Mitch: "I can be mean though." Avi: "That's okay, I'll take care of you."
Sailing under the radar while we obsessed over Scömìche, this is the ship that never was... or was it??
These linked one-shots (based on tweets) explore what might have happen...
Good morning loves! Bitter here today as a cold wind blows into the UK from Siberia, apparently. And snow to come, which I despise bc everything is 1000x more difficult than it has to be.
But I'm tucked up warm inside right now, ready to bring you the latest instalment of the ship that never was.
First things first. Let's talk about Havana oh na na na... sexy, sultry, harmonies on point, Kevin killing the percussion... good times. They look so good and sound like angels... if angels growl and smile and turn your insides to mush, that is. (looking at you, Scott and Kirstin bc damn)
Before Imaginary Parties and GUY.exe, there was a time when Mitch wasn't so good in heels. She was ready to suffer for fashion, but at what cost? Featuring the trio and wine night confessions and even a little Scömìche to finish with. Enjoy.
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Mitch eyed his reflection in the full-length mirror, then pouted and took several photos. When he was happy with his chosen shot, he posted it with the caption 'lovin these heels'.
After the group huddled together for their usual pre-show prayer, Mitch sidled up to Avi.
"Look, I'm bigger than you now."
Avi glanced at him. "Taller, you mean."
"Ooh, was that a naughty little reference I heard? Okay, I'm taller, if you want to be precise, and I know you do." He raised an eyebrow.
"Well, I'm surrounded by giants, so. After five years, I'm pretty much used to being the shorter guy."
"Hey, Avi's not so short," Kirstie put in. "I still can't see eye to eye with him, even with my fierce heels."
"Hush, girl. Mommy is just enjoying towering over him. He'll always be big daddy to me." Mitch winked at Avi, earning a shake of the head in return.
"Five minutes!" Esther called out. The noise from the waiting crowd got louder as the group made final preparations to go on stage. Then it was time to sing.
By the end of the show, though, Mitch knew why people talked about suffering for fashion. The balls of his feet were on fire, and his left ankle wobbled as if it was about to give out. Even a hot shower didn't help much, and he just about managed to get his feet into some sneakers.
The whole band came out to greet fans afterwards, but he got separated from Scott in the large crowd. Mitch smiled graciously, but a few minutes was all he could manage. He kept his smile on while making his way to the bus, as quickly as the press of people would allow.
"Thank God," he muttered as the doors sighed shut behind him. He couldn't stand one more minute on his feet. He limped to the back lounge and sank onto a seat with a groan. He was unlacing his shoes when he heard the bus door open again, and footsteps approached.
