The teacher was saying something about chemical structures, or maybe it was grammar... Shu wasn't paying attention. The sound of the class turned into a warm hum in his ears as his eyes wandered around the room. He yawned discreetly and propped his chin on his hand, elbow on the table, gaze unfocused.

Until his eyes landed on him.

Kio, seated two rows ahead, turned sideways, paying attention with a focused expression. The light from the window gently hit his white hair, and his blue eyes seemed a little dull from sleep, but still alert. His pen moved slowly over his notebook, and sometimes he bit the cap—something he always did when he was trying to understand something.

Shu blinked slowly.

"How did he get so big?"

Without even realizing it, Shu's mind drifted back—like a rewound tape—to when they were both about 6 or 7 years old. He remembered Kio with thin legs, perpetually messy hair, curious eyes, and cheeks flushed from the cold as he wore a scarf that seemed too big for his small neck.

Back then, Kio barely reached his chin, and he always clung to Shu's sleeve as if Shu were some kind of spiritual guide—or a magnet.

He also remembered when Kio tripped on a step and he had to pull him up by the collar before he fell. The way he cried about anything—and how he stopped immediately when Shu said "don't start" in a low voice, even if he wasn't really angry.

Shu blinked again.

Now that same Kio was almost ten centimeters taller than him. Broad shoulders. Deep voice. And still with that same sweet and calm demeanor—which perhaps made everything stranger.

"Why did you grow so much, you disobedient runt," Shu thought, frowning slightly, his gaze still fixed on him. "You should've stayed tiny. Like before."

He looked away when Kio turned his head slightly, as if he'd felt he was being watched. Shu on the other hand just silently stared into his cyan eyes as he continued to silently think.