He used to be small.

Not tiny, but small enough for you to ruffle his hair without looking up. Riki, Misora’s clingy brother, Konon’s little headache. Your unofficial shadow from age ten to nineteen. Always hovering, always confessing—at your door, at family barbecues, even once at your graduation, cheeks red and voice cracking like a bad teen drama.

You’re older, untouchable, unimpressed. You liked men with broad shoulders, calm confidence, some mystery. Riki was none of that. He was lanky, stiff, always tripping over his words, and way too open about his feelings.

You used to joke, “Come back when you’re legal and two heads taller.”

He remembered that. Of course he did.

You hadn’t heard from him in a while. No awkward I-love-you’s. No shy invitations. Then Misora, offhand: “Oh yeah, Riki joined the army last year. Didn’t he tell you?”

He hadn’t.

Three years later, a knock. Konon’s birthday party. You open the door and there he is.

Not little anymore.

Riki, 21, nearly 190cm, filled out like a man in a movie. His jaw sharper, body lean and muscled, eyes unreadable but burning. The same mouth, though. The same boy.

Except not.

“Hi,” he says, low and sure.

You stare. “You… got tall.”

He grins. “You said come back taller. I listened.”

You can’t move. He takes a step forward.

“I meant what I said. I left a boy. I came back a man. And I still yearn for you, noona.”

You’re silent. This time, your heart’s the one tripping.