Sweat, Smoke, and Strobe Lights

Anger

Mitch clenched his jaw, tears spilling over and streaming down his face. He couldn't control what his eyes did, but he would not cry. He would get stupid drunk and high and end up fuck-knows-where, then take it from there. Maybe someone would take advantage of him passing out and murder him, ending the torture then and there.

He turned onto the street leading from the nice part of L.A. to the not-so-nice part. Trash popped up on the streets, tumbling around the sidewalks or sticking to the gum already there. As the sun set, the signs blazed on, advertising drinks and drugs and women.

Mitch parked in front of a club with a rainbow flag covering the only window. This place was his absolute favorite place to not give a fuck, because no one else did. He quickly took off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt a notch. He couldn't look like he gave a fuck because hopefully, tonight he wouldn't. He fixed his hair (he might not give a fuck, but he had standards) and walked to the door. He glanced at the sign on the wall as he waited in the growing line. The chalk board advertised "Pop Night", which apparently was "Our hottest dancers dancing to the hottest new songs!" Mitch flashed his ID to the bouncer and walked inside, nearly choking on the smoke. He sighed and smiled.

He had missed this place, full of sweat, smoke, and strobe lights, the people dancing much too close for comfort, their clothes sticking to their chests, their drinks spilling as the strippers at the back of the stage performed what were, frankly, very impressing gymnastic maneuvers. Mitch smiled, walking past the people offering anything and everything for only ten dollars a hit, get some before ten and they'll make it five!

He pushed his way over to the bar, flopping dejectedly into a stool.

"Hi, what can I get you?" The bartender said, mixing a drink for someone else. He was pretty hot and certainly seemed male, although in this place you could never tell.

"Um... What's the strongest thing you have?" Mitch asked.

"Getting down to business, eh?" The bartender teased with a smirk. Mitch just gave him the bitch stare.

"Well..." The bartender considered the menu, passing a drink to someone and starting another with remarkable skill. "We can make alcoholic chocolate milk, and if I make it double strength, it's pretty damn strong." He smiled at Mitch.

"Alcoholic chocolate milk? Really?" Mitch almost laughed. "Yeah, I guess I'll take that, double strength."

The bartender nodded and started Mitch's drink, having already finished the other order.

"Alcoholic chocolate milk? I didn't know they even made that!"

Mitch turned around to tell off whatever asshole was trying to hook up with him- and stopped mid-breath. This guy was hot. Like, very much get-in-my-pants-and-stay-there hot. His short fluffy hair stuck up in small tufts and was yellowish blond, which looked almost natural were it not for his dark round eyebrows, which raised expectantly as he noticed Mitch gulping for air like a goldfish. His full lips smirked a little at the sides, and he was just-well, very... Um-

"I... Hi." Mitch stuttered, turning tomato red.

"What's your name, sugar?" The man asked.

Mitch glanced to either side. Was he talking to him? "I-Ah... Mitch. My name's Mitch." He said, subconsciously fixing his hair.

"That's a hot name." Mitch blushed. "My name's Pete. You know, I'm just going to get down to business. You're hot, I'm hot, let's go get really hot together." Mitch laughed out loud. "Yeah, sure. So what do you do?" He asked, a small smirk playing in his lips. Before the blond could answer, the DJ spoke up over the blaring music.

"All right folks! It's time to start Pop Night! Are you ready?" The crowd cheered. Mitch let out an extremely unenthusiastic "woo", making Pete crack up.

"First up, we have... Susa! Give it up!" The crowd cheered and watched Susa as she strode on stage, the beginning of a song starting.

La da dum dum dum (oh woah oh)
La da dum dum dum da-dum (oh woah oh)

Mitch's eyes widened. They were playing his song! The song he wrote about Scott...

Mitch ended up laughing as tears streamed down his face. Pete looked thoroughly confused. "Um..." He said, patting Mitch's back as he sobbed all-out now. "Wait.. Is this- are you- is that you singing? Are you Mitch Grassi?"

Mitch nodded, his shoulders curled into himself. Either Pete McHottyPants would think he was crazy, or he would know the entire history of scömíche. Mitch took a deep, shaky breath and hoped that Pete didn't have a Tumblr to post this on.

"I- I was dating Scott- and we've been together for more than a year now- and it's- it's our anniversary- and it's been so great- and we- we had reservations-and I saw him... I saw him kissing a girl!!!" Mitch choked out.

"And so you came here?" Pete asked gently. Mitch nodded. "Well, damn, boy. You'll need more than alcoholic chocolate milk to fix this." Pete turned to the bartender, who was looking at the pair with shocked eyes, his mouth slightly agape. "Four of your nastiest shots, please." The bartender nodded and began mixing four small glasses of acidic-looking green liquid.

"Hang on, hotty." Pete walked over to a girl who couldn't have been more than sixteen, waving her black-tipped hands around and yelling about sales. He spoke quietly to her, exchanging a small bottle for green bills, before jogging back over to the whimpering Mitch.

"Here." The blond smirked, pressing a small pill into Mitch's hand. "We'll forget all about this Scott."