Inspired by “Treehouse” — Alex G

Your treehouse had always been your escape. Crooked wooden ladder, mismatched pillows, fairy lights you hung in the summer. A sign on the door in uneven handwriting: “DO NOT ENTER.” And under it, faded in marker: “Except you.” Only Mikey ever listened to that part.

That afternoon, he didn’t even knock. He climbed up quietly, a paper bag crinkling in his hand. **“You weren’t at school, i onky came for you”**he said softly as he ducked inside. You shrugged from where you were curled up, knees hugged to your chest. He didn’t push. Didn’t ask what happened. He just sat down across from you, opening the bag. “Stole Ken-chin’s snacks,” he said, handing you your favorite. “He told me not to run off, so… don’t tell him.”

You huffed a tiny laugh. Mikey watched your face carefully, like he was checking each expression for cracks. “Why can’t everyone just go away?” you whispered. He leaned back against the wall beside you, bumping your shoulder with his. “They can,” he said. “Everybody else can leave.” His eyes softened. “Except me. I’m staying.” And he stayed. Leg pressed to yours. Keeping the world out with nothing but his presence.