Micky froze as he stepped into the bedroom. He almost didn't recognize what he had seen. The bright-colored walls suddenly seemed so dark and dull. Everything in the forever messy room was nice and neat. Nothing was out of place or in the way. While Micky's half of the room was simply cleaned up, Mike's side was a different story. It had been completely stripped bare of everything, taking away whatever life and comfort it still had left. In its place were now only stacks of cardboard boxes.

A wave of sadness came over him as he set his bag down and walked in. He remembered going through everything with Davy and Peter, who organized it all within the boxes. He knew what it meant to see them again, but didn't want to believe it. It had been five months of waiting (two since they packed his things), but that didn't mean it was time to give up hope.

It was then that he noticed the two distinct stacks and their labels. Each box was marked either "KEEP" or "GIVE AWAY" and placed in the corresponding stack. He frowned and grabbed a "GIVE AWAY" box and sat down on Mike's stripped bed. He couldn't bring himself to open it and only stared down at it.

"Oh, hi, Micky," a quiet voice came from the doorway. He looked up and saw Davy standing there. Davy smiled at him and turned on the lights. Somehow, the room looked even darker with the lights on. Davy hesitantly stepped in and sat beside Micky, who didn't take his eyes off the box in his lap.

Davy sighed and put his hand on Micky's shoulder, unsure of what he was supposed to say.

"What're you giving away…?" Micky asked quietly, terrified of what might have been inside.

"Mostly clothes," Davy smiled slightly. "A few books, some pairs of shoes, that sorta stuff. Nothing worth keeping."

Micky nodded, taking a shaky breath. He wanted to correct him and argue that it was all worth keeping. These were Mike's things, after all, not theirs. They couldn't just give them away. What would happen when he came home and found all his stuff was sold?

"I'm sorry," Davy muttered. "We should've waited for you before we…"

"It's fine," Micky sighed, closing his eyes.

"There's uh…a few other things we haven't gone through yet, so if you could…?"

"Sure," Micky said sarcastically, standing up, pulling away from Davy's grip.

"What?" Davy frowned, crossing his arms over his chest.

"It's just that…you know, Mike's not gonna like us selling away his stuff."

"Micky…" Davy said softly. It had been months. They both knew what had happened, but neither wanted to say it. Saying it made it true.

"I mean, how would you feel if you came home and all your stuff was gone or put away?"

"Micky…"

"They never said he was dead, Davy," Micky said sternly. "They only said…"

"I know what they said," Davy looked down sadly. "But I also know it was almost 6 months ago, and we've heard nothing since."

"You never know! He could still come in through that door at any moment and–!"

"Micky!" Davy interrupted, putting his hands on his shoulders. It was then that Micky realized that he was crying.

After a moment, he sighed and looked down.

"I'm sorry…" he muttered to no one in particular. Davy gave a half-smile and nodded.

"You're okay, Micky."

Micky took a deep breath before he turned back to face Davy.

"Which ones do I need to look at?"

Davy pointed to the corner of the room where a small cardboard pyramid was built with all of Mike's unsorted things.

"I'll look at 'em later," Micky nodded and Davy smiled.

"If you need any help, just ask for it."

"Thanks," Micky sighed, looking down at the ground. Davy nodded and patted Micky on the shoulder before heading downstairs, leaving the door open.

Micky sighed. He'd have to go through the boxes eventually. It felt more surreal than anything else. Mike wouldn't like any of them going through his stuff, so why should he? Why should he do it if he knew it was only going to piss off Mike when he got home?

He sighed and shook his head, having to mentally remind himself. By the way things were going, it was more likely for him not to be coming home anytime soon.

As Micky made his way to the stack, he tripped over something and slammed into the ground.

"Hey!" He yelped, looking for the culprit. "That hurt!"

But there was no answer. He frowned and turned around, seeing it was only one of the boxes that caused him to fall. He sighed and picked it up, surprised at how heavy it felt in his arms. Most of them were pretty light which caused Micky to stop and ponder about why this one seemed so heavy. He turned it around, searching to see if it had a label since it wasn't in any stack. He froze when he finally saw it.

It was different. The box was bigger than the others and not in any of the designated categories. But also its label was different. Unlike the others, the ink looked faded with age and instead of Davy's neat block lettering, the writing was small and messy, barely legible.

On the side of the box, there was a single word: "Junk."

"Mike," he gasped, sitting down and resting it in his lap, mentally debating whether or not he should open it.