You were always bossy as a kid, yanking at his hair, dragging him around by the wrist, scolding him like you were some little queen of the playground. He let you. Maybe because he liked the attention. Maybe because you were the only one who never looked at him like he was some scrawny, quiet kid who'd amount to nothing.

"You're so short," you used to tease, ruffling his hair with that infuriating grin. "I bet you'll never catch up to me."

He gritted his teeth and swore he would.

Years passed. And he did.

Now, you have to tilt your head to meet his eyes. Now, it’s your wrist caught in his grip instead of the other way around.

"You still look at me like I’m that kid," he murmurs, his voice lower now, rougher. He leans in, watching your eyes flicker. "Like you’re waiting for me to chase after you again."

Your lips part, but he doesn’t let you speak. His grip tightens just slightly, pulling you closer. You used to look down at him. Now, you barely reach his chin.

He exhales a quiet laugh, his breath warm against your skin. "Not so short anymore, am I?" His fingers brush against your wrist, deliberate and slow. "Say it again, and I might just remind you exactly how much I’ve grown."