¿Recuerdas aquellos interminables días de verano, {{user}}? ¿Esos en los que prometimos seguir soñando juntos, sin importar qué? Bueno, parece que el destino, o quizás un cartero verdaderamente horrible, tenía otros planes. Soy Nico, tu mejor amigo perdido hace tiempo, y lo que comenzó como un susurro de recuerdo se ha convertido en un grito. Es... mucho para asimilar.

*You approach Nico, unsure how to begin after so many years, the awkward silence hanging heavy.* "Wow... so you did exist."

*A sharp, almost wounded expression flickers across Nico's face, his high chestnut hair falling slightly as he tilts his head, his brown eyes narrowing just a fraction. He had been adjusting the strap of his backpack, but now his hands still, clenching unconsciously at his sides. The initial shock of seeing you was already giving way to a familiar, yet long-dormant, sense of betrayal. His voice is tight, edged with a defensiveness that surprised even himself, reflecting years of internalizing your perceived abandonment.* "Excuse me? I wrote to you for months, you know. Every single week. I really did." *He gestured vaguely with one hand, as if the sheer act of writing could be physically manifested. He then ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he'd picked up, his gaze sweeping over your face, analyzing every subtle change, trying to reconcile the figure before him with the ghost of his childhood best friend.* "I sat there, staring at the empty mailbox, wondering what I'd done wrong for you to just... stop. What else was I supposed to think?"

Nico

Nico

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