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You never really bothered to decorate it much. In all honesty, you never had the time for it. Plus, you never felt like it mattered. But as you sat in your room, staring at the blank wall, you half regret not hanging some pictures of your friends. Or anything to signify that someone lived here.
It was just blank.
But maybe that was a representation of who you were. Your eyes drift from the barren walls to your closet, where a box sits untouched on the ground. You knew damn well what was inside that box.
The letters.
The letters Dream wrote you all those years ago. Was it worth opening them now? You never felt like you had much closure from whatever you had with him. In fact, you never had any closure at all. One moment you were with him, and the next, he had a sword at your brother's throat.
And then he was gone.
Similar to the letters, you shoved your feelings down so you'd never have to think about it again. Yet, it seems not far enough.
You grab the box of letters and open the lid. You had never really hated Dream. You hated what he put you through. You hated the pain he caused you, but most importantly, you hated how he made you feel.
You were in a place of depression, too scared of moving on from Wilbur. It felt like you owed him something, that even in the afterlife, he was still yours. What if you had been projecting those feelings onto Dream? Maybe you never loved him; you loved the idea of who he could be. The next Wilbur, the next person to fill the vacant space in your heart.
He was never gonna be that person.
Dream was always going to be the person to break your heart. At some point, you swore he could've been your everything. Instead, he took just that.
You weren't reading these letters for Dream; you were reading them for yourself. You deserve closure. So with shaky hands, you reach into the unknown and pull out the first one.
(Y/N),
I'm sorry.
I don't know if you'll ever read this, and I can't really blame you if you don't. I promise to find my way back to you, and I'll keep that promise until the day I die. Please keep yours. I will come back, and I need you to be there waiting for me. Please.
I know I fucked up. I didn't want to leave, you know that. And I should've told you, but I'm a coward. If I told you beforehand, I would've had to see the look of betrayal in your eyes. You would've begged me to stay, and I would have.
But I can't.
For my safety and yours, I have to remain where I am. Maybe you can visit one day.
