Micky hid himself away for the next couple of weeks. He made his excuses for the first few days but after that he decided to tell everyone - his friends who were inviting him out, and his family who also wanted to see him - that he was sick with the flu and wasn't fit to leave the house for the foreseeable future. While it got his friends off his back, Micky's mother did insist on stopping by several times to check up on her 'poorly' son. She'd even tried to persuade Micky to let her stay at his house to take care of him, but Micky politely declined.

So Micky stayed locked away in his house for two weeks straight, the thought of going outside and facing people almost making him feel physically sick. Micky spent most days in bed and most nights getting drunk. It was pathetic, he thought, but he didn't care - his heart was broken and he had no idea how to go about fixing it.

Micky's emotions were all over the place. His initial resentment towards himself for the breakdown of his and Mike's relationship started to sway. Micky went from self-loathing to self-pitying, and he was confused and conflicted going back and forth between blaming himself and blaming Mike for their relationship falling apart.

Some days Micky was filled with anger like he'd never felt before. He'd never particularly been an angry person - he had his moments, just like everyone else, but for the most part he was usually laid back about most things. Now though, he was filled with rage and bitterness, although he wasn't sure what or who the anger was aimed at. Maybe it was Mike, maybe it was himself, or maybe it was the world they lived in - he wasn't sure.

Other days though, Micky was sad. Horribly, unbearably sad. Micky was broken-hearted, and several nights he found himself sobbing into his pillow with his duvet pulled over his head. He felt pathetic and as the days went by he was starting to feel like less and less of a man. The only thing that seemed to give him a break from his misery was getting himself hideously drunk.

The only person Micky had properly spoken to over the past couple of weeks was Davy. Davy had dropped by once and called now and then to check up on his friend. They had briefly discussed the position they were in now Mike had left the group, and Davy had taken it upon himself to deal with the folk 'higher up' - Davy had told their management that he and Micky were taking a long break from the group, too, and that they would discuss the future of the band in the new year. Their contracts were coming to an end as it were, and they had no obligation to record any new material or play any shows in the future. Davy had agreed that he and Micky would discuss the future of the band once things had "calmed down." Davy had also told the Powers That Be to keep Mike's departure under wraps for the foreseeable future to avoid any awakward questions.

Micky really appreciated Davy's help in sorting out the future of their band - that's if there was even a band left to have a future. The last thing Micky wanted or needed was difficult and awkward meetings about work, and instead the curly-haired man concentrated on the only thing he could concentrate on at the moment - his misery.

Davy turned up on Micky's doorstep one afternoon. Micky dragged himself to the door to be greeted by the much-shorter man.

"Alright?" Davy asked, pushing past Micky and into the house uninvited.

Micky was a little dazed - he'd been asleep on the couch when he heard the doorbell - and followed Davy into the lounge. Davy surveyed the room when he got inside - the place looked like an absolute tip, with beer cans, empty drink bottles, dirty dishes and pizza boxes all over the place.

"Well, well, well." Davy said, picking up an empty vodka bottle before looking at Micky accusingly. "No prizes for guessing how you've been wasting your time, is there?"

Micky rubbed his eyes. "I'm not in the mood for a lecture, Davy."

"No, it don't look like you're in the mood for anything." Davy said, setting the bottle down and looking around once more. "Apart from getting wasted on your own. That's classy, that is."

"What do you want?" Micky sighed, slumping down on the couch and staring at the shorter man.

"I came to check up on you." Davy replied honestly. "This ain't really you, Micky. The whole self-pitying thing don't really suit ya."

"What do you expect?" Micky asked with a frown. "It's only been two weeks. Do you seriously expect me to be over it already?"

"No, but you're hardly helping yourself, are you?" Davy questioned. "Look at the state of ya, and look at the state of this place - even a pig would complain about the mess."

Micky rolled his eyes.

"This isn't you, man. I can't believe I'm seeing you like this." Davy said, a hint of concern in his voice.

"You don't have to see me like anything." Micky said with a bit of attitude. "You might as well go home, it's not like I asked you to come here."

"The arsehole-role don't really suit you, either." Davy replied, unfazed. "Mike might've been able to pull off the mean and moody act, but you can't."

Micky leaned back on the couch and run his fingers through his hair.

"I get that you're hurting, I really do." Davy begun. "But wallowing around the house in your own mess and self-pity isn't going to make it better, is it?"

"What else do you suggest I do then?" Micky asked, still with a hint of attitude in his voice.

"Get up off your arse, stop drinking yourself stupid, have a shave and get out of the house." Davy replied in a no-nonsense tone. "Honestly Micky you look like a hobo or something. I can't believe you're letting Mike of all people reduce you to this. I bet he's not moping around like this."

"Why don't you get off my back?" Micky snapped. "You have no idea what I'm dealing with right now."

"Maybe I don't, but what am I meant to do?" Davy replied, not in the least bit bothered by Micky's little outburst. "You can't hide away in here forever, Micky."

Micky closed his eyes and sighed. "I don't know what else to do." He responded quietly.

"I just told you what to do." Davy said firmly. "You're gonna get off your backside and start getting on with your life. I'm not saying it'll be easy, but you can at least give it a try."

"I don't want to." Micky groaned. He was aware of how childlike he sounded but he couldn't help it.

"Tough." Davy said defiantly. "Jesus Micky, just look at yourself. You've got so much you can be focussing on at the moment. You're going to be a father in a few months for Christ's sakes. When was the last time you even spoke to Samantha?"

Micky opened his mouth to speak but closed it again right away. "I'm not sure." He said shamefully after a moments silence.

"Well then I think you should give her a call." Davy said, standing strong. "Shave that beard off, have a long hot shower and tonight we're going to go out on the town - just me and you."

"I'm not in the mood, Davy." Micky moaned.

"I don't care." Davy replied, folding his arms. "I'm not going to let you mope around here on your own any longer. It'll do you good to get out of the house and take your mind off things for a while. Hey, I'll even let you get drunk, only it'll be a fun, happy sorta-drunk and not a self-pitying, self-destructive, miserable kind of drunk."

Micky closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath.

"Maybe you could even look for a woman." Davy suggested, causing Micky's eyes to snap open in horror. "Steady on, I'm not talking about finding a wife or anything." Davy stressed quickly. "But you are single now, remember. Maybe it'd do you good to get back in the saddle again. You know, the female saddle. Remind yourself of what you've been missing."

"I'm not interested in picking up women." Micky said bluntly.

"Well there's no harm in looking, is there?" Davy asked. "It'd be like the good ol' days when we used to go on the lookout for some quality birds. Not that I'll pull, mind you, because I'm taken. But that ain't gonna stop me helping you look for someone who might tickle your fancy."

Micky buried his face into his hands and groaned - Davy really didn't want to take the hint.

"Alright, maybe no women." Davy conceded. "Just two pals having a quiet one. There's no harm in that, is there?"

Micky emerged from his hands. "What if I see Mike there?" He asked, concerned.

"Yeah, because Mike was known for his crazy social life, wasn't he?" Davy asked sarcastically. "I don't think I've ever run into Mike at a bar unless he'd been invited. I really don't think you have anything to worry about there, mate."

Micky sighed. "I don't know, Davy."

"Look, I'm not asking you, I'm telling you." Davy said in a firm tone. "I'm not leaving until you do what I say."

"Fine, whatever." Micky sighed, too tied to argue. "I'll come if it gets you off my case."

Micky did end up going out with Davy that night. The two of them started off in a quiet bar before heading to a club. A couple of Micky's friends were there, as were a couple of Davy's, and as much as Micky tried to act like his normal, cheery self, it didn't really work.

Since Micky had broken up with Samantha and he and Mike had gotten together properly, Micky had obviously stopped picking up women - which hadn't gone unnoticed by his friends. Micky's excuse for his recent lack of girls had been simple; he was being more discreet out of respect for his ex-girlfriend. When news broke of Samantha's pregnancy, that was another excuse Micky told his friends; it was inappropriate for him to go around hooking up with random women when he had a baby on the way.

Over the past several months his friends had - for the most part, anyway - gotten off Micky's case about his lack of girls, although now and then they would tease and quiz Micky about his love-life and his apparent lack of sex. Micky had always laughed it off and made out he was still seeing women, only he was being more careful about it. It bothered Micky that he had to lie to his friends, but it was something he was more than willing to deal with seeing as the truth hadn't been an option.

Lying to everyone when he was happy had been hard, but now Micky was faced with masking his sadness instead. This was appearing to be a harder task than Micky had realised, and it only got worse when he found himself at a table with Davy, Davy's friends, and a couple of Micky's pals that were in the club too. Drinks were flowing and conversation soon turned to girls. Micky wanted the ground to swallow him whole as his friends started to gently tease him about his change of lifestyle. It was all in good fun, or at least that's what his friends thought; usually Micky could handle the banter, but tonight he really, really could not.

So Micky ended up making a swift exit, telling everyone that he was still recovering from the 'flu' and wasn't as better as he had thought he had been. More lies, Micky thought, but he needed to get out of there.

But Davy was left undeterred, and the Englishman was like a dog with a bone - there was no way he was giving up his mission of getting Micky out of the house. A couple of nights later, Davy once again ended up dragging Micky out to a club in town.

Micky's mood for the night was that of bitterness; the sadness he'd been feeling was replaced with anger and resentment towards his Texan ex-partner. Micky actually didn't take a huge amount of persuasion to agree to another night out, and he was determined to at least try to have a good time in spite of everything he was going through.

The night all became a bit of a blur for Micky, though. Drinks had been flowing and Davy had pointed out a blonde girl who seemed desperate to catch Micky's attention. Micky wasn't sure how it happened, but suddenly he'd found himself in the back of a cab, the blonde girl all over him as they were driven back to her house.

And then they were in the bedroom kissing, and Micky suddenly started to feel sober. Everything from meeting the girl, leaving the club and arriving at her house had been a total blur - Micky actually had no idea what had happened or how they got to where they were now. Micky was drunk and had smoked a couple of joints earlier on, but now his mind seemed to be returning to him - although he did feel like he was having some sort of outer-body experience.

Micky had been with more girls than he could even remember, but tonight all of that seemed to be totally irrelevant - Micky felt as if he had no idea what to do or how to handle the female body. Micky had gotten so used to being with a man - one particular man - that he really wasn't sure what he was doing now he was with a woman again.

Everything felt different. The girl - her name was Sarah - had things that Mike didn't, and didn't have things that Mike did. Boobs suddenly felt like such a novelty to Micky, and he wasted no time in fondling them the way he always used to. Micky used to be a boob man, although now they seemed almost alien to him. He squeezed them and prodded them as if he wasn't sure what they even were.

Boobs weren't the only difference. Even the kissing was different. Sarah's lips were soft, much softer than Mike's - although Micky had always marvelled at how soft and plump Mike's lips were. But it wasn't just the lips. The skin around Sarah's mouth was flawless and smooth. Although Mike was often clean-shaven, it wasn't uncommon for the Texan to let a little stubble grow. Micky had always liked Mike with facial hair and he even liked the way it felt when they were making out. Sarah certainly had no stubble, though.

Sarah's hands on Micky's skin felt different, too. They were so petite and soft whereas Mike's hands were literally the opposite; Mike had large, strong hands with calloused fingertips from his guitar playing. Mike had hands that were made for taking control - or at least that's what Micky always thought. But although Mike had big, commanding hands, Micky had always felt safe beneath their touch. Those hands were also incredibly gentle, and they touched Micky - not just physically - in ways that no other pair of hands had ever touched him before.

Other than the obvious physical differences between being with Mike and being with a woman, Micky was no longer used to sex without love and an emotional bond. Even during Mike and Micky's more aggressive sex-sessions, the foreplay (or at least the building up to sex) had always been a deeply emotional experience, even if they were overcome with animal-lust. Staring into each other's eyes had been something that Micky had never particularly paid attention to during sex with women in the past. Of course Micky always acknowledged his lovers and made sure they were okay - he was a people pleaser, after all - and he'd always made sure his sexual partners were more than satisfied with whatever he'd given them. But that was about it where Micky was concerned - he was simply being polite.

With Mike, all of that was different. When Micky and Mike made love it was far more than just a sexual experience. Micky wanted to satisfy Mike out of more than just good manners - Micky needed to satisfy Mike. Part of satisfying Mike was satisfying himself. It was almost a spiritual experience and it was something Micky could never picture having with anyone else again. He'd certainly never had that with anyone before - not even Samantha, who he had cared about dearly when they were first a couple. When Micky and Mike were together, it was as if they were one person. Micky always thought of it as if they were moulding together into one mind, one body and one soul. It was a bizarre and surreal experience that was also beautiful, erotic and perfect. That was the best way to describe it, Micky thought - perfect. Love-making with Mike had been perfect.

Sex with Sarah wasn't going to be perfect though - Micky's head was all over the place. All of his senses seemed heightened and yet he almost felt totally numb at the same time. Micky felt like he was a fly on the ceiling, looking down at the mess underneath him. Micky's hands were roaming Sarah's body clumsily as if he was trying to figure out what went where and how. When Micky's hand slipped between Sarah's legs he almost gasped when he wasn't met with an incredibly large and hard penis. Instead he was met with a wet and waiting vagina, and Micky felt like he might as well have reached out and touched a 10-headed spider.

But Micky persevered and before he knew it he was on his back with the big-boobed blonde straddling him. Micky looked up at her - she was absolutely beautiful, and any man would feel incredibly lucky to be in his position right now. When Sarah slid down his body and sucked his limp-cock into her mouth, all Micky could think about was how he'd happily trade places with any of those jealous men who'd be eager to be where he was, because Micky didn't want to be here at all.

Micky closed his eyes. This girl was certainly no amateur when it came to blow jobs, and she knew exactly what she was doing. Micky willed himself to enjoy it - the old Micky certainly wouldn't be complaining - but he just couldn't. Micky could only hope that this girl enjoyed sucking dicks as much as Micky had enjoyed sucking Mike's dick, because Micky sure as hell wasn't getting any enjoyment out of it. The people-pleaser in Micky suddenly felt overcome with guilt. Here was this beautiful girl going to town on his cock, and all he could do was think about another man. And what would this girl think if she knew what Micky was really like? Would she still want to suck him and fuck him if she knew the guy she'd had her eye on all night actually liked to suck and be fucked, too? Would Sarah still dig Micky if she knew he'd been in a long-term, sexual relationship with another man?

Aside from his guilt towards Sarah, Micky also felt guilty about Mike. Micky felt like he was in some way being unfaithful to the man who had broken his heart and left him three weeks before. The anger that Micky had felt earlier on seemed to disappear, and now he didn't hate Mike at all - he missed him. He missed him horribly.

"Am I doing something wrong?" Sarah asked, lifting her head and looking up at Micky from under confused eyes.

Micky's limp cock obviously hadn't escaped her notice, and now Micky added 'embarrassment' to the top of his ever-growing list of emotions.

"N-No." Micky replied quickly, his voice going higher than he intended. "No, it's great."

Sarah looked down at the penis in her hand. "Why are you soft?"

"Because I'm used to being sucked off by a man." Micky's mind screamed.

"I-I think I'm just really drunk." Micky lied, his face burning red as the words left his mouth.

"Oh." Sarah replied. "Shall I keep going?"

Micky knew he needed to think fast. Suddenly his mind started racing - all those thoughts that suffocated his brain before seemed to be pushed to the wayside, and instead Micky was left in turmoil and confusion and his own sexuality. Micky was now wondering why exactly he couldn't get hard - was it because he was still too hung-up on Mike to consider having sexual relations with anyone else? Was it because he wasn't attracted to her the way he should be? Was it because he wasn't in love with her? Was it because she was a woman? Was it because she wasn't a man? Was it because she wasn't Mike?

"Micky?"

"S-Sorry." Micky snapped out of his thoughts.

Sarah looked over him with a confused and un-amused expression. Micky thought fast and decided to take control, grabbing hold of the beautiful girl on top of him and flipping her onto her back.

"How about I see to you first?" Micky asked.

Sarah's face lit up. "Okay then."

Micky felt a little nervous as he buried his head between the blonde's legs. It had been ages since he'd gone down on a girl, but he figured - and hoped - that it'd be just like riding a bike. Micky had always gotten a kick out of giving a girl oral, and it always used to turn him on no-end. If Micky was going to get hard for this girl, it was going to be now; now she was writhing on the bed, moaning from beneath Micky's touch. Micky was surprised he hadn't lost his knack of pleasuring a woman after so long pleasuring a man. Maybe it really was like riding a bike, Micky thought.

Even after Sarah reached a rather loud and expressive orgasm, Micky's dick still remained totally soft. The entire time Micky got Sarah off he had been stroking himself and willing himself up. Nothing worked, and when it was all over Micky was left with that feeling of embarrassment again.

"That was amazing." Sarah sighed contently.

Micky was pleased she'd managed to get her happy ending even if he couldn't.

Sarah opened her eyes and looked up at Micky longingly. "I want you to fuck me now."

"I can't." Micky blurted out. He quickly swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his underwear.

Sarah sat up. "Why the fuck not?!"

"I- I have somewhere I need to be." Micky replied, cringing at his response. He pulled his boxers on swiftly.

"It's like 3 in the morning." Sarah said, clearly unimpressed - Micky didn't need to look at her to realise she wasn't happy.

"I know, but- but I totally forgot I said I'd meet someone." Micky stood up, still not looking at the blonde on the bed, and he gathered up the rest of his clothes.

"But I thought we were gonna fuck?" Sarah slurred. She was still drunk, and Micky was grateful - hopefully she wouldn't remember too much about this in the morning.

"I'm really sorry, babe." Micky said with genuine sympathy. After pulling his pants on he finally faced her; there she sat, naked on the bed. Micky felt like a mad man for making his excuses to leave, but there was no point prolonging the agony - there was no way he was going to perform tonight.

Micky leaned in and gave Sarah a quick kiss on the lips. "This has been fun." He said, forcing himself not to cringe. "Maybe I'll see you around sometime."

Sarah laid back on the bed and sighed contently again. "Mmm." She purred, closing her eyes - her initial disappointment at Micky leaving seemed to be forgotten for the moment. "I hope so."

Micky smiled awkwardly, grabbed his shirt from the floor and made a quick exit.

Micky curled up in bed with one of Mike's shirts that had been hanging in his bedroom for the past few weeks. Micky hadn't touched the shirt - which had been slung over the back of the couch in his room - since Mike had left, for some reason wanting things to stay exactly the same as when Mike had been there. But tonight Micky couldn't resist picking up the Texan's shirt and burying his face in it. It still smelt of Mike. Micky shivered when he smelt it, and for a split second he thought that Mike was there with him.

The bitterness and resentment towards Mike that Micky had felt earlier on had well and truly disappeared now. Now Micky missed Mike painfully. Micky climbed into bed with the shirt and curled himself around it, like a child with a comfort blanket. Micky felt a lump in his throat as he squeezed the shirt tighter in his arms, balling it in his fists like he was afraid someone would snatch it from his grasp.

"In a few weeks, you'll be okay." - That's what Davy had said. A few weeks had passed, and Micky felt like he was getting worse instead of better. Every day that passed the pain seemed to be getting harder and harder to deal with, and Micky missed Mike more and more.