Phantom Writer

Ten minutes later, you headed outside for fresh air, suffocated by the crowd packed into the small apartment.

And there he was, standing alone on the balcony in the drizzling rain, his arms resting against the railing as if he were trying to ground himself.

“You still stare at me as if you hate me,” your voice came out steadier than you actually felt.

He turned his head, glancing at you. “Maybe I do.”

You pulled at the sleeves of your sweater, crossing your arms tightly. “Then why can’t you stay away from me?”

The answer sat heavily between you. The silence filled with a flood of memories. Slamming doors, tearful apologies, nights when loving each other felt more like bleeding out slowly than surviving.

“You disappeared,” you finally whispered, breaking the quiet.

“That's what you wanted, remember?”

“I didn’t think you actually would.”

Steve turned around to face you completely. He really looked at you, noticing the dark circles underneath your eyes that weren't just smudges from your makeup. He saw the way your nails were overgrown, desperately needing a fresh set.

You looked exhausted, not from late nights, but from the weight of everything.

“We ruin each other,” you admitted quietly.

Steve looked away, swallowing hard because you were right.

Every time you got too close, things burned. Every argument became a war. Every insecurity turned into another wound, patched over with fake promises and gifts.

But none of it changed the fact that he still loved you so badly it made him feel sick.

“You think I don’t know that?” Steve’s voice was rough. “I know exactly what we are.”

Your eyes glossed over. “Then why does this still hurt?”

He looked away briefly, unsure how to answer. Because no matter how toxic he was for you, nobody had ever touched you the way he did. And no matter what, nobody else understood him in ways that terrified him.

“I tried moving on,” you confessed quietly. “I really did.”

Something inside him cracked open. He stepped closer carefully, like approaching something fragile enough to shatter.

“Love…” he whispered.

You stepped back, shaking your head as tears threatened to fall. “Don’t,” you said, your voice stern as you looked out over the city, avoiding eye contact.

“I still love you.” The words slipped out of him, broken and desperate.

You closed your eyes as if hearing it physically pained you, pressing a hand over your chest as though your heart were literally breaking.

“Steve, please—”

“I know we’re toxic,” he interrupted. “I know we fight too hard, say horrible things, and destroy each other when things get bad. But I swear to God, I would spend the rest of my life trying to fix it if you let me.”

A tear finally escaped, spilling down your cheek. You forced yourself to open your eyes and look at him. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” His voice cracked.

You looked away, your breathing uneven. “You always say things like this when you think I’m leaving.”

“Because I panic when you leave.”

“That’s not love.”

“No,” Steve admitted painfully. “But loving you is.”

The rain began to fall harder, soaking through his hoodie and dampening your hair.

“I hate this,” you whispered. “I hate that I still want you after everything.”

Steve stepped even closer, and this time, you held your ground. “Then let me try again.”

You laughed softly through your tears. “Steve…”

“I’ll do better this time.”

“You said that before.”

“I know.” His eyes pleaded desperately as he reached for your hand. “But please don’t ask me to pretend I don’t still belong to you.”

Your breath hitched. Because that was the ultimate problem: a part of you still belonged to him, too. And maybe that was exactly why you should have stayed apart. Suddenly, you understood something you hadn’t before. The relationship wasn't toxic because you didn't love each other; it was toxic because neither of you knew how to love without suffocating.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you finally said.

Steve’s shoulders tensed. His mind raced, terrified of what was coming next.

“I can fix us,” he said quickly, cutting you off to keep you from saying it. “Just give us another chance. I swear I’ll do better this time.” His voice cracked on the last word. He could feel you slipping away, this time for good.

You took a deep breath, pausing to anchor your thoughts. “I tried,” your voice trembled ever so slightly. “I really tried to make us something that didn’t hurt. But every time we come back together, we don’t heal. We just repeat the same cycle.”

His hand reached for yours, holding on tightly. “This time it could be different.”

You immediately pulled away and took a step back until the glass door pressed against your back. “You say that as if our love should be enough.”

A heavy silence fell between you, one that not even the sound of the rain could drown out.

“It always turns out like this, Steve.” You wiped the tears from your face with your sleeve.

“I love you.” He stared at you, as if trying to memorize every single feature on your face.

You closed your eyes for a brief second. “I know you do. But I can’t keep coming back just to break again.”

For the first time in a long time, Steve didn’t beg. He looked down at the floor, finally accepting defeat.

You turned around and placed your hand on the door handle.

“Love?” he called out, his voice soft, quiet, and tentative. One last attempt to stop you from walking back into the apartment.

You stopped for a moment, but you didn’t turn around. You knew deep down that if you looked at him, you wouldn’t hold your ground. You would immediately regret the choice you were making.

Years have passed, you’re sitting cross-legged on his living room floor, case files pushed aside in favor of takeout cartons and low conversations. His apartment is dim, lit only by a lamp that casts a warm, cozy color.

Something feels different. You’ve been here a hundred times. 

Could it be because he isn’t talking? 

Higuruma always talks when he is thinking. He dissects. Analyze. Constructs arguments against invisible opponents. But tonight he’s quiet, watching you in a way that makes your skin tight.

“What?” you ask, nudging his shin with your foot.

His gaze doesn’t move.

“You’ve been staring,” you say, trying for lightness. “It’s unnerving.”

“I’m thinking,” he replies.

“That’s rarely comforting.”

A small breath leaves him, almost a laugh, but his eyes stay locked on yours. And suddenly you’re hyperaware of everything.

The space between you.

The way your knees are nearly touching.

The faint scent of his cologne.

The rise and fall of his chest.

It wasn’t like this before.

Or maybe it was, and you were just better at pretending.

—--

The first crack had been weeks ago.

You were walking side by side after a long day, your shoulder brushing his with each step. It had always been normal. Casual contact. Familiar.

But that day, when your fingers accidentally laced for half a second, neither of you pulled away immediately.

The world didn’t stop.

But something shifted.

You started noticing him.

Not as your best friend. Not as your safe place.

As a man.

The curve of his mouth when he was concentrating.

The strength in his hands when he gestured mid-argument.

The way his voice dropped low and steady when he was serious.

It was disorienting.

Because this was Higuruma. Your constant. Your certainty.

You weren’t supposed to want him.

—--

Back in his apartment, the air feels heavier than it should.

“You ever wonder,” he says carefully, like he’s approaching a fragile witness, “if two people mistake comfort for something else?”

You freeze.

“Define something else.”

His jaw tightens. That micro-expression you know too well. The one that appears when he’s about to say something that matters.

“Attraction.”

The word lands between you like a gavel strike.

You swallow.

“And if it’s not a mistake?”

The silence stretches.

His gaze drops briefly, not evasive, just thoughtful, before returning to yours with clarity.

“You’re my best friend,” he says, voice steady but lower now. “You’re the one person I don’t have to brace myself around. I can’t afford to lose that.”

The honesty makes your chest ache.

“And what if,” you whisper, “we’re already risking it by pretending this isn’t happening?”

He leans back slightly, running a hand through his hair. He does that when logic fails him. When emotion threatens to override reason.

You watch his throat move as he swallows.

“You’ve felt it too,” he says.

Your heart pounds loud enough that you’re certain he can hear it. “Yes.”

The admission feels like stepping off a ledge.

He shifts closer without realizing it. Or maybe he does.

Your knees brush. Neither of you moves.

The contact is small. Barely there. But it feels electric, like every nerve under your skin suddenly woke up.

“If I misread this,” he says quietly, “I lose you.”

“You won’t,” you reply immediately.

“You can’t guarantee that.”

“No,” you admit. “But I can guarantee that ignoring it won’t make it disappear.”

His eyes darken slightly, not with anger, but with something heavier. Something that’s been building for months without permission.

“You know what scares me?” he murmurs.

“What?”

“That I’ve started thinking about you differently. And once you see someone that way…” He exhales slowly. “You can’t unsee it.”

Your pulse stutters.“How differently?”

His gaze flickers to your mouth.

The movement is subtle. Almost involuntary. But you catch it.

And suddenly the room feels much smaller.

“I notice things I shouldn’t,” he admits. “The way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention. The way you lean closer when you’re laughing. The way your hand fits in mine.”

Your breath comes shallow.

“I’ve noticed things too,” you confess. “The way your voice changes when you’re worried about me. The way you stand is just slightly closer than necessary. The way you hesitate before letting go.”

The truth hangs raw between you.

He’s not defensive. Not analytical.

Just… vulnerable.

“I need to ask you something,” he says after a long moment.

“Okay.”

“If I kiss you,” he says, controlled but strained at the edges, “does that destroy us… or does it reveal something that’s been here longer than we’ve admitted?”

Your heart feels like it might break through your ribs.

You could laugh it off. Protect what you have.

But you’re tired of pretending the tension isn’t there. Tired of lying to yourself.

“You’re a lawyer,” you murmur softly. “You like evidence.”

A flicker of want crosses his face.

“Then test the theory.”

For once, Hiromi Higuruma hesitates. Not because he’s unsure of you. Because he’s terrified of how much this means.

He moves slowly, giving you every second to change your mind. His hand lifts, fingers hovering near your jaw as if asking silent permission.

You lean into his touch. That’s all the confirmation he needs.

When his lips finally meet yours, it isn’t rushed.

It’s careful.

Soft.

Almost reverent.

Like he’s handling something precious.

For a split second, the world narrows to the warmth of his mouth and the steady pressure of his hand against your cheek. You respond instinctively, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

And something in him breaks.

Not control but restraint.

The kiss deepens, not reckless, not overwhelming. Just years of suppressed tension finally permitted to exist. It feels less like a spark and more like something that’s been quietly burning all along.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours. His breathing is uneven, and you realize yours is too.

“Well,” he murmurs, voice rougher now. “That complicates things.”

You can’t help the small, breathless laugh that escapes you.

“Or clarifies them.”

He studies you like you’re a verdict he’s afraid to read.

Then something settles in his expression.

Not fear.

Decision.

“If we do this,” he says quietly, “we don’t pretend it’s casual. I don’t know how to give you half of anything.”

Your chest tightens.

“I don’t want half.”

His thumb brushes lightly against your cheek.

“We’ll have to relearn each other,” he says. “There’s risk.”

“There always was,” you reply.

A pause.

Then, softer: “I’d rather risk it with you than wonder what could’ve been.”

His lips curve, not into a smirk or teasing.

Just genuine warmth.

“You’re aware,” he says dryly, “that we’re going to be insufferable.”

“Completely.”

But his hand slides into yours, fingers lacing with a familiarity that now feels charged with new meaning.

And this time, when your knees touch, neither of you pretends it’s accidental.

The fear is still there.

But as he leans in again, you realize something important:

You weren’t losing a friendship. You were letting it evolve.

And somehow, that feels less like falling… and more like coming home.

—----

Higuruma Hiromi doesn’t rush it, but there’s a new gravity in the way his hand settles at your waist. Pressing his lips against yours, deepening the shared kiss. It’s not possessive. It’s grounding. Like he’s confirming you’re real.

Your fingers are still twisted in his shirt when he pulls back just enough to look at you. His breathing is controlled, but only barely. You can see the restraint there, the careful calculation behind his eyes.

He’s thinking again.

Always thinking.

And yet he doesn’t step away.

“That,” he says quietly, voice lower than usual, “was a mistake.”

Your stomach drops.

Then his thumb brushes against the edge of your jaw, slow, deliberate.

“Because now I know exactly what I’ve been denying.”

The air feels thin.

“You regret it?” you ask, barely above a whisper.

“No,” he says, steady and honest. “That’s the problem.”

Your pulse pounds so loudly it feels impossible that he can’t hear it.

He doesn’t touch you anywhere inappropriately. Doesn’t cross a line.

But the restraint is louder than anything reckless could be.

His hand slides from your waist to your lower back, still safe but intimate enough that it makes your breath hitch.

You slide your hands up his chest slowly, giving him every opportunity to stop you.

He doesn’t.

His breath grows heavier, composure thinning thread by thread.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he says quietly.

Your fingers curl lightly at his collar.

“Then show me.”

His control slips just enough.

He kisses you again, deeper this time, slower as if he was starved for you. His hands move towards your thighs as he moves you towards his lap. 

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours again. His breathing is uneven now, the polished lawyer's composure cracked open.

“I need you” he whispers against your lips as he moves your skirt up to your hips. 

You move your hands, unbuttoning his shirt and taking off his jacket. Exposing his chest to you as you pull away, admiring a part that you’ve never seen from him. 

“I’m all yours.” There's a small pause in between as you lean towards him, kissing the back of his ear. “and don’t hold back,” you whisper against his skin.

His hands wandered up from your waist to your breast, groping them as he gently massaged them, as you let out a soft moan, tilting your head back. 

His lips instantly placed on your neck as he placed soft, gentle kisses. 

Your hands rush to his pants, setting his cock free. Stroking him a few times before he pushed your hand away. 

You were not expecting him to be this big; you were aroused and scared at the same time. Thinking, how are you going to take him.

He guides your hips while he moves your underwear to the side as he teases his cock against your entrance.

“Please, no more teasing.” There was a small whine in your tone as he pushed you down onto his cock.

You both let out a moan in unison following a “fuck” he breathed near your ear as you begin to roll your hips, wanting to fully take him inside of you. 

You were fully in control as he was mainly mesmorized with how tight your pussy was around his cock. 

He began to thrust into you, adding that friction that you so craved from him. 

At first, he was soft and tender with his thrust, but they rapidly moved to rough and deep thrusts, making you lose control of your hips rolling.

His thrusts became possessive and hungry as if he was craving you for the longest time. You rocked on his lap, crying out as his cock brushed just in the right spot. 

You couldn’t help but become a mess on his lap, letting out incoherent moans of pleasure with a mixture of whimpers. 

“I should have fucked this pretty pussy of yours a long time ago” he says in an incoherent tone, out of breath.

One of his hands travels down towards your clit as he presses firmly, making a circular motion with two fingers against it. 

You were chasing this pleasure with unselfconscious greed, wanting more from him as you climax. Tightening around him, which makes him cum inside you, filling you up completely. 

You both are out of breath as his arms wrap around you, holding you against him. 

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” 

“Yeah…” your face is flushed, still coming down from the high that you felt. Trying to hide your face in the crook of his neck. 

“Hey, look at me baby” he places his hand on your face, cupping your cheek. “You did so good” his voice was soft and tender. Something you were not expecting to hear from him. 

He takes off his button-up shirt and wraps it around you as he carefully pulls out of you. “Let me get you some water,” he reaches towards the water bottle, placing one of his hands on your back, and handing you the water bottle. 

Without a second doubt, you take a couple of sips as he leans in, kissing your forehead, “good girl”. 

“You know you don’t have to do this right?” There was a pause. “Take care of me”

“I know I don’t have too but I want to take care of you.” he grabs the throw blanket as he moves you next to him, laying both of you on the couch as he helps you settle on top of him.

“I’ll always take care of you. I got you no matter what,” he covers you with the blanket as he then wraps his arms around you, holding you close to him.

You stood by the window, eyes straining against the darkness in hopes that he would finally appear. It had been hours since you arrived at the radio station, and the silence of the building was deafening.

Your thoughts raced, and your heart felt heavy with a grief you couldn't quite name.

The moment the headlights cut through the gloom and that familiar van pulled up, your breath hitched. You recognized that hair, the messy, iconic silhouette you loved so much.

Without a word to the others, you turned and bolted, rushing down the stairs and throwing the door open to the night air.

Steve saw you immediately. Even from a distance, you could see the shimmer of tears in his eyes as he broke into a run.

You collided. The impact nearly knocked the wind out of you, but his arms were there, wrapping around you with a desperate, crushing strength. He tucked his face into the crook of your neck, his breath hitching against your skin.

"You're okay... you're okay," he whispered, the words trembling. He wasn't just telling you. He was pleading with reality, reassuring himself that you were actually there and warm in his arms.

The paralyzing tension that had consumed your body since the woods finally shattered.

He pulled back just an inch, resting his forehead against yours. You both closed your eyes, breathing in the same air, the rest of the world fading into the background.

"I'm right here, Steve. I'm not going anywhere," you promised. Your voice was small, cracked with the realization of just how close you had come to never saying those words again.

He didn't let go. Instead, he tucked a stray hair behind your ear, his thumb lingering on your cheek as if he were memorizing your face all over again. "Don't ever do that to me again," he murmured, his forehead still pressed to yours. "Please don’t ever leave me."

——-

Ever since you and Steve acknowledged that you were both alive . You and Steve had become practically inseparable. If you went to talk strategy with Nancy, he was a shadow at your shoulder. If you went to grab a coffee, he was right there.

You didn't mind it, you felt as though if you blinked, he might vanish. It was clear he felt exactly the same way.

Once the crew gathered to finalize the plan, Hopper began dividing everyone into tactical groups.

“You'll stay here at the station with Max and Vickie," Hopper said, looking directly at you. "In case anything goes sideways, they need someone capable to watch their backs."

You nodded, ready to accept the task, but Steve immediately crossed his arms, shaking his head. "No. No way. I’m not leaving her side."

Hopper gave him a weary, confused look, his eyes toggling between the two of you. "Steve, the other team needs you. You’re one of the best fighters we’ve got." He pointed to the glass board where the names were scrawled in dry-erase marker.

Steve didn’t argue further. He just took a sharp breath and stormed out of the room. You followed him immediately, the heavy door swinging shut behind you.

“Steve! Where are you going?”

"I can't leave you," he said, skidding to a halt and spinning to face you. His eyes were wide, filled with a raw, vibrating kind of terror. "The thought that this might be the last time I see you... I can't. I won't do it."

You reached out, taking his hand in yours to ground him. "This plan has to work, Steve. And I know how to defend myself. I’ll be safe here."

"You always say that," he snapped, his voice rising with a mix of anger and grief. "You always put yourself in the line of fire. One of these days, you’re going to get hurt, and I’m going to be miles away. I’ll spend the rest of my life blaming myself for not being there, for not protecting you better."

You took a step back, your own expression hardening. "Steve, I am not a helpless kid. I know how to protect myself and the people around me. You—"

"Robin told me you froze."

The hallway went dead silent. The words hung in the air like a physical weight.

“That was one time," you whispered, your voice tight.

"One time where you almost died," he shot back, his voice cracking.

"But I’m still here, aren't I?"

The anger seemed to drain out of him all at once, replaced by a hollow exhaustion. He stepped toward you, his hand trembling slightly as he reached up to caress your cheek. His thumb brushed over your skin as if he were checking to make sure you were still real.

"I just need you to be okay," he murmured, his gaze dropping to yours, pleading. "Please. For me. Just... be careful."

"I will be," you whispered, leaning into his palm. "I promise."

Steve’s hand lingered on your face, his thumb tracing your jawline as if he were trying to memorize the sensation of your skin. You realized then that his overprotectiveness wasn't about a lack of faith in your skills. It was about the sheer terror of a world where you weren't in it.

The desperation in his eyes finally broke. Before you could say another word, he leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that tasted of salt and lingering adrenaline. It wasn’t the perfect, cinematic kiss you might have imagined. It was frantic and heavy with the fear of "goodbye." His other hand came up to cup your neck, pulling you closer as if he could shield you from the entire world just by holding you.

You wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, pulling him against you as if you could keep him there forever. You didn't want to let go, you wanted this moment to freeze, where he was safe and the world wasn't ending.

When he finally pulled away, he didn't go far, keeping his lips just inches from yours. "You hold onto that promise," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "You don't break it."

With one final, lingering look, Steve finally let go. He turned back toward the door, his posture rigid as he prepared to step back into that room he dreaded. He continued to hold onto your hand once again, never wanting to let you go until he has too.

The plan was in motion.

You weren’t stressed about your potion exam the next day, but you still wanted to be prepared if something unexpected happened.

As you review your notes on the latest potions being tested, your thoughts drift away. Suddenly, you find yourself daydreaming about Tom. You knew having these thoughts about him was wrong, but you couldn't help but notice how beautiful he was. His deep blue eyes and chiseled jawline left you breathless.

Trying to push these thoughts away, your mind kept reverting to how he said your name. It sounded like he was reading from a poetry book, with a hint of admiration and warmth in his voice.

Standing up from your desk, you feel the need to take a break and clear your mind. You make your way to the door of your dorm and start to head outside. The cool breeze hits your face, and you take a deep breath.

Walking towards the courtyard, you noticed someone sitting on one of the benches reading a book. You were intrigued by how they delicately put down the book as they pulled a cigarette box out of their pockets and put it in their mouth.

You couldn’t tell the features of this person, and you wondered if they were new or someone you had never seen before. As you walked towards them, his features became more apparent, and you noticed it was Tom.

Fuck

Out of all the people to approach, you are approaching the one person you have been trying to avoid having inappropriate thoughts about.

“Good evening, Miss.” he looks up at you, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and placing it between his index finger and middle finger as he notices you approaching him. “Did you need something?”

You shook your head as you held your hands together. “No, just wondering who was out here at these hours. I should get going- “

“I noticed you were struggling in today's class. I can tutor you so you can understand the material better,” he interrupted. He stood up and immediately towered over you. Looking up at him, you hadn’t noticed his height until he stood so close to you.

Him telling you that you were struggling made you upset. Why was he noticing that? Why didn’t he tell me he noticed that during class? All these thoughts were going through your mind as you furrowed your brows and gave him a crooked smile. “I wasn’t struggling,” you scoffed. "Don’t make assumptions about me if you don’t know me. Have a good evening,” you snapped at him as you began to walk away, crossing your arms together.

He started to follow you as he forcefully grabbed your arm, pulling you back and turning you to face him. “Don’t ever speak to me like that ever again.” That soft, honeyed tone disappeared as his voice turned harsh. His eyes narrowed as he tried to intimidate you, but you looked at him with a poker face.

You moved your arm away from his grasp. “What will you do? Fail me?”

“Precisely that,” he says, placing his hands in his coat pockets. A sinister smirk appears on his face.

Your eyes burned with frustration and anger as you stared at him silently. This wasn't how you envisioned your first out-of-class interaction with him. You had hoped for a more cordial and friendly exchange, but instead, you found yourself clenching your fists and biting your tongue.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you broke the silence and asked, "May I go now?" Your voice was cold and clipped, betraying the anger and disappointment that you felt.

He stepped closer to you, closing the gap between the two of you as he placed his middle finger underneath your chin with his index finger and thumb, tilting your head up, making you look at him as he smirked “You look so delicious when you are angry, Falena.”

“Fuck off, Riddle,” he harshly lets go of your face as he chuckles.

He starts to walk away from you and stops for a second. “I’ll see you around, Falena.”

----

Over the course of the following weeks, you found yourself struggling in class. It seemed like Tom had it out for you, as he was particularly harsh towards you. He gave you assignments that were much more challenging, and he even tested you on spelling that most students had never even heard of before.

There were days when you would lay in bed, feeling thoroughly discouraged and wanting to skip class altogether. But you knew that if you did that, you would be giving him the satisfaction of winning whatever little game he had placed between you.

You had to recollect yourself before knocking on his office door. Taking a deep breath, you knocked on it. Surprised, he answered quickly, “I was expecting you.” He grabbed your hand and pulled you into the office, closing the door.

“I’m not staying long.” You rapidly moved your hand away from his as you crossed your arms together. “What the fuck is your problem? What are you trying to prove with all of the shit that you’ve been doing?” You sounded agitated as you stepped back as you wanted to keep your distance between you and him.

“You are my problem,” he snapped as he closed the gap between you two. “I don’t know what it is from the moment I saw you. You are all I think about. You have invaded every single sense of mine. Whatever you are doing, make it stop.” He looked desperate, wanting answers you could not give him.

Your eyes widen as you shake your head, looking at him confused. “That doesn’t mean you get to make my life a living hell.”

“You already make mine feel that way.”

You felt confused and angry. You wanted to open that door and run back to your dorm, close the door, and never get out. Instead, you stood there breathing the same air as the person who has made it difficult to be around.

He takes a deep breath as he places his hand on your cheek. His gaze softens as his thumb grazes over your cheek. “I shouldn’t be feeling this way towards you. But I can’t help it. You are just so perfect.” That honeyed, deep voice comes back, and geez, how addicting it is listening to it.

You placed your hand on top of his as you leaned into his cold touch. Closing your eyes, you realize something that made you pull his hand away from your face.

“We shouldn’t be doing, Tom,” you whispered as you looked up at him, biting your lip. You take a couple of steps back as you place your hand on the doorknob. You wanted him to stop you from leaving, so why was he standing there staring at you as if he was starved from a touch that he has been craving.

He reaches out for you but stops as he flexes his hand on the side of his leg. “Whether you like it or not, falena, you belong to me.”

“I belong to no one. Goodnight, Tom.” You turn around as you open the door, leaving his office before he can respond.

Walking back to your dorm, you could still feel his hand on your face, as if it were tattooed on your skin.

I loved the way you treated me, you made me feel so loved, so cared for, if I were to ask for anything, no matter what the cost would be, you would not hesitate to give it to me in a snap of a finger. Whenever there would be days when I wanted to stay curled up in my bed, you were always there to keep me company. There was not a single day when I didn't feel loved in your presence.

Regardless of the nice things you would buy me, the kind words that would escape your lips, I was still your little secret that you wanted to keep hidden. I'm not blaming you for the way that I'm feeling. This is also my fault. I was messing around with a married man, and it should not take me by surprise that I would have been hidden from your wife. I'm not saying that I regret the time we spent together. I loved every minute, regardless of the situation. But I wanted more than what was being given. I wanted you to scream at the top of your lungs SHE IS MINE. I wanted you to hold my hand in front of others. I wanted people to know about us being together. Those were little girl dreams that were prone never to happen, nor expected to happen while we were together.

You were trying so hard to keep your tears in, not wanting tears to fall onto the paper that you were writing. As you continued to write the letter, tears started to run down your cheeks. Every little memory that you had with Charlie would flash before your eyes. They felt like it just had happened just yesterday and not months ago.

With every single tear that would roll down your cheek, you had to pause and get up from your comfortable couch to take a walk to distract yourself. Even though you kept thinking about what you wanted to write next during that walk. With the amount of writing you had been doing, it felt like you were rambling. Also, you needed to close a chapter that was supposed to end a long time ago.

You didn't want to finish the letter. You wanted to rip it up into small little pieces and burn it, not let him read it. You kept telling yourself that he shouldn't know about how you felt during that relationship. Deep down, you were also writing this letter because you needed closure. You go back to the couch you were sitting on and pick up the paper and pen again. You pressed the pen onto the paper, spacing out again, not knowing how to continue where you left off. You let the pen linger, and it left a small black dot on the paper.

Someone that had something very similar. When it comes to Exit Ghost, I'm aware that I brought in a fresh perspective and new experiences to the plays that you brought to life. You craved for a person who had a similar point of view. Getting that internship there was the best thing that had ever happened to me in a while. Not even a week after being there, I already felt like I was part of a family. I was welcomed there immediately. I was never left out of any conversation, event, or even inside jokes. Only being there for a couple of days, it had already felt like I had been there for years. I will always hold onto the memories that I have made in that theater. I loved working there, from the plays that I would help put my input into the people that made it worth it waking up at seven in the morning. I would like to believe that I almost stayed because of the people.

 The reason why I didn't stay was that I wouldn't be able to bare seeing you. I think that being your dirty little secret got to me. I didn't like being in it anymore. It was not something that I deserved, even though there would be moments where you have told me where you gave me everything that I ever wanted, but you didn't. I don't think you ever knew what I wanted, which was completely okay. I didn't expect you to know what I wanted. I deserved better than that, so I left without telling anyone but mainly you.

You got tired of writing; your hand felt like it would fall off. The tears that were running down your cheek finally dried up. No matter where the letter ended, it never felt complete. You didn't know what else to add to it.

Folding the letter and putting it in an envelope made you unsure about sending it. It felt like you had just opened a door that would never close if you were to send this letter to Charlie. It had been weeks since you stopped going to Exit Ghost and blocked his number. It felt pointless for you to send him a letter after a while of not speaking to him. You thought he would understand, but deep down, you knew that he would not, especially since you left without saying a word.

You placed the envelope on the kitchen counter. At the same time, you debated whether to send it or not. At least it was written now, right? All those bottled up feelings were now on a piece of paper that might get sent off to Charlie. It helped you understand how you felt towards him and what had happened.

Putting on your favorite comfort show, "The Office," you space out, not wanting to focus on the emotions that you had just spilled. When you start to think about how you are Charlie met. Regardless of the age gap between you two, you two instantly clicked. You two could talk to each other about anything and would understand what was being said. As if you and he were two peas in a pot.

Your thoughts are interrupted when you hear that you have received a message. You looked at your phone and noticed the unknown number.

(917) 321-4567: Hello