Stitched Up Hearts (Alucard X Fem! reader)

The Letter

Six years prior 

(Adrian's POV)

By now Y/N and I had a tendency to sleep in each other's rooms, first enforced by me. I could not fathom leaving her side the first night, when she was still hurt, her wound still open and bleeding. I was more watchful of her after that, a change I believe she noticed. She was always so observant, noticing every slight shift in my demeanor or change of the air. I liked the sound of her breaths when she laid next to me, lulling me to sleep. I liked the way her skin felt brushing against mine when she turned in her sleep, waking up with her head next to mine, her hands wandering some time in the night to rest against me. The way her cool breath fanned across my face and neck.

When I woke up that morning, she was still asleep. I loved that she felt safe enough to do so now. When she first came here, she could not even sleep alone in her room from fear and mistrust. Now she slept peacefully by my side, giving me her trust like a prized possession. Last night, she had been working on some sketches and scribblings at her desk when I came in. I wondered what book she was taking notes on, and slipped out of bed to look at her notes. Her desk was scattered with papers and other various objects, certain flowers or leaves etc. a vase of dried flowers sat in the corner of the desk, some of their petals falling from the stems and onto the wood.

One particular paper caught my eye, the words written were in a loopy feminine scrawl, the letters too close together. It was not Y/N's handwriting. I wondered who the letter could have been from, that she would care to have saved it. Curiosity plagued my mind, my fingers reaching for the paper.

I wish I was better at knowing how to start these things. I know that is probably not the best way for me to start this letter, but you more than anyone know I was never very good with words. Not like you, I always loved how you could string words together like you were weaving a tapestry. I don't know exactly where my words are going to run when I start this letter, I only feel that I have so much to tell you. I'll try to shorten it to the most important things, the ones that I feel, I will suffocate if you don't know. The rest I will save in hopes I may see you again one day. I miss when I would see you every day, even from a distance. I grew to learn the shape of you, the lines that defined your person, I learned to spot them even from across town, when you entered a shop or slid into an alleyway. I learned to listen for your voice, my ears finding it whenever they could, and my eyes searching for your face whenever I entered a room. I still look for you, and I still listen for your voice, but you are nowhere to be found.

I asked around to try and puzzle together where you could have disappeared to. I always knew that you wouldn't stay in this city forever, but I had hoped that maybe you would for a little longer. This place choked you, dulled you, as if you were the moon hidden behind dark clouds. You weren't meant for it, and I knew that meant you weren't meant for me. I thought I had come to peace with that, but I suppose the fact that I'm writing this letter now means I haven't. The worst part of all this is that nobody understands the weight I feel in your absence. They believe I miss you as a friend would. I think that is for the best, and the fact that you left makes all of this easier somehow.

I'm sorry if this letter brings you more pain than any sort of comfort. I'm sorry that we hid from the world, and I'm sorry that we could not be the forever I know you dreamed about. I'm sorry that you were meant for better things, and that I could not keep up with you when you ran ahead. I'm sorry I didn't kiss you more when I had the chance.

I will try to sum up the ocean of feelings I have for you, the tears I have shed, and the things I wanted to tell you, into something more succinct. I'm sorry, I miss you, and I hope that wherever you are, you find everything you deserve that you never got here.