The Fragility of Hope (Mavi)

Chapter 6

He tried not to think about it. He really, really did.

But Mitch was constantly on his mind, and he slowly came to terms with the fact that he might be more into men than he originally thought. It didn't mean anything, though, right? It just meant that he had a weird kink, or... or something. He would never date a guy, so he couldn't be gay. Besides, he liked girls too much. He just... didn't like them as much as he liked Mitch.

So, he did the most logical thing one could do in his situation: he avoided him. He avoided Mitch like he was the goddamn plague, in fear that he would know what was going on inside his head like he always did. But screw Avi and his gentle heart, because he didn't want Mitch to know that he was being avoided, because he might think there was something wrong with him and there definitely wasn't. So he did the next best thing; he avoided everyone. He opted out on their stupid little bus parties and even the nights out to a random club in favor of staring at the ceiling of his bunk with headphones jammed into his ears, listening to depressing songs about suicide like he used to in college. He kept to himself at circle jams, and spoke even less than he usually did in every interview.

At this point, he didn't even care if the fans noticed.

And they did notice. They noticed more than he ever imagined they would, because as soon as the first interview of him trying to be the next Boo Radley came out, the fans took to Twitter. It wasn't obvious speculations about his mental state or his appearance, though. It was much, much worse.

The hashtag #WeLoveAvi was trending worldwide for three hours by the time he saw it. Nobody even stopped to wonder if he was depressed; they just assumed that he was. The tag was filled with gifs of himself and letters from fans and reasons that he should be happy, and it made him cry harder than he had in 20 years. It was ugly, gut wrenching sobbing in the quiet solitary of his bunk while everyone else was out partying and it made him want to fucking die.

He read through each and every one of the tweets, and felt another little piece of himself die as he did. There were so many screenshots of their interview with some low profile company that he couldn't even remember the name of, and he was shocked by his own appearance.

He looked... he looked like he was depressed. He really did. His beard was a mess, and the bags under his eyes had turned to an ungodly shade of purple. He bit into the sleeve of the hoodie he's been wearing for the past few days as he scrolled through the tag, holding back sobs. It made him feel awful, he felt so fucking awful that he was putting people through something like this.

There were sweet tweets, too. They mentioned all that he had to be grateful for; two Grammys, a best selling album, another Grammy nomination for Can't Sleep Love, and millions of supporting fans.

It made him feel so. Fucking. Guilty. Because he did have all these things to be thankful for, and none of them meant a goddamn thing to him. The only thing he could even focus on was the heaviness in his chest that made every single breath feel like a struggle.

He needed to try harder. People were noticing, and the fans didn't deserve that. They couldn't know about the war inside his head. So with shaky fingers, he tapped out the safest response that would still be believable.

You guys are unbelievable, and I love you all. Thank you for your support, but really, I'm okay. I'm just extremely hungover. #ILoveAviToo

And then he turned off his notifications, let out a frustrated scream, and threw his phone so hard against the wall that he was sure it had shattered.

He could do this. He could convince everyone that he was okay, because they didn't deserve the pain he was probably putting them through. And oh god, the band and the crew -- what were they going to say? Did they not notice, or were they just too awkward to say anything? Either way, he couldn't risk it. Distancing himself from them was just making it more obvious.

He spent the next hour freshening himself up; he trimmed and cleaned up his beard, brushed his teeth three times, and washed his hair twice for good measure. He changed into his pajamas, which he never did, and poured himself a bowl of cereal just as everyone got back.

They were all surprised, to say the least. It had been a good week since he'd even made a casual appearance outside of his bunk, and he never thought he'd see Scott's eyebrows go that far up his forehead.

"Hey!" He said with a grin, shoveling another spoonful of some crappy granola into his mouth. "Have fun?" He didn't actually want to eat, nor did he ever this entire week, but he had to keep up appearances, right?

And then a strong scent of alcohol hit him, and he realized that they must all be terribly drunk. But Mitch shoved his way onto the bus and grinned so brightly at Avi that he swooned. "Yeah!" He giggled. "Scotty's drunk."

Fuck feelings. Mitch was messy and he still looked like a goddess.

Avi blinked a few times, and on closer speculation, he realized that Mitch's eyes were sharp and clear, unlike Scott who was already stumbling over to his bunk. It was unlike Mitch to not get drunk, because if everyone was being truthful, Mitch took every single opportunity he could get to drink alcohol. Avi just hummed and took another bite of his cereal, hoping they wouldn't notice how badly he was panicking on the inside.

But then everyone was ignoring him and shuffling back to their respective bunks, and he relaxed. It was a short lived victory, though, because Mitch had decided to stay behind and Avi let his face drop completely. "You didn't even drink last night," he snapped at the older man.

Avi quirked an eyebrow in complete, genuine confusion.

Mitch just rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone, tapping on it for a few seconds. "I'm fine. I'm just extremely hungover," he mocked in a low voice, and Avi's world came crumbling down at the lie.

"Oh," he mumbled, suddenly extremely disinterested in his cereal. "Yeah."

And then Mitch was way too close to him, because he took one quick stride and was standing directly in front of him. "Avi, if you need to talk..."

"No," he snapped. "I'm okay. I swear."

Mitch raised an eyebrow. "That makes it sound like you're really not okay, sugar."

He took an awkward bite of his cereal and chewed it slowly. Mitch was waiting for a response, but goddamn it, Avi was not going to give him one. Mainly because he didn't have one.

He should talk to him. He should really, really, really really really talk to him about what's on his mind because Mitch was here giving him an opportunity to do so. But... he couldn't force himself to do it. It wasn't even that bad yet.

He allowed himself a subtle wince. Yet. Because he knew that it was only going to get worse.

Mitch got impatient with his panicked scramble to find an answer, because he ended up just rolling his eyes. "Fine. Whatever. Clearly you've got something going on right now, and I'm just gonna give you your space, because I do not have the patience for this right now," he snapped. He turned dramatically and stomped angrily towards the bunks, and Avi had to stop himself from reaching out to stop him from leaving.

He knew he fucked up.

Fucking idiot. He should just save himself from all of the pain building up in his chest right now and kill-

He shook his head and slammed his cereal down on the counter, squeezing his eyes shut tightly to force away the looming threat that was constantly on his mind.

Never. Mind.

***

tbh I like writing this story a lot more than White Dragon atm so here's an early update