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mike waters is fifty four years old now, and he’s still on the streets. he doesn’t have the young, baby-faced thing going for him anymore, and he hasn’t aged gracefully, either. his blonde hair turned completely gray early, a long time ago now, and he’s going bald in little patches all over. he’s thin as death itself, and his face is etched with deep, hard lines and wrinkles. he’s a good fuck, though, even now that he’s not as pretty, so people still pay him, although it’s never enough money (“i love you,” he had said to scott favor, his voice breaking in his throat like glass, “and you don’t pay me.”.). he always thanks everyone, though, almost too sweetly, his voice raspy and worn away. his knees aren’t built for this anymore, but he doesn’t have anyone to complain to about the way his legs hurt and shake as he’s getting older. he doesn’t have scott.like mike’s narcolepsy, he’s gotten his love for scott under control, but he can never get it gone. it’s as endless as his journey on the roads.for scott, now fifty six, being on the streets is a distant memory of something he did when he was young, dumb, and pissed off at his dad. he’s the mayor now, following in his father’s footsteps, and that rebellious streak of his is long gone. he’s married very happily to carmela, and the youngest of the couple’s three amazing kids, the favors’s only daughter, is still in high school. the college-aged one of the two boys is going through a rebellious phase a little like scott’s own. he truly has become his father.mike doesn’t get clients this high profile, especially not now that he’s so far removed from his young pretty boy days, but tonight he’s got a client who asked him to meet at a very fancy political dinner. mike’s ratty goodwill clothes hang off him, and he stands very awkwardly in the lobby of the hall where the event is.scott steps out of the event after he finishes his dinner, wanting to catch his breath, and he walks into the lobby, running an elegantly aging hand through his short salt and pepper hair. someone lets out a low, long whistle, and scott turns his head.mike waters has aged like death warmed over, but his eyes are the same, and that’s why scott’s mouth immediately drops open with recognition. “scottie,” he says, his voice soft, and scott steps closer. “mike,” he says in disbelief, “i can’t… i can’t believe i’m seeing you again. what are you doing here?”. the question comes off as aggressive, and mike’s beautiful blue eyes register some sadness. “i’m waiting for a customer,” mike says, and scott’s brows furrow. “a customer? oh, no, mike, don’t tell me you’re still…” scott’s voice trails off, and mike smiles, a bit sadly and a bit ironically.“not all of us have a ticket out, scottie,” he says. scott doesn’t say a thing in response, but it’s written all over his face that he regrets not coming back and picking mike up off the road, and that he’s sorry he’s straight and, therefore, never could be able to think about mike in the way that he thinks about carmela. as if he can read his former best friend’s thoughts, mike waves a dismissive hand, and he goes on to say, in a quiet, gentle voice, “it’s okay.”scott doesn’t say another word, just stares at mike for a second before walking back in to the the dining hall.mike falls asleep sitting up in the lobby with wet tears marking his old brown jacket. he drifts off while he’s listening to the sound of scott, in the next room, talking to his wife, his kids, and his colleagues.