“Who’s-” he muttered, then turned the corner and stood frozen in the doorway. The last thing he’d anticipated was Avi, dressed only in gym shorts with his ass in the air and face pressed to the ground, and light sheen of sweat built up on his skin. On the TV was a woman in spandex, doing the same pose from a studio with soft lighting and wooden floors and a few houseplants. As soon as Mitch woke up from the world’s fastest blackout, he spun around, ready to bolt away.

“Hey man!” came Avi’s voice. “I’m almost done. Jodie said I could do yoga in here, since there’s more room to stretch out.”

“Great! I’m-” Mitch squeaked. “I was just gonna. I was gonna play some records. I went to the store and…” He was suddenly dizzy, and wondered if he should eat more.

“Get anything good?” Avi asked nonchalantly.

“Just some psychobilly. The Cramps, Tiger Army…” Mitch attempted to recall what he’d bought. “Actually, uh…” he rustled through the bag, and his fingers grazed the 7″. “Got you something, too.”

“Wait, for real?” Avi looked up from where he was folded in half on the mat with a genuinely surprised expression.

“Yeah,” Mitch cleared his throat, but couldn’t shake the anxiety that surged with no warning. This was stupid. This was so, so stupid. He should have just sent the picture and not. Done this. “It’s dumb, but I found this, and I…” he swallowed, not saying ‘thought of you’, that was much too familiar. “I didn’t even know that this existed?” The 7″ was pulled out and held up.

Languidly, Avi came up off of the mat and rolled his shoulders, then put his glasses on and walked over to where Mitch was transfixed. He was apprehensive to extend his arm and reveal what he’d bought, an acute sensation of deja vu bringing about paralysis; he didn’t do the whole casual gift giving thing that much, not when he’d gotten used to the courteous indifference of previous recipients. But he let Avi take it from him, kept his eyes trained to the ground while his face heated up. He braced himself for a polite ‘oh, thanks’ and the sting of internal embarrassment that would follow.

Instead, he got, “Holy shit! Is this a tiny Backstreet Boys record? This is amazing!”

Mitch’s head shot up, and he couldn’t determine if the delight on Avi’s face was sincere, but it didn’t seem to be otherwise. “It’s a 45,” Mitch slowly began to explain as Avi turned it over and examined it.

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“I don’t know what that is,” Avi flashed a grin.

“A single. There’s only two songs on it,” Mitch held up two fingers and continued. “I don’t even think this was ever sold anywhere? It’s most likely a promotional item that the record label sent out to stations.”

“How do you know all this?” marveled Avi.

“Iunno, I like music? I considered majoring in it, but didn’t think I could really make a career out of it,” shrugged Mitch. “I’m more surprised that you don’t know anything about vinyls, given that you’re a Washington guy and you’ve got that hipster haircut.”

“Lay off the haircut, brotha,” Avi’s face scrunched and he reached up to adjust his hair. “Takes a lot of effort to look this good. And goddamn does it get unruly when I don’t keep up on it.”

“That doesn’t explain your vinyl illiteracy,” teased Mitch. “Anyway, you wanna check this out?”

“We just went over it,” Avi groaned. “I don’t have a record player!”

“You can use mine, I can show you how,” Mitch tried to hide the tremor in his voice. “If you wanted.”

“Let’s do it!” Avi handed it back, and Mitch, getting progressively more lightheaded, placed it onto the turntable’s spindle and dropped the needle. The on button for the speakers was pressed, and the distortion effects for ‘Larger Than Life’ played through them.

Avi’s enthusiasm was that of a child on Christmas morning, not showcasing any concern that he was barely dressed as he jammed out to 90s boy band music. Sure, they were both wrestlers, being half naked was nothing new. Mitch had been around plenty of fit guys in his life in various states of dress.

This wasn’t new. He was fine with this very normal situation, that wasn’t even a situation.

Mitch was so wrapped up in the Not Situation that he nearly missed how his phone vibrated. The number on the caller ID wasn’t one that he had saved, but it was one that he called earlier. He slipped out of the room and answered it.

“Hello?” he greeted.

“Hi, is this Mitchell Calvert?” the voice on the other line asked, and he confirmed that it was. They exchanged pleasantries, and then voice proceeded to inform him that it was a therapist’s office in Wickburg that was returning his message, and that a rare first time patient appointment had become available for the following week. “It’s usually about a month before we can get someone new booked,” the receptionist informed him.

“I’ll take it!” Mitch exclaimed. He split his attention between the music and Avi while he confirmed the appointment’s time and date. As he was hanging up, the front door opened, and Jodie came through it with armloads of grocery bags.

“Is there a party going on?” she asked as she passed by him in the hall, her brow furrowed in confusion.

“No? Yes?” Mitch followed her into the kitchen. “Hey, I made an appointment. I’m gonna see a brain wrangler.”

“Hell yes, dude! I’m proud of you!” she shouted over the music.

“And,” he picked at his stubble. “I ate breakfast. It wasn’t much, though-” he started to say, but was cut off by being pulled into a bear hug. “Dude, you dropped everything,” he laughed as a bottle of seltzer rolled towards him and hit his foot.

“Don’t care,” she murmured. “But yeah, the eggs are probably fucked now.”