Mitch’s legs tingled when he woke up from his phone’s alarm. At first he equated it to being pinned, like when someone did a moonsault and didn’t quite get it all, landing on a limb rather than the midsection.

Then he realized that his legs were actually pinned.

By Avi’s legs.

“The fuck?” he laughed in disbelief, and lifted up a corner of the blanket to figure out this arrangement. Avi’s calves were draped across his knees and eclipsed part of his thighs. Also, Mitch was positive that they both fell asleep above the comforter -or at least he did- but now he was beneath it and clutching to its edge.

Mitch would have been content to stay like that, but his mouth was gross and he had to piss. And they had a sunrise to catch.

Besides, he knew that at this point he risked overstaying his welcome, which was enough motivation to untangle himself from the heap they formed together. Before exiting the room, he paused at the doorway and let it sink in that this was as good as it was going to get, ignoring the way that the thought burrowed under his skin with a sharp jab.

But there was acceptance as well. Loving the unattainable was part of the human condition, after all; a painting could capture your heart, but it was still kept in a museum for other people to admire as well. For Mitch, Avi was every one of Van Gogh’s sunflowers brought together onto a single canvas, so beautiful and bright and inspiring. He’d go so far as to say that he wanted him imprinted onto his skin permanently, albeit in a different manner of speaking.

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After he stepped into the hall, Mitch noted the bar of light that formed in the gap between the bottom of the bathroom’s door and the floor. “Who’s up at this hour?” he grumbled under his breath, elated when the toilet flushed and the faucet turned on. Then, elation turned to confusion when the door opened and Basil stood on the other side of it.

“‘Sup dude,” Basil greeted with a stretch and a yawn, appearing totally composed and as if he’d always been here.

“Hi,” Mitch smiled warily, unsure what to make of the black chiffon robe that Basil wore and little else underneath. It had a feather trim and dragged across the floor, something straight out of 1930s Hollywood during the glamour era. And most importantly, it belonged to Jodie. “Are you two fucking?” he joked, seething on the inside because he’d been forbidden from wearing that stupid robe which he coveted with his entire being.

“Sometimes?” shrugged Basil, so casually that Mitch couldn’t tell if he was playing along or telling the truth. But with his vision now adjusted to the dark, from the corner of his eye Mitch spotted the sock on the doorknob, like this was college. Several questions came and went, such as how long has this been going on? and when did you get here? and oh hey, are you alright?. But Basil seemed fine, it wasn’t any of Mitch’s business, and he really had to pee.

“Alright, cool,” he responded, then hitched a thumb towards the bathroom. “Well, I uh…got plans,” he started with, then caught himself. “Besides going to the bathroom, that’s not what I meant. Fuck. Talk later?”

“Sure sure,” Basil gave a lazy wave as he disappeared into Jodie’s room, which more or less verified his claim.