do you wanna dance, do you wanna fight?

Mike had a fuller house this weekend than he'd anticipated. And you know what? He was okay with that. He liked having his own space but it could get a little lonely, too, and stress had been piling on him over the last while, between doing repairs for the shark damage on the house and trying to keep his business on its feet.

So even if there'd been more supernaturally enhanced pairs of ears in the house than would've been ideal for a night with a lady visitor who wasn't going to be in town for long... Mike was really freaking happy. He knew all of this was fleeting – Brooke would leave, and so would his assorted werewolf-adjacent friends – so he was just making a point of enjoying himself as much as he could while it was all happening.

And since he was a good host, he'd wandered into the kitchen in his sweatpants and his ratty tank and was making breakfast. A whole ton of it. Eggs and bacon and toast, the whole lot. Coffee, too, of course. And yes, he had at least half an intention of bringing Brooke breakfast in bed, but that remained to be seen.

It was a good morning out here at the mansion.

[ooc: Open for all of the people staying here, and visitors too, what the hell.]

Mike had made himself scarce last night He'd been busy, anyway, calling up Brooke, to check she was all good, and to talk about getting his shit sent up to him at some point. They'd ended up talking about a lot more than that, and for pretty long, too. It'd been kind of nice to talk to someone so utterly level-headed after spending a few weeks getting used to Fandom style crazy. He missed her, more than he'd realized.

But he was back at the house this morning, coming in with takeaway coffee. "Yo, everything good in here?"

[ooc: For thems that are here! Or random visits too. We're easy here.]