Work Text:
dear kaito momota,
Shuichi sits there, tapping the tip of his pencil against his desk. He still doesn’t really know why he’s here- he hasn’t been able to sleep for the past two hours, even though it is just the right amount of quiet outside and his sheets have been freshly washed and dried and today is the best day he’s had in months (he’s finally gotten rid of the pile of unsolved case files lying on the floor). He’s been brought here by a sudden urge to get up out of bed, and the first thing he does is take out a pen and paper and write these three words: dear. kaito. momota.
He’d been staring up at the ceiling doing nothing, just… thinking. He doesn’t know exactly why, but no matter where his mind wandered, somehow it always came back to Kaito. Heck, he’d just been spacing out facing his curtains when he was suddenly reminded of that one time when they were children, when Kaito accidentally broke off one of his own because he was using it as a cape while playing superhero. Shuichi chuckles at the thought of this- Kaito, always such a goofball, yet that’s what makes him so endearing, isn’t it?
it’s only been a week since i last saw you, but i’m thinking of you more than usual. is that weird? it’s weird that no matter where i look, i see traces of you and the memories we’ve had. they float right in front of my eyes, and i’m seeing them but not really, because they play back in my mind like movies but i’m somehow also there, reliving every moment again. gosh, i’m making it sound like you’re dead, and obviously you’re not, and of course i don’t want you to be-
Shuichi frowns, then crosses out the last line of writing, drawing one clean stroke through the words:
gosh, i’m making it sound like you’re dead, and obviously you’re not, and of course i don’t want you to be-
He stares blankly at the page for a while, then, still dissatisfied, brings his pencil over the words in messy, quick-moving loops until the letters are barely distinguishable. He takes a breath, repeatedly loosening and tightening his grip on the pencil, and wonders whether this was really a good idea. Something clicks inside him, though, and he keeps writing.
you make me feel like spring. you make my heart bloom like cherry blossoms when you smile, when your eyes twinkle and sparkle like the dew, and every time you say “hey there, shuichi” or “what’s up, sidekick?” my heart explodes with life simply from hearing the sound of your voice. i remember once we sat on the steps outside my house, just talking about life, and i rested my head on your shoulder which was somehow soft and firm at the same time, and suddenly all my problems just melted away. it was raining that day; that sort of soft morning drizzle that doesn’t really soak you but leaves the air smelling fresh and bright and new. like the raindrops seeping into the soil, taking every speck of pollution and dust in the air with them, i remember your presence washing away every insecurity i had like they were nothing. and perhaps they are, when you're here.
let me tell you a secret: remember last summer? we’re at the planetarium, and you tease me because i’m red in the face with excitement. i’m embarrassed, and i tell you it is the exhibitions that amaze me; that it’s the telescopes and the star charts which make my eyes widen. they’re great, but what i’m looking at the most is you right there beside me. to me, you are more stellar than the stars themselves. when i look at you, i see every inch of your skin, and notice how the small scrapes and bruises you get from messing around too much make me want to caress them softly and hold you in my arms to keep you safe. i see your eyes, again, this time bursting with passion as you explain your favourite constellations and the space ventures you yearn so much to go on. when we stand side by side, your hand touches mine for a second and i want - so badly - to touch it, to hold it, to feel your fingers interlocking with mine. a feeling rises inside me like a storm even thinking about it now, wanting to be close to you
Shuichi’s pencil stops, his hand slightly quivering, and he notices that his heart is beating a million miles a minute, so loudly that he can almost hear it pounding in his ears. He steals a glance in the mirror―sure enough, they’re flushed to the tips. He hesitates, then crosses the previous sentence out with a hasty stroke.
wanting to be close to you i feel your every breath, lightly brushing against my cheek as you speak in near-whispers, lost in a secret reverie that i can only dream of touching.
i, too, am in a reverie of my own.
He pauses, leaning back in his chair, and takes another breath. He no longer wants to fall asleep, nor could he even if he wished to, with his mind full of thoughts of him. There are even more of them this time, images that he wants to chase away but also doesn’t because he wants to keep them here, and he is confused by it. It’s somewhat exhilarating, and he doesn’t know whether he should like it or not. He wonders what it would feel like, to actually… He shakes his head hurriedly, erasing the thought from his mind.
fall is my favourite season, because it reminds me of you. where i drown myself in worries, you are carefree like the autumn breeze. where my thoughts are gray and heavy, your words are light and cheerful. you make me laugh the way a child would when jumping into a pile of fallen leaves. speaking of autumn leaves, you’re like them too: your laughter is crisp and clear and all the colours in the world are brighter when you’re around. when we watch the shearwaters soaring through the open air and blue skies as they migrate to their homeland, i wish i could fly away with you too, to a place nobody else could find us―somewhere peaceful, somewhere nice and sweet and where we could spend each and every day together.
did you know, kaito? i have so many jackets, and hats and gloves and boots that are furry on the inside, but you’re the one who keeps me warm in the winter. when we were little we would spend entire winter breaks having snowball fights, building snowmen and catching snowflakes on our tongues. you always won, of course, and your mom would make us hot chocolate afterwards. i remember those childhood days fondly, and even though we’ve now long since stopped having chocolate after hiding in snow forts, i still warm up from the inside out seeing you. you’ve thawed me, kaito. if i were ice, you’d be the sunbeam penetrating my surface and melting the cold away. i like it when you put your jacket around me when i’m shivering, even though you are too. i like it when i tap my freezing fingertips against the back of your neck and you jump, making me giggle. i like
The tip of the pencil lingers on the tail of the last letter as Shuichi’s thoughts drift away again. He likes a lot of things about Kaito, actually, and he probably wouldn’t be able to translate even a fraction of them to paper. This is the first time he’s expressed himself through writing, and he’s surprised at how naturally his feelings flowed out onto the paper. He reads over what he’s written, and smiles ever so slightly, letting out a soft sigh, as if something that’s been building up inside of him for ages has finally been released. He ponders for a bit, both hands clutching the shaft of the pencil, and ultimately decides that now, he’s finally ready.
hey kaito, can i tell you a secret?
He takes a deep breath.
i like you, kaito, i really, really, like you. you’re my light in the dark, the stars in my space and you’re always, always there for me. you fill up my dreams. heck, without you, i’d barely have dreams. you encouraged me to be myself and be proud of who i am, and showed me that my dreams are worth fighting for. you make me happy. you’re probably my favourite person in the whole world.
i hope that, someday, i can be that person for you, too.
shuichi saihara
After what seems like forever, Shuichi finally puts down his pencil, laying it down carefully on his desk, parallel to the paper. He smooths it out (carefully, so he doesn’t smudge the pencil marks) and gingerly folds it into thirds, meticulously making sure the edges line up. Making sure no one else is around, he slides one of his desk drawers half-open to reveal a collection of sketches and Post-it notes which he thoughtfully sifts through, looking at each one again. There are sketches of Kaito talking, Kaito shooting hoops, Kaito leaning against a wall… he even spots a light blue Post-it note containing nothing but “kaito’s hairrrr” and the date on which it was written. Chuckling to himself, he gently sweeps everything aside to create space and places the letter inside. Someday, he tells himself. Someday.
He turns off his desk lights and walks over to open the curtains, then sits back in his bed. When he’s there hugging his knees, facing the window, he sees a night sky full of constellations, and they remind him of Kaito. He smiles- who knows, perhaps he’ll never muster the courage to actually tell Kaito how he feels, but right now, he’s content just like this.
With the words he’s written still ringing in his heart, Shuichi lies down again, and while he counts the twinkling stars, he finally falls asleep.