Going on a year without a drink had made Mitch a certifiable lightweight. He didn’t hate that two glasses of whatever he sucked down -possibly a take on a Long Island- already had him warm and fuzzy. The world felt a little softer, like a vintage Polaroid photograph or an old vinyl that occasionally popped.
Memories resurfaced of conversations from meetings and reading material he’d been handed, reminding him that alcohol was still a drug and that he shouldn’t partake in it. Some people would claim that he failed, he was sure. He’d get the dreaded sympathy tone from those close to him, because oh lord he was relapsing! But he smoked pot on a daily basis and was already addicted to cigarettes and coffee, the latter being perfectly acceptable in society. Furthermore, he made the decision to stop at two drinks. He did that on his own. But no one would congratulate him on that incredible feat of self control.
He wanted to feel good, just once. Was that so much to ask for? The last few weeks, few months-
The entirety of 2018 had been an absolute shitshow with no off season, and aside from a few stolen sips of Toby’s wine, he managed it all without touching hard drugs or alcohol. Not a single person offered their congratulations, only their relief; not for him, but for themselves, that they had been the ones to reach some sort of benchmark by not cutting ties with him. He got it, he did, but he was exhausted. And right then, that fatigue didn’t exist. He conversed freely with people that he knew and barely knew alike, without all of the shyness and self-doubt that typically prevented him from doing so. He laughed long and hard, and all of the tension that’d been stored in his body eased out of him as though it was never even there at all. It couldn’t be like this all of the time, he knew that much; there wouldn’t be another drink consumed that night, nor would he have hard liquor again, but maybe he was capable of a little self control. Maybe he wasn’t as helpless and pitiful as everyone wrote him off to be.
Mostly, he needed to stay clear of Jodie, which wasn’t difficult since she was busy making the rounds across the room. She didn’t need to be saddled with the concern of his well-being, and he didn’t need her bringing down his buzz. Everyone could be a winner tonight if he remained vigilant. And when he finally heard her voice nearby, he got to his feet and wove between the crowd to escape.
Turning a corner, Mitch found himself in a dimly lit room that he was unfamiliar with. There were tons of props in it, indicating that it was being used as storage for the show tomorrow. Shoved towards the back, a few pieces of furniture were strewn about, such as a couch and a dining table with chairs, which Rod and a few people played cards at. Perhaps it was a staff lounge for when the summer camp was in session?
Spotting that the couch was empty and craving only the highest state of relaxation, he ambled over to it with as much poise as he could muster. Given the inebriation, however, he didn’t make it far without bumping into a chair he hadn’t noticed before, and stumbling over. Stupid heels, stupid dress. His eyes squeezed shut as he braced himself for collision with the floor, and was shocked when instead found that he was seated and safe.
“Oh my god, are you alright?” There was a hand on his arm, then on his back, and that oh, was Avi’s voice fraught with concern and right in his ear. Mitch shivered. He was on Avi’s lap. How the fuck did he get there?
“How the fuck did I get here?” he tittered while scrambling to sober up as quickly as possible. He hadn’t factored in Avi.
“I think you tripped?” Avi responded. “Are you, uh-“
“Please don’t tell Jodie,” Mitch cut him off in a panic, grabbing both sides of Avi’s face in desperation. The surprised look that was reflected back reminded him that Avi didn’t know about that part of his past.
“I won’t,” Avi nodded slowly, registration over what exactly was being requested of him gradually becoming evident. “But maybe just chill out for a moment?”
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“OK,” agreed Mitch. He still considered going over to the couch, but Avi hadn’t let go of him so he didn’t move. The hand at his back rubbed small circles that were barely noticeable, yet reassuring. And while he tried to make an effort to not openly ogle Avi when they were within close proximity of one another, the uncharacteristic red and white ballcap on his head caught Mitch’s attention, as did the denim vest. “Are you supposed to be the Pokemon boy?” he asked.
“Ash Ketchum? Yeah!” Avi grinned.
“Fuck, you’re adorable.” Mitch burst into a fit of laughter, and slung his arm around Avi’s neck to steady himself. “Everyone here brought some kind of weird psuedo-sexual nostalgia energy, and you chose-” He motioned at all of Avi. “This.”
“What, are you saying that a 10 year old boy can’t be…you know what, I can’t even finish making that joke without being put on some sort of list.” Avi started to crack up, which only made Mitch laugh harder. He curled in on himself, grabbing hold of the front of Avi’s shirt in a futile attempt to settle down.
“You freak,” he playfully shoved at Avi’s pec. “This is an 18+ party, no kids allowed. Go change into something slutty, you’re making us all self conscious.”
“Says the MILF hitting on the 10 year old!” Avi teased back. “By the way, great Morticia.”
“Thanks, I totally don’t have the tits to fill it out. You do, though. Wanna swap costumes? I look way more like a little boy than you do.” He removed the wig and placed it on top of Avi’s hat, adjusting the acrylic strands of hair so that they weren’t in his face.
“No you don’t,” snorted Avi as he allowed Mitch to continue smoothing the wig out. “You’re too like…” He paused, then his voice dropped an octave and hovered just above a whisper. “A hot rockstar type guy, y’know?”
“No, I don’t know,” Mitch shook his head. Avi stared up at him with something unreadable. Bemusement or disbelief? As if he wasn’t aware that Mitch looked like a scrawny birdperson. Somewhere in the span of the initial panic about being found out and then the uproarious laughter, the hand on Mitch’s back moved then resettled; this time it was the space between his waist and hip, and fingers lightly kneaded in place.
He was dizzy enough that he may not have even noticed at all if Avi’s other hand hadn’t gone right above his knee, onto technically his thigh, but now he’d become hyper aware of every single bit of movement. His skin was grazed against, the contact so light that he only registered it due to the fishnet going taught for a split second. He looked down and watched as the hem of the skirt’s slit touched the knuckle of Avi’s thumb, and a few millimeters of fabric now eclipsed his nail.
Mitch’s breath hitched, and he prayed that it went undetected.
Heart in his throat, he wanted to ask for clarification on what Avi meant, but words refused to leave his mouth. He was still touching Avi’s chest, and he needed to pull away but everything was too heavy and too magnetic that he couldn’t move. Avi still stared up at him all thoughtfully and whatnot, which only added to the gravity’s pressure. Like Avi was the sun itself, and Mitch was an outer planet: too far away for to receive warmth or life, but helpless to do anything other than to be in his orbit.
Avi’s lips looked so, so good, Mitch noted; slightly parted, tongue poking out enough to moisten them, then darting back inside.
He’d become witness to the physical deterioration of his very own mind. What a privilege to have.
It had to be the alcohol. Avi had a girlfriend. Avi wasn’t an option, would never be one. “Uh, Charlie-” Mitch blurted out, and Avi’s eyebrows scrunched at the sudden turn in conversation. “I-I never asked, did Charlie have a good time in Vermont?”
“Oh!” Avi’s eyes went wide, his genial demeanor returning in full force. “Yeah, she did! We’re…we’re still working stuff out. Still talking it over.”
“That’s great! You’d um-” Mitch swallowed hard; Avi gave him nothing further to work with, and the room was much too hot to form any coherent thoughts. “You’d probably have to move out of Jodie’s if she did come over here, right? Get your own place?” He wanted to slam his own head into the nearby wall. Why was that where he went with this? Why was he so bad at holding a simple conversation?
“I guess. I didn’t…I didn’t really think about it, but that makes sense.” Avi spoke with intent now, each word seeming to be mulled over before spoken.
“I’d really miss you,” Mitch let out a helpless laugh, his mouth operating on its own accord. “If you moved out.”
And then his brain caught up with what he said.
If Avi responded, Mitch didn’t hear it. He did, however, excuse himself to go to the restroom, uncurling from off of Avi’s lap and rushing away as fast as his wobbly legs could take him. Hurrying out of the room, he wandered through the crowd, vision blurring from the tell-tale threat of an anxiety attack about to crest. He hadn’t even noticed that he kicked the heels off at some point; if Jodie managed to catch him, she’d immediately know that he was completely out of his mind.
He’d been so good for so long, and now this. What a dumbass.