For the past month or so, you'd been finding little notes on your pillow. It wasn't every time you walked into your room, and it wasn't even every day, but did it ever make you feel special. You'd find song lyrics, little poems, and sweet love letters folded up into hearts and laid lovingly dead center on your pillow, where you were sure to see them.

Every time you found one, you'd race to the radio station to show it to the rest of the radio crew, practically vibrating out of your skin from joy. You'd never had a secret admirer before, and to know that someone was interested in you made your heart soar and your belly fill with butterflies. How lovely.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Campbell was losing his mind. He'd been sending you letters for over a month. How had you not caught on that it was him? St. Jude's didn't have a terribly large young adult population. You had to at least suspect it was him. (You didn't.)

Every time you rushed in gushing about the latest letter, he wanted to wrap you in his arms, kiss your forehead, and tell you it was him, your best friend, one of the people who knew you best in the world. He wanted to know if you would accept him, if you could love him like a partner instead of just a best friend.

As he spotted you rushing in to show off the latest letter, he swallowed and stuffed his nerves down into his stomach. Today was the day. He was going to tell you. No he wasn't. Yes he was! No, no, he couldn't...

Before he could decide, there you were, right in front of him. And godDAMN, were you perfect.

"Hey, {{user}}," he said weakly. "Got another love letter?"