Chapter 22.2

Unfortunately, there wasn’t any time to get a new pair of tights before his match, but Mitch made due since with his current pair and prayed that they didn’t split somewhere embarrassing. When he met up with everyone on the morning of Krampusnacht, he commissioned Gianna for some gear. She said she’d be happy to handle it, but also pushed a few new embellishments as well. “I’m thinking gashmarks in them, like a pair of distressed leggings.” Her hand clawed at the air to demonstrate her vision. “Like, you’re a werewolf, you just transformed-“

“So…a slutty werewolf?” Mitch clarified as he sent a deposit from his phone. He thought about it for half a minute, then shrugged. “Sure.”

Her laughter filled the entire warehouse, warm and raspy and raised up all the way to the rafters, making Mitch smile despite himself. As she departed to help get the decorations set up, she promised to have Wil draft up a concept later.

Throughout the day, he more or less got the same round of questions from present company: How was he feeling? Was he excited? Nervous? Occasionally someone would offer up their own experience with returning from an injury, and he didn’t know how to politely turn down the anecdotes because he didn’t want to dwell on this any further. 

In a way, he hoped to go on as if nothing had happened, at least until the upcoming match was over. The amount of work he put in since he was cleared was his attempt to not only recover and improve, but to drown out his anxiety. For each sore rib from running the ropes, each scrape of skin from the canvas, each new bruise that bloomed and darkened on his hips and ass, he felt further removed from being too fresh for the ring.

Yet, his nerves were frazzled, despite the countless hours he put in. He worried that he’d get on the ropes and instantly forget his entire moveset. As he wound the wristtape over his palms, he warily eyed the cornerpost that he fell from in August, and a wave of apprehension washed over him. He just needed to get through this match, and then he’d be back to feeling himself, which meant that Bad Moon Rising could refocus their efforts on getting the tag titles.

When his thoughts became too loud for him to manage on his own, he sought out Jodie for a reality check. Perhaps he wasn’t ready for this at all, and he ought to give it more time. Would it kill him to wait until the next event? Wouldn’t it make more sense for him to return during Lupercalia in February, which prominently featured Bad Moon Rising anyway?

Mitch approached the office, ready to burst in, but hesitated when he peeked through the cracked door. On Jodie’s desk sat Maya, her face tilted upwards and lips puckered as Jodie stood in front of her and gingerly applied lipstick. It wasn’t an unusual sight since there was always one roster member helping another out with gear or makeup, but this was Jodie’s specific brand and specific shade, a matte wine color in liquid form that cost a small fortune. 

Not since Yasmin -Jodie’s ex who left for Chicago years ago- had she appeared so reverent; it certainly wasn’t the same nonchalance that she displayed when they discussed the situation with Basil, presumably she was being honest on that front. And Maya’s normally strong lines, her sharp mouth and piercing gaze, looked outright malleable. Mitch didn’t dare breathe as he watched; he quickly tore himself away, taking off to find Sandy or Louis, and put as much distance between himself and that private scene.  

He encountered Louis first, who was preparing for his own match against Avi. Their feud reached a fever pitch since Graveyard Smash, the last few weeks being an exchange of scathing words with Avi either interfering with or showing up at the end of Bad Moon Rising’s matches. Hopefully, both parties could move on afterwards.

This would be The Hunter’s wrestling debut in Monster Mash, as well as the biggest match of Louis’ career so far. Louis asked if Mitch had any insight on any of Avi’s weaknesses since they were roommates, but the only thing that Mitch could recall with regards to wrestling was that Avi typically didn’t play the bad guy; wrestling as a heel wasn’t going to come as naturally to him as it would for Louis. “For whatever it’s worth, I’ll be in your corner,” Mitch tried to assure him.

Louis seemed appreciative, but a flash of reservation crossed his face, so brief that Mitch couldn’t tell if he imagined it. They were close friends, brothers in arms, and the very idea of his loyalty being questioned stung, as if he’d withhold information that’d ultimately benefit the both of them. Best wishes were exchanged as Mitch took his leave, and he chewed on the inside of his cheek to dispel the stress that he’d been encumbered with.

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