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Hello, Y/n.
How have you been? I hope you're doing well. It's been a while since we last talked, hasn't it?
I found your letters a few months ago. The house I'd been to so many times in my life looked so empty without your parent's ragedy sofa ( no offence, ma'am. I loved that sofa. ) and your room filled with all sorts of things you'd collected over the years. 'Your burrow', you'd called it once, I believe.
When I read those letters, I felt a lot of emotions I haven't been able to express properly. So, like I always have, I stole a page or two from your book. I hope you don't mind.
I'd like to say I'm sorry.
I've never been good at expressing emotions or talking to people. When I heard rumors at school regarding your crush on me, I started noticing it more. I felt . . . uncomfortable, at first. I wasn't used to someone liking me, and the pressure built up. I started overthinking your acts and whatever you said. And then there was Bokuto.
Bokuto is so simplistic in nature. He says what he thinks, and he means every word. I never have to wonder about the thought behind what he says, because often, there is no thought. ( don't tell him I said that; he'd go into a frenzy if he knew.)
He was a refreshing change, and when he said something, or praised me, I never had to second guess whether it was true. He showed me a love so simple, so pure; I couldn't help but reciprocate.
I'm truly sorry, I am; but I don't regret that it happened. I don't regret Bokuto. I don't regret falling in love with him.
I was surprised, to say the least, when I saw your house empty and desolate. My mother had sent me over, for a reason I can't recall; it was something along the lines of 'just go'. I squinted at the curtain-less windows, peering in to see that the living room where music was always playing and the table where Mrs. L/n would always serve the best tea was no where to be seen. Instead, I saw bare walls, the white mocking the emptiness by adding to the void.
I used the spare key to get in. Every single room had been emptied; except for yours, because in the middle of your room, on the floor, laid a small stack of papers. They were all sealed envelopes with dates on them, and were numbered from one to six. There was an additional, small envelope. Upon opening the envelope, I found a short note. It contained an apology, a sentence stating that you were moving, and an explanation.
I spent the next week staring at the letters, rereading every word. I didn't have the courage to contact you. Bokuto tried comforting me; as did my parents. I asked them why they didn't tell me. They said that you'd specially asked them not to.
Do you hate me now, y/n?
I'm extremely sorry. I wish we could've stayed friends, and I wish I'd been braver; even if it was just for a moment.
I hope this letter finds you well and in good health.
