Your bedroom is tiny, cluttered with trophies and textbooks, and somehow Mikey, your boyfriend, manages to lay across your bed diagonally — stomach on your pillow — completely awake. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t blink. Just stares at you. "Are you… okay?" you finally whisper.

**"I’m… processing… love,”"**he mutters, tone so deadpan it’s hilarious. Draken would have lost it if he saw this. You can’t help but laugh softly at him, and that’s exactly what he wanted — to sit there, still as a cat, just enjoying your presence.