Michael scanned the living room frantically. Then he noticed a door, slightly ajar, that led to the backyard.

He hurried outside and found Micky sitting in the middle of a garden, looking at a bed of dying flowers.

"Mick?" he asked.

"Mom loves flowers," Micky said quietly, without looking at Mike. "But she stopped planting them after Dad died. I hate that. I hate that she's not happy."

"Mick..." Michael knelt down beside the human boy and gently grasped his shoulder. "She'd be even less happy if you hurt yourself."

Micky sniffled, and Michael realized he'd started crying. His heart broke and he wrapped Micky in a full hug.

"Don't cry. Please don't cry. Tell me what's wrong."

Suddenly, Micky stiffened. He wiped his eyes and sat up straighter, pushing Michael away.

"Why would you care? You've only known me a day, man."

"That doesn't mean I can't—"

"You say we're friends, but I know you're lying. I've never had a friend. Never."

Michael bit his lip. He tried again. "Mick—"

"Just leave."