One dream had been of him, along with the other guys, in a nightclub, playing instruments. They had not told him that they were a band. So if they were, why had they not mentioned it? Oh, that was silly - it was only a dream after all, wasn't it?
Another dream was of the four of them, running around on the beach. Funny, he was chasing girls and acting all crazy! Why couldn't he seem to have fun now, despite his confusion?
What could help him remember? Would he ever remember?
~~~*~~~
Finally, morning came. Although to Micky, it felt more like it had been a week, than just one night.
After getting dressed, which did take some searching to find his clothes, he went downstairs to join the others.
After a night full of dreams, and what he hoped to be pieces of his memory, he had a lot of questions. But they could wait until later; maybe he could make a little more sense out of them, before bringing up those subjects.
Davy was on the phone; Peter was on the couch, strumming a tune on his guitar; Mike was seated at the table eating breakfast. Taking a seat at the table, he wanted to talk with Mike.
Mike slid a box of cereal over to him, and nodded towards a cabinet, "Go ahead and get a bowl. This is all we've got right now."
He wanted to say it was only temporary; that they were only on a close budget until their next gig. If they could attend. He wanted to ask Micky if he could play the drums, but held himself back.
"No, thanks, I'm not really hungry," Micky told him. Though, after watching Mike for a moment, he changed his mind, "Well, maybe I am."
He rushed over to the cabinet which Mike had motioned to, and grabbed a bowl. Setting it on the table, he filled it completely, then energetically doused it with milk.
Mike raised his eyes, surprised to see a little bit of normalcy. "Are you alright?"
"Sure, why?" Micky asked, through a mouthful of cereal.
Mike simply chuckled. Micky may not remember anything, but his appetite sure was in tact.
"Oh, by the way, uh..." he looked at Mike, hopeful he would get something right "...Peter?"
The music coming from the other side of the room halted. "Did someone call me?" Peter asked curiously.
"No, Pete, it's okay," Mike told him, knowing it was himself who Micky was trying to talk to.
Shrugging, Peter turned his attention back to his music.
"Oops," Micky said, embarrassed. "Sorry."
"Don't worry about it, shotgun," Mike told him. "I'm Mike."
"Okay, well, Mike, I... did you call me shotgun?" Micky just realized what Mike had said.
"Nevermind about that," Mike informed him. "It's just a nickname." He noticed Micky seemed to be a little more comfortable around them than he had last night. Well, that was a little progress... "What did you want?"
"You said I had a room mate," Micky told him. "But there was nobody else in the room last night."
"Yeah, well..." Mike tried to think of a quick explanation. "I didn't feel like I would've been able to get to sleep up there, so I napped on the couch."
"Oh..." Micky seemed to accept his answer. After all, it sounded logical.
Despite his confusion, he was eager to start the day. He was going to take a closer look at everything, with high hopes of remembering something...