"Why... Why'd you bring me here?" Micky asked as he hesitantly followed Mike inside.

Mike shrugged. "Felt like it."

Micky followed Mike into the kitchen like a lost puppy. He watched Mike go over to refrigerator and grab a bottle of beer.

"Want one?" He looked over his shoulder.

"Uh...n-no thanks," Micky muttered. Mike shrugged and slammed the refrigerator door shut before making his way down the hall. Micky followed him wordlessly into a bedroom.

"Uh, Mike...I think I wanna go home now..."

Micky was ignored. He watched, wide-eyed, as Mike set down his bottle of beer and pulled his shirt up over his head. He let it fall to the floor before picking up the bottle again, popping off the lid, and taking a long swig.

"Mike..." Micky was worried. What if Mike got too drunk to take him home?

Mike swallowed and raised an eyebrow at Micky. "Relax, kid. You're jumpy as hell."

"Mike, I really wanna go ho—"

"Are you sure you don't want a beer? It'd do you some good, loosen you up a li'le."

Micky gulped. "I'm sure."

"Have you ever even had beer before, kid?" Mike asked.

Micky fell silent. His silence was met with Mike's laughter.

"Oh shit, seriously? No wonder you're so tense! C'mon man, try a little bit."

"I don't want to," Micky whispered.

"C'mon! Not even just a sip?" Mike held the bottle out to Micky.

"No thank you."

"Just try a little bit—"

"I said I don't WANT TO, okay?!" Micky screamed, startling both himself and Mike.

Mike's eyes widened and he held his hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay, fine. It was just a question, man. Take it easy."

Micky looked down and blinked away hot tears.

"I just wanna go home."