#��� references to meanwhile by richard siken and ode on a grecian urn by john keats

[glorifiedstreetmagician]

To My Dearest

Three letters from Haku Kusanagi to Zenji Kotodama that he did not send and one that he did. Thank you @danieyells for the inspiration. This is dedicated to @zenji-kotodama-official, for hopefully obvious reasons.

[unsent]

Zenji,

This is the sort of thing you would do. But now I find myself sitting at my desk, the weight of the time spent apart hanging over me like an axe about to drop, and I'm writing a letter you'll probably never see. I'm pretending to write to you anyway. Rui said it might help me figure my feelings out if I wrote them down like this, but after ten of these already I'm starting to think I'm doing this just because it feels like the only way I can speak my mind to you while you're not here.

It reminds me of the time I found a poem left on your desk when you weren't there. You wrote of a ghost of a poet and an heir to a shrine. I didn't read it all—I won't pretend to have had the patience or the nerve to try at the time—but I still think about it. You were trying to tell me something and I wish I knew what.

I shouldn't have told you what I did, that I wished I had kissed you when I had the chance. I should have said that I'd still try. You still reach for the people around you with such reckless love, like that time you moved for my hand and fell through your own bed. Your embarrassment was priceless. Oddly beautiful, too. And if you'd let me try to embarrass myself, just once, I'd try to kiss you, ghostly air and all.

It's shameful. Sometimes I lay awake at night, curled up on my side and staring at my door, asking myself what I did wrong. But I know I've done plenty wrong. Even so, I wish you'd just talk to me. I miss you. I hate that I miss you.

You're so annoying, but why did I have to get used to your annoyingness? Why do I miss it? Why do I yearn for just one more obnoxiously loud song, one more melancholic poem, one more masterpiece played on your biwa with your imperious voice demanding I record?

I hate you. I hate you for making me cry. I hate you for being gone. I hate you for not talking to me. I hate you for your silence more than your noise ever annoyed me. Please come back. Please be silent somewhere I can see you again. Just please come back. Come back and be your annoying self and I won't complain again. I won't roll my eyes. I won't tease. Just come back to me, Zenji.

Why do you avoid me? Is it so terrible if I want you, alive or dead? Is there really no other way for us to have our happily ever after? Is there a reason you won't try with me?

Haku

[unsent]

Dear Taro,

Do you remember the day we first met? It was the start of second year for us both, though I didn't really know you until I first stepped foot into Hotarubi, my new dorm at the time. To be honest, I don't really know why I chose it when I'd hardly spent any time there before I left Frostheim. I guess it just reminded me of home.

That first day though, it didn't feel exactly like home. It felt a bit like betrayal when I walked in, knowing who I'd left behind. I was quiet, and then there you were. An explosion of colour and fabric, pale skin glowing even in the dim mists of Hotarubi, and I could swear your eyes sparkled. You were all smiles and friendly chatter, welcoming me like I was just some childhood buddy you hadn't seen for a long time. You didn't even know me.

And you wouldn't leave my side. You said "hi" to at least a dozen people on the way to showing me my room, but stuck by me. At mealtimes, you were there. In the evening, you walked me back to my room even when I said I remembered the way. You did the same the day after that and the day after that and, seemingly, almost every single day forward. I'm not sure you knew it, but you made those first months bearable for me. I'm not sure I ever thanked you for that.

I've always been ungrateful when it comes to you. For your life, your company, and your smile.

What I'd give to see your smile again.

Sorrowfully, Haku

[unsent]

Dearest Taro,

I see the way she looks at you. I see the way you look at her. I've never been a jealous man. At least, not until now. She brings so much more life to you, and for someone always on my case for flirting, you certainly charm the hell out of her.

We talk now, but it doesn't feel the same as before the ball. I wish we'd never gone. I wish I hadn't asked you to dance. I'd undo it all if it meant you wouldn't keep averting your gaze from me when I'm in the room.

What does an honor student have that I don't? Why will you entertain her and not me?

How much longer will this go on?

Yours, Haku

[the downturned card]

Haku didn't show up to the wedding. How could he go on pretending to be perfectly serene and happy, seeing two of his friends get what they always deserved and he selfishly wished against?

The closest he made it was a short distance from the reception, under the shade of a tree grown into the form of a bench. It was wrapped in white and soft indigo ribbons, purple roses tucked among them. That was where he left his folded-up letter.

He glimpses Zenji in the distance, dressed down for this part after the ceremony, considering it was only for close friends. Who would have thought that all the ghouls would not only help lift not just a curse, but a spirit from the dead to allow this newlywed couple to stand here today? Zenji moved and interacted with the world with so much grace and enthusiasm. Every step, every wave of his hand, every turn of his head filled Haku with a love so deep and aching that it hurt.

Love. He had fallen in love with his old friend. It was a terrifying, tragic feeling.

If not for the pain, Haku wouldn't have had the means to walk away, leaving the letter in the tree for Zenji to find if he went looking.

To My Dearest,

There's a poem I've been thinking about. A few lines specifically:

Trees outside the window and a big band sound that makes you feel like / everything's okay, / a feeling that lasts for one song maybe, / the parentheses all clicking shut behind you... I sleep. I dream. I make up things / that I would never say. I say them very quietly.

Sometimes it's easier to use a poet's words when I'm lost for ways to articulate just how I'm feeling. The full poem is more hopeful, but I keep coming back to these lines. It's like he knew, somehow. Precisely how to describe the way grief feels, where you stand in one place but time moves on anyway. Contentment is fleeting, the situation is final, and I betray my own healing by whispering all the words I wish I had said long ago and clinging to them like they might impossibly change the present.

I fear I have become the ghost in bringing you back. I'm stuck somewhere between that night and all the nights after where something got lost in translation.

You deserve this happy life. I'm writing this letter to say goodbye. I have always been a selfish, selfish man. I can't watch you love someone else anymore and live the life with her that I wanted with you.

I'm sorry, Taro. I'm so sorry I never did anything right by you.

Yours, still, Haku

[the upright card]

Haku went through the motions of the day in a kind of stupor. A few years ago, if you told him that he was going to get married one day, he'd laugh self-deprecatingly and ask if you were planning to propose to say such a thing. If you told him he was going to marry Zenji Kotodama—to him, Taro Kirisaki—he would blankly demand what gave you that ridiculous idea, arms crossed and unimpressed.

Currently, his arms are draped over Zenji's shoulders as they slow dance in an empty garden party. All the guests had left. Soon, Haku was going to clean up before he and Zenji collected their bags to board the late train. But right now, he's content just dancing to a song Zenji hummed sweetly in the quiet.

The moment feels so surreal. Zenji's buzzing solidness after years of growing stronger, the rise and fall of his chest so close to true breathing, the fact that they could still hold each other even while one remained a ghost. But the sound of his voice remains the same as always.

"You seem lost in thought, my dear." Zenji's ruby eyes glitter with gentle affection as he observes Haku. "Will you tell me about it?"

"It's nothing," Haku says, only for the rest of his excuses to melt away at a kiss to his forehead. It feels as real as anything.

"Tell me anyway," Zenji replies once he pulls away, smiling encouragingly.

Sighing, Haku glances off to the side at the curved tree. "It's... not something I can say aloud right now."

"But we are alone!" Zenji says, incredulous.

And Haku finds himself chuckling. "Yes. I know. But it's because it's for you that I'm struggling to say it." They stop dancing and, with a tremoring hand, Haku draws a folded piece of paper from a pocket in his coat. "Here. Read this, please. I should start cleaning, or we'll never make it to that train."

"But these are not your vows from earlier?"

"No," Haku says, wandering off to start collecting glasses to take inside. "Just read it and you'll see!" he calls back before leaving.

To My Dearest,

While I like poetry, I've never been all that good at it. I've written this letter probably a dozen times already, trying to quote every Romantic poet you could name. And many of them, I find, are so sad in their works. It just wouldn't do because I find myself so incredibly happy.

I'm writing this version the night before our wedding. You're asleep in the next room over (I know this because I can hear you snoring) and the moon is bright. I have the window open and the breeze is so nice, even if it's also messing with the paper right now.

You know by now that I'm stalling. You've always known me better than anyone else, particularly my own family. And while you've felt like family for a long time now, I can't believe I'm—and yet I look forward to—officially making you mine tomorrow.

You don't know it, but I've been writing letters to you for years. It started in our third year at Darkwick Academy, when I thought I had ruined our friendship for good. Ruined any kind of relationship we might have had. I wrote to you almost every day for a month, and then I continued to write after, but I never sent anything. You know me, after all. I couldn't be openly honest if my life depended on it.

Keats wrote once about the harmony in silence—or something close to that. After years of writing to you what I cannot say, I think I've finally reached that harmony. In my silent missives, I've found a new appreciation for your endless songs. I want you to sing until I go deaf. I want to love you until the end of my life, and then even after.

I used to scorn fairy tales. They weren't real. I had experienced the real world with all its unfit couples, doomed lovers, and sex addicts. I thought that was all there is. You may remember that there was a time I never thought I'd marry, simply because I didn't think a happy marriage was possible. But I want to make a promise to you, Taro. The vows I read out tomorrow are for everyone else. But this promise is for you only, in the beautiful simplicity of silence as you read.

While it is within my power, I am making this our happily ever after, my dearest. I owe it to the both of us to believe in fairy tales again. And I promise you that in this one, the moon and the fisherman can devote themselves to one another, the heir to the shrine can know of the ghost's love, and the beast can marry the princess.

We will have bad days. Someday I might find I grow tired of noise again. You might detest my criticisms. But I promise to never forget the love that's bound us through life and death. If you ever fear that I will, come to me with this letter and we will read it again together until we both remember our happily ever after.

I'm going to marry you tomorrow. You'll see.

With love, forever yours, Haku