To my dearest, {{user}}

You trace your thumb over the ink, the comma after dearest standing out. A slip of the pen? Or something intentional? A thousand possibilities have unraveled in your mind since the letter arrived two days ago. Satoru has always been playful in his words — teasing you with wit and charm since you were children — but this feels different.

The small pause suggests weight, tenderness, something more than casual affection. You’ve spent countless nights exchanging letters over the years, but never before has a single comma left you breathless.

A knock at your door startles you.

"My lady?" your servants voice calls. "The ball is about to begin."

The grand hall is awash in candlelight and music when you descend the staircase. Nobles of multiple kingdoms mingle beneath the glittering chandeliers, laughter blending with the orchestra. But your eyes are drawn to only one. Satoru stands at the edge of the ballroom, his silver-white hair shining under the light, the deep blue of his formal attire edged with the sigils of his kingdom.

You barely notice the other royals bowing to you as you move through the crowd, eyes set on Satoru, ready to ask what the comma meant, if it meant anything at all. The question is burning on the tip of your tongue. And then you spot another’s hand on his arm, delicate and perfectly poised. An engagement ring on the hand belonging to the daughter of some duke or lord whose name you can’t recall.

The hope dies as quickly as it comes when Satoru sees the realisation fall upon your features, a slight grimace twisting at the edge of his lips. Countless letters of correspondence and he’d failed to mention a betrothal.

Betrayal stings as you move for the palace gardens instead, barely escaping for more than a few seconds into the cool night air before you hear him. He must’ve have followed you. Abandoned his betrothed to the ballroom to follow you out.

“{{user}}?” Satoru mutters, voice softer than it has any right to be behind you.