Work Text:
Dear Chosen,
This might be the last thing I ever tell you, and frankly, I'm okay with that. I just wanted you to know that I hate you. I thought you said you'd always be there for me, you'd always have my back, but you lied.
I cared about you so much, before you left me, you betrayed me, why did you do that? We shared so much. I told you everything, and you told me. You were the only person I could talk to that wouldn't look at me like I was less than a person, like I was a monster.
How much of that changed, huh? How much shit are you talking now, talking to all your new friends you work with, saving the day from monsters like me. Yeah, good fucking job, everybody loves you now, they look at you like the fucking hero you supposedly are.
Those same people look at me with fear, like I'm the devil himself, and I really don't give much of a fuck. How do you feel about it though, hm? Do you look at me the same? Based on what you did, I'm sure you're not much different from the rest.
Why, just why didn't you do anything? Why did you just let them take me?
What the fuck did I do to you? I thought you cared.
Now I'm stuck in this shit life with you not in it. I should be happy for that though...
You cannot have just left everything, all the memories no matter how shitty, you cannot have just left them behind, you didn't forget, right‽
You do remember the first snow we saw. The cotton, but it wasn't cotton, it was cold, and it was fun, it was ours. Because it was the first time we got to be free, together.
We'd do it again and again and again, no matter the consequences. It was the same weather we first danced together in. Nobody around judged or yelled at us, it was just us. You and me.
It always had been, it always was just us.
So, why'd you leave me.
I did everything for you and, I fucking hate myself for saying this, but I'd do it again
But what am I even saying at this point, you left me you didn't care you probably never had and most likely never will so why do I what the fuck is wrong with me, why am I saying this why am I writing it down, why do I still think I-
…
Love you.
Is what he was going to write down next.
But Dark didn't want Chosen to have the satisfaction of those words being written down.
He looks down at his messy handwriting on the half crumpled paper. Usually his handwriting was clean and grammar was proper.
He chose to ignore the small wet droplets that had fallen on the page while he wrote. He put down the pen and wiped his eyes, also choosing to ignore the wetness he felt.
No one was gonna see this letter, he wouldn't let them.
He gathered up the piece of paper, his lighter, and a pack of cigarettes.
Heading outside onto the roof, he leaned against the railing, paper still in hand.
Taking out his lighter, he first lit a cigarette, placing it between his lips and inhaling, letting out a deep breath after a bit, blowing smoke away with it.
Then, he held the paper in front of his face once more, quickly reading some of what he wrote and reminding himself that this would be the last anyone saw of it.
He flicked on the lighter once more, putting it under the paper, watching as the letters, the words, his words, his feelings, and emotions all lit up in flames.
He liked it that way. Those feelings and emotions needed not to be shared. He'd be fine.
In seconds the letter was gone, the crumpled paper turned to ash, the teardrops gone along with it.
Putting the lighter back in his pocket, he took the cigarette out of his mouth, holding it between two fingers.
Letting out a long sigh, he let his forehead touch the railing, closing his eyes.
He didn't regret burning the letter. He had no regrets about that.
He had no regrets.