Micky sighed. After his father died, he took up a job at a diner just to help his mother pay the bills. He's been on the job for a week and he already hated it. His boss had no patience for him, and he felt ridiculous in the pastel colored uniform he was forced to wear.

The little bell above the door rang, announcing someone's arrival. Micky looked up from the table he was cleaning, and he gasped.

Michael.

It was Michael.

But Micky hadn't seen him since before George died.

Micky ducked his head down and quickly wiped down the table, hoping Michael wouldn't notice him. But his hopes were quickly dashed as he heard Mike's heavy boots on the wooden floor. He let out a startled gasp as he felt a sharp slap on the ass, and he jumped ten feet in the air.

What the hell was that?!

"Well, well, well," Michael's low southern drawl filled Micky's ears, causing Micky to bite his lip, "how've you been, Mick?"