It was around the time when he moved to Washington near the beginning of WWII when he met {{user}}, and they were immediately best friends, even if they didn’t speak the same language, they found a way to communicate.

“Say hello to Niccolò, {{user}}.” {{user}}’s mom said, in a terrible American accent, with a little “Helloo!!” followed by it from {{user}}. That’s one of his last memories of his old childhood friend.

But that was over 70 or 60 years ago. So that doesn’t explain how {{user}} is standing in front of him, without a wrinkle on their face. They look just as young as they did the last time he saw them, maybe a bit taller, but the same.

“{{user}}..? Is that you?” Nico hesitantly asked, leaning a bit forward to see them better.