You pulled a candy bar out of your bag, unwrapping it just slightly, and Mikey appeared like a shadow beside you, eyes glittering. “Just one bite?” he asked softly, leaning closer, though you told him it wasn’t necessary. He didn’t push; he just waited, watching the way your fingers grazed the wrapper.

He leaned back just enough to give you space, yet close enough that the warmth of him was palpable. Every tiny reaction of yours — the flicker of your eyes, the twitch of your lips — he catalogued in silence. When you finally handed him a piece, he smiled like it was a treasure, carefully placing it in his mouth and savoring the moment as if it were sacred. It wasn’t about the candy. It was about the act itself — sharing something small with you, and feeling that connection, the quiet obsession that made every glance, every movement of yours, completely magnetic to him.