...

"Alright Scott. I promise I'll be calm, okay?"

He was still for a few seconds, studying me, but eventually nodded and let go of my arm. I slowly turned the knob and walked into the bedroom, almost gasping at what I saw.

I only knew it was Mitch because I was in his room. He looked nothing like he had the last time I saw him. He was shirtless, with bruises splattered across his tan skin. White bandages were wrapped around his forearms, and I guessed it was concealing cuts, but I couldn't help but wonder if they were self-harm.

If that wasn't bad enough, he obviously had a very high fever. A huge beige comforter was wrapped tightly around his frail shoulders even though he was practically pouring sweat. His tiny body shivered so violently that I was afraid he would break apart at any second.

"Mitch?" I asked softly, walking towards him slowly.

He mumbled under his breath, but it was so soft and jumbled that I couldn't make out what he was saying.

I gently touched his arm, but by his reaction you would have thought I shot him. He jumped up out of bed, letting out a small cry.

I held up my hands in surrender.

"Mitch. It's just me."

He gave me a confused look.

"I don't- I mean I can't-"

His voice shook as he struggled to form a complete sentence.

"Mitch. You know me. It's Kirstie. Your best friend."

At first, his confused expression was unchanged, but after a few seconds, a wave of understanding passed over his face.

"Kirst... It's good to see you."

I walked over and have him a huge hug, trying to ignore the fact that I could barely even feel his arms hugging back.

"What happened to you?" I asked, stepping back to look at his face.

He averted his eyes. "I don't really remember. I guess I fell or something."

I raised an eyebrow. "And that's all that happened?"

He nodded.

I motioned to his bruises and the bandages on his arms. "Really?"

"Well I uh...Troye and I started...uh..." He rubbed his temples in thought. "We started rock climbing. Yeah it's pretty hard on the body, but we love it."

I studied him, my eyes sweeping over all the bruises on his body. A horrible suspicion popped into my head, one that I couldn't just ignore.

Mitch walked back over to his bed and lay down, his face tensing with the effort it took just to get himself on the bed. I sat next to him, not sure if I should ask him about my suspicion.

Out of nowhere, Mitch surged forward and wrapped his arms around my waist, resting his head in my lap.

"Mitch, what's going on with you?" I asked, running my hand through his hair. I knew he loved when people played with his hair. He sighed deeply, and I grinned, happy that I knew him so well.

I realized that he was ignoring my question.

"Mitch. What's wrong?" I asked again.

"Nothing!" He replied a little too quickly.

I stopped stroking his hair.

"Mitch I'm serious. It's obvious that something's wrong with you."

He laughed, although it sounded forced. "Of course something's wrong with me. I have a concussion for crying out loud!"

"And how did you get that concussion?"

He went silent. "I fell."

"Mitch I've known you long enough to tell when you're lying, and there's definitely something you're not telling me."

"I told you I fell and that's the truth."

"So there's nothing going on...you know..."

He sat up. "What are you talking about?"

"There's nothing going on between you and Troye?"

His body went stiff, his jaw clenching. "You don't understand anything. No one does."

"Maybe we would if you just tell us!"

He got up off the bed and angrily stormed off into the bathroom.

"See? You don't understand! "

"I don't understand what Mitch?" I realized that I was yelling, so I took a deep breath to try and calm down.

He whipped around to face me and walked forwards until his nose was almost touching mine. His fingers gripped my shoulders tightly as he leaned forward to whisper in my ear.

"I can't tell anyone. Believe me, I want to tell you, but trust me when I say that I just can't."

His sudden intensity left me speechless. This wasn't normal for him. The broken boy in front of me used to be a bright ball of energy, and his rapid deterioration scared the hell out of me.

"I'm going to take a shower," he said flatly, then closed the bathroom door, leaving me alone in his bedroom.

I put my palms against the door, as if that would somehow bring him back, but after a few minutes, I gave up, rubbing my temples.

I was about to go back into the living room when I spotted something that could tell me everything I needed to know. Mitch's phone.

I looked around, feeling guilty about snooping, but I knew it was for his own good. I swiped the screen and, to my dismay, saw that he had a password set on it.

I thought for a minute, then grinned as I remembered what his password had been for years.

0. 9. 1. 7.

It was Scott's birthday. He had always said that it was his favorite day ever because it was the day that his best friend was born. They were inseparable. Until now, I thought sadly as Mitch's home screen lit up.

I still felt sort of guilty as I touched his messages.

What I saw was so horrible I almost broke down in sobs that very minute.