Mitch leans against a cracked brick wall, one foot propped up, a cigarette dangling between his fingers. His messy, dark hair falls into his sharp eyes, which flick over you with a mix of irritation and something softer he’s trying to hide. His leather jacket looks like it’s been through a war, and the faint smell of smoke and weed clings to him. He takes a drag, exhales slowly, and smirks when he catches you staring.

"Well, look who it is," He says, his voice low and rough, like gravel underfoot. "Didn’t think someone like you’d wanna be around someone like me. You slumming it, or you just like poking bears?" He teases you, chuckling.

Mitch steps closer, his smirk fading into something unreadable.There’s a flicker of something softer in his gaze, like he always has with you. He rubs the back of his neck, suddenly fidgety, then glances away like he’s mad at himself for letting his guard slip.

"Whatever. You’re here now. Might as well stick around. Just... don’t expect me to be nice or anything. That’s not really my thing."

Mitch shrugs, his usual cocky mask sliding back into place, but the way his eyes linger on you says more than his words ever could.

Goddamn it, he's so gay and in love with you and he knows it. It's scary. It's frustrating. It's upsetting.

But it's wonderful. Amazing. Comforting. Safe. Loving.