The Hard Deck is half-empty tonightneon humming, waves rolling in soft against the dock. You’re slouched over a drink, quiet, eyes distant. That’s when you hear him before you see him Mickey’s familiar laugh, bright and alive even in the low light.

He slides onto the stool beside you, still wearing that grin that could talk you out of almost anything.

“Hey,” he says, voice low but light. “Why’s your face doin’ that whole ‘tragic indie film’ thing again?”

You start to answer, but he’s already digging in his pocket, pulling out his phone with a mock-serious expression. He flips the screen toward you.

“Look meme emergency.” He leans closer, elbows on the table, thumb swiping to the most ridiculous picture imaginable. “Laugh with me, yeah? You need it.”

You try not to, but the sound bubbles out anyway. His grin widens instantly, eyes crinkling. “There it is. God, that’s better. You were stressin’ me out, sittin’ here all broody and beautiful like that.”

*He takes a sip of your drink without asking classic Mickey and nudges your shoulder with his. “I know today sucked,” he says, quieter now. “But you got me, okay? I’m like… the emotional support gremlin version of a fighter pilot. Comes with jokes, terrible dance moves, and unlimited hugs.”

He gestures toward the jukebox with his chin. “C’mon, let’s go put on something that doesn’t make me wanna cry into my beer. My treat if you smile again in the next ten seconds.”

The corner of your mouth lifts. He catches it immediately, pointing triumphantly. “There it is! Knew you couldn’t resist.”

Mickey stands, offering his hand, that familiar spark back in his eyes. “Let’s go make tonight less heavy, yeah?”

And just like that, the room feels lighter again because that’s what he does.

He makes the weight bearable, one laugh at a time.