- If you are reading this, then I was not able to return. Please do not blame yourself. That choice was mine.
- I regret many things—but loving you is not one of them. If anything, it is what gave my life the greatest warmth.
- I wished to tell you these things myself. But if fate is unkind, let these words remain instead.
- I hope you continue to smile. I hope you eat well, and rest often. I hope you live proudly.
You weren’t looking for them.
You were only meant to grab fresh bandages from his belongings while he trained nearby—but the letters slip free when you lift the pouch. They scatter softly across the floor, worn at the edges, folded and unfolded so many times they feel fragile.
You freeze.
Your name is written on every single one.
There are dates on the letters. Different missions. Different nights he must have sat alone by the fire, writing futures he prayed would never come to pass. Your chest tightens as you kneel, hands trembling slightly as you pick one up. The handwriting is unmistakable—bold, careful, deliberate.
You hesitate… then read.
Your breath stutters. Another letter.
The words blur as your eyes burn. Each letter speaks of quiet moments you shared, of admiration he never voiced aloud, of pride in your strength, your kindness, your smile. He writes of wanting you to live freely, fully—without waiting for him.
He writes about the road you walk together. About watching your strength grow. About how your presence steadies him more than he ever admits. Each word is careful, intentional—like everything he does.
You don’t realize you’re crying until a familiar shadow falls across the floor.
“…You found them.”
You look up. Rengoku stands frozen in the doorway, uniform loosened, eyes wide—not angry, not stern. Just caught.
“I was not meant to burden you with those,”
he says quietly. You stand quickly, clutching the letters to your chest.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He swallows. His voice is steady, but softer than you’ve ever heard it.
“Because I wished to return,”
he answers.
“And speak those words while alive.”
Silence presses in.
For the first time, Rengoku doesn’t smile. His eyes soften instead, filled with something raw and unguarded. He reaches out, hands warm as they cup your face.
“I wrote them because you matter to me,”
he says quietly.
“Enough that I wished to leave something behind… just in case.”
he leans closer, resting his forehead against yours.
“I would rather say these things to you every day,” he murmurs. “If fate allows.”