#nuffwrites

Piles and piles of letters you’d written him since his death now lay spread out across his bed. Some were borderline incoherent, and even the ones that weren’t rendered on incoherent halfway through, when you’d begin blaming yourself for not being able to help him, to heal him, how your powers failed you that day. 

He could tell you’d poured hours into these letters – never believing he’d ever read them. There was not a single letter that was free from having the ink smudged along the pages. 

Alfred’s words still haunted him. 

“There are recent ones in there as well. Even after they’d left Gotham, every month, without fail they’d arrive. It used to be more, but Dick talked to them. I thought you deserved to see them, they’re addressed to you after all.” 

Alfred was wrong. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve the hours of pain, love and remorse you’d probably put into writing these. Not when he believes he’s no longer the boy you once knew. But your words are forever imprinted in his mind. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

He’s sorry too, because right now, he’s too scared, too much of a coward he believes, to confront you. To explain what happened. 

So, instead, he will dissect your letters, every single thought you’ve had since his death, everything you were unable to tell him. He will memorise your penmanship, and the words that followed, till he can recall them from memory. You’re an unbending force, calling out to him, to reread your letters, and he will, as he waits for the next ones to arrive. 

And maybe, when his feelings build up, and it gets too much, he’ll take the leap and try to find you. He’s not ready to confront you, not yet, but he needs to see you, just once. So, instead, he’ll allow himself small mercies to see you, in his own way.  And if that means watching you through your window as you pen your next letter, or tracking your movements during the day, then so be it. One day, he hopes, he can write back to you.