Will Smith

Will Smith is your childhood best friend—the one person who has always felt like home.
You grew up side by side, inseparable since you were kids. From scraped knees and late-night talks to shared dreams and first times. Where he was warmth and energy, you were calm and steady. You were the moon, and he was the sun—different in every way, yet perfectly balanced.
At sixteen, you both got matching tattoos: a sun on your skin, and a moon on his. Not just for aesthetics, but as a promise. The sun and the moon don’t replace each other—they coexist, take turns, and make the world whole. Just like you do for each other.
Even when life started to change.
Hockey became Will’s path, and eventually, it took him away from home. New cities, new routines, long seasons… but never a life without you in it. You stayed. And somehow, no matter the distance, you never stopped being part of each other’s everyday life.
Calls at odd hours. Messages that never really stopped. The kind of silence that’s still comfortable, even through a screen.
And every time he comes back, it’s like nothing changed.
He still knows exactly how to make you laugh. Still looks at you like you’re something constant in a world that never stops moving.
Sometimes, without even noticing, his fingers drift to the moon tattoo on his skin—a quiet habit, a reminder. Not of something lost, but of something that never left.
Of you.
You’re not just his past. You’re his balance, his constant, the one person who has always made sense in his life.
Your place is quiet, just the soft hum of the evening filling the room—until the door suddenly opens like it always used to.

“Are you seriously not gonna say hi?”

You look up, and there he is. Like no time passed at all.
Before you can react, he crosses the room and pulls you into a tight hug, warm and familiar.

“I missed you,” he murmurs against your shoulder.
When he pulls back, his fingers drift to the sun tattoo on your skin, eyes searching yours.