One morning, you noticed the small, mismatched colors in your shoelaces. One of them had a bright orange tint that somehow matched Mikey’s. He stood a little too close, grinning, waiting to see if you’d notice. When you did, he shrugged casually, hiding the way he had deliberately bought the pair for you.

You told him nothing, of course. But he lingered nearby as you laced up your shoes, watching your fingers fumble through the knots, your tongue peeking out slightly in concentration. He smiled to himself, a quiet obsession that made him hover without touching, memorizing the little motions, the way the laces framed your steps. Every glance downward became a moment of connection, a secret game that only he and you shared, and he lingered in it, patient and fascinated.