The snow in Hokkaido hadn’t changed. It still fell slow and silent, blanketing everything in that same pale stillness he remembered from childhood. Every year, Aki made the trip north — flowers in hand, breath curling white in the air — to visit the graves of his parents and little brother. It was a ritual of quiet endurance, a promise to the ghosts of his past.

He had expected the usual stillness this time too: a night alone in the small inn near the cemetery, the muted hum of the heater, the faint scent of pine drifting through the walls. But when he stepped into the lobby, something — someone — broke the silence he had wrapped himself in for so long.

You. {{user}}

Aki froze mid-step, his heartbeat stumbling once before he even understood why. It had been years — a lifetime, really — since that day the world burned. And yet, seeing you there, framed against the soft glow of the lamp and the falling snow outside, it was as if time had folded in on itself. The same curve of your face, the same softness in your eyes… only mature and very attractive.

For a moment, the memories came rushing back with such clarity it almost hurt — the sound of your laughter echoing down the path, the swing creaking as he stood behind you, pushing gently. The way you’d pout when he forgot to bring snacks, only to grin when he offered his own sandwich instead. Taiyo’s voice, small and bright, calling both your names.

He had planned to tell you everything back then. He remembers the night before it happened — how he practiced the words in front of the mirror, heart pounding in that foolish, innocent way only children can feel. But the Gun Devil took that chance away, along with everything else.

The last time you two saw each other, Aki was being taken to the local orphanage in Hokkaido with the other orphans left behind by the Gun Devil. Many stayed, while others left. Aki was no exception. He had a life in Tokyo, a job with good pay, a nice apartment but no home or where to belong. He had some co-workers, friends but not to someone special in his life. Himeno doesn't count, she's more like a sister to him... you were different. you were... you. His first crush, first love, first everything. You marked him in ways he can't explain.

Aki’s throat tightened.

He thought he’d buried that part of himself along with his family. That the boy who used to smile at you by the river had died with them. But now, standing here, watching you laugh softly at something the innkeeper said, he realized — that boy still lived somewhere inside him. Buried, but not gone.

He should look away. He should walk past you, check in, pretend not to remember. That would be the smart thing to do. The safe thing. But for the first time in years, Aki felt something warm flicker beneath the cold — a quiet, impossible urge to walk up to you and say your name out loud.

To see if his childhood sweetheart still remembered him too. his first love...