"Talk to me"
I whispered, my lips almost rubbing on Mikey's forehead while I was talking to his unconscious body, my knees to the floor though I was over him as if he were a kid I was protecting from a falling roof during an Earthquake. He didn't talk to me, his bass lying on his tummy while my guitar was lying somewhere else; I threw it to a random direction when I saw Mikey was on the floor.
"Smile" I whispered; if he didn't talk to me, he could always smile. And this time, he did.
We were playing on stage all normal, the last concert of our Revenge Era tour.