Micky frowned and watched him go, slamming the door behind him. He let out a sigh and put on a smile, turning to face the other Mike, who was only staring at the door with a look of horror on his face.

"It'll be alright, Mike 1," he said quietly, sitting on the other bed and looking at him. "Don't mind him, he's just been...well, you know."

Michael let out a sigh and laid down, covering his eyes with a hand.

"Can you not call me that?" He muttered under his breath, rolling onto his side to face the other way. "It feels…weird."

Micky let out a sigh but nodded.

"Okay," he said, keeping his focus on the man in the bed. "Well…we'll probably have to come up with a nickname or something for you so there's no confusion."

Michael sighed but nodded absentmindedly. He barely even heard Micky at that moment, the whole time he was just thinking about the cruel look in Mike's eye.

"Did I hurt him?" He asked sadly, genuinely scared that he had done something wrong. Micky let out a sigh and sat beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"It's fine," he said with a smile. It felt odd and he didn't know if it was weird for him to be comforting him. Micky was essentially talking to a stranger, but it felt like he was actually talking to his best friend right then. Maybe because, technically, he was. They were two of the same.

"He's just been an ass lately," Micky sighed, continuing to rub his shoulder. "Don't let him get to you."

I wish I could, Michael thought to himself, not minding as Micky comforted him. He had gone across the country, blown his entire savings account on it, and it would've been all for nothing if he simply let his other half be.

"Is he normally like that?" He asked in a whisper, focusing on a point on the wall as he held tighter onto the pillow. The pain and nausea had faded away but now he was simply anxious.

"No," Micky admitted. "Honestly, I've known him for years and I've never seen him act like that before."

"So he does have an aversion to me…" Michael muttered, now choosing to hide his face in the pillow.

"He-I-well, no, but-" Micky stammered, unable to put his thoughts together. He knew it had to be true, even if he didn't want to tell him that.

"Well, I can talk to him if you'd like me to," he suggested, trying to help. Michael sighed and shrugged, he wanted to talk with Mike himself. That's why he booked the flight in the first place but Mike wouldn't talk to him.

He let out another sigh as he rolled over, looking up at him.

"I guess…" he said quietly. Micky smiled slightly and nodded.

"Okay," he said, pulling his hand away. "I'll talk to him for ya."

Michael nodded, sitting up, looking up at the face in front of him.

"Thank you…" he started, a frown growing on his face when he realized he didn't recognize him. "Sorry, I don't think we've ever met…"

Micky frowned but nodded, now remembering that he wasn't actually seeing his best friend. He was still just looking at a stranger.

"I'm Micky," he said, holding out his hand for him to shake. Michael nodded and took it.

"Robert Michael," he said, shaking it.

"I know," Micky joked, but Michael didn't find the humor in it.

"It's nice to meet you," he said quietly. "Sorry for being such a burden…"

"Mike, man, you're not a burden," Micky said almost instantly. "You're sick, it's fine. Don't worry about it."

"I upset your friend," Michael shrugged. "Why shouldn't I worry?"

Micky looked at him for a moment before letting out a sigh, shaking his head as he jumped up onto his feet.

"You know what?" He asked no one in particular. "I'm going to talk to him right now."

Before Michael had the chance to even respond, Micky was already out the door, making his way down the stairs. Without thinking twice about it, he chose to follow him, stopping himself halfway when a wave of vertigo came over him.

Mike was in the kitchen and right at the same time the other did, he felt it too. He rubbed his forehead as he leaned on the counter to keep standing.

"You alright?" Peter asked, going to his side. Mike hummed and nodded, closing his eyes.

"Yeah," he sighed. "I'm fine."

"You sure?" Micky asked and that was when Mike looked up, noticing the two of them standing there. His face changed almost instantly when he saw his other half, sitting down on the stairs as he tried to ease nausea of his own.

Mike scowled at him and stumbled into the living room. After he was far enough away, both seemed to get better, almost instantly.

"Mike," Micky said, racing down the rest of the stairs and following behind him closely.

"I'm fine," Mike insisted. "I swear I am."

"Okay, well, why are you acting so rude then?" Micky asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "What's going on?"

Mike let out a heavy sigh as he went over to his guitar, keeping his head down as he strapped it around his back. The whole time Michael watched from his place on the stairs and Davy and Peter from the kitchen. None of them could speak so they only watched awkwardly as the situation unfolded.

"Everything is fine," he said. "Will you just drop it?"

"If everything's fine, why can't you talk to us?"

Mike didn't answer that as he instead began playing.

"Mike," Micky said sternly, becoming frustrated with him. "What is going on?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters, it's upsetting you and it's upsetting all of us."

Mike groaned, glaring up at Micky.

"What would you do if you met your double?"

"I have," Micky shrugged. "So's Davy. And neither of us acted like shit to our—"

"That's because you still got to be your own person," he snapped. "I don't get that."

"What?" Micky asked in a softer tone, confused by the response. Mike sighed and took his guitar off, setting it down on its stand. After a moment of hesitation, he made his way over to the bookshelves, practically everything owned by all four of them were on those shelves, in no particular order or arrangement. He didn't even entirely know what he was doing but he just had to get it out. Finally, he found what he was looking for and placed the copy of his father's essay on the coffee table before storming out onto the patio.