I'm not a big fan of "songfics" but I added some songs in for the sake of old man friendship fluff. Go to youtube if you'd like and enter these, theyre in order. Everyone needs more songs for their Trikey Playlist!

/watch?v=t5vFOpVGjVc

and

/watch?v=C1AHec7sfZ8

Two months went passed. Michael convinced his wife he started a more legitimate job through some connection. It worked, string along enough vague details and it sounds like the truth. He was really going around and searching. Sometimes for Trevor. Sometimes for new suits. Sometimes for anywhere he could be for the day, just so he wasn't home or in the car for hours and hours and goddamn it stop fucking calling my phone.

He wondered lazily about Lester and his new life. Figured Lester could maybe find Trevor real quick, but he didn't want to ask. Lester was still enjoying the post heist euphoria, doing whatever conspiracy theorists do in their spare time. Besides, Lester and Trevor never really mixed.

He wrinkled his nose at a bad smell from somewhere in the diner. He was sleepy and really didn't need to smell random people's funk. He wasn't even hungry, just eating to fill time. He got up to leave, forgetting to tip.

"Guess I'll take it then," As someone reached over to pick up the rest of Michael's omelet.
"T-Trevor!"
"Wussup man." He said, shoveling food into his mouth and taking a seat. Michael sat down to, trying to keep his voice down.

"T where the fuck have you been?!" He wanted to be pissed off but he was too relieved.

"Oh, you know, 'round. Hey, you! Coffee, vanilla ice cream, chop chop!"

"Where the hell did you go that day? When I saw you on the bike?!"

" A. Round." he said, exaggerating the movement of his mouth. His lips were dry and cracked. His clothes had gotten dirty and he seemed thinner.

"You been eating right, Mikey?" Trevor asked. "You look less… you know."

"No. No T. I haven't." He said angrily, still trying to watch his volume. "I've been busting my ass looking for you. Why the hell are you so skinny?"

"Oh Mikey," He said with his mouth full. "Don't hate me because I'm beautiful."

"I'll pop your eyes out with that fork if i don't get some goddamn answers!"

"I've been a good boy. Just checking up on some business at the Shores." He pretended to act bashful and batted his eyelashes as he added "And I've been going to therapy."

The woman came out with Trevor's order, and he smiled widely at the silence Michael had to force silence until she left. Michael didn't notice he had stopped breathing while holding in his temper.

He took a deep inhale and hissed it all out with "Therapy?"

Trevor swirled the fork above the food, and rested his head on his hand. "Just need someone to talk to sometimes."

"So why don't you talk to me instead of hiding in the sand doing god knows what?! Why not crash at Franklin's or, or, or fucking something?!"

Trevor looked for something in Michael's face before just saying "Just. Need someone. To talk to. Not you. Sometimes."

Michael sat back. Not him?

He tried to rationalize that this is why he took him to a shrink in the first place, but damn if that didn't sting. He looked at his phone on the table, ashamed. His voicemail had been full for a week. He shook his head a little. He didn't want to listen to them.
"Where you going after this, T?" He still looked at the phone. Trevor shrugged. "Wherever."

"Amanda will be out for the weekend. Looking at places to stay. Jimmy is with his best idiot for the week and Tracey is still with her roommate." He watched Trevor gulp down the coffee. "Maybe you could stay with me those days?"

"Uh. Y-yeah, maybe."

"Trevor, stop flying off. I know you're using again, just…ah, just stay with me for a while. You don't know how worried you got me."

"Look. Im flattered. Really." Trevor got up and burped. "but I got things to work through, ya know? Really making the most of this meee time. See, thats the thing. It not you, it's meee. So, if I can, I'll try to visit you then. If not, you'll see me soon. Promise, Mikey- but hey! Hey." He winked. "Stay beautiful." And he left.

Michael squinted at the door as if trying to read something small written across it.

Was I just fucking stood up?

—
Franklin was right. Of course he was right. Franklin was sharp. Chip off the old block. Michael loved Jimmy, but he had to admit, Franklin was a breath of fresh air. Willing to listen, a quick thinker, eager to get things done. Patient but firm. In retrospect, maybe he shouldn't have been surprised that Franklin had started a small dog training group. Chop was his now, and with so much spare time, he needed to find something to do. Franklin was a good kid. Michael smiled as he laid in the living room on his couch.

But when the hell did he get to be such a wise ass? Who was he kidding. Amanda and the kids were greedy. Tracey was going to find some way to ruin her life, either embarrass herself or marry some idiot. Jimmy meant well but who sells a fucking boat? Amanda was on her way out though and that was a relief. He laid there on his couch in his big empty house with an old movie playing on the TV. His usual loneliness tried to creep up but it was muted by other things. He was in his forties. But only his forties. And its not like women didn't like him. Shit, they loved him. He smiled for a second, realizing that he could date all he wanted, real dates, no strippers. Meet real people and relax. Maybe, maybe, settle down with someone nice. Maybe not fall in love, but just find someone enjoyable.

Not from here. No. It was 12:30 pm and he was sprawled out waiting for some guy to call. He breathed through his nose and sighed. Was it some cosmic joke for how he treated Amanda? No. No, this was just Trevor. Trevor who has just lost his shitty, shitty, shitty, abusive, manipulative mother. Trevor who had to find a way to function without her-

No. Trevor who had to get used to being free. Trevor fought back. Trevor made a choice. Michael smiled, wide. My god, he was so proud of Trevor. Trevor Phillips was going to therapy. Trevor was actually trying to cope, yeah, with some meth and Michael hated that, but he was going to therapy. The thought made him laugh as he laid there. People thought therapy was for crazy people but it was the most normal thing Trevor had done in years.

Loud music startled Michael, causing him to fall off the couch. (Is he really going out with him? Well there she is, lets ask her.) It was coming from his room. He grabbed a gun he had hidden under the couch, just to be safe, and made his way upstairs. (Betty is that Jimmy's ring your wearing? Mm hmm.) He went quietly up the stairs, stepping carefully. (Gee it must be great riding with him. Is he picking you up after school today? mm-mm…)
(By the way, where'd you meet him?)

Michael swung his slightly open bedroom door all the way. A figure facing away from him started swaying, exaggeratedly.
"I MET HIM AT THE CANDY STOO-ORE." the person crooned loudly and he went to face Michael. "He turned around and smiled at me- you get the picture?"

Michael's reaction was priceless as Trevor, in one of Amanda's many, never used dresses, did his best model walk over. (Yes we see).

"That's when I fell for," Trevor turned and mooned Michael, flipping up the skirt of the dress. "THE LEADER OF THE PACK." He shook his butt with each syllable.

Michael wanted to strangle him. Wondering how he climbed so silently up the side of his house to break in, he lowered the gun, muttering something about heart attacks, and lowered the music. He went downstairs to get some coffee going. Trevor put the volume back up and kept crooning. By the sound of things being knocked over and breaking, he knew Trevor was dancing his way down to join him.

"HE STOOD THERE AND ASKED ME WHY-YY," Trevor was loud but Michael was singing, much more pleasantly, to the coffee pot. "But all I could do was cry. I'm sorry I hurt you, The Leader of the Pack."

The song continued on, about a Grease 2 style romance, as Trevor Cha-cha-slided into the kitchen. The song was old, from 1964 and the stock motorcycle sounds added to the campy feeling, but they kept singing about their imaginary sad relationship and the predictable motorcycle accident as Trevor started the eggs.
"I felt so helpless, what could I dooo? Remembering all the things we've been through," With pretend pained expressions, the put their faces close. "In school they both stop and stare. I can't hide my tears, but I don't care!"
Trevor thrust his imaginary bust at Michael while the both ended in there deepest, manliest voices. "I'll never forget you, The Leader of the Pack!"
They laughed hard as the fake motorcycle sounds and screeching tired implied the poor teenager veered off into some terrible, life ending accident.
Trevor kept swaying and singing to whatever played next as he fucked up and popped the yolks on what were supposed to be sunny side up eggs. Before he started to assault the frying pain and mess up the kitchen, Michael bumped him out of the way, forked the eggs onto his own plate, and started fresh eggs for Trevor. Trevor took over the coffee, pulling out strawberry ice-cream from the freezer. He pointed at it and shook his head disappointed while he shimmied and bopped around. Michael decided he'd buy some food to stash for Trevor later. Trevor scooped the ice-cream right into the pot, splashed in some whole milk, replacing the lyrics in this current song with "This is why you're faaat", and spooned in some sugar.

The finally plopped down on the couch. Frank Sinatra was playing now, "I've got you under my skin". The song sang about how ingrained some person was in Sinatra, how despite the disbelief they could or should stay around each other, he'd try simply out of the joy of it. Soon Michael was singing alone, sitting but slouching over his food, as Trevor lay back, legs splayed open, and just listened.

He turned to look at Trevor and continued, smiling. "I'd sacrifice anything, come what might, for the sake of having you near. In spite of a warning voice that comes in the night (he gestured towards the upstairs, indicating this was about Amanda) And repeats, how it yells in my ear! 'Don't you know, little fool, you never can win. Why not use your mentality? Step up, Wake up to reality.' But each time I do, just the thought of you makes me stop just before I begin. Cause I got you… under my skin."

Trevor broke his zoned out expression and crooned back "Yes I got you…" He roughly lifted his skirt and grabbed the entirety of his cock and balls. "Under my saaaack."

Michael rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to not have to look at his commando buddy. "Looking lovely in that… that crap, T. I'm glad you're here."
Trevor pressed the heel of his pump into Michael's cheek. "You're welcome."
Michael pushed the heel away calmly before jumping a bit and slamming the foot onto the couch. "WHY are you wearing heels?!"

"They're in great condition, they were at this discount store and my size isn't east to find-"

Michael realized it wasn't one of Amanda's dresses, Trevor couldn't fit into those, except maybe at his thinnest after a harsh drug binge.

"Did you go out and buy a dress?"

"A few." It wasn't that Trevor hadn't even worn dresses, but he usually just stole it from people he robbed or killed or from skanks who forgot them at his place.

"You climbed my house in that?"

"No!" Trevor sat up. "And ruin these babies? I'd break my ankles trying. My shit's upstairs. I changed after I got in."

"So elegant, T."

"What? No ladies at home. Not Mandy or Trace or Jimbo. I mean lord knows you don't have much testosterone in ya anyway, but I can't just let it fizzle out."

"Is that what you're doing' these days, shooting up estrogen?"

"Might as well, I'm bored as all crap, not shooting' up any people n all."

"Why?" Michael asked. "We have fun now. Stop trying to touch the stove while it's hot. We're investors now. Don't get your hands dirty for nothing, keep those french tips nice for me."

Trevor extended his hand to admire the dirt under his nails, or at least the ones that he didn't chew yet. "You really think I should get a manicure?"

"Get some fake nails so long you couldn't possible do anything bad."

Trevor wiggled his hips suggestively. "Nothing? C'mon man, I'd pop my balls trying to jerk off if I had that."

Michael tried to say it straight but started laughing mid sentence. "Then while it heals you could talk about trying new hobbies with your therapist."

"Goodman is a good, good man." he pointed a warning finger at Michael. "He donates to animal shelters. He's fostering a mess of small kittens, you should see 'em. Their mom is gorgeous."

Michael took another sip of coffee right out of the pot. "…So… he's really helping you? I mean, thats good."

"It's something to do." Trevor said. Michael messed with an app on the phone that lowered the music volume from upstairs somehow. Trevor bit back an insult about fancy rich people gadgets and turned on the tv. Michael changed the channel from his phone and Trevor looked a little disgusted. "Lazy. Remote's right here."

"...Anything, ah, anything to hear about? I know you don't wanna tell me much right now but… what's the progress?" Michael shrugged. Didn't hurt to ask.

"Sure, sure… we uh, we worked through, you know, Mrs. Madrazo."

"R-Really? Was, um…how'd that go?"

"She… chumped me, Mikey."

"What?" Michael had figured she was just crazy. Stockholm Syndrome and all that.

"She knew what she was doing the whole time. Telling me I was good and she appreciated that, right off the bat. She baited me, and it was weak as shit but I took it." He took a swig from the coffee pot. "She was so nice to me and so caring and washed my clothes. She was like a, like a, like-like-like a," He paused, and had another strange shiver.

"Like a real girlfriend," Michael said, grabbing his shoulder, trying to stop whatever mental switch was trying to occur. "Like a girlfriend right?"

"Yeah, yeah, like… like that."

"Go on. Yeah, you worked through it, right? You worked though, thats great! Real great, T."

"She lied to me. You know how I deal with backstabbers."

"Aw, T. No, no, you didn't!"

"No, I didn't." Trevor wiggled a foot out of his shoe. "I'm tired of that right now. I wanted to get back at her and-" Trevor's arms were tensed and his eyes went wild. "wanted to just UGH just! just-!"

"Talk?" Michael said. Keep Trevor from thinking about violence. Shit, maybe asking was a bad idea.

"Yeah, talk," He said through his clenched teeth. He exhaled and his shoulders dropped. "So… we… talked. I didn't want to go see her. I was so happy and… and, and SHE FUCK-" He forced himself to breath deep. "She used that as shield to keep herself from being chopped into little tiny pulpy pieces!"

Michael placed a hand on Trevor's knee, the other still on his shoulder. "T, look me in the face. Look. T. That's amazing, what you did."

Trevor looked confused.

"What you didn't do, rather. You've never, ever, changed course like that!"

"I did it because she lied to me!"

"No, not that! You didn't go kill her. You didn't blow up her car or anything! You made a choice for yourself, for your own good, that didn't get you in trouble!"

Trevor looked deep into Michael's eyes, trying to read the espression. It was like he had just seen a magic trick, or like he discovered some previously unknown piece of the world.

"…No stove."

"Right!" Michael grabbed him into a big hug. "No hot stove, no burned fingers, no burned people!"

Trevors whole body loosened, and he patted Michael's back. "Yeah, I know. But…It don't feel right. It doesn't feel level." Michael pulled back.

"T, don't worry about level. She's a mob boss wife and she's crazy and her shits gonna catch up to her, but you! You, my friend, you just leveled out!"

"I don't feel level."

"That's because no one rewarded you yet. That's usually your prize, shooting people up. But we're gonna change that. We're gonna use 'Positive Reinforcement'."
Trevor scrunched his eyebrows trying to understand. "Are you spewing Franklin's Ceasar Millan bullshit at me?"
"Name what you want." He got up excitedly and started pacing, waving his arms for emphasis. "Whatever you want, I'll but the whole damn ice cream truck, we can go on my boat, we can go paintballin'- 'member you said I couldn't beat you? Name it! Name it, name it!"

Trevor was laying back on the couch again, legs spread, following the spectacle. Eyebrows raised, he raised his eyes from something up to Michael's face. "We could start with that."
Michael looked down. "Wha, what happen-Djsh-shj-shit!" He sat in an armchair and tried to cover the happy erection he was sporting.

"T! T, I-i-i-i-"

"Michael Townley! Im flattered! All this excitement over me? Ah. Man, my hearts beating so hard I can feel it make something in between my dick and my balls pulse. Oh, brother, you are tickling my fancy." He was hunched over now, supporting his elbows on his thighs.
Michael searched in vain for what to say. "Mikey, it's all natural. But you might be on to something- Positive reinforcement indeed! Guess your balls still work after all, glad you got em back from that harpy." He threw a small pillow at Michael. "Get dressed, bring me my clothes."
Michael wordlessly went upstairs, still looking mortified.

Trevor sat back up, mumbled something about sympathy boners being contagious, and willed his own away silently. Maybe he needed to stop letting every small sign of affection from people get to him.
Just a natural, involuntary reaction.