The Fragility of Hope (Mavi)

Chapter 1

Avi stared at his own reflection in the dingy bathroom mirror, and wondered if he even recognized himself at all.

He brought a shaky hand to his face and ran it over his tired features; the flickering of the fluorescent light above him only seemed to cast shadows over his ghostly eyes, and he cringed at the way they started to droop around the edges. Even through the smudges of dirt and grime on the cracked mirror, he could see the haunted look in his own eyes.

He sighed and gripped the sides of the sink in front of him until his knuckles turned to a pale white.

It was little tiny things like this that went unnoticed to most people, he guessed. Aside from the occasional observant and worried fan, most of his decaying physical features went right over people's heads. But he hoped that it wouldn't get worse, because the last thing he needed was people worrying about him. People worrying about him led to questions, and he didn't have any answers for those questions right now. Because honestly, he didn't even have any answers for himself yet. At this moment, he was kind of glad that he was overly critical of his own appearance, because it gave him time to correct his flaws before anyone had the chance of pointing them out.

His mental state, on the other hand, was a different story entirely. The battles that raged on inside of his head went completely unnoticed by everyone, and he planned on keeping it that way.

Avi was no stranger to depression. He's been depressed before, just like everyone has, but it's never  been like this. He's never felt physically weighed down by sadness before, and it's starting to concern him. And as soon as this random spike of depression hit him, the worst possible thing could've happened as a result. The thing that he feared the moment his voice dropped, the instant he joined Pentatonix, and the second everyone else started doubting about his abilities as a bass, too.

His voice was getting higher.

There was no question about it. Sure, it wasn't the most noticeable thing in the world, like his greasy hair he had pulled back into a bun. But there was no doubt that he struggled to hit some of the low notes he used to pride himself on, and in contrast, his head voice was getting even more clear and full with each passing day. It was scary for him, because what good is a bassist if he can't hit bass notes?

He shook his head at his own stupidity. You're not going to be a tenor any time soon, Avi. It's okay. It's probably just a phase.

But even as he told himself this, he couldn't help but feel a little bit of doubt. He already ruled out the possibility that he wasn't getting enough sleep, because even when he runs on zero energy he can hit most of his low notes. There was also the possibility that he wasn't breathing right, but he laughed at himself for even considering it. Just because depression made it harder for him to breathe didn't mean that his singing was impacted... right?

Either way, his sudden burst of self hatred and insecurity was only boosted by this newfound shift in his vocal range, and he knew that.

He stared at the heavy bags under his eyes. Ugly, purple things, that were probably just from his lack of sleep. They weren't even that bad, and he knew that, but still... They stuck out like a sore thumb to him. Everyone in the group had at least a few signs of lack of sleep, because nobody ever got enough sleep on tour.

Tour life was always hard on everyone; especially Avi. This tour was their busiest yet, and sleep was a luxury they couldn't always afford. It seemed like Avi got the worst end of the stick, though, because depression and insomnia had a tendency to come in a packaged deal that he never bargained for. Maybe his greasy hair and tired eyes were coincidental, and maybe he didn't have to worry about the other members noticing. But if that were the case, then the rest of the group would have just as many signs of lack of sleep as he did. So, it must not be the case, because Kirstie and Mitch still managed to look absolutely flawless while on the road.

Mitch. He found himself envious of the tenor from time to time; he had an angelic voice to match an angelic face. Mitch never had to worry about vocal shifts. He was the kindest person that Avi has ever known, despite what he says about himself. He's always held a special fondness in his heart for the younger man, and he never really questioned why, because it just seemed natural.

He sighed deeply. Maybe he should ask Candice if he can use some concealer for the show tonight.

He was torn out of his thoughts and shoved back into reality by a quick rapping on the door. "Avi?"

It was Scott. "Yeah?" His heart dropped at the sound of his own voice. Raspy. Not nearly good enough.

"We're on in ten," the blonde man said through the door, his voice just barely muffled. "You alright?"

A million thoughts raced through Avi's mind in a single millisecond. They were live in the trio's hometown in just 10 minutes. 10 minutes until he had to sing unimpressive bass notes in front of hundreds of people.

A spike of fear stabbed him in the chest and it nearly sent him spiraling down to the ground. He didn't know if he could do it; he had to really get into a performance to do his best, and it's been getting harder and harder to feel enthusiastic as each show passed. This night was particularly bad. This was one of those nights when he was even...

Never mind.

"Yeah," he finally responded, gauging how much pep Happy Kaplan would normally have in his voice. "I'm great. I'll be out in a few." He cringed; it might've been a little bit too much pep.

When he saw the shadow of Scott's feet move away from the door and heard the loud clicks of his footsteps down the hall, he let himself sigh again. He looked at his pale lips and remembered what Scott and Mitch always did when they were in funks like this.

He forced himself to smile, like he's been doing every single night for the past week. He waited for the burst of serotonin to make him feel better, but it never came.

So he waited. He stared at himself smiling in the mirror, trying to ignore how it didn't quite meet his shallow eyes, and he waited.

He didn't know how much longer he was going to be able to wait; how much longer he could keep this facade of happiness up. As he turned away defeated from his reflection for the last time that night, he wondered if he'd ever get better.

He sure hoped he would. He wasn't sure what he might do if he didn't.

***

Heyo! So like I said earlier, this isn't going to be the happiest of stories. This is looking to be ~18 chapters, so not nearly as long as White Dragon.

Let me know if you guys like it and if I should keep writing it <3