Seven Levels Below

XVII

Mitch is pissed. He had forgotten the tulle for Kirstie's dress in the studio, and he had finally finished the design. When he had realized, he had been sitting on Kirstie's couch, tucked between Scott and a pillow. At first, he had brushed it off and figured that he would go grab it tomorrow. But then he remembered that it was Saturday, and tomorrow was Sunday. The office was closed on Sundays. Locked. No entry. On Saturdays, however, it was not locked. Rather, it wouldn't be locked until 9:00 at night. And it was just almost 8:30. So unless he wanted to lose a full day in his tight schedule for assembling the dress, he needed to leave right now and go get the damn fabric. Meaning, he had to lose more of his precious little time with Scott to race up to the third level and hope that it's still sitting at his desk and he won't have to search for it. Now, Mitch was stalking down the street up to the front doors of Modernio with five minutes until 9, fuming.

He didn't have his pocket knife with him for once, considering his quick departure, but with him looking so stony, he knew he wasn't even going to be approached.

The fabric was sitting innocently on his chair, and he was able to grab it and fly out again without being afraid of getting locked in the building. So now he had to go all the way back to his apartment to drop it off before he could go back to Kirstie's, or ruin half the surprise for both Kirstie and Scott.

Standing in the dingy little elevator at night should have scared him more, but it just made him antsy and paranoid that somehow the stench of weed and who knows what else would seep into the poor material in the two minutes that it was trapped in the elevator. When the little bell dinged and the gates slid open, Mitch forced his pace as quick as he could make it as he raced home in the dark.

He stumbles up the steps, skids around the corner of his floor, nearly trips on the ratty old carpet in the hall, fumbles his keys trying to get the door open, and finally manages to get inside and lay out the fabric so it doesn't wrinkle on him before he gets home the next morning. (Yes, they had decided to have a sleepover on the floor of Kirstie's living room. Don't judge.)

He can finally, FINALLY, make his way back to Kirstie's apartment, but when he unlocks the door with his spare key and slides inside, he notices something fairly quickly. He's alone.

Where did they go? He was gone, maybe 40 minutes, tops. It's after 9:00 on a Saturday night, nothing's open except bars and clubs. Which Mitch is confident they didn't go to, considering Scott's a tad bit famous to everyone who isn't a clueless workaholic like Mitch and Kirstie. And his face has also been almost the sole image on the news for the last week.

Whatever. They can't be gone much longer, especially if they had been trying to sneak around without Mitch knowing. He'll just interrogate them when they get back, no biggie. And in the meantime, he can help himself to an extra handful of dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets.

Kirstie had found them in her freezer and made them for dinner (and midnight snacking later) after Mitch had informed her about Scott's dinosaur bed sheets. His outburst had prompted Scott to tackle him and subject him to tickling until he was laughing so hard he was crying, gasping for air and mercy.

He just finished the last chicken nugget in his hand when the door cracked open and he could see Kirstie and Scott peering into the room, presumably looking for Mitch. He pressed himself back against the counter so they couldn't see him, and watched as they tiptoed past him and back into the living room. Why they were trying to be quiet if they thought he wasn't here, he didn't know. This was gonna be funny when they realized he was standing in the kitchen. Kirstie sank down on the chair and Scott slid back into his spot on the couch.

"I can't believe we made it back before him," Kirstie brushed a stray hair out of her face.

Scott nodded. "I can't believe you've managed to go this long without telling him."

"Telling me what?"

Twin screams echoed from Scott and Kirstie as Kirstie fell off her chair and Scott leaped up off the couch. Mitch had to brace himself on the counter, he was laughing so hard.

"That wasn't funny!" Scott screeched at him, but Mitch was too far gone to apologize for it. It very much was funny.

When he could suck air back into his lungs, Mitch wiped his eyes and tried again. "Tell me what? Are there secrets?"

Scott made grabby hands at Mitch and pulled him back over to the couch to squeeze himself back in his cozy little spot again.

"Yes there are. Kiiiiirstie." Scott pointed at her red face.

"If you say anything, I swear I will tell him."

Mitch gasped dramatically and looked between them quickly. "Two secrets? I can't believe this! The nerve on you two! Spill, please."

Scott groaned and buried his face in Mitch's shoulder, and whined, "Noooooo."

Kirstie crossed her arms. "Don't worry, he will. Soon."

"What does that mean?" Mitch complained. "That could be in five minutes or three years--" He felt the hands grab at his sides and he tensed. "No, no no no. No more tickling!" He shrieked. "No! Scott!"

But it was too late. Scott got his revenge for the scare, and Mitch almost wished they were alone in his apartment again, because Scott's face kept getting really close to Mitch's. Kirstie's hysterical giggles as she watched were pretty funny though, as Mitch flailed and kicked out at the practiced grip of the madman on top of him, sending both of them sprawling across her floor.