Before they turned out the light later that night, Mike watched Micky reading in bed for several minutes before his curiosity got the better of him. "Did you get anywhere with Davy?"

Micky looked up from his book so quickly that his glasses fell off his face and skittered to the floor. "Er, what?"

"Did he tell you anything else about Mr. Zero?"

"Oh!" Micky cried. He spent an inordinate amount of time searching for his glasses before he answered. "No, he didn't want to talk about Zero."

Mike had guessed as much, but he couldn't help but wonder if Micky had learned anything useful. "What did you talk about, then?"

He scrunched up his face. "Uh, nothing that important."

The catastrophe of interrogating Davy had given Mike a new respect for his bandmates' privacy, but he was frustrated by Micky's evasiveness. Micky tended to be an open book, a sharer of indiscriminate details, and his secrecy was even more annoying because he was such a bad liar. Micky must have noticed an irritable expression on Mike's face, because finally he offered up one more piece of information.

"Really, all he did was apologize," Micky said quickly.

Apologize for what? Mike wondered as Micky blushed and tried to turn out the light before Mike could see.

The next morning at breakfast, Micky was still buzzing with nervous energy. He felt as though his own emotions were finally coming into focus, but everything else remained blurry and undefined. He tapped his fork on his plate in a neat little rhythm, letting the sound pad the jittery spaces in his mind.

"Mick," Mike said, grimacing. "Can you cut it out?"

He looked at the fork in his hand. "Sorry." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Davy hiding a smile behind an oversized mug of coffee. He let himself meet Davy's eyes for a second and Davy wiggled his eyebrows. Micky felt his heart thump so hard against his chest that he wondered if everyone could hear it.

"Maybe we should practice this morning," Peter said, looking at the bandstand. "What do you think, guys?"

Everyone nodded in agreement. Practicing was probably the most normal thing they could do after everything that had happened recently. Micky knew it was true, but he worried that his head wasn't entirely in it. He was going to make mistakes, and everyone would realize how distracted he was.

"I need to find my maracas, then," Davy said, standing up suddenly. "Micky, can you help me look for them?"

Micky stood, probably too quickly, to follow him, and he noticed Mike and Peter shooting each other quizzical looks. He paused, but any explanation for the odd behavior caught in his throat. He looked at Davy standing in his bedroom, just out of Mike and Peter's line of sight, a mock serious expression on his face, and he felt his stomach gently flip.

As soon as he was in the room, Davy shut the door on them.

"Wait—aren't you worried that-" Micky stammered.

Davy replied in an unhesitating whisper, "No," and grabbed Micky's shirt by the collar with both hands, kissing him.

"Me neither," Micky said, giving in.

Peter and Mike stared for a long time at the closed bedroom door, both unable to articulate exactly what was so confusing.

"Is Micky still angry about…?" Peter trailed off, not sure what had actually made Micky angry.

Mike frowned. "I don't think so. He told me Davy apologized last night."

"Apologized for what?" Peter asked. Mike shrugged. The two of them sat in a strange silence before their gazes both settled on a pair of maracas sitting on the bandstand, exactly where Davy always left them.

Suddenly, Mike made a face. "Do you smell smoke, Pete?"

An instant later, Mr. Zero was standing in their living room.