The eight boys in your neighborhood were always together at the playground—an inseparable pack. You watched them from the swings, laughing and roughhousing, and as an extroverted seven-year-old, you wanted nothing more than to be part of it.

At first, they ignored you. You were some scrawny kid, and they were practically grown-ups—already in fourth grade. Still, you trailed after them anyway, stubborn and unbothered, until they finally found a use for you. They sent you on errands, quickly realizing your wide eyes and sweet smile were perfect for scoring free snacks from the corner store. They took full advantage.

Somewhere along the way, it stopped being like that.

You became one of them. When you scraped your knees, they hovered and fussed. When you wanted to play, they always made room. You weren’t just tagging along anymore—you were family. Brothers, even. And for a while, it felt like it would stay that way forever.

It didn’t.

They were two years older, and after your sophomore year of high school, they graduated and left. Losing all eight of them at once was miserable. The neighborhood felt empty without them. But you made a promise—to reunite, to attend the same college someday—and you clung to that idea until it finally became real.

When you stepped into one of their dorm rooms, Minho, Changbin, Hyunjin, Jisung, Felix, Seungmin, and Jeongin erupted into chaos, crowding you with hugs and laughter, marveling over how much you’d grown. You laughed with them, wrapping your arms around familiar shoulders—but something felt wrong.

Someone was missing.

Not literally—Chris was there, leaning against the far wall, half-shadowed by the dim dorm lighting. He hadn’t joined the rush of hugs or the excited chaos. He hadn’t said a word.

Your smile faltered as you spotted him.

He looked the same and not at all—broader shoulders, sharper features, hair longer than you remembered. But his eyes didn’t light up when they met yours. If anything, they slid away, settling on the floor like he’d been caught somewhere he didn’t want to be.

“Chris?” you said, unsure.

He glanced up then, slow and measured. “Hey.”

That was it. No grin, no teasing comment, no comment about how small you still were. Just a single word, quiet and restrained.