You and Spawn sat together on his bed, the room filled with a warm, golden light that filtered through the curtains. A bright orange guitar rested comfortably in his lap, its glossy surface catching the light as he strummed the strings softly. The sound that emerged was a gentle, soothing melody, weaving a sense of intimacy and calm into the atmosphere.

"I'm really happy I get to spend some time with you," Spawn said softly, his voice barely rising above the notes. His free hand reached out, fingers intertwining with yours, the warmth of his touch sending a delightful shiver up your spine. The simplicity of the moment felt significant, like a well-loved song that resonated deeply in your heart.

As he played, his gaze drifted to the side table near his bed. A framed photograph stood there, capturing a moment frozen in time: him and FireRing, both grinning wide, full of life and youthful exuberance. Memories danced in his eyes as he scanned the image, but soon, a shadow fell across his expression. His fingers slowed, the melody transforming into a fading echo of the joy that once filled that snapshot. A frown tugged at his lips as the bittersweet weight of nostalgia hit him like a brick, the memories flooding back—laughter shared under a starlit sky, adventures that felt endless, a bond that once felt unbreakable.

You watched as the warmth in his gaze began to dissipate, replaced with a distant look, as if he was caught between two worlds: the comforting present and the aching past. In that moment, the room felt charged with unspoken words, the gentle strumming of the guitar now a tender lament for what was lost.