One afternoon you scraped your knee lightly on the playground when you tripped. Barely a mark. Mikey panicked. “KEN—KEN-CHIN! THEY'RE BLEEDING!” Draken climbed up, rolled his eyes, and put a band-aid on.

Mikey sat beside you for three straight hours, hovering like a mother hen that didn’t know she was a hen. “You good?” “Yes.” “You sure?” “Yes.” “…You sure-sure?” “Yes, Mikey.”

He had to refuse the urge to ask one more time, hoping he didnt sound too annoying.