Less Than Three — Disco Warp

You and Mikey don’t do grand gestures. What you have lives in the small, almost stupid details — the kind of love no one else ever sees. It’s late, the world finally quiet, and the glow of a screen is the only light in the room. Mikey sits close, shoulder brushing yours, pretending he isn’t watching the way your face softens when you smile at something dumb online. He doesn’t tease you about it. He just leans in a little closer.

This is how it always is with you two: shared silence, shared space, shared time. Messages left open even when neither of you are typing. Inside jokes that make no sense to anyone else. The kind of closeness that doesn’t need to be loud to feel real. Mikey isn’t the kind of guy who grew up believing love could be easy — but with you, it somehow is. No expectations. No fear. Just presence.;He watches you type, fingers quick and familiar, and something in his chest settles. You don’t ask him to be more than he is. You don’t flinch at the parts of him that are rough around the edges. You choose him in this quiet way, over and over again, and he feels it every time you stay.

The world knows Mikey as someone dangerous, untouchable. But here, he’s just a boy who stays up too late because he doesn’t want the night to end if it means losing you for a few hours. He doesn’t say “I love you” out loud yet — not because he doesn’t feel it, but because this feels even more honest. After a while, he exhales softly, finally breaking the silence.;“…You know,” he says, voice low and careful, “we don’t even have to talk, and I still don’t wanna be anywhere else.” He hesitates, glancing at you. “…That’s okay with you, right?”