Mike has the television on silent as he listens to the sounds of the quiet house. Rain is pouring heavily on the roof, a pitter pat that fills Mike with familiarity and comfort. It would rain for weeks back home in New York, but here in California it is a much less common occurrence. Normally when it storms, he will sit in the living room and just stare at it as it pummels the thick floor to ceiling glass, but tonight he can't find the energy to drag himself downstairs from his bedroom to watch.

Soft light from the screen illuminates the loft space. Some crappy sitcom is playing that lost Mike's interest a while ago, but he leaves it on anyways, for company. It provides little distraction from the crippling homesickness he feels.

It's nights like this one, where it rains harshly, that Mike finds himself missing home the most. Yes, he loves Charlie's cooking, but sometimes he just wants a cup of his mother's homemade broccoli cheese soup. He often wishes he could be hanging out with Andrew, his best friend since kindergarten, instead of his roommates. His life out here is incredible, but it is complicated and he yearns for the simplicity of coming home to people he isn't lying to. And then, of course, there's the weather.

Tonight, it is worse because of the fact it's nearly five in the morning and no one is around to comfort him. Usually when he gets like this Paige or Charlie would sit with him and just listen, or they'd sit in a contented silence until he could get his mind off of it. The silence tonight, however, is anything but content. It is dark and he is alone. Mike sniffles wetly.

And, oh yes, there's that.

Mike had woken up around three thirty this morning because he couldn't breathe through his nose, which is now running like a tap. His head was aching something awful and when he'd laid down he felt nauseous. So finally, he'd dragged his bedding out to the couch in the loft area to watch some TV. Mike coughs into the crook of his elbow and shifts his comforter around his shoulders as a shiver runs through him. He can't seem to get warm.

If Mike were back home in his apartment with Andrew, he'd have woken Andrew up and the two of them would be watching Mike's favorite movies while they sipped at mugs of tea. Mike can picture it now, the two of them in their college sweatshirts and pajama pants all huddled up on the couch as Top Gun rolls through its opening credits. Andrew would bring him a cup of chamomile tea with honey and a bowl of soup and they'd watch until either the movie ended or they both fell asleep, whichever came first.

Mike smiles at the idea, but he punctuates his smile with a dejected sigh. He'll never have that with anyone here, he doesn't think. Johnny and Paul are good people to admire (and to drink with), but he doesn't look at them as brothers like he does Andrew. And Jakes is well, Jakes. Charlie's a friend, but he just feels like there is always a wall. And Paige? He doesn't even know where to start with her. Bottom line, he's never going to look at her the way he would a sibling.

Mike sighs and pulls out his phone. He clicks through to Andrew's contact and clicks the call button. It's eight o' clock on the east coast and they've been keeping in fairly good contact since he left, but it still feels awkward. Mike doesn't know whether to be disappointed or grateful that Andrew doesn't pick up. He frowns as he tucks his phone away and turns his attention back to the mind numbing television show.

The minutes pass like hours, but just before six the rain lightens and comes to a complete stop. Mere minutes later, Johnny comes tearing past in a wetsuit and is halfway down the staircase when he seems to register Mike's presence in the loft.

"God, dude, you just came out of nowhere," Johnny groans dramatically as he turns around and makes his way back up the stairs. Mike shrugs and Johnny plants himself down on the couch. "Well I guess this explains why I didn't find you in your room," Johnny mumbles slyly as he wiggles his eyebrows, "Guess I just figured you and Paige finally—"

"Stop," Mike cuts him off. "Let's just back it up. Paige and I didn't, you know," Mike trails off, feeling extremely awkward, his cheeks positively burning under his roommates scrutinizing gaze.

"You sure Paige didn't just kick you out because of your performance?" Johnny snickers, grinning from ear to ear as Mike shifts uncomfortably. "Nah, I'm just playing Mikey. Wanna go surfing? With the weather rolling in, there's supposed to be some killer waves out there today."

Mike's stomach churns at the thought of being tossed by the waves, at falling off. He's still a beginner and the falling is more common than the actual surfing.

"Nah, man. I'm okay," Mike mumbles hoarsely, pulling his knees up to his chest and resting his head on them. He lets his eyes slip closed to block out the light that is now starting to stream in through the skylights. "Thanks for the invite, though."

"Why are you up so early, Mikey?" Paul asks, rounding the corner carrying his surfboard. "It's not even six."

Mike presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and leans back into the couch. "Couldn't sleep," he mumbles eloquently, opening his eyes and leaning his head against the back of the couch. Paul seems to accept this, but he keeps looking at Mike with a weird glint in his eyes. "What?" Mike grinds out around a cough when his two roommates just proceeded to stare at him.

"No offense bro, but you kinda look like shit." Johnny leans closer, resting his arms on his knees as he inspects Mike more closely. His cheeks are flushed a bright pink that stands out against his pale face and his eyes are red like he's been crying (which he has). He looks exhausted.

"Makes sense," Mike nods, "m'not exactly feeling great." Paul sets down his board and sits down on the coffee table across from Mike. He reaches across and palms his rookie's forehead, noting the heat there. He moves his hand to Mike's cheek and wipes away a tear with his thumb that Mike didn't even realize was falling.

"Oh, Mikey," Paul speaks gently, "What's the matter?" Mike struggles to catch his breath as he starts to cry harder. He shakes as the sobs wrack his body, trying and failing to get a hold of himself. This is unprofessional. These are his colleagues and he needs to control himself.

"S-sorry," Mike stutters as he slows his breathing and his tears begin to subside. He closes his eyes as Paul brushes a hair back out of his eyes. "You guys just go surf, I'm fine."

"The hell you are," Paul says. "We're not just going to leave you here after that. Tell me what's wrong and tell me now." Mike sighs and leans forward, resting his head in his hands. The world is spinning and it's making him dizzy just sitting there. He really isn't feeling well.

"Feel sick," He finally mumbles, punctuating his sentence with a sniffle. Paul fights not to roll his eyes at the younger man. They already have that information, but if that's all they're going to get out of him, then so be it.

"JT," Paul directs quietly, "Go grab the thermometer." Johnny leaps up and skitters down the hallway, leaving Paul to sit with Mike. "Kid, is that really all that's wrong?" Mike starts to nod his head but slows, receiving a glare from Paul. "Don't lie to me, Mike."

Mike sighs and looks away from his mentor. Paul really doesn't need to deal with his emotional touchy feely side. He doesn't want to, either. Mike suddenly feels incredibly guilty at making himself a burden for them. They were supposed to go surfing but now he's having a mental breakdown in the loft and they're his audience.

"I wanna go home," Mike mumbles almost inaudibly, but Paul hears it.

"Oh kid," Paul soothes, crawling over to the couch and wrapping Mike in a tight embrace. Mike is stunned. Paul Briggs doesn't do this, or maybe he does. Mike guesses he really doesn't know. Either way, someone is comforting him and he melts into Paul's arms gladly. "I miss my family, too."

Mike sighs and pulls away from Paul. "Really?" He means it to sound skeptical, but he's so upset that it sounds more sincere than he intends it to. Paul nods his head slowly.

"Yeah, kid, I do," He says quietly, looking down. "My mom, my siblings, my friends—all of them. It's hard being out here and away from all of them." Mike just leans into his mentor's side and gently rests his head on his shoulder. Paul is unfazed by the gesture, but pulls the blanket Mike had been wrapped in around the both of them. It's comfortable, and Mike allows his eyes to close as he is warm for the first time since he woke up.

They stay like that until Johnny returns with the thermometer and pops it in Mike's exposed ear. The reading shows them that Mike does indeed have a temperature, but it isn't high enough to warrant a lot of worry.

Paul makes him toast for breakfast and sits outside with him on the sand. The sun is warm and holds them in a relaxed embrace as Mike slowly feels himself falling asleep with his head on Paul's chest. It might not be tea and a movie, but it's Paul's version of affection, and that's really all Mike needs.

Johnny listens to Mike's records with him after lunch. They work slowly through his extensive Eighties collection and are just dipping their toes into the best of The B-52s by the time dinner comes around. Charlie makes tomato soup and grilled cheese that warms Mike to his core and quiets the shivers that have been wracking through him all day.

As it turns out, Paige has a thing for foreign films and the two of them watch The Women on the 6th Floor. It's in French, but Paige pities him and turns on the subtitles for his "barely bilingual ass." They watch in the living room until it's late and they both need to sleep. The next morning, Charlie is kind enough to not comment on how she found Mike's room empty and Paige's room at double occupancy.

It may not be Top Gun with his best friend, but it was the same kind of caring. The agents in Graceland have really taken him in. This isn't the East Coast, not by a long shot, but Mike has never been happier to be where he is.