Micky woke up a few hours later, curled in a ball underneath his own sheets. He yawned, still tired, and tugged a blanket tighter around his shoulders.

"Micky? Are you awake?"

Micky looked up at the sound of Michael's voice, poking his head out from underneath the sheets. Michael was sitting in an armchair on the other side of the room and smiled softly.

"Mike? What're you doing all the way over there?"

"I..." Michael rose slowly. "I wasn't sure if you wanted me to lie with you or not."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because...you know." Michael lowered his eyes to the ground.

Micky slowly sat up. As he propped himself against the headboard, he gasped lightly.

He wasn't in his bedroom.

"Why are we at your house?" he asked, looking up at Michael.

Michael sighed. "I wasn't sure if you'd want to go home after...Davy."

Micky caught on then and his body stiffened. He lowered his eyes and could feel the tears build up, but didn't say anything. Michael came forward slowly and gently caressed Micky's cheek with his thumb.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered.

Micky lifted his tear-filled eyes to meet Michael's gaze. Michael knelt on one knee and leaned forward, gently pressing his lips to Micky's.

"Don't go," Micky choked when they pulled away.

"I'm not goin' anywhere. I—" He stopped.

"You what?"

A long pause. Then, "I...would never leave you."

Micky bit his lip. He grabbed Michael's hand.

"Lie with me," he begged.

Michael hesitated only a moment. Then he nodded and climbed onto the bed, crawling underneath the covers and pulling the blankets over both of them. He wrapped his arms around Micky's waist, resting his hands flat against Micky's stomach. Then Micky shifted, rolling on his side so they were facing each other. He gazed at Michael for a moment before resting his forehead against Michael's chest.

"Thank you."