“Absolute madness” was the only way to describe the week leading up to Valentine’s Day. Mitch hadn’t expected to be in a position where he’d headline not one, but two events, and so close to his birthday nevertheless. The Saturday before was the burlesque show, Die My Darling. Every square inch of the showroom had been covered in a combination of pink and red hearts and Halloween decor. Gianna spared no expense, nearing buying out every local Dollar Tree’s Valentine sections. She offered it all for Jodie to reuse it for Lupercalia, who declined, saying she’d rather die than be forced to stare at so many Cupids. Besides, yet again Louis loaned his talents to Lupercalia via giant plywood cutouts and painted backdrops. No one asked him to do it, he just enjoyed the work and had a massive collection of materials provided by his father, who salvaged them from the demolition job sites that he worked at.

Although Mitch told himself that he was fine, during Die My Darling he straddled the knife’s edge of an anxiety attack. He managed to get through his intermission setlist without a hitch, but after that was over, he needed to get into his outfit and makeup and the right headspace.

But Wil proved to be the best partner imaginable. When Mitch’s hands trembled as he applied eyeliner, Wil intervened and took over for him. “I’m sorry, I do know how to do this, I promise,” he apologized. “I’m not gonna fuck this up, I swear, I just-“

“You’re just in the middle of trying to quit smoking, and my wife strongarmed you into doing something that you haven’t done in years? It’s cool man, I got you.” Wil gave a dazzling smile while he finished up the rest of Mitch’s makeup.

“Been a minute since I wore lingerie, too,” he noted. “This shit barely fits anymore,” he said as he pulled at the bralette strap and let it snap against his skin.

“Well, you look great in it.” The compliment made Mitch blush. “Just try not to have a wardrobe malfunction.”

“Oh, I’m using extra tape. It’s gonna be a bitch to pull off.”

“We got plenty of baby oil, you’ll be fine.” Mitch tried to not think too much about oily pubes and how stained his clothing would be later when he got dressed.

Despite the anxiety, their routine was a concept that Mitch really enjoyed. It was inspired by masked murderer films of the 70s, but much cheekier. Mitch portrayed the helpless victim to Wil’s stalker/slasher, and once the music hit, muscle memory kicked in and he became considerably less anxious.

And as his bathrobe slipped off and applause broke out, he found himself relishing in feeling sensual for the first time in so, so long.

He loved this, and he’d forgotten how good it made him feel, even if it was tawdry and low-brow. And he knew that he was a great performer, always had been; whatever reservations he had about being mostly naked in front of the majority of his fellow roster and strangers alike were gone by the time he was in nothing but pasties and panties, and pretending to slit Wil’s throat with a fake knife after they shared an overly dramatic kiss. They finished the number and bowed, met with whistles and screams. Like a true gentleman, Wil gathered up Mitch’s clothes for him from off of the stage, handing him his robe so that he could cover back up.

After curtain call, Gianna approached Wil and Mitch and exclaimed, “You guys were wonderful!” At first she gushed at Wil, then she thanked Mitch profusely for stepping in. Once her attention was elsewhere, Mitch disappeared into the locker room-turned-green room to clean up. Taking a seat at the mirror, he slumped back momentarily to catch his breath and gather his scattered thoughts. He then leaned forward and grabbed a wipe from one of the many packages of makeup remover that were scattered about, and began to drag it down his face, starting with his eyes. While he examined himself, there was a knock that grabbed his attention, and in the doorway stood Avi.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“What’re you doing back here?” Mitch asked with a grin, propping his elbow on the laminate counter and rested his jaw on his knuckles. “It’s supposed to be for performers only.”

“Oh, uh, Gianna gave me permission,” Avi cleared his throat. After staring at him for a moment, Mitch turned his attention back to the mirror, swiping another clean wipe.

“So what’s up? I didn’t even know you’d be at this queer show, thought you’d still be in the Mexico for your big event. Sorry that you saw more of me than you probably ever wanted to,” he joked.

“Wha- you were great!” declared Avi, causing Mitch to duck his head a little in embarrassment. “You’re so passionate when you’re in your element, and-“

“Dude, you gotta stop. You’ll give me a complex.” Putting his head in his hands, Mitch groaned. He peaked through his fingers when Avi didn’t respond, and watched him shift in place with his eyes fixed on the floor. It made Mitch realize that his robe was open and more of him was on display to give an eyeful for a lifetime. “Oh shit,” he muttered and readjusted himself quickly, holding the front in place since the tie had gone conveniently missing. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine.” Avi still wasn’t looking at him, but after a bit more observation, Mitch noticed he kept a hand behind his back the whole time.

“What’cha got there?” He asked without any forethought. They reached the point where intrusive questions were no longer much of a concern.

“Um.” Slowly, as though he were afraid of dropping something precious, Avi revealed what he’d been clutching onto: a bouquet arranged with sunflowers and irises, matching two of Mitch’s tattoos. The contrast of the cheerful, bright yellow petals juxtaposed against the rich indigo sepals caused his heart to actually skip a beat.

“What’s this?” he asked when he found his voice, which stayed barely above a whisper. His body went completely rigid, his eyes the only body part that weren’t paralyzed as they frantically darted from the flowers to Avi’s face.

“Well, uh. Louis-” Avi started, hurrying through the words as if he needed to clarify as soon as possible that he wasn’t the one responsible here. “He wanted me to give these to you, since he couldn’t be here tonight. As a congratulations for going through with this.”

“Ah.” The blood that rushed through Mitch’s ears came to an immediate halt. He never worked so fast in his life to rearrange his features into something normal, and it took all of his strength to not launch into the nastiest mental flaying for daring to allow himself to hope, especially after all of the progress he made to stop being consumed by his longing. “That cheeseball, of course he did.” He stretched out an arm to accept it and Avi crossed over, but stood barely within reach. After taking the bouquet, Mitch brought them to his nose and inhaled, lightly caressing the velvety petals with the tip of his finger. “You know, I really wish he’d loosen up about being straight and just let me blow him. He’s definitely earned it at this point, but he’s so fucking stubborn.”

“Oh yeah?” Avi huffed a laugh, and Mitch squeezed his eyes shut with realization over how horribly inappropriate that comment was, hoping that the shame would diffuse out of body before he completely vaporized into particles. How the hell was anyone supposed to even respond to something like that? They may be close, but it was still unwarranted.

“Sorry,” Mitch glowered. “TMI, I know. Sorry.”

“You’re-you’re fine,” Avi stammered.

“Well, anyway. Thank you for delivering these for him. I’ll find something to put them in after I clean up.” After stealing one last look at them, he carefully laid the bouquet down on the makeshift vanity bench.

“Right. I’ll leave you to it,” Avi said while backing away. He lingered around the door a split second, looking as though he wanted to say something, but left.

All the air in the room left with him.

Mitch watched him go and exhaled once he was alone again, ignored the weight in his chest, and continued to scrub at his face.