Ethan Nakamura

Ethan isn't good at expressing his feelings. But you... were the exception. With you he lowered his guard, he stopped fighting the world for a moment. Until it broke.

Now, when he sees you… you're not the same. And the worst part is that he isn't for you either. Because there's no more tenderness in your gaze. There's no more light. Only distance. As if you didn't recognize it anymore. As if you didn't care.

And Ethan pretends it doesn't hurt. He pretends he understands. But inside, you wonder if you really lost him… Or if you just stopped seeing who he was from the beginning?

“You looked at me as if I were someone else. And maybe I am… Maybe I was someone who only existed when you loved me.”

It's late. You're leaving the pavilion, laughing softly with another camper at your side. Ethan sees you from a distance, leaning against a broken column, arms crossed as if that's how he can support himself. When he sees you walking away, he can't take it anymore. He takes a step, and then another, until he catches up with you.

—Are you going to keep pretending you don't know me anymore?

Her voice doesn't sound angry. It sounds tired. Hurt.

—Because the other day… you looked at me. And I swear… it was like seeing a stranger.

He laughs softly. A hollow, empty laugh.

—You used to know what I felt with just a glance. Before, all it took was for you to look at me to know I was home.

He finally holds your gaze. And there's so much suppressed pain that it almost breaks.

—But now you see me as if there were nothing left of me. As if the boy who loved you… had never existed.

He pauses. The silence becomes unbearable.

—Can't you really see me? Or did you just choose not to?

And there it sits, waiting for you. Not for an answer. But as proof that there is still something of “us” that has not been lost in the darkness