Mike had woken just before the sun had even attempted to rise and crept down to the kitchen with the vain hope of finding anything to eat aside from cereal.

By the time he had poked his spoon disinterestingly into his second bowl of slightly stale Puffa Puffa Rice, the smog had taken on a warm, pink haze over the ocean. Truth be told, he wasn't paying much attention to the color of the morning sky. Instead, he frowned as his spoon stabbed idly at the crack in his bowl, wondering if he was also going to be eating dry cereal for dinner. Again.

He sighed.

The frantic padding of bare feet barreling down the stairs shook him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see a blur of loud patterned cloth, fuzzy hair, and whole heck of a lot of skin whiz past him and right out the back door with a 'whoop!'

Mike shook his head like he had an earful of water, trying to jostle his early morning haze to process if he actually saw what he thought he just saw.

After a few moments of disbelief, he ambled out onto the patio just in time to see Micky race across the beach below, shucking his poncho almost as soon as his feet touched the sand. Mike's eyes followed the offensively patterned cloth as it flapped in the wind before landing. With it out of the way, there was nothing obstructing his view of Micky. Nothing.

Oh merciful heavens.

Mike swallowed.

It couldn't have been more than a few seconds before Micky had practically belly flopped into the frigid Pacific Ocean, but it felt like an eternity. He watched the mop of curls, not much more than a brown dot from this distance, bob between the waves.

It didn't take long before Micky darted his way out of the water and had pulled his sandy poncho back over his head. Mike quickly returned to his seat at the table, hoping he hadn't been spotted.

Once Micky was inside the house, Mike realized he didn't know where to look. He glanced at Micky, but then quickly back at his bowl. Back to Micky. The way his wet hair had lost its curl. The morning stubble on his jaw. The way the poncho clung to his barely covered, damp thighs.

Look at the wall, Michael. Anywhere but that dang fool.

He finally settled on the creepy taxidermy monkey, but he felt its lifeless eyes accusing him. Accusing him of what, exactly? Since when was it a crime to stand out on the patio?

Micky deposited himself in the opposite chair with a wet squish. Mike stared down at his cereal bowl. The fading pattern of roosters square dancing was starting to become mighty interesting.

However, even more interesting was the uncharacteristic, unnerving silence coming from the other side of the table. Paranoia won over shame and Mike chanced a peek up at Micky only to find his friend simply smiling at him in return.

Micky said something, he was sure of it, but none of the words seemed to translate.

"Huh?"

"I said, 'Are you going to eat that?'"

"Oh, uh ... no - no."

Micky snatched up the bowl.

"Aw, man, are we out of milk?"

"No. I don't - Yeah, no milk."

"Geez, Mike, you're sounding as dopey as Peter this morning."

"Sorry, I'm not all that awake yet. I guess."

Micky shrugged, grabbing Mike's glass of cherry Kool-Aid and dumping it into the cereal bowl.

Mike grimaced.

He wanted to hide in his bed. No, he wanted to tell the others he was sick and contagious as he took his blankets and hid in the downstairs bedroom turned questionably painted practice room. Actually, he wanted to hide in a hole. Forever.

Whatever the case, he was stuck because he knew it was a very bad idea to stand. A pink blush crossed his cheeks as he drummed his fingers on the table. His eyes darted around the room, looking any place except Micky slurping up the soggy cereal.

The loud thump of the empty bowl landing on the table startled Mike enough to glance up again, but he just as quickly looked away from the tongue he found licking cherry stained lips. He interlaced his fingers on the table and let out a deep breath much louder than he'd intended.

Before he realized what was happening, Micky had made his way around the table and was standing too close behind him. The overwhelming smells of the ocean was making him lightheaded. Surely, it was the salt and the sand and not at all Micky's proximity. They'd been in close quarters more times than either of them could count and it had never affected him before. ... hadn't it?

The warm breath of a quiet, amused voice tickled his ear.

Mike's eyes slipped closed.

"You're cute when you're flustered."

With a giggle, Micky bounced out of the room and into the shower.