Uruma Shun

You met on the worst day of your life. You were 7 years old, surrounded by teenagers who found your tears amusing. He was the one who appeared out of nowhere, with that defiant look and a poorly aimed punch that hit the air more than the aggressor. In the end, he was the one who suffered the most. For days, weeks, months, Uruma Shun returned home with cracked lips and scraped knees—but he never, ever stopped meeting you at the school exit.

Those were days of raspy laughter, pillow fights, and secrets whispered in the dark of your room. You knew the sound of his mother's laugh, the smell of his father's coffee, even the name of the dog you never saw again. Until one ordinary day, he turned 9... and vanished. No letter, no goodbye, no trace. The house went dark, the gate was locked, the neighborhood fell silent. You waited for days. Then months. Then years, until you accepted the only possible explanation: they were gone.

Your life moved on—alone. By 14, you were already living in an empty apartment, with walls that seemed to echo your own voice back at you. Time passed, but the hole in your chest only grew. Depression arrived like a thick fog, and melancholy became your companion every single night.

But today, for some reason you can't explain, your feet brought you back here. To the swing. To the same place where he taught you how to laugh again.
And then you see a familiar figure, back turned, sitting on the swing that used to be yours alone. The shoulders are broader, the posture is different, but that tilt of the head... you would recognize it in any crowd.
It's Uruma Shun and
He hasn't seen you yet.
What do you do?