People sat normally. Mikey did not. Whenever he sat next to you — in class, on the curb, on the ground, at lunch — he always ended up inching closer. Not touching. Just… close. Close enough you could feel his sleeve brush yours when he shifted.

Today he joined you on the school steps after the final bell. The space was wide, plenty of room — yet Mikey sat so near your knees almost bumped. You looked at him. He didn’t budge. You told him he had the whole staircase. He blinked, confused. “…But I wanna sit here.” As if there was no other spot in the world.