You knelt on the sidewalk, chalk dust smudging your fingers, drawing a flower with careful strokes. Mikey appeared beside you without warning, a small handful of chalk in his palm. You told him it wasn’t necessary, that you had enough. He simply set it down beside you and plopped onto the pavement, knees bent awkwardly, as if settling in for a long collaboration.

Without a word, he started drawing next to your flower — a tiny leaf, a sun that only partially fit in the space, a crooked line that somehow made the piece feel complete. You told him he didn’t have to, that you could manage on your own. He ignored you, tongue poking just slightly out of the corner of his mouth, eyes focused. Every time your hand moved, his eyes followed, tracking each line, each angle, like he wanted to remember it all.