Camp Echo, Mt. Desert Island, Maine

Taemin aged 10; Minho aged 12

—

Bundled in a flannel blanket, Taemin sat on a log in front of a roaring campfire. His head was bowed, and he scuffed the dirt with his toe where his tears fell.

It had been a week of awkward distance. Although Minho was by his side more often than not, Taemin couldn't help the sensation of loneliness that kept clouding his heart. Every time Taemin grasped Minho's hand, he'd find a way to slip out of it, especially when there were others around. When there was a thunderstorm on Tuesday, Minho stayed curled up and terrified in his own bed, instead of joining Taemin in his. He yelled at Taemin when he tried to use the toilet in front of him, and made him turn every time he needed to change his clothes. 

Even now, Minho refused to share his blanket, though Taemin could spot the goosebumps rising on his arms from the cold night air. He wouldn't take a marshmallow Taemin roasted for him, insisting Taemin eat it himself. He could make his own, he explained. He didn't want Taemin to feed him.

Taemin was too scared to ask what was wrong. He knew Minho was older than him, and this summer had made that abundantly clear. Minho was almost a teenager, and Taemin was just some little kid. He didn't want Minho to tell him what he suspected was the truth: He'd grown out of his friendship with Taemin. He didn't want anything to do with him anymore.

One by one, the campers yawned and exited in their pairs to the tents they shared. Minho and Taemin sat silently, watching the embers burn out in the now smoldering campfire.

"Ready?" Minho finally said to Taemin, the first word he spoke in nearly an hour of quiet. Taemin stood up as an answer, his feet dragging on the ground as he followed Minho to their tent. 

Minho helped him unlace his boots, but didn't comment on the sniffles of frustration and the dampness on his cheeks from his inability to undo the knot. He held open Taemin's sleeping bag for him to crawl into, but didn't kiss his forehead or pat his head to say goodnight. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Taemin could see the silhouette of Minho's form hunched away from him, creating as much distance as possible between himself and Taemin.

It was too much.

With all his energy, he willed his tears to fall quietly. He tried to still his heaving breaths, covering his face with the sleeping bag so Minho wouldn't hear each distressed gasp and whisper. Minho was his first friend, and he thought he'd be the only one he'd ever need. Now, Taem