To be more accurate, earlier this morning was the first time he'd known, outside of an address on his legal paperwork for the fed and a vague idea of the neighborhood, where Snacks actually lives. After the night he'd dislocated his shoulder two weeks ago they'd fallen into the habit of Snacks just driving him to and from the arena if they were going to be there at the same time. At first it was kinda necessary but then it became comfortable.
Normally Mitch wouldn't mind being ferried around. Driving isn't his favorite thing to do. It's just that once he thought about the actual time involved it seemed ridiculous to keep this up when he's perfectly capable of driving himself. Snacks has to drive 20 minutes out of his way to pick him up, then drive right back past his own apartment to get to their final destination. When Mitch realized that added up to almost an hour and a half a day, multiple days a week, he put his foot down. For today's show Snacks had begrudgingly agreed that Mitch would drive to his place, then they'd ride together to the arena.
So this morning Mitch headed over at their agreed-upon time and texted when he arrived. Snacks had come out to the guest spot Mitch was parked in and helped carry the day's gear from one car to the other, and they left without setting foot inside.
In fact, their respective apartments have been largely off-limits by unspoken agreement. Aside from that first awkward visit Snacks made several weeks back, they've only spent one afternoon at Mitch's place and that was solely to analyze promo footage together uninterrupted. It was entirely professional save for a brief kiss at the door - more of a peck, really - when Snacks left.
Temptation and all.
"It's a little messy," Snacks says apologetically as he unlocks his front door.
Mitch had already built a mental image of Snacks' hypothetical living space as being vaguely fratboy-esque - cluttered, with secondhand mismatched furniture and an overflowing trash can - so the warning doesn't come as a surprise.
What does come as a surprise is seeing pretty much the opposite of what he'd expected when he steps inside. A little messy seems to mean a jumble of shoes in the entryway, a discarded shirt on the couch, and some throw pillows on the floor. Otherwise the small living, dining and kitchen combo are the exact opposite of the hyperactive energy that tends to occupy Snacks' brainspace. The apartment may be small but it's decently decorated and the ceilings soar beyond the entry.
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"Oh, wow," Mitch exhales as they step further in. "You've got a loft?" The exceptionally high ceilings are explained when he sees a staircase leading up to what is presumably a loft bedroom, the half-wall above hiding the contents but with no other doors leading to another room he can only assume that's where Snacks sleeps.
"Yeah," Snacks exclaims, sounding pleased. "Always wanted one for some reason so when this opened up last year I jumped on it. Anyways, you can sit down," he gestures towards the couch. "Do you want something to drink? Are you hungry? We can order a pizza or whatever..."
