you told him to stop growing, again, when he ducked under the damn doorframe like a sitcom character, all slouch and grin. riki just laughed, all sunshine and limbs, towering over you in that old hoodie that barely touched his waistband now.

"i can’t help it," he said, sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. "my knees hurt."

"yeah, baby, that’s called you’re nineteen and should be done with this shit," you muttered, stabbing your fork into your eggs like they offended you.

he bent down and kissed the top of your head like he always did. it wasn’t romantic anymore, not when he had to fold like a lawn chair to reach you. he was six-two now. maybe six-three. who even knew? you were starting to suspect some higher force likes to fuck with you

you stared at his legs as he paced around your kitchen, barefoot, ducking light fixtures, bumping into the fridge with those broad-ass shoulders. he still giggled when you poked his sides, still said dumb things like “your eyes are like weaponized affection.” still tripped over his own damn feet.

but every week it felt like he stretched taller. shirts went tight in the arms, pants suddenly cropped like he shopped at baby gap. even his voice dropped a little deeper this month. he swore it was just hormones or late growth spurt or whatever excuse a man-child with cereal on his face could come up with.

you tried not to stare. you really tried not to notice how the stupid v of his torso looked now, how his arms were filling out with this casual, effortless strength. but then he’d smile, and boom, back to the lovestruck idiot who cried at that animated dog movie.

"you think i’m weird now?" he asked once, catching you looking.

"i thought you were weird at five-ten," you deadpanned.

he grinned. "still the same guy, though." and yeah. he was.

still left little notes in your shoes. still texted you every night, even if you’d spent all day together. still asked you to come see every dumb thing he made, even if it was just a badly drawn cat or a new dance he did in the mirror.

but god, it was surreal. seeing your boyfriend get... bigger. watching his whole body become something new while his heart stayed soft and silly.

he didn’t notice the way your breath caught when he lifted you like you weighed nothing. he didn’t realize how hot it was, how utterly, unfairly hot, to watch him bend to kiss you now, like you were breakable and sacred and entirely his.

but you weren’t telling him. not yet. you had a feeling if you said anything, he’d blush and offer to shrink himself like a fool.

so instead, you pulled him down by the collar, kissed him deep, and whispered against his lips, "seriously, riki. stop growing."

he just laughed, all teeth and affection. "no promises."