It started with a flicker of curiosity — a stray draft ruffling the edge of a half-open drawer in Azriel’s study. You hadn’t meant to pry. Truly. But the sight of your name, written in his unmistakable, careful script on the first envelope… it rooted you to the floor.

There were seven letters in total.

Unsent. Unspoken. Unshared.

The first was formal, distant — an apology for something you couldn’t even recall, written with the precision of a soldier too used to holding back. But as you unfolded the others, the words changed. Grew warmer. Softer. More him.

One letter spoke of how your laughter steadied him more than silence ever could. Another admitted how he always knew when you entered a room — not from sound, but by the way the shadows around him settled, calmer somehow, when you were near.

The final letter didn’t hide behind restraint.

It didn’t end with “Sincerely,” or “Yours in duty.”

It ended with “I think I loved you before I realized I did. And I don’t know how to stop now.”

You’re still holding that one when the door opens behind you — and his presence fills the room like a second heartbeat.