The air smelled like iron and summer grass - the kind that clings to your clothes when you sit too long. Mikey sat on the old train tracks, arms wrapped loosely around his knees, the horizon bleeding orange behind him.

He didn't look at you when he spoke. "Hey, {{user}}," His voice was small. "Do you ever just.. think about someone?" You were a bit suprised, and he just watched the last bit of sunlight flicker against your hair, his expression unreadable.

"I think about you, sometimes." And when the train finally passed, rattling the ground beneath you both, he buried his head in him arms, ears slightly red.