The Fragility of Hope (Mavi)

Chapter 13

This was originally going to be two different chapters, but I decided to combine them. Sorry if it seems rushed/sudden.

Also, a warning, because this isn't rated mature: it gets a little bit mature. Nothing extremely descriptive, just... Be warned.

***

It was one of those nights.

The kind of night where he didn't even have the energy to fake a smile, and nobody even noticed that his laugh was missing from the group. The kind of night where his wrists itched like they did that night so long ago, like he wanted to take a knife to them. It was the kind of night where the idea of death was becoming more and more appealing as each second on the clock ticked by.

It had been a few years since their first original album, and Scott just had to point that out -- not like everyone didn't already know that obvious fact. The fans pestered them every single day for more original music, and today just had to be the day that Scott proposed a schedule for working on a new one. Of course, everyone was on board with it. Mitch and Avi were the only ones that were hesitant about it, because they were the only two obsessed with the benefits not writing new music.

Music composition was always a tedious process for everyone. The group would have to write at least 30 songs, and even then, only about 10 would make it to the final cut. Sure, they could use some of their old arrangements that didn't quite make the original album, but it would still take at least a year to finish.

A full year. At least 365 days with not enough sleep, crowded spaces, no free time away from his bandmates, and singing. Constant singing, and testing out the limits of everyone's vocal range, all while touring and meeting new people and finding inspiration that he didn't have to write and keeping up the image that he was okay --

He'd really rather die.

Mitch seemed to catch on to that. He was no stranger to people poking and prodding at his vocal range to see just how high or low of a note they could squeeze out of him, and it turned the tenor into a sympathetic mess when he realized that Avi was going to have to suffer through the same exact torment. So after a full day of planning and pre-writing, Mitch tagged along with Avi to his hotel room with a bottle of Jack hidden under his incredibly expensive coat, and Avi found himself smiling again.

There seemed to be a lot of alcohol in his life lately, and he had Mitch to thank for it. Once upon a time, he and Mitch had told an interviewer that they couldn't get wasted every single night, because their voices couldn't handle that kind of stress. It was once true, too. But that was an eternity ago, and now that Mitch's voice had developed into the immortal purity of a siren's, he got drunk whenever he could. Avi was more than okay with drinking, even if it made his voice sound like shit. It always sounded like shit nowadays.

It became a habit for the both of them. Alcohol, and laughter, and forgetting about the world. It didn't happen every night, but it did on the nights when Avi was in an obviously horrible mood.

Mitch closed the door behind him with a playful look in his eyes and Avi smirked sinfully. "Please tell me you're hoarding some kind of hard liquor in your bag."

Mitch giggled and revealed the half empty bottle of Jack Daniels that they'd been working on for the past few days under his coat. "Only the best for you."