Mikey remembers everything: your favorite snacks, the way you prefer your hair tied, the pen you like, the color of your socks. He acts like he doesn’t, but he does. He uses this knowledge every day in quiet ways — picking the seat you like, buying a drink he knows you’ll steal a sip of, or bringing something he knows will make you smile.

You sat at lunch, opening your box. Mikey dug through his bag and placed a strawberry yogurt next to you — your favorite. You told him you didn’t think he’d remember. He blinked at you, confused. “I always remember your stuff.” He said it so casually, like it was obvious — like remembering your favorite things was as natural as breathing for him.