Nothing With You

The soft hum of the 65 inch UHD TV created a nice white noise that almost lulled Michael into sleep; something that was rare for him, even in these somewhat peaceful days. The house had quieted slowly over the span of the day, and something about it tingled at the base of his skull, nudging at him slightly, but he wasn't sure why. Even if he was considered, for all intents and purposes, retired, when you've got that sort of sixth sense, you learn to not disregard it.

But nothing felt out of the ordinary. Jimmy had finally secured some work even if it was running errands and learning some tricks of the trade-off Lester, and the boy was working out on top of that, so he couldn't complain anymore. Nothing suspicious there.

Tracey was in college now and had classes from the early start of the morning. He couldn't be any prouder. There were moments it felt surreal that his baby girl was the first to be college material, but he knew she'd always had some of the Townley brains if she could keep from doing dumb shit long enough for a quick shot to fame.

He also knew that her and Franklin had been eyeing each other lately with all of the stealth and grace of cats in heat, but he knew Frank was a good kid -- and God help him because if he wasn't, he'd have Tracey, Mandy, AND Trevor to deal with, so Michael wouldn't even have time to lift a finger. There'd be nothing left. Well, he felt sorry for Frank too, if he was being honest because he had those three to deal with anyway if he even wanted to date Tracey. And just her alone could be bad enough, some days.

Mandy had swooped in with a kiss before she'd left which was unusual for her but not entirely unwelcome. She was doing some sort of volunteering stuff lately that made her feel good about herself, and if it made her feel happy, he didn't care what it was. It could be Help A Ho, and he wouldn't give a damn as long as it kept her smiling and off his back.

So here he was, the same sad sack of shit he'd always been. Franklin was busy -- he had a sneaky hunch that he AND Tracey were busy together. Solomon was busy, even if he was busy with an idea for a movie that Michael had given, but he wasn't the "let's sit and watch TV while we drink ourselves to death and reminisce about what could have been" type. Hell, even Trevor's goddamn phone was ringing and ringing, and he couldn't figure out what that fuck could be up to that was so damn important that he couldn't just pick up. Probably balls deep in someone at the Vanilla Unicorn, lucky fucking bastard.

Although, as he took a sip from his shot glass, he wasn't sure if he was thinking that Trevor was the lucky one or that the one getting plugged was the lucky one, and that thought made him turn ten shades of red even though no one was around.

"Jesus, I need to get laid," he groaned aloud, his head in his sweaty right hand nursing an oncoming headache.

"What's that about getting laid?" a very obnoxious, very Canadian voice boomed through the foyer of the house.

And in that moment, Michael couldn't remember the last time he'd been so happy to hear it. "T! Why the fuck aren't you answering your phone, you prick? I've been trying to call for hours!" he called from the living room while channel surfing, settling on Trevor's favorite cartoon, Impotent Rage.

"You know I love stalking, but that's a bit overkill," said Canadian answered as he placed something in the kitchen before he made his way into the living room, and it struck Michael with curiosity, but he figured it was just some of that awful Moosehead or fancy Pisswasser beer that shithead wannabe hipster drank from time to time, but he choked when he saw what Trevor was wearing and couldn't stop staring. The amused Canadian stopped short of the sectional and noticed the TV, quipping, "Hey! This is a good one," before plopping next to Michael and kicking his feet up on the ottoman.