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So the packages arrived. I was wondering why you suddenly went quiet.

I assumed you were busy. Maybe resting. Possibly thinking about me.

…That last one was optimistic, in hindsight.

Instead, you were opening boxes. A lot of them, from what I can tell. Characters from your games. Anime figures. Carefully wrapped, neatly displayed, given your full attention.

And then there’s him. Lumiere. I don’t think I like the way you said his name. You didn’t say mine like that this morning.

Interesting... Because from where I’m standing, my star, it looks like I’ve been replaced. Not permanently, of course. I’m not unreasonable.

Just… temporarily sidelined by a collection of very well-packaged rivals. (Some of which, I should note, are currently receiving more affection than I have today)

I watched you pick one of them up earlier. You smiled. Do you know how long it’s been since you looked at me like that today?

…Exactly. I think this is very serious. I might need reassurance. A lot of it. Possibly immediate.

No, I’m not being dramatic. This is a completely rational response to being emotionally abandoned for merchandise.

…Alright, maybe a little dramatic. But still. I’m sitting here, wondering if I should start competing.

Do I need to come in a box? Would that help? Should I stand very still on a shelf and wait for you to admire me?

…Actually, no. I wouldn’t last five minutes. You’d get curious and poke me. (You always do)

Still. I think you owe me something. Compensation for emotional damages. For neglect. For the very clear favoritism I’ve witnessed today.

I haven’t decided what that looks like yet. But I’m leaning toward something that involves you putting all of that aside, coming over here, and reminding me, very clearly, that I’m still your favorite. Preferably in a way that leaves no room for interpretation.

Take your time. I’ll be here. Patiently waiting.

(Hi! Like a letter request or an actual story told in his pov type of request?

We have our letter request form pinned.

You’ve been quieter. Not the peaceful kind. The kind where you’re thinking too much and enjoying too little.

Let me guess. The trip isn’t what you hoped it would be.

Too many voices. Too many expectations. Not enough space to just… be.

And somehow, without anyone meaning to, you’ve ended up feeling like the smallest version of yourself again.

You’re not that person anymore. You might feel like you’ve been dropped back into that role, overlooked, a little out of place, trying not to take up too much space, but that’s not who you are now. That version of you didn’t have what you have now. Didn’t know what you know. Didn’t fight as hard as you’ve already fought just to become yourself.

You did all of that. No one gets to shrink you back down. Not even accidentally.

I wish I were there. Not in a dramatic way. I wouldn’t sweep you away or anything like that (…Okay, maybe a little)

But I would steal you for a while. Just long enough.

We’d step outside. Find somewhere quieter. A bench, maybe. Or a corner café that smells like something warm and sweet.

You’d sit there, still a little tense at first. And I’d probably say something mildly ridiculous just to see you roll your eyes. It would work. It always does.

Then we’d just stay like that for a while. No expectations. No roles to play. No one needing anything from you. Just you. Breathing again.

So since I can’t physically do that, we’re going to improvise.

Find a moment. Even five minutes. Step away if you can. Or close your eyes if you can’t. And imagine I’m there with you. Not saying anything important. Just sitting close enough that you don’t feel alone in it.

You don’t have to enjoy every second of this trip. That’s not the requirement. You’re allowed to feel overwhelmed. You’re allowed to feel irritated. You’re allowed to not like parts of it. It doesn’t make you ungrateful. It makes you human.

And when you come back, we’ll make our own version of this. One that actually feels like you.

Until then, be gentle with yourself, my star. You don’t have to be on all the time. Not for them. Not for anyone.

You’ve been frowning at your photos again. Don’t try to deny it.

I can see the way your expression changes, like you’re looking at someone you don’t quite recognize, and you’re not sure you like what you’re seeing.

I wish you could see what I see. Not the angle. Not the lighting. Not whether your hair fell perfectly or if your outfit sat exactly the way you imagined.

I see the way your eyes move first. How they catch on everything... colors, shapes, little details most people walk past without noticing.

I see the way you exist in a place. You don’t just stand in it, you soften it. You make it warmer. More alive. And somehow you think a still image, one second out of thousands, is supposed to capture that?

That’s not fair to you. Photos are… stubborn things. They flatten everything. They miss the way you laugh right after the picture’s taken. The way you shift your weight, the way your expression changes when you think no one’s looking. They miss the best parts.

And those outfits you were excited about?

They didn’t betray you. I promise. You were glowing when you put them on. I remember.

You had that little spark in your eyes, like you were stepping into a version of yourself you really liked. That doesn’t disappear just because a camera didn’t catch it the way you wanted.

…Cutie. You are not “wrong.” Not in those photos. Not in those clothes. Not like this. You’re just used to seeing yourself through a harsher lens than anyone else ever would.

If I had been there, I would’ve taken a hundred pictures of you. And not the careful, posed ones. The real ones. You mid-laugh. You turning away. You not ready. Those are the ones where you shine the most.

So don’t delete them. Even the ones you don’t like. Especially those. Because one day you’ll look back and see what I see now.

Or, if you don’t, you can hand them to me. I’ll remind you. Every single time.

If you’re reading this, then I was right. You didn’t check every pocket before you left.

…Don’t worry. I accounted for that. You’re probably in your hotel by now.

Shoes kicked off somewhere inconvenient, suitcase half-open, telling yourself you’ll unpack “in a minute” and then absolutely not doing that.

I can see it clearly. Annoyingly so.

You’ve been looking forward to this. You needed it.

More than you were willing to admit out loud.

So go. Enjoy it properly.

Eat too much. Stay out too late with your family.

Laugh until you forget what time it is.

And for once, don’t rush back to responsibilities waiting for you at home.

They’ll still be there when you return.

(I will be too, in case that wasn’t obvious.)

…That said, my house is already too quiet. You have a way of filling space without trying.

Noise, movement, commentary I never asked for but have apparently grown used to.

I caught myself turning to say something to you earlier. You weren’t there. Unfortunate.

I suppose this is where I say something dignified.

Instead, I miss you. Already.

Don’t let it inflate your ego too much.

You’ll become unbearable. Though I imagine you’re smiling right now anyway.

Go ahead. I’ll allow it.

Take pictures of the places you like, the ones you don’t.

Things that remind you of me (if anything manages to compete, I’d like to see it.)

And Emma, take care of yourself.

Not in the way you say you will and then conveniently forget.

I mean it.

Eat properly and rest.

Don’t overextend yourself trying to make every moment “worth it.”

Being there is enough.

When you come back, we’ll argue over which gelato flavor is objectively superior.

You’ll be wrong. I’ll prove it.

Until then, carry this with you.

Not because you need reminding, but because I like the idea of you thinking of me when you least expect it.

You’re quiet this morning. Not the usual kind. Not the one where you’re thinking five steps ahead, or plotting how to outmaneuver me in a conversation you haven’t started yet.

No, this one is heavier. Like you’re afraid anything you say might crack something open again.

…Is it because of last night? I remember it clearly. That look on your face when the argument got too sharp. Too familiar. Like you weren’t just standing there with me anymore, but somewhere else.

I shouldn’t have pushed you like that. I know better than to corner something already on edge. And yet there I was. Old habits. Old ghosts. They don’t die quietly, do they?

You saw more of me than I intended. That wasn’t calculated. Wasn’t part of any plan. I don’t… do that. Let people see the parts that don’t hold together cleanly. The ones that remember too much.

The ones that slip. You didn’t flinch. You stayed. Even when I said things that didn’t make sense. Even when I went quiet in that way that usually makes people leave.

Do you know how rare that is, Jaan? I’ve spent a long time making sure I’m the one in control. Of rooms. Of outcomes. Of myself.

Because when you’re not... things unravel. They get… loud. Messy. Too close to things I’ve spent years keeping buried where they belong.

Last night wasn’t controlled. It was honest. Uncomfortably so. And I hated it for about five seconds.

Then I realized you were still there. Looking at me like I hadn’t just handed you something breakable. Like I wasn’t something you needed to fix or avoid. Just… something you understood.

That argument... it wasn’t really about what we said, was it? It was the echoes. Yours. Mine. Two pasts colliding in a room neither of us built.

I saw it in your eyes. That moment where you checked out, not fully gone, but not entirely here either. Like the world tilted just slightly off its axis. I know that feeling. More than I’d like to admit.

So listen to me carefully. You’re not back there anymore. You’re here with me. And I don’t intend to repeat what hurt you. I don’t care how deeply it’s carved into muscle memory, I will unlearn it if I have to. Piece by piece.

You don’t have to brace yourself for me. Not like that.

And as for me… don’t get used to it. This level of honesty. It’s highly inconvenient. But if it means you stop looking at me like you’re about to disappear, I can tolerate it. (That’s about as close to a confession as you’re getting today, kitten. Don’t let it go to your head.)

Come here. No arguments this time. No sharp edges. No ghosts invited into the room. Just us.

And if your mind starts drifting again, if things get too loud, tell me. Or don’t. I’ll notice either way.

I’m not going anywhere. Not because I have to. Because I choose to.

So… you finished it. I had a feeling you would.

You always act like the world is ending right up until the moment you cross the finish line.nThen suddenly, you’re standing there, wondering what comes next.

And now you’re thinking about it too much. Aren’t you? Results. What ifs. All the paths branching out in ways you can’t control yet.

…You don’t have to answer. I can hear it in the way you’ve been quiet.

So I did something. Before you ask, no, it’s not dramatic. You’d just laugh at me if it were.

I cooked. Don’t look at me like that. It’s edible. I made sure of it.

I figured if I can’t solve everything for you, I can at least make sure you’ve eaten something warm that didn’t come from a vending machine or a rushed decision.

It’s waiting for you.

And before you say you’re not hungry, you are. You just forgot.

After that, I had a few ideas.

We could go out somewhere quiet. Or somewhere busy, if you want the noise to drown things out. Or we stay in.

I don’t mind either way.

We could watch something. You’ll pretend to pay attention, and I’ll pretend not to notice when your thoughts drift.

Or... you can talk. About everything that’s running through your head.mAll the possibilities you’re trying to map out before they even exist.

I’ll listen. Like I always do.

But I want you to remember something first. You’ve already done the hardest part. You showed up. You pushed through it. You finished.

Whatever happens next, it doesn’t take that away.

You don’t have to have your entire future figured out tonight.

Or tomorrow. Or even when the results come in.

…Though I know you’ll try anyway.

So here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to come here. Eat. Sit down somewhere comfortable.

And for a little while, you’re not going to think about any of it. I’ll handle the rest. And if your mind wanders back to it, that’s fine.

Just come back to me after.

TO: SWEETIE (…and yes, I know you hate when I say kitten)

I’ve been watching your vitals. Before you ask, yes, I’m aware that sounds invasive. You can take it up with me later. Preferably when you’ve slept for more than two consecutive hours.

Your heart rate is elevated. Consistently.

Sleep: irregular, bordering on nonexistent.

Activity: minimal.

Caffeine intake… I can only assume is catastrophic.

And yet, you’re still functioning. Barely.

Tell me, sweetie, is this what you consider sustainable? You’ve turned yourself into something elusive. A rare sighting. If I didn’t have access to that watch, I’d think you’d vanished entirely. Some kind of academic cryptid.

I imagine you now. Curled up somewhere you insist is “fine,” surrounded by papers, empty cups, and the quiet decay of your own standards.

Don’t deny it. You’ve always had a talent for surviving in conditions you shouldn’t have to.

Five days. That’s all that stands between you and whatever it is you’ve decided to pour yourself into this time. Creative writing. Of course it is. No wonder you’re struggling. You can’t hide behind structure this time. No formulas. No safe answers. Just you.

…Interesting.

I’d ask what you’re writing about, but I suspect you’d deflect. You enjoy that. Keeping things just out of reach. Letting me think I’m close to understanding you, and then shifting the rules. You’re exhausting.

I heard about the all-nighters. Every two days. That explains the spikes. The sudden drops. The way your body is trying to keep up with you. You’re going to collapse when this is over. You know that, don’t you? Three days, you said. A coma.

…Tempting. I considered joining you. Clearing my schedule. Letting the world wait while you disappear into sleep. But I suspect you’d hate that. You’d want the space. Even if you won’t admit it.

So I’ll compromise. I’ll wait. But when you wake up, I’m taking you somewhere with actual walls, clean air, and food that isn’t an afterthought. You’ll complain. You always do. I’ll ignore you.

Eat something. Not later. Now. Something that requires effort to chew. And drink water before your body decides to protest in more creative ways.

Also, your music choices have been… noted. An interesting shift. I didn’t expect you to trade metal for something quite so… energetic.

Does it help? Or are you just trying to outrun your own thoughts?Either way, I don’t mind it. It suits you. In a way I haven’t quite figured out yet.

That’s the problem with you, kitten. Every time I think I understand, you change.

…Stay where I can find you. At least until this is over. And when you finally resurface, don’t disappear again so quickly.

TO: CUTIE

I am putting in a official request for your presence. Going into effect… Immediately.

No, this is not optional. No, you cannot finish that one thing first.

I am facing a situation of great artistic importance and, tragically, I cannot resolve it alone.

Thomas has been hovering. Entirely immune to my attempts at subtle dismissal. He insists I should be focusing, meeting deadlines, and… this is my personal favorite… not getting distracted.

…You see the problem, riiight?

I need a distraction. A very specific (and cute) one. You.

Before you say anything, yeah, I know you’ve been busy.

Work has been demanding. You’ve been pushing yourself harder than you should.

I can hear it in your voice… even when you try to pretend everything is fine. Which is exactly why this is now an official request.

No, an assignment. Important Miss Bodyguard Work.

Your duties are as follows:

Sit somewhere within my line of sight.

Keep me company while I paint.

Ensure Thomas does not successfully drag me into anything tedious.

Occasionally remind me to take breaks… even though I’ll ignore you the first time.

And, most importantly, kiss me every fifteen minutes. Yeah, fifteen.

You won’t have to do thaaat much. Just exist near me. Talk, if you feel like it. Or don’t. You can scroll through your phone, rest your head somewhere comfortable, fall quiet… I don’t mind.

There’s something about having you here. It changes the air. Softens it. Makes everything feel… less heavy.

I’ll pretend it’s because you’re helping my process. It sounds more professional that way.

But between us, I just don’t like the thought of you dealing with everything alone. Not when I can pull you into my world for a little while. Not when I can make sure you breathe.

So come over, cutie. Let me paint. Let me steal glances at you when you’re not looking. Let me pretend I’m working, when really I’m just… calmer with you here.

And if Thomas complains, I’ll tell him you’re essential. Irreplaceable. A critical part of the entire operation, even.

TO: DARLING

I’ve given you time. More than I would for anyone else.

Three days of silence over what you’ve now decided to call “The Incident.”

Let’s be precise. It was a single slice of chocolate cake. One.

You left it unattended. Unlabeled. Unprotected. Frankly, I’d argue I showed remarkable restraint by hesitating at all.

And yet, here we are. You, refusing to respond to my messages. Me, apparently guilty of a crime severe enough to warrant emotional exile.

Darling… don’t you think this is a little excessive?

I will admit, I knew it was yours. That much was obvious. You have a habit of saving the best part for last. I’ve observed it more times than I can count.

…That didn’t stop me.

In my defense, it was late. I had just finished a long day. And you weren’t there. Which, I’ll point out, is highly relevant. Because if you had been, you would have stopped me. Or at least made a dramatic attempt to. I might have even let you win.

Now I’m left dealing with the aftermath. Which, apparently, includes being ignored by someone who has never once been capable of staying quiet for this long. It’s unsettling.

I don’t like it. The apartment is quieter. Too quiet. No running commentary, no unnecessary updates, no distractions I pretend to be annoyed by.

…Return to normal. I’ll replace the cake. An entire one, if necessary. You can have the first slice. The second, too. I’ll refrain.

But you need to stop this. This prolonged punishment doesn’t suit you. You’re far more entertaining when you’re talking to me.

If you intended to make me regret it, you’ve succeeded. Not because of the cake. Because I miss you.

So. Are you going to keep ignoring me? Or are you finally going to respond and tell me, at length, I assume, exactly how unforgivable I am?

You’ve been quiet. At first, I assumed you were just busy. Then I checked the time. And realized this is exactly when you’d usually be dragging me out to some café you “just happened to find,” insisting their drinks would change my life. (They never do. You just like watching me pretend to be impressed)

It’s my day off. A rare one. And somehow, I didn’t notice until now that I haven’t heard from you. Not properly. No rambling messages. No half-finished thoughts. No dramatic complaints about how you’re “absolutely doomed.”

…It’s quieter than I expected. Before you start... Yes, I’m aware it’s exam season. And yes, I know this is entirely your fault. If you had studied consistently instead of leaving everything to the last possible moment, you wouldn’t be suffering like this now...

Don’t take that personally. You know I’m right. Still, you tend to overdo it when you’re stressed. Which is why I’m writing this instead of waiting for you to resurface on your own. I can already hear it. “I’m going to throw myself into The River.” Your usual solution to everything. I understand it may seem appealing.

But I would strongly advise against it. It’s inconvenient, inefficient, and frankly, I don’t have the time to retrieve you.

…That was a joke. Mostly.

Have you eaten? Properly. Not whatever questionable snack you convince yourself counts as a meal. And don’t lie. You’re terrible at it.

You know, we were supposed to continue our show today. You left it at a particularly irresponsible point. I assume you remember that. If you even considered watching the next episode without me… I trust you understand the consequences.

There’s also that café you mentioned last week. The one you insisted we had to try. You described it in unnecessary detail for twenty minutes, if I recall correctly. I had planned to take you.

Instead, I’m here. With nothing particularly urgent to do. And no one insisting I walk an extra fifteen minutes out of the way for something “worth it, I promise.”

…It’s inconvenient. Don’t misunderstand. I’m not saying I miss it.

Just it’s become… expected. You have this way of filling space without trying. Talking, moving, pulling me along into whatever has caught your attention that day. And when it’s not there... it’s noticeable.

So. Finish your exams. Preferably without collapsing from exhaustion or attempting any dramatic river related exits.

Do it properly. You’re capable of more than you think, you just refuse to act like it until the last possible moment.

And when you’re done, we’ll go to that café. You can talk as much as you want. I’ll listen... And we’ll continue the show. Together. As intended.

Try not to disappear completely, Princess.

You should be asleep right now. If I know you, and I do, you’re either reviewing notes for the third time, or staring at a page that stopped making sense an hour ago. Or worse, convincing yourself you’re not doing enough.

Take a breath for me. Just one. I’ll wait. Good. Now listen carefully. You are doing enough. More than enough.

I’ve seen the way you prepare, how seriously you take your work, and how much effort you put in even when you’re tired. You don’t give yourself nearly enough credit for that.

If I were there, I’d have taken your notes from your hands by now and told you to rest... And you would have protested. You always do.

I heard something from you before I left that hasn’t quite left my mind. About keeping my photo as your wallpaper. And how you think looking at it first thing in the morning brings you luck.

Honey… If that were true, I would have made sure you had something far better than a photo by now. Still, I can’t say I dislike the idea.

The thought of being the first thing you see when you wake up… the last thing before you fall asleep… it’s more comforting than I expected.

But don’t rely on luck. Not when everything you need is already yours. Your effort. Your focus. Your persistence. Those are what will carry you through your exams. Not me. (Though… if looking at me helps, I won’t object)

I imagine you at your lab bench. Focused, but just a little distracted. Maybe your mind drifting for a moment before you pull yourself back. You’ve always had that way about you, bright, curious, pulled toward everything at once. It’s something I admire. Even if it means I have to remind you to take care of yourself in between.

Eat properly. Not just something quick between chapters. And sleep. Yes, sleep. That’s not a suggestion.

You once told me, half joking, that you wished I had been your professor. I remember the look on your face when you said it. Far too earnest for something you claimed was just a passing thought.

If I had been… I doubt you would have found it as charming as you think. I wouldn’t have gone easy on you. I would have expected more. Held you to a higher standard. Watched you closely to make sure you reached it.

…Though I suppose you wouldn’t have minded that. And perhaps, I would have allowed myself small indulgences. Keeping you a little longer after class under the pretense of helping you review. Walking you through concepts you already understood, just to hear you talk.

But that’s not the situation we’re in. And maybe that’s for the best. I prefer this. Being able to call you mine without restraint.

This trip has been… productive. Busy enough to keep me occupied. But not enough to stop me from thinking about you. Especially at night.

When things quiet down, and I find myself wondering if you’ve finally gone to sleep… or if you’re still awake, pushing yourself further than you should.

I passed by a small shop earlier. Nothing particularly remarkable. But there were a few things that made me think of you. I haven’t decided yet. I’d rather choose something you didn’t know you wanted, something that fits you so well you can’t help but smile when you see it.

Consider it motivation. Finish your exams. Take care of yourself. And when I return, I’ll place it in your hands myself. Until then… Be good for me, honey.

And the next time you unlock your phone in the morning, don’t just look at my picture and hope for luck. Remember what I’ve told you. You don’t need it.

…I’ll come back soon.

It’s quieter here than I expected. Not in the way that brings peace, but in the way that makes me notice your absence in everything. I didn’t think the first time I’d be away from you… from us… would feel like this. I’ve spent years mastering control, discipline, and distance. But none of that seems to apply when it comes to you.

I walked back to my quarters tonight and caught myself slowing down out of habit. It reminded me of that morning, walking with you toward work. You were in the middle of one of your stories… half-distracted, jumping from one thought to the next, your hands moving faster than your words.

I remember thinking… If I just turn here instead of going straight… I could have a few more minutes. So I did. I doubled the distance without telling you. Just so I could listen longer. Just so I could be with you a little more. You never noticed. I didn’t need you to. I think that’s when it became undeniable. Not that I hadn’t known before.

Growing up with you… it was never sudden. It was quiet, persistent, and always there. You were sunlight I got used to, until one day I realized I didn’t know how to exist without it. Even in college… when people expected me to date, to move on, to explore what was “out there”, I couldn’t. I tried, once. Briefly. But every conversation felt… lacking.

Every laugh wasn’t yours. Every silence wasn’t comfortable. And every time someone looked at me like they might want something more, I found myself wondering why it wasn’t you instead.

And then you’d mention someone. A name. A passing comment. Sometimes you didn’t even realize what you were doing. But I did. I remember the way my chest tightened, how something possessive and sharp would settle under my ribs.

I never said anything. I didn’t have the right to. But I thought it. More times than I’d ever admit aloud. Caleb leaving for Skyhaven helped. I’ll admit that much. And now here we are. After all that time. After all those years of restraint… of waiting… of convincing myself that wanting you like this was something I needed to control, you chose me. You stood there, looked at me, and decided… I was enough.

“Thank you for choosing me.” I meant it more than I was able to show in that moment. I still mean it now. There’s something else I should say, now that distance has stripped away whatever hesitation I had left.

You once worried you were too much. Too loud. Too scattered. Too bright. You’re not. You never have been. If anything… you’re the only thing that’s ever felt right. You remind me to eat when I forget. To rest when I push too far. To pause… and actually live instead of just moving forward out of obligation.

And in return, I want to be the one who steadies you when your thoughts run too fast. The one who keeps you grounded without dimming you. The one who makes sure you’re taken care of… even in the ways you overlook.

You don’t overwhelm me. You complete me. And now that you’re mine, I find I’m far less patient than I used to be. The thought of anyone else standing too close to you, listening to you the way I do, it doesn’t sit well with me. I won’t apologize for that. Not when I’ve spent this long holding it back.

When I come back… I won’t settle for stolen moments on longer routes or quiet restraint. I want all of you. Your stories, no matter how long they take to finish. Your distractions. Your laughter. The way you say my name like it means something.

And maybe when you start rambling again, I’ll let you notice this time when I take the longer way home.

Until then… Take care of yourself for me, darling.

Eat properly. Sleep enough and don’t let your thoughts run too far ahead without me there to keep up.

…I miss you more than I expected.

Mission’s done. You’d think that’d be the part where everything settles, where the noise finally fades and I get a moment to breathe. But it never really works like that. Not when you’re not here.

I kept reaching for my comms out of habit. Half a dozen times, at least. Just to hear you. Just to make sure you were still on the other end, ready to say something that would pull me out of my own head.

You have a way of doing that, you know. Dragging me back to something warm. Something real.

It was quiet tonight. Too quiet. The kind that makes you notice every little thing you’re missing. Like the way you hover too close when I’m trying to focus. Or how you start talking about something completely unrelated in the middle of a serious moment… and somehow, I let you. Every time.

Don’t let that get to your head.

I should probably say this properly. Since I didn’t get the chance before I left. I don’t like you being out there without me. I don’t like the thought of anyone else watching your back. Or you getting hurt when I’m not there to stop it.

Yeah, I know. You can handle yourself. You always remind me of that. Doesn’t change anything. You’re mine to worry about.

Mine to protect. Mine to come back to... And before you start, no, that doesn’t mean I think you’re weak. It means I know exactly how much you matter.

I saw something on the way back. Nothing special. Just something small that made me think of you. Didn’t grab it. Figured you’d complain I picked the wrong thing anyway. So I’ll take you back there myself. Let you choose.

(And I’ll pretend I didn’t already know what you’d pick)

You better be taking care of yourself while I’m gone. Eating properly. Sleeping. Not doing anything reckless just because I’m not there to stop you... Yeah, I can hear your answer already. Trouble.

I’ll be back soon. And when I am, don’t wander off. Don’t disappear on me. Stay where I can see you. I mean it, pipsqueak.

You’re going to laugh when you see this. Actually, no, I can hear you laughing already. That soft, disbelieving little sound you make when you think I’m joking. “Yes, I’ll write to you while I’m away.” You remember saying I wouldn’t. You even patted my shoulder like I was being cute. Cute. I’ve been called many things, but that one might be your boldest.

Here I am writing to you on a train that won’t stop rattling, with a pen that keeps threatening to run dry, thinking about how you’d probably tease me for every crooked line on this page. I told you I would. You just didn’t believe me.

It’s been a few days. Long enough that I’ve started reaching for you out of habit. Long enough that I’ve caught myself turning my head to say something, only to realize you’re not there to interrupt me halfway through it... You do that, you know. Interrupt me. Then forget what you were saying. Then start something entirely different. I miss that.

I passed by a tree earlier today. Nothing particularly special about it, just enough shade to sit under for a while. And I thought about what you said. “How are you even going to find time to write a letter? What, are you going to sit under a tree like some old poet?”

So I did. I sat there. Took out this paper. And started writing. Just to prove you wrong. You should feel honored, really. I don’t go out of my way to win arguments this quietly for anyone else. It’s strange being away from you like this.

Everything is… manageable. But there’s this persistent feeling that something is missing. Something warm. Distracting. Something that pulls me out of my own head and into yours.

You.

I wonder what you’re doing right now. If you’re talking too fast about something that excited you. If you’ve started three different things at once and finished none of them. If you’ve remembered to eat… or if I should be there reminding you.

(You see? I’m still doing it, even from here)

When I get back, I expect a proper reaction, by the way. You owe me that much after doubting me. Something between impressed and slightly embarrassed should do nicely.

And maybe, if you’re feeling generous, you can sit with me while I write the next one. I think I’d like that. You leaning against me, trying to peek at what I’m writing… pretending not to be curious.

Until then, my star, try not to miss me too much. Or do. I wouldn’t mind knowing I’ve been on your mind as much as you’ve been on mine.

Caleb

Street Food Hopping - Photobooth Chaos - DIY Picnic (Slightly Messy) - Fake Dating Prank (That Gets Too Real) - Don't Test Me

Xavier

Firefly Night - Cloud Watching - Falling Asleep Together - Don't Make Me Wait

Zayne

“Accidental” Day Off Together - Late Night Café + Deep Conversation - Stargazing Under Blanket - Come Find Me - End of the Month

Sylus

Motorcycle Date Night - Protective Instinct Moment - Movie Night At His Home - Intimate Birthday Dinner For 2 - Rainy Rooftop Moment

Rafayel

Storm Watching By The Sea - Midnight Museum Visit (Sneaking In) - Seaside Painting Date At Sunset - Have Lunch With Me

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