He reached for the pen, hesitated just a fraction of a second, then chose a pencil instead, and began to write.
Dear
No, that seemed too familiar. He erased his first effort and began again.
Ka
Oh, for the love of- of whatever deity was listening. He couldn't possibly use that name. Not now.
Ru
Even worse. It was like he was writing to a stranger.
Eventually he decided to just write the letter without any opening lines. It was a short letter, or at least he expected it to be.
I'm sorry.
That seemed to be a good start.
I have to apologise for
No, that was too formal. Erased.
I want to make up with you.
Fractionally better.
That time with Kimura was just once. I swear I won't repeat it again, with him or anyone else.
He contemplated the few lines he had set down thus far for a few minutes. Then he went on
I miss you
And beyond that, what could he say? That he missed his smell? That he missed the soursweet taste that could only be found between his soft lips? The electric blueness of his sharp eyes? The small drowsy smile he sometimes observed as he drifted into slumber? The unlikely smoothness of his white, white skin? How his hair flopped into his eyes like a child's? How his voice, and only his, would and could and often did murmur his name low and husky, and exasperated and irritated, and once even with a hint of a laugh mixed in?
He couldn't possibly write any of that.
Finally he added to the I miss you on the paper a period, and wrote, on a line of its own
I love you, and always will.
He did not sign his name. He knew that it would be obvious who had written it.