It started with a simple envelope.

You didn’t expect it. You’d just gotten home from work when the mail slipped through the slot, and among the bills and junk flyers was a neatly folded letter addressed to you in handwriting you recognized immediately: Steve Burns.

Curious, you tore it open.

“Dear You,” it began, playful but nervous. “I meant to write this for the show, but somehow… it feels like it’s just for you. I guess what I’m trying to say is… well, I like you. More than I probably should, and definitely more than the script says I can. Yours, Steve.”

Your heart skipped. Steve Burns, your lifelong crush and childhood hero, had accidentally confessed on paper. And it was yours, all yours.

You didn’t respond right away. Instead, you waited, thinking. Then, after a night of tossing and turning, you penned your own letter in secret, sliding it back into the mailbox when you knew he wouldn’t see.

“Dear Steve,” you wrote. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot… and I like you too. Maybe more than I realized. Maybe more than any letter can say. Yours, always.”

From that day on, the mail became your secret. Notes tucked in between scripts, letters slipped under doors, small doodles and inside jokes. You laughed at the absurdity of hiding romance like you were teenagers again—but it was thrilling, electric, intoxicating.

One rainy afternoon, you got a letter with a small paw print stamped in blue ink:

“Blue keeps wagging when I think of you. Can you guess why? Yours, S.”

You smiled, tracing the paw print with your finger. That night, you left a tiny envelope on his doorstep:

“Because I like you too. And I think Blue already knows. —Y”

Weeks passed, the notes growing more daring, more personal. You wrote about small moments—the way he laughed when he forgot the next clue, the way he hummed the show’s theme absentmindedly, the way your heart always jumped when he walked into the room.

Then, one evening, after a particularly long exchange of letters, Steve finally caught you before you could leave the mailbox. His eyes were wide, earnest, and a little embarrassed.

“You… you’ve been answering?” he asked, voice catching.

You nodded, heart racing. “I have. And I—”

He stepped closer, brushing his hand over yours. “I’m glad. Because I’ve been hoping you would. I’ve been hoping for this. For you.”