2. If I get too Tired to Make it, be my Breath so I can Walk
Mitch hated birthday parties.
He particularly hated birthday parties of people he didn't know terribly well. He hated trying to feign excitement. "Congratulations, you're twenty-one. That means nothing to me. Get wasted!"
Mitch rolled his eyes and Kirstin elbowed him in the ribs.
"This will be fun. Greg is a really good time! He hooked us up with a VIP area of this club. I've never heard of the place, but that's not saying much, considering that I don't really know of any clubs. But hey, this is going to be fun!"
Mitch tried not to point out the fact that she said that part twice.
They hopped off of the bus in front of the address that had been sent to them.
"Is your friend here yet?" Mitch asked, looking around. The place looked... fine. Groups of men were flocked together, and groups of women did the same, hardly interacting on the sidewalk in front of the place. A small line outside had formed. Mitch sighed and moved to stand in the back.
"I'm not sure, yet. I think you and Greg will really hit it off, too. I'm glad you put a little extra energy into your look tonight! You look fantastic. He's really cute, FYI."
Mitch self-consciously fixed his bangs, and suddenly felt as though his jeans might be too tight.
They showed their fake IDs to a bouncer who looked like he could squish Mitch like a bug between his thumb and index finger. Mitch tried to smile as confidently as possible. He wasn't in the mood to take the bus back home by himself.
He let out a breath that he hadn't realized he had been holding when the man stepped to the side, gesturing for the duo to enter.
And suddenly, Mitch wished he was back on the bus alone.
There were half-naked men everywhere.
Scratch that. Mitch was decent with his fractions. They were more like four-fifths naked.
Now it made sense why there were groups of men and women who weren't interacting outside. Bachelor and bachelorette parties, he was sure. Because this was a strip club. An all-male strip club.
"Kirstie..."
"Mitch, I had no idea," Kirstin laughed, pulling him across the floor. He could feel the heat of his own blush as he tried to look only at the floor.
"Let's get drinks before we go find everyone," Kirstin smiled. "Whiskey sours?"
Mitch rolled his eyes again. Even he knew that whiskey sours scream "I'm underage. Card me again."
She squeezed through a group of men taking shots. One glared at them as Mitch followed suit, and Mitch became instantly more desperate to leave.
As soon as he made it to the bar, they were boxed in, with Mitch's stomach pressing painfully against the sticky surface.
"What can I get you?"
Mitch almost threw up.
The blue eyes suddenly lit up as he shook up a drink. "Hey, bus boy."
Mitch's mouth hung open, comically so. Kirstin elbowed him painfully, and he watched as she looked like she might faint.
"You okay, bus boy?"
Mitch couldn't speak as he surveyed the man behind the bar. Blond hair perfectly quaffed and slicked to the side. Black button-down, just ever-so-slightly see-through with the top four buttons undone, exposing the soft skin of his chest beneath. He could just make out the outline of the tattoo sleeve beneath the translucent fabric of his shirt. He could make out some other things beneath the fabric as well, but he really, really needed to peel his eyes away...
And if Mitch was worried about his own pants being too tight, his own had nothing on Scott's.
"Two whiskey sours, please," Kirstin finally spoke up, and Mitch wanted to slap her.
Scott smiled, and his teeth were so gorgeously white, they nearly glowed in the blacklit room.
"If you say so."
He turned away, and Mitch had to avert his gaze. Those jeans were sinful. He could hear Kirstin laughing alongside him, and he knew that there would be hell to pay for her later.
Scott turned back to them with two glasses of sickeningly sugary liquid. "There you go. On the house. You know, paying it forward for you coming after me with those airpods."
He pushed the glasses towards them before turning away again to make another drink.
"Something tells me we're gonna sit here for a minute," Kirstin teased. "And I'm okay with it."
She held up her stupid drink for a "cheers", and Mitch clinked his glass against hers with a grimace.
He took a sip. Painfully sour. He watched the blond work his way around the bar, and hated that he found himself becoming annoyed that he hadn't looked his way in a while.
But five minutes later, he pulled out a bottle of whiskey, topping off their two glasses with a wink, before turning his attention to a drunk-looking man in the corner who was snapping his fingers. The man was probably only a bit older than them, but he looked entitled and like an outright asshole on a good day.
"If he winks at you again, I dare you to ask him for his number."
"Kirst, do you have any idea how much he probably gets hit on here? And besides, you heard Dr. C. It wouldn't be good for me."
His drink was delicious now that it was mostly whiskey, however, and maybe he could be persuaded as the night went on.
His eyes narrowed as he watched the drunk man lean in towards Scott, who also leaned across the bar to make out what the idiot was saying. Mitch felt his own hands grip the bar with white knuckles when the man trailed his hand down Scott's chest, pulling his head closer to him by the back of his neck, and saying something into his ear with a drunken smile as he unbuttoned another button of Scott's shirt. The blond shot backwards, shaking his head.
"You can get that from them." Scott pointed at the men walking around without clothing. "They'd be happy to help you."
Scott moved away and began taking another man's order.
"Oh, come on!" The man yelled. "Why are they keeping the best shit locked away? You'd make bank on this side of the bar." He cackled like an absolute imbecile.
"That guy's an asshole," Kirstin muttered, watching with wide eyes as Scott ignored the man and mixed drink after drink with a smile, looking everywhere but back at them. Mitch hated the fact that he was sure that this happened more often than he wanted to think about.
"Should we go find the party?" Kirstin finally said when it seemed clear that Scott wasn't returning to make small talk anytime soon.
"You go. I'm gonna get one more drink here and I'll meet you."
"You sure?" Kristin looked uneasy. Mitch nodded.
He was enjoying his people watching more now that he was alone.
He enjoyed watching Scott a bit less. Pangs of pain coursed through him as he would lean across the bar and smile at everyone. It was weird to see him so... extroverted, a stark contrast from the personality of the Scott from his mind.
He watched as a particularly... well-endowed... waiter, who was clad in only tiny glittery briefs, gestured for Scott to come closer.
Scott smiled and leaned in as the man spoke into his ear, and Mitch wanted to peel the man's hand off of Scott's shoulder. Scott made a few drinks quickly and placed them on a tray, handing it to him. Mitch felt instantly stupid for clearly looking too far into that interaction.
"Hi."
Mitch jumped, turning towards the man's voice. He wasn't ugly. He certainly wasn't his type.
"Hi," Mitch returned, rigidly.
"Looks like you need another." The man held up a hand towards Scott, and Mitch held his breath as Scott gave him a small smile before finishing up an order and coming closer.
"Wow, you sure did change since I last saw you. Weren't you a foot shorter and a woman when I was last over here?" Scott teased the man, who clearly didn't understand. Mitch cackled with laughter before he could stop himself.
"I... don't get it. Anyway... I've got his next round."
"Aww, that's sweet," Scott began, and looked into Mitch's eyes. Mitch's breath hitched again, and he felt his own eyes widen for a moment. The last thing that he wanted was for Scott to get the wrong idea.
"...but I think I can get my own man his drinks, don't you think?" Scott finished, still looking at Mitch with a teasing expression.
"Oh... shit. Sorry, dude. He didn't say anything about being with you. Sorry..." and with those fumbled words, the drunk man nearly sprinted away.
Scott was wiping the bar down with a small smile. "Sorry. That guy's a dick. I've seen him here before. So I took it upon myself to save you the drama."
"Th-thank you."
"No problem, bus boy. So, do you have a real name, or should I keep calling you bus boy?"
He held up one finger just as Mitch was about to respond, and shot him an apologetic look as he took the order of yet another overly drunk person. He returned a few moments later, and looked down at himself for a moment before buttoning one of his bottom buttons that had been undone by the handsy drunk.
"Whoops. That's a bit much." Scott laughed to himself.
Mitch disagreed.
"So, as I was saying, bus boy..."
"Mitch Grassi."
Scott smiled again, and Mitch suddenly fully understood the stupid, "Take a picture" comment. He could stare at that smile forever.
"Nice to meet you, Mitch. I'm Scott."
He held out a hand. Before Mitch could stop to think, he shook it, blurting one of the most stalkerish questions he ever could have uttered. But he needed the answer. The answer was one more piece of evidence that he wasn't hallucinating.
"What's your last name?"
Scott raised an eyebrow. "Hoying."
Mitch felt himself exhale after holding his breath for way too long.
"Nice to meet you too, Scott Hoying."