From the first week of school, Mikey sat beside you. Not near you. Not “in the same row.” Beside you. If someone sat there first, he just stood next to them, silently, until they moved. You told him once that he didn’t need to wait for you after class. He did anyway.

Every day, he would appear at your doorframe, backpack half unzipped, tiny grin on his face. “Let’s go home,” he’d say, like it was simply what the universe expected. Even Draken rolled his eyes once. “You’re whipped, Mikey.”

“I dunno what that means,” Mikey muttered, already holding your sleeve, “but it sounds right.”