tangible love // hibari kyoya

“You’ve permanently ruined me…”

“Why do you bother writing these pointless things?” Hibari entered the room, a white envelope held up in his hand. Its opening had been ripped off. Its contents carelessly shoved back in.

You tilted your head upward from your spot on the couch, and looked at him apprehensively. “I’ve been writing them to you since middle school,” you explicated. “I’d like to keep up on this tradition of mine.” You raised your eyebrows teasingly. “You don’t like them?”

“Hn,” he groused. He took the sit beside you, tossing the envelope onto your lap.

Full and hearty, you laughed from the depth of your chest. “I suppose it’s strange to write love letters to you every year even though I don’t need to.” He gave no response—not that you were expecting him to. You’d been with him for years. You knew how he was. “It’s just…,” you drawled out, staring off. “I think if I write these to you every year, I feel a sense of reassurance that my feelings will always be tangible for you.”

“So,” You peered over at him, your eyes satiated with affection. “I’m going to keep writing them for you.”

His steel, cobalt irises briefly stared into your own. A minute silence of understanding stretched between you. Eventually, he inched closer and laid his head upon your lap, nestling into your warmth. “Don’t move’, he muttered, “I’m going to take a nap.”

Lightly giggling, you waited until his breathing became smooth before you gently stroked his dark tresses. “I’ll write you a letter for every year we’re together,” you whispered, staring down at your impossible man, “…and every year we’re not.”  A fond smile crept onto your face. “I promise.”

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Hibari stood in front of a block of gray, coarse stone sticking up from the ground. Engraved roughly—those things were never written nicely—on the stone was your name.

He didn’t bring your favorite flowers, he didn’t cry, or kneeled and spoke to you as if you were there.

He just came.

Staring at your grave with a void expression, he pulled out a bulky object from his pocket. It was a tied-bundle of envelopes—one of many. Some were tattered, some were faded, and some seemed freshly new. Each one had your signature and your neat handwriting scrawled across the bottom. Each one addressed to him. Without bothering to untie the nimble string, he extracted one of the newer-looking letters.

Slipping his finger under the flap of the envelope, he moved his finger across the flap and unattached the seal. Removing and unfolding the flimsy paper, he brought it to his nose and inhaled. The familiar smell of sweetness and flowers overwhelmed him. An image of you flickered into his thoughts.

His gaze lingered at the beginning of the letter before it moved onto your grave. “You knew all along, huh?” A humorless chuckle escaped his lips. “Or maybe you didn’t…”

He looked back to the letter and began to read, absorbing the remnants of your love.

“…because you’ve seared yourself into my heart.”