Mike groaned as he rolled out of bed, ringing in his head. He rubbed his eyes and blinked a few times before stepping out into the living room.
"Will someone please answer the door?"
Micky looked up at him, confused.
"What door?" He asked and Mike let out a heavy sigh.
"The front door, Micky. Someone's been ringing the bell for the past ten minutes."
Micky looked at Peter who shrugged. Mike frowned, noticing there were only two of them.
"Where's Davy?" He asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
"We thought he was with you," Peter shrugged and went back to playing a melody on his own guitar.
"Of course, he wasn't with me," Mike was getting frustrated now. "I was asleep!"
Micky smirked and shrugged.
"Well, we never really know with you so..."
Peter began laughing at that and Mike groaned, rolling his eyes. It was far too late to deal with this.
"Will one of you please just get the door?" He pleaded, making his way back to the bedroom. "I'm tired."
Peter stopped laughing and looked up at Mike, leaning his guitar up against the couch.
"Sure, Mike," Peter smiled, standing up. "I can get the door."
"Thank you," Mike muttered, closing the bedroom door behind him and flopping down on the bed. He wished it would all just...stop. He wouldn't have to constantly be keeping everyone in line anymore, he wouldn't have to worry. He could just sleep. Sleep. Sleep.
Slam.
Mike's eyes shot open at the sound of the door slamming. He looked around and saw Micky still on the couch, fiddling with his guitar.
"Where's...?" Mike started, looking around. Peter was nowhere in sight.
"Where's what, Michael?" Micky asked quietly.
"Peter, he was just..." Mike stepped outside and peeked out the door.
"Peter? Peter?" He called out, getting no response. He turned back around and Micky smiled at him. There was something off about the smile though, it made Mike feel even more uneasy than before.
"Hello," Micky said, grinning and Mike took a step back.
"Hi," he said, going into the kitchen, hoping he wouldn't have to deal with whatever was up with Micky. Every time Mike looked up, there he was, just smiling at him. He let out a sigh and began looking through a pile of papers on the counter. He was still half asleep but couldn't recall any papers there before. He sighed and pushed the stack, a single envelope falling down on the ground from it. Mike frowned and reached down, picking it up and examining it.
"Hey, Micky," he said, looking up at Micky's smiling face.
"What's going on, Michael?"
Mike frowned and looked down at the envelope.
"N-nothing, just...don't worry about it, Micky."
Micky looked at him, confused but then his smile grew again.
"Okay," he said after a moment. He picked up his guitar again, but only held it. He didn't even attempt to play it. Mike looked at him then back at the envelope bringing it over into the living room.
"What is that?" Micky asked, resting his head on the body of his guitar.
"Dunno," Mike said, finding himself looking back at Micky. Micky grinned but once again, there was something off about it. The eyes, the smile, it just...wasn't Micky.
Mike sighed and slipped the telegram out of the envelope, trying to be as discrete as possible while he did. He frowned at it, rereading it several times before finally bringing himself to say the word.
"Stop."
Micky stiffened and collapsed almost instantly, his ceramic face shattering once he hit the ground. Mike had tried to catch him but was ultimately unable to. He held Micky in his arms, more frightened and confused than anything else. What did it mean?
"Is anyone out there?" He called out to the room. "What's happening?"
There was no verbal response, only the appearance of a silver balloon in the kitchen.
Mike frowned and made it up onto his feet, approaching the object.
"What does it mean?" He asked it. Part of him was crazy enough to believe it would answer. He sighed and began to make his way back into the living room.
"Stop," he heard Micky's voice say, and he felt his body freeze. He tried to move his legs, but they wouldn't work, and neither did his arms. He could only move his head. Mike looked over and saw the balloon come into his vision again. Suddenly he found himself spinning and following it involuntarily out the door. Mike was watching himself from the outside, cursing his every move. He knew what was going to happen next but couldn't do a thing about it and was just forced to watch as he did.