Though Monument was only about 25 minutes away from Toby’s apartment, it may as well have been on the other coast.
Mitch’s thoughts were tangled and frenzied, crashing into the walls of his skull like a wild bird that flew through an open window and couldn’t escape the building that it entered. He had difficulty focusing, and as a result, nearly ran a red light. After being honked at by a passing car, he slammed on the brakes and slapped his cheek several times. His hands trembled as they both gripped the steering wheel, sweat accumulating at his palms.
When he pulled up to the curb in front of Jodie’s house, he undid the top few buttons of his shirt and gasped for air while his lungs burned. Throwing his head back, his shoulders rapidly tensed then released. Several minutes passed until he settled down, and he wiped his eyes on his sleeve.
“What the fuck,” he laughed, though it sounded more like a sob from how wet it was. Running his hands down his face, he murmured, “Alright. OK. Alright,” repeating the sequence ad nauseum until he couldn’t stand the sound of his own voice anymore. He had an appointment with Ann in a few days, he could make it until then.
In the meanwhile, he took a deep breath and drafted a text to Toby saying that he didn’t like what they did. His entire body shook as he hit the send button, the convulsions so hard that his teeth chattered. Toby’s response was almost immediate.
‘Getting choked? I’m sorry. We don’t have to do that again.‘
It was a far cry from the past, Mitch being upfront about his needs and Toby not downplaying them. Maybe they had a chance after all, if they took it slow.
Sighing, he left the car and instantly regretted not checking himself out in the rearview mirror beforehand. But it was past midnight, and the likelihood of anyone being awake was practically nonexistent. All he needed to do was clean up and crash on the couch for the night so that he didn’t disturb Jodie.
He opened the front door slowly, and his head whipped side to side to see if there was any activity coming from either the downstairs or the upstairs. Aside from the stove’s hoodlight which illuminated the kitchen in a soft glow, the house was still.
He sat on the bottom step to remove his shoes, then set them on the hall tree’s bench in the foyer and wandered into the kitchen for a drink; for all he knew, dehydration was what triggered this flux in emotions. Since the old house was noisy from minimal provocation, she carefully moved about, flinching each time the floor or a cabinet door groaned and creaked. Eventually, he got a glass under the running faucet and filled it up, then drank as though he’d been stranded in the desert for days without supplies.
A soft gasp came from the kitchen’s doorway, prompting Mitch to turn around. There stood Avi in a zip-up hoodie and sweatpants and damp hair, staring at Mitch as though he was something incomprehensible, like a cosmic horror.
“Where were you?” Mitch asked to break the tension, as if he had any right to ask such a question.
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“Went to the school to work out. Couldn’t sleep,” Avi answered. “Didn’t wanna risk a run because. Y’know, it’s night.” He chuckled in a defeated tone. “Cops and brown people.”
“Oh. Right,” Mitch grimaced.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a dress shirt before,” Avi pointed out, and the comment caught Mitch off guard and made him self conscious. It was too late to re-do the top buttons, and he realized that he left the blazer at Toby’s, so he couldn’t use that to cover up more.
“It’s one of two that I own,” Mitch joked, unsure how else to respond. Avi nodded, appearing equally unsure.
This sucked, Mitch decided. It was awful and it was all his fault, but he’d fix it.
He just needed enough time to pass to gradually fall for Toby once again, and everything would be fine. Then they could go back to being buds and Mitch wouldn’t be at risk of outing himself or being driven to the precipice of insanity at the close proximity, or how desperate he was to touch and kiss Avi every waking moment. Eventually, his thigh wouldn’t tingle from where Avi touched him, which wouldn’t drive him to tears, wouldn’t make him want to yank all of his hair out.
God, he was a fucking creep. He didn’t deserve to be Avi’s friend.
But Avi looked at him with something between expectancy…something else. Disappointment? Resignation? Alternatively, he was just tired. When he spoke up, the struggle was evident in his voice. “So what’d you get up to tonight?” he asked, and Mitch’s blood froze. There was no way that Avi could have known, but one could take an educated guess given how marred the skin on display was. He wondered how much Jodie had vented about Toby, what details were shared. Was this a safe space anymore?
Mitch almost lied about being at band practice, because that was usually why he was out when he wasn’t training for his in-ring return. “Treated myself to a museum trip,” he settled on. It wasn’t a whole lie.
“That’s fun,” Avi nodded with a smile, warm and reassuring, appearing as if he anticipated more of an explanation. Mitch wanted nothing more than to launch into what he saw and the things he learned about death and funeral customs based on other cultures, and pick Avi’s brain for what he thought about that. But he refrained from doing so. The knowledge that he gained would have to stay within him, and all he could do was hope that his shitty broken brain would retain it. Not that it was of any particular importance, he just lived in constant fear that everything he took in was at risk of being immediately forgotten.
Or he’d just endlessly hyperfixate without anyone to talk to about it.
Besides, it was weird. That was a stupid and gross and weird thing to infodump about. A look wasn’t an open invitation to overshare, it was just a polite glance and nothing more. And Avi probably wanted to go to sleep, he was usually in bed no later than 10pm. “Hey, I’m-” Mitch tried to pull his thoughts together, not wanting to be in this room and at risk of being a nuisance anymore. “I’ll catch you later. I’m gonna go to sleep,” he said with no fanfare.
“Oh!” For a split second, Avi’s mouth hung open. He blinked a few times, but then settled into nonchalance. “That’s cool. I should probably do that as well. I’m up way past my bedtime.”
“Cool,” Mitch responded, then waited for Avi to move away, but they both stayed put. His body stiffened, paralyzed by the awkwardness and inaction and not wanting to be the first to depart. He didn’t want to have to initiate saying “goodbye” or “goodnight”, but he knew it would eat him up inside if Avi exited without saying it either.
At last, unable to bear the suspense any longer, Mitch placed the empty glass in the sink and moved past Avi. Their shoulders bumped against one another, and the smell of Avi’s cologne flooded his nostrils and messed with his insides.
“Goodnight, Mitch,” Avi said softly once Mitch was several feet down the hall, and Mitch’s stomach clenched.
“‘Night,” Mitch responded, and made a beeline for the livingroom, crashing onto the sofa face first.