Camp Echo, Mt. Desert Island, Maine

Taemin aged 7; Minho aged 9

—

"Hey, Taeminnie?" Minho called as he emptied his bag into the dresser drawers. Taemin was stuck by the window lost in the view longed for for nearly a year.

"What?" Taemin said, flopping on his stomach and placing his head in his crossed arms.

"Do you think maybe we can start writing letters to each other, or something? I missed you a lot, and the thought of you not having a friend 'til summer kinda makes me sad. Maybe I can help you practice your English or something, too. You can practice it when you write it to me. You know I won't make fun of you."

Taemin's face started out excited, and then turned glum as he revealed, "Hyung, I don't know my address. I just know my house is in Masstwo—Masha—Maschu—something. I don't know!" He flipped dramatically on his back, trying to rack his brain for anything more.

"Massachusetts?" Minho asked, closing the door of the dressers and hopping to sit next to Taemin on his mattress.

"Yeah! Hyung, you're a genius. How did you know that?"

"You did most of the thinking, Taeminnie. I just finished the word. I think you're better at English than you think," he encouraged, patting Taemin's round belly affectionately.

"Really?" Taemin grinned. It was easy to believe when Minho hyung said it.

"Really," Minho seconded. He glanced out the window, spying several groups of campers strolling by. "Hey, guess what time it is," he asked Taemin with a smile.

Taemin's face lit up like a neon sign in Times Square as he stood on the bed, jumping around excitedly on the mattress. "Jamboree time! Jamboree time!"

Minho got up, catching Taemin by the waist when a much too enthusiastic leap sent him tumbling off the bed. "You can say that word really well. Your English really is impressive," he said with a smile as he lowered Taemin safely to the ground.

"That's 'cause it's my favorite word," Taemin answered, racing to the door to shove his feet in the flipflops Minho gifted him last year.

That wasn't true. Minho was his favorite word, followed by hyung, but he didn't know if Korean words counted right now. If he had to pick an English one, it would probably be jamboree. Or moose. Or s'mores.

"Are there gonna be s'mores?" he asked, his tummy rumbling at the thought. Beside him, Minho donned his matching pair of flip flops and opened the door, letting the curious Taemin wander out first.

"Probably. Are you gonna light all your marshmallows on fire again?" he teased.

"No," Taemin said matter-of-factly as he hopped down the stairs. "Hyung will help me again."

Last summer, after reducing too many marshmallows to ashes similarly reduced Taemin to tears, Minho took over roasting duties on his behalf. He didn't even get to eat one s'more himself, too busy satisfying Taemin's demands for the sweet treat he'd never had before, but the smile on Taemin's face made it all worth it. 

Minho remembered his first year at camp, struggling at the campfire, his older brother at his side. He only laughed at Minho, and told him to figure it out himself. With ten years between them, Minseok couldn't be bothered with a stupid little kid like him.

Minho wanted to be the hyung he never had.

The two of them pushed into the main building, finding a spot to plop down on the floor next to a wall. The place was only half-full as the campers slowly trickled in, so the pair of them passed the time playing rock-paper-scissors. Taemin almost always threw rock, so Minho made sure to throw scissors every time things got close.

There were a few violent jabs at his side, and Andrew's dumb face appeared in front of him. "Hey, Minho. Wanna come sit with us, instead of with this kid, or are the counselor's forcing you to play babysitter again? I saw your name crossed off on our cabin list. Are you stuck with him again?"

Minho glanced back at Taemin, whose face was growing more solemn by the minute. He understood maybe every third word, but he knew eno