To say Mitch was socially awkward would be an understatement. They weren’t the kind of person to make friends easily, and the close ones they did have they could count on their fingers- in fact, they usually weren’t even drawn to new people, but this guitarist, Holden from Pencey Prep, the band that had been most helpful to them, was fascinating, and [i]cute.[/i] The tattoos Mitch could see on his neck and covering his arms, his piercings (the lip ring in particular), his features alone- Mitch easily had their head turned by a very energetic personality contained by a short stature and covered in various tattoos, each one fascinating. It wasn’t that they were easy by any means; Holden just had an appearance befitting to their aesthetic, a jawline Mitch was jealous of, and the kind of features that captivated them so much they wished they had brought a drawing pad with them just so they could sketch him, so they wouldn’t forget- Though something told them that Holden wouldn’t give them the chance to forget.

The two of them quite easily became comfortable (or as comfortable as Mitch could be with a relative stranger), and Mitch even allowed him to buy them a drink that they were definitely going to not touch at all. It wasn’t that they [i]couldn’t[/i], or didn’t [i]want[/i] to drink it, it was just that Mitch was genuinely thirsty for the only thing that provided them sustenance, and consuming anything else would make that worse. They sort of just tapped their fingers against the can, listening to Holden talk, and fuck, Holden could [i]talk.[/i] Mitch was amused, but they didn’t really say anything,just pushed some hair back out of their red-shadowed eyes and grinned, wicked sharp canines glinting again. Mitch was a very good listener- or could be, when they felt like it. [i]Oh, I know. Who spells it with a single ‘L’? I’ll remember.[/i] Not doubting it for a second, Mitch shrugged in response to the question because, although nobody had actually spelled their full name like that in the last, they wouldn’t put it past some people. 

Mitch enjoyed talking to Holden about random shit, but the artist in them desperately wanted to know about the vast array of tattoos painted on his skin, like he was a canvas, running out of room. Mitch was instantly romanticising it to all heaven and hell and they wanted to know when and why Holden got each and every one. Holden seemed just as enthusiastic, as he should be- so he’d probably be willing. [i]Okay, uh, when I joined Pencey, and I was in front of the biggest crowd I’d ever been, I realised I didn’t wanna get a real job.[/i] So cliché- Mitch loved it, noticing with a small, barely hidden smile that the scorpion’s number of legs wasn’t even right. That somehow made it better. [b]”Punk,”[/b] They commented, eyes still roaming wherever Holden’s skin was bare. [i]Like, I don't wanna sit in a fuckin' cubicle in a tie and slacks or whatever, ever. 'Cause this is what I'll always want to do. So I'm gonna make it impossible to get hired, naturally.[/i] Mitch nodded- because they understood. Not like they could get a real job anyway without scaring the shit out of people. 

[i]But I'm broke, so I go to my guy and tell him 'I've got thirty-four bucks, give me whatever as high up as you can,' and I come out with this. [/i]Not bad for thirty-four bucks, Mitch thought, still critiquing the scorpion, stinger brandished like it was fending off any chance at a ‘real job’ as Holden had so eloquently put it. Mitch was pretty sure they had found their new muse- Holden, the wild guitarist of a punk rock band, with boundless energy, a surplus of tattoos everywhere skin was exposed and everywhere it wasn’t, various piercings and features Mitch had now mentally taken a picture of so they could sketch him out later. It wasn’t often they were so intruiged with random strangers they met at bars. [i]Didn’t get one on my face ‘cause I’m too dreamy.[/i] Not bothering to dodge around the clear mutual attraction here (that Holden had addressed in the first five minutes of them actually talking for the first time), they nodded in agreement, trying not to smile as Holden spread his arms out just slightly as if to present himself. [b]”I’m glad. Tattoos are cool, but you’re too pretty to cover any of your face with them,”[/b] They commented, before leaning in, interested, as Holden started to present some of his others.

Again, Mitch was fascinated by the sheer space that Holden’s ink took up of his body, and found that they had to remind themself that reaching out and tracing the first one their fingers rested on was not considered wholly appropriate for near-strangers in public. That said, something told them that Holden was the kind of guy who really wouldn’t give a shit- there was a natural self-confidence around him that Mitch admired, however vaguely obnoxious it was. The artist in them noticed the kind of style Holden liked and was already formulating new designs to maximise the use of whatever empty expanses of skin were left. [b]”Show me the rest sometime,”[/b] They said in a tone as innocent as possible, looking up to meet Holden’s eyes when he dropped his shirt back down. [i]I could have guessed, actually. Not many people show up here with such a, uh, tangible aesthetic for their group.[/i] Mitch wasn’t sure whether that was a compliment or not, and decided they didn’t particularly care either way. [b]”You’ve cut me a lot of slack, there. Truth is, my aesthetic is sort of predetermined...”[/b] Baring their teeth again, they displayed their fangs long enough for Holden to look properly. [b]”They’re real. I’m a vampire.”[/b]

Quite an odd thing to drop into casual conversation, true, but Mitch had to mention it somewhere just in case Holden had a phobia or something. Instead of dwelling on that, they requested a closer look at Holden’s calloused, inked hands, and the guitarist immediately complied. Deciding that these ones were their favourite, they tentatively traced over the letters they could discern from the crowded ink. [i]Yeah! These are the ones that make people think I'm gonna steal from their store.[/i] Mitch laughed. [b]”You’re saying you’ve never done something questionable that would warrant such suspicions? You must be pretty recognisable.”[/b] [i]My birthday's Halloween, that's why I've got that. And, uh, it looks like 'rwob okom...' but it's 'bookworm,' when you read it right.[/i] Mitch nodded, letting go of Holden’s hand and letting him lace his fingers and display how his tattoos worked. 

[i]You’re pretty chill. Usually people don’t care much.[/i] Finding themself staring at that damn lip ring again, Mitch just shrugged, though still managed to look intruiged by all of Holden’s ink. They found themselves wanting to learn it, map it out, he able to trace it from memory. Mitch wondered if that conversational path was too forward, even for a guy like this, who looked like he’d be phased by nothing. [b]”Tattoos, piercings, all that shit? Hot as fuck.”[/b]