Something about Avi shifted, as if compassion overrode his gut wrenching misery upon exposure to Mitch’s own pitiful state. Not that Mitch would ever admit to as much, but in a way he banked on that. His gaze went from Mitch’s face to the brownie, and after a little contemplation, he leaned forward and bit into it.
“Did you make these?” Avi asked after he swallowed, and Mitch handed over the rest to him.
“Yeah,” Mitch answered, then stared at the wall above Avi’s desk while he ate. He settled on the photographs that were pinned to the corkboard, and wondered what the people in them were like, what they’d done to make Avi smile so brilliantly. A jealous twinge made him wish that he was worthy of being up there as well, but his own humility trampled out that sentiment.