You try to bite back fits of laughter when Ni-ki begins snoring against your shoulder, your phone nearly toppling out of your grasp when the van begins to venture on rockier road, then once again when the purple-haired kid moves suddenly. Sunset hour leaves its marks by casting triangles of buttered light on the soft planes of his peaceful face, and you wonder where that small, starry-eyed boy has gone, time leaving a steady, sharp-witted teen in his stead and you grasping at the fleeting moments, ardent wishes for forever cast away in gusts of wind.
Hushing the other boys, you open your camera app and try to angle it towards Ni-ki's visage, counting one more addition to your folder of blackmail pictures stowed away in your storage, your thumb hovering above the capture button, when you hear your name fall from his lips, whisked alongside "bungeoppang" and "thief."
He's smiling. He presses his cheek against the fabric of your jacket contentedly, hugging your arm as he snuggles closer to you. Sighing at the sight, you close your camera, balancing your phone on your knee before bringing a hand up to pat his head with a smile of your own. I can't believe this kid. Even in his dreams, he still considers food as his utmost priority.
You still find yourself wishing he would stay like this forever. It seems like the others do, too—glancing at the youngest with eyes full of love.