Seven Levels Below

VI

That night, Mitch was lounging on his couch, watching cartoon reruns and stuffing ramen in his mouth when he heard the lock on his door click. Confusion registered first with his furrowed brows as he whipped his head towards the sound, half-forgotten noodles still hanging from his mouth and chopsticks poised above his lap as the door swung open. When Kirstie pulled the door shut behind her, Mitch was not reassured in the slightest. He had guessed that it must have been her, as they both had spare keys to each others' apartments, but why she was here right now was a mystery. While their schedules lined up well to give them nearly the full weekend together each week, Kirstie often ended up working late at the salon and Mitch (grumpily) waking up early to spend normal office hours in the studio at Modernio. Any spare days when their schedules randomly lined up were known about in advance and filled with dinner or shopping trips, not usually waltzing into each others' apartments unannounced.

"Uh, hello?" Mitch slurped the noodles into his mouth quickly so he could respond to the intrusion.

"Mitchell. Grassi." Oh, shit. "Did you or did you not go all the way to the palace to accuse the crown prince of breaking into my apartment and disrespecting my honor, to his FACE?"

"...Maybe?"

Kirstie rolled her eyes at him once again. She was gonna need some sort of corrective eye surgery at some point unless Mitch could figure out how to stop prompting that response.

"In my defense, he was all like, 'Oh hi, Mitch! Great to see you today? So how was your evening after my friends broke into Kirstie's apartment, scared the shit out of you, and I left without an explanation?'" Mitch scooted back on the couch so he could see her better as she toed off her shoes and dropped her bag on the rickety little kitchen table. "How did you—"

She stopped him with a stern gaze. "So little old me is at work, reorganizing the lotions in the back because someone is noseblind and can't figure out the difference between mangos and apricots, when my manager comes over and informs me that a very large donation has just been given to the salon under the condition that I take tonight off and get dinner with the tall blond guy that dropped off the check. So naturally, I'm a little confused and frankly, a bit terrified, so I stick my head around the corner and guess who's at the counter." Kirstie flops herself down into Mitch's lone, squishy armchair and leans back, continuing her story with expressive hand gestures. "So, long story short, Prince Scott Hoying himself took me to dinner tonight at a restaurant on the first level overlooking a park—an outdoor park with a pond and ducklings—and paid for the entire thing. He started out the entire night with a very detailed and heartfelt apology that had me tearing up before the appetizers arrived. And he also happened to mention how this was not unprompted and he owed you a sincere thank you, since you apparently reminded him to get his head out of his ass and think about others."

Mitch winced. "Sorry, Kirstie." He didn't regret it though. Scott deserved it. Mostly.

Her face softened as she relaxed into the cushions. "Thank you, Mitch. But next time, don't lead with a verbal assault on the future king of Asdria."

A hesitant smile worked its way onto his face. "I promise I will try to refrain from cursing out members of the royal family from now on." He raised his pinky and sealed the promise with a shake from Kirstie's own pinky. Pinky promises are valid. Take that city guard.

"Onto lighter news," Kirstie wiggled around as she tried to resettle herself amongst the uneven padding his armchair offered, "During the fabulous dinner which may or may not have been the best meal of my entire life, Scott and I had a very long and interesting discussion about just about anything we could think of, which included me mentioning how snacks are always welcome when we hang out at my apartment every weekend."

Mitch perked up quickly at that. Scott was coming back on weekends? Kirstie's snort interrupted the chorus of yayayayayayayay coursing through his head.

"And because I am such a good friend and the best wingwoman you will ever have, I may have also told him the address of your apartment and your work schedule so he can join you for dinner whenever he wants, to 'brainstorm tattoo ideas'. Which I also assured him could be every day of the week and you would have no complaints."

Mitch groaned and buried his face in the throw pillows as Kirstie cackled at his embarrassment. "Did you have anything nice to say about me that maybe played down the whole clingy, lonely, grumpy, etc. version of me you seem to have established?" he whined.

"Mitch, in case you haven't noticed, we spent at least half the dinner talking about you. I won't say I gave him the shovel talk, because I'm waiting for you two to get a bit more involved first, but I laid down some beginnings for it. He was a bit hyper-focused on you, too. Don't worry."

Mitch sighed and dropped the teasing banter for a moment. "Kirstie, I really like him. And I don't just mean he's nice to look at, I mean it's only been two days and he's just so... I don't want to try for a relationship or something and end up having him leave in a few weeks when I screw something up."

Kirstie leaned forward and reached across his little coffee table to grab his hands. "You won't mess anything up. If you want to just keep him as a friend, then I support that. If you decide you want to jump head over heels into a relationship, I support that. I will back you up no matter what your choice is, and if he ends up hurting you, I will do exactly what you just did yesterday and barge into the palace to give him a piece of my mind. Royal blood be damned."

Mitch's eyes got progressively more misty as she continued and he sniffled as she squeezed his hands. "Thank you, Kirstie." She leaned over the table to embrace him, and he clung on as the sniffles continued.

When he was satisfied that his sudden wave of sappiness was under control and he leaned back, Kirstie smirked at him gently. "I do demand to be given all of the details, though."

Mitch chuckled. "Like I could possibly keep secrets from you. Now shush. If you're not even gonna bring snacks then you gotta be quiet and watch Spongebob."

Kirstie scooted from her delicate perch on the edge of the chair from their hug over to Mitch's side on the couch as they cuddled up under a blanket to watch Squidward slowly lose his mind.