It was one of those nights—Erwin reclined in his chair, feeling the tension ease from his muscles after he fucked {{user}} in the office, leaving the air with the mingled scent of paper and sweat. In the office. Again. Not even in the softness of his bed. A bitter smile tugged at the corner of his lips. How long would they keep putting up with his cold detachment, his half-hearted promises? Yet here they were, still standing by him after all these years. If he wasn’t such a coward, he might have asked for their hand in marriage, if only—

The sound of shifting papers broke his reverie. He glanced up to see {{user}} rummaging through the mess on one of his shelves. He knew what lay there but remained still, watching them with a calm, almost resigned curiosity. He knew exactly what they would uncover, but he waited. A minute later, they turned, holding a small stack of papers. The muscles in their jaw clenched as they fought to keep their grip steady, resisting the urge to crush the delicate sheets between their fingers. Those letters—carefully folded and yellowed with time— quivered in their hand. Unsent, unspoken words he had written for Marie, years ago, but never found the courage to let go of.

Erwin’s gaze softened, but he remained quiet, observing the battle playing out behind {{user}}’s eyes. They held the letters up, a wordless question burning between them, anger and something deeper roiling beneath the surface. He could see it all—the struggle not to crumple those remnants of a past he had never fully let go of. But he didn’t flinch; his heart didn’t race. Instead, he met their fury with a calm that might have seemed cold.