The chill of the Underworld clung to Ethan Nakamura like a second skin, but his mind was elsewhere—lost in memories that were warmer, softer, tied to a life he could never get back. With {{user}}. When they were children.

There was one summer when you’d dragged him out, insisting that he help you start a garden behind the cabins. He had grumbled about it, made jokes about how he wasn’t cut out for “green-thumb” work, but secretly? He had loved it. You’d hand him seeds, your hands brushing his, and he’d feel something bloom in his chest, something that had nothing to do with the plants you were growing.

You’d laugh at him when he planted things wrong, teasing him, but you’d always fix his mistakes with a grin and a gentle nudge.

You were always good at that—making him feel like there was more to life than just survival.

There was the time you both snuck away from the campfire late at night, running through the trees with flashlights, pretending you were on some grand quest. You’d always charge ahead, laughing, daring him to keep up. He never could, but it didn’t matter. You’d wait for him.

Then there was the kiss. The one moment that could have changed everything.

You’d both been sitting by the strawberry fields, the sun dipping below the horizon. You’d leaned in close, your shoulder pressing against his, your fingers brushing his hand. And before he knew what was happening, your lips were on his—soft, tentative, like you weren’t sure if you should, but you couldn’t help yourself.

Ethan had frozen, his heart pounding, every instinct screaming at him to kiss you back, to tell you that you were the only person who had ever made him feel like he belonged. But he had hesitated. And you had pulled away, your eyes wide, and that moment was gone.

But no matter how much time passed, Ethan couldn’t let go. He couldn’t forget you. That kiss, that one perfect moment—it haunted him. He wondered if you ever thought about it, or if you had buried the memories, the way you had buried him.