Chapter 2 (afterthought)

One and a half months before:

Mitchel

"I love it when it rains," Mitchel said, looking out the window. He leaned against the the windowsill, next to his best friend.

"Why?" Christian asked, furrowing his brows. He blew hot air onto the glass, drawing a smiley face with his finger. "I can't go to the beach."

Mitchel chuckled, leaning in close to his friend. Though they were in LA and it was early March, Mitchel couldn't help but feel a little chilly. Clinton always had the air conditioning cranked up high for seemingly no reason, no matter how much it jacked up their bills. He wrapped his hand around his best friend's waist like he had done so many times before, the both of them watching fat raindrops hitting the window.

He smiled as Christian let him lean his head onto his shoulder, letting out a shaky yawn. The warmth of his best friend made him calm and sleepy. "Tired?" Christian asked, wrapping his arm around him. Mitchel shook his head, nuzzling into the heat of his neck. He could fall asleep in his arms if he wanted to, regardless of his insomnia.

"It's four," Mitchel said, glancing at a large steel clock on their wall. He could hear the faint sound of the clock's rhythmic ticks over the downpour. "It's not time to sleep," he told him. Christian chuckled. "You don't even sleep when it's time to sleep," He said. Mitchel shrugged. "What can I say, Kras? Sleep is for the weak."

This had Christian laughing, and Mitchel couldn't help but feel a growing warmth in his heart as he watched his best friend's face light up. No one could make Mitchel as happy as he was with Christian. Not even his family.

He moved to wrap both of his arms around Christian's body. "What's this?" He asked, looking into his eyes. Mitchel shook his head. "You've been really clingy lately," Christian told him. Mitchel shrugged again. "I hadn't noticed.""I have.""You don't like it?"

The front door opened, causing the two men to stop mid-conversation. For a long moment, the rain could be heard through the opened door but it shut just as quickly as it opened. "Hello?" Mitchel heard, and Christian pulled away. Mitchel watched as he practically ran downstairs, sweeping a short brunette into his arms. Her hair spilled over her shoulders as she hugged his best friend.

Mitchel slowly eased down the staircase, watching the couple separate. "God, you're soaked," Christian said lowly, and made a move to brush the woman's hair off of her shoulder. The girl waved her hand passively. "Don't worry about it. Are you ready?" She asked. Christian nodded, leaning over his girlfriend to grab an umbrella.

"Oh, hi, Mitchel," The girl said, looking at him. He was now at the base of the staircase, one hand resting on the railing, the other squeezed into a tight fist. "Hello, Molly," He said, forcing a tight smile. He watched the woman take the umbrella from her boyfriend as he searched for his keys.

"Ah, got 'em," He said mostly to himself, then opened the door. Molly went out of the door first, waving 'bye' to Mitchel. He returned the wave."Bye, Mitty," Christian said quickly, as if he were an afterthought. "Where are you going?" Mitchel asked. "On a date.""Oh...""Everything okay?"

Christian's hand lingered on the doorknob. Mitchel shook his head, pulling his lips into another tight smile. He seemed to be doing that a lot, lately. "Everything's fine. Have fun and drive safe, okay?" Christian nodded, returning a brighter smile. "See ya."

Mitchel watched Christian close the door behind him, staring at the white painted wood. He stared at it blankly for a long time, until Clinton thumped down the stairs. "You good-?" Clinton asked. Mitchel snapped out of his trance and looked up at his older brother. "What?"

"Did he leave already?" Clinton asked instead. Mitchel nodded. Maybe he could tell because they were brothers, or maybe it was written all over his face. Regardless, he was able to read his mood and everything he was thinking. "Hey," Clinton said. "Are you okay?"

Mitchel nodded again, turning to head back up the stairs. He stopped at the first door in the hall, looking at Christian's room. The thought of going inside and slipping between his sheets crossed his mind, but he decided against it. That would have been a little creepy, he figured.

Mitchel slipped into his own room and sat on his bed, pulling a notebook out from his bedside table. He flipped it open to a clean sheet, smoothing out the paper though it didn't really need smoothing.

Mitchel began writing things down. Lyrics. He sat there for hours, listening to the rain and writing in his little black songbook, the one that no one but him knew about. He wrote a small ballad about having a heart full of love, but being unable to give it to the one he wanted. Red blood, he called it.

Because his heart blead red.