𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚛, 𝙻𝚊𝚠𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎

𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚛, 𝙻𝚊𝚠𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 ; 𝟹𝟷 ; 𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝙶𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚜

𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚛, 𝙻𝚊𝚠𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 ; 𝟹𝟷 ; 𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝙶𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚜

𝙸𝙸𝙸𝙸𝙸

Dear, Lawrence

I hope you didn't think I was done, Lavender. I'm still going to write, I've just now decided to deliver these to you everyday. Anything that serves as more solid proof of how much love I have for you.

I loved that night. I loved stroking your soft skin in the cutout of your dress, lifting up the edges of the silk and feeling your smooth thighs. I loved watching your eyes shift between lines of my writing, rapidly reading letters as if your life depended on it. Sure, at first I was in denial in those letters, you saw, but you watched as it turned to pure adoration. You read our love story just as it happened.
I loved stroking your hair and finally being able to kiss you again after so so long. Your lips against mine felt like ecstasy. I had waited, staring at you for months, using my imagination as if it was any good.
I know I don't have you yet, and I understand why. But, now I at least now you still love me, you still want me, you feel the same, and that I didn't ruin everything.
Even if you don't choose me, I would still have you in my life.
I love you, Lawrence.
And I hope you know, even if you don't choose me, I will always want you. I will always love you. It's always been this way, even when I hated you when we were young, I always loved you. Even if you choose Mr. Fitz, I'll be there every night, I'll be there for you for your nightmares, I'll support you to the point you want, ensuring to annoying him in the process...
I'm only joking, but I'm not joking about my love for you.
Always.

Love, Tate

𝙸𝙸𝙸𝙸𝙸

My life has taken a turn in the last week.

The world is bright now, the sun shining early in the morning and late into the night. I felt the dew of the fresh spring morning on my skin. The wet grass, the clear sky, the cold air and rosy cheeks.
I walk most mornings to Mr. Fitz classroom at this time of day. He teaches me basics of what I'm struggling with in other classes, he tutors my work and grades my papers. He sits with me, and lets me talk about all of the boring things I love.
I make him tarts and danishes with creamy custards. He always smiles at me, and leans into my body when I'm near.
He lets me sit on his desk while he sits in his chair, caressing my skin and watching over the way I spoke. I loved the attention, being wanted without discourse, being stable.
He told me about his days and made me tea with a small kettle in the corner of his room.
I got to watch him teach his real students, his dominance and intelligence shocking me. It was gorgeous. He knew everything I could think of and so much more. Best of all, he was genuine.

Yet, at the same time. He wasn't Tate. My heart didn't beat for him. My life hadn't grown into his. He was just, Mr. Fitz, who now much rather I call him Anthony.

Within the same time, I've grown close once more with Tate. It was nice, feeling like you were for once the person being chased. Like when I put my legs over his lap and talked with him, he would just stare at me with admiration.
He knew everything about me, he knew every piece of me and still loved me. I was safe in his arms and I knew it no matter what. He was everything I had always dreamed of. He was my dream.
Now, he chases me.

I smile down at the letter Tate slipped under my door, reading the first one of today with glossy eyes, kicking my feet and giggling. He was adorable. He wrote jokes, admitted everything he felt in every moment. I never wondered anymore. Sure, there was no mystery, but I liked it that way. I never liked surprises.
I get dressed for the day quickly, opening the door to the hallway and rushing down the stairs. My life had switched from horrible to amazing.
I still baked, I was getting an education to make my parents happy and make me finally feel successful, and Tate loved me. He really did.