A/N: Submission for Smythofsky Prompts #2 – Letters. I hope you like it!

Thank you to Spookybibi for corrections to the French at the end! :)

"So Sebastian just left?" asked Kurt in disbelief.

Dave nodded glumly, staring into his mug. He and Kurt had met up at one of their favorite coffee shops, but somehow, today, the coffee seemed almost flavorless. "Yeah. When I woke up, most of his stuff was gone, and there was a note by the bed that just said the apartment was paid through the end of next year. He didn't even sign it."

"And he hasn't answered your phone calls or messages?"

Dave shook his head. "It's not even that he's not answering – he's just gone. His number has been disconnected, his email bounces back as undeliverable, his facebook profile's not there anymore – I even called a couple of Warblers and had them check, to make sure he didn't just block me, but it's gone."

"So why would he try to contact you now, via snail mail?"

Dave shrugged helplessly. "It's been nearly a month, with nothing, and then this letter just shows up, postmarked from France, and …" Dave took the letter out of his coat pocket and turned it over in his hands. "Part of me wants to tear it open and finally get an explanation, but … I'm scared of what it'll say. What if it just makes it worse?"

"Worse than not knowing?" asked Kurt dubiously.

"Maybe," Dave shrugged again. "What if he just wrote to say … I don't know, that he hates me and doesn't want to hear from me ever again?"

"Then he probably wouldn't have put a return address on the envelope," Kurt pointed out, raising his eyebrows.

Dave's eyes brightened for a second, but it didn't last. Clearly, he'd thought of that, too, but he had a counter argument. "It doesn't exactly look like a permanent address. I mean, it's a post office box."

"You don't bother to get a post office box if you're just passing through, though," Kurt reasoned. "And you certainly don't write a thick letter to your live-in boyfriend just to say it's over."

Dave bit his lip. "I know, but what if –"

"Open it," urged Kurt softly. "That's the only way to find out. That way, no matter what it says, you can process and go from there. Right now, you're just … stuck."

Dave nodded – slowly, but with resolution. "Okay. Do you mind if I read it here, with you? I just … I don't want to be alone, in case …"

"Of course," Kurt said quickly. "I'll be right here."

"Thanks," said Dave, taking a deep breath. "Well, here goes nothing …" He carefully tore the envelope open and pulled the letter out. Unfolding it, he began to read Sebastian's flowing script:

Dave,

I've started this letter a dozen times, trying to find the right words to explain to you why I left like that. Nothing I can say will make it suck any less, so let me just start with this: I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. I could have handled it better, and – while the situation is not entirely my fault – that part is. I can't apologize enough.

Now, for the explanation I so desperately owe you.

As you know, I have an uncle who lives in Paris. I lived with him for a while, before I moved back to the States and transferred to Dalton. What you don't know is just how opposed my father was to the move. He wanted me to stay in France. I was already on track for a high-power position in my uncle's company, just as soon as I finished University. I threw a fit and my father let me come home – I could finish my education in the US on the condition that, as soon as I graduated, I would go back to France for at least a year to work at my uncle's company.

At the time, the deal didn't seem that bad. After all, it was only a year, and I didn't have any firm ties back home. I also figured, by the time I'd have to pay up on my end of the deal, I'd have figured out a way to get out of it.

As time went on – as I met you, went to college, and established a life with you in New York – I kept thinking that somehow, I'd manage to avoid going back to France. I tried. I really did try.

At graduation, he cornered me. He already had it all arranged – I just had to board the plane. I argued, I yelled, I tried to reason with him, but his mind was made up. My father is extremely well connected in the business world - if I didn't go, he would have made me virtually unemployable. Still, though, I held out hope that somehow, I'd find a way out before I actually got on that plane. Somehow, I thought I could still come out on top.

In the end, my father won – as usual. And because I hadn't gone quietly, like he'd wanted, he made it just a little tougher for me: he cut off all my contacts with friends and loved ones in the US. He made me get rid of my phone, deactivate social media – even my emails go through the company, now. He said a clean break would make it easier.

Bastard.

I should have told you while all this was happening – not once I was already an ocean away from you. I should have kept you in the loop. Hell, I should have left a better note. There are so many things I should have done differently.

But I didn't. So we've just got to go from here.

If you're still reading this letter, that means there's still hope for us. I don't blame you if you're angry with me. If I were in your position, I probably would have burned the letter as soon as it arrived. I would have regretted it later, but … Well. We both know I'm not exactly good at planning ahead.

Like I told you, the apartment's paid for through the end of next year – I should be back by then – so you don't have to worry about finding someplace else to live. I know Kurt, Blaine, and Santana are all still living in the City, and you're just about to start that awesome new job, so you should be doing pretty well without me.

If you want to dump my lousy ass, I won't blame you at all. If you don't want to do the distance thing, if you want to see other people, I get it. But let me make one thing perfectly clear: that's not what I want. I want you. I want you and no one but you for the rest of my life. Every day I'm here without you, without hearing your voice, I start to feel a little more dead inside.

I'm doing this all wrong, too, but … I've already waited too long. I don't want to wait any longer.

You know, I pictured this moment a thousand times and a thousand different ways – and they all had one thing in common. Somehow, I'd always imagined this would happen in person.

Dave, if you go in the top drawer of my desk, on the right side, you'll find a small jewelry box. There's an engagement ring inside. If you want it … it's yours.

I bought it months ago. I kept waiting for the 'right' time to propose, but I just kept putting it off, and then it was too late – I was on a plane to France, and I'd missed my opportunity.

I don't want to miss any more opportunities.

I love you, Bear Cub. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone, and I want to spend forever with you.

Dave Karofsky, will you marry me?

…

It's a little weird, asking that, and not being there to see your reaction, hear your response. I guess it's my turn to wait.

I love you. No matter what your answer is – even if you hate me, even if you quit reading this letter two pages ago – I still love you, and I always will.

Unfortunately, letters are about the only form of correspondence that doesn't go through my father or my uncle first. Please write back. I'd be okay with a crappy postcard that says I'm a fucked up asshole who does his best to ruin every good thing that happens to him. It's true enough. Please, though – I just want some sign that you got this letter. I have no right to complain about not knowing. I know that. I just … Please. Even if you can't find it in your heart to forgive me, please put me out of my misery.

I hope you're doing well.

I love you.

Yours, always,

~Sebastian

Dave finished the letter and immediately went to read it again. He paused over certain lines. Can't apologize enough … Paris … my uncle's company … at least a year … clean break … should have told you … I want you … don't want to wait any longer … it's yours … Will you marry me?

As Dave slowly drew himself out of the letter and into the present, he realized tears were streaming down his face. Kurt was looking at him with apprehension, clearly expecting the worst.

"So …" he asked tentatively, "is it … I mean, are you … good or bad?"

"Good," Dave spluttered, breaking into a grin. "Really fucking good. Well, a little bit not good, he'll be gone at least a year, but … Kurt, he asked me to marry him!"

"Via letter? A month after he left without a word?" asked Kurt, eyebrows raised.

"Yeah, but – he'd been planning to for ages; it just never felt like the right time, and – his father made him go to France. It was part of some deal they made back when he was in high school, and he thought he could get out of it but –" Dave took a shaky breath. It was still hard for him to string sentences together. He grinned. "Kurt, this is fantastic. I've got to go – I've got to write back, and – the ring, he got a ring, it's in his desk, and –"

"Go, go!" Kurt smiled. "Far be it from me to keep a man from his shiny new engagement ring."

"Thanks," said Dave, standing up. "For – for everything, just – thank you!"

"Any time, Dave. Just make sure you send me a picture as soon as you put it on!"

"I will!" he grinned.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Sebastian's heart caught in his throat. He'd been checking his mail box almost obsessively ever since he'd mailed the letter to Dave – way too soon to expect a reply. Today, though, there it was – an envelope addressed to him in Dave's scrawling handwriting. He held it close, as if he could use the envelope to teleport back to New York.

Sitting at a small table in the post office, he took a moment to assess the envelope. No awkward bulges – it looked like Dave hadn't mailed the ring back to him, which he took as a good sign. The return address looked as though it had been written hastily, but Sebastian's address had a stiffer quality, as though Dave had written it with extreme care, making sure there were no mistakes.

Sebastian took a deep breath. "Well, here goes nothing," he said to himself, carefully opening the envelope and unfolding the letter within.

Sebastian,

I've spent the last fifteen minutes trying to figure out how to start this letter – should I answer yours piece by piece, going in order? Should I get right to the point, or should I drag it out, making you wait the way I did?

But I guess I'm too much like you. I can't wait, either.

Yes. Yes, Sebastian Smythe, I would love to marry you. There's nothing I want more.

I put on the ring as soon as I got home. Seb, it's gorgeous. As always, your taste is impeccable. I've already been showing it off to everyone who will stand still long enough – even crazy Miss Charlene down the hall. I think Kurt, Blaine, and Santana are getting a little bit sick of me already – I've been spamming their phones with texts and pictures. They might want you to come back even more than I do, just so I have someone else to bother with my excitement!

I'm sorry you got carted off to France like that, but hey – it could be worse! Your dad could've shipped you off to Africa or something. At least Paris is a beautiful city. Maybe I can come visit you sometime.

I understand why you didn't tell me, and I forgive you. But that's something I want you to promise to work on, Seb. We're in this together – you've got to keep me in the loop. Even when it's something you don't want to talk about. It's not healthy for you to try to deal with it all on your own like that. We're partners. Let me in. Trust me.

I miss you like crazy. These past few weeks – before I got your letter, before I knew where you went or what happened to you – they were hell. It's better, now, since I know you're okay and I know you still love me just as much as I love you, but it's still weird walking into our apartment without you there.

A year's a long time, but it's not forever. We're going to be okay. We'll help each other get through this.

Je t'aime, Sebastian. And that's all that matters.

Love,

-Dave

Sebastian stared at the paper, a stupid grin across his face. He said yes. We're going to be okay.

Looking up, Sebastian made eye contact with a woman who was checking her own post office box. She was looking at him with curiosity. "Bonnes nouvelles?" she asked.

"Oui, très bonnes," he answered. Sebastian held up the letter. "Elles viennent de mon fiancé" He smiled a little wider. Mon fiancé. He loved the way that sounded.

"Ah, félicitations," the woman smiled. By now, she had her own mail in hand and was leaving the post office. "Au revoir," she said politely.

"Au revoir," Sebastian answered, but his attention was already back on the letter, rereading it and cherishing every word. Maybe this won't suck so much after all, he thought. He whistled quietly to himself as he left the post office. I need to go home and write a letter.