HAHAHAHAHAHA Hello darkness my old friend! It's good to see you! How've you been? Horrific and heartless? That's great!

I keep writing angsty shit and I can't stop, and it's awful but it's great.

I'm sorry.

Enjoy! ;)

Dear Alistair,

Mum said she and Dad wouldn't be reading this, but I doubt they'll keep their word, so I fear I'm going to have to change a lot of what I want to say just so it'll get through their filters and to you. Whatever the case, I'm still going to try to speak my mind honestly, you deserve it and so do I.

I miss you so much.

It pains me to say it, because that means admitting that you got a hold on my grubby little heart, but I miss you so much that it feels like my chest is dragging me minutely north every time my mind wanders for even a moment. You're only two hours away. That's bloody nothing! And I think that's making it all the worse because you're so obtainable, but so out of reach, and I just want to touch you, I just want to feel your hand on my face, your hideous stubble against my lips, and most of all, I want to feel your heart beat get quicker when I hug you tightly.

I guess what I'm saying is that I want you here.

But we fucked that up didn't we?

What happened? How did we let it happen? How did we get so fucking cocky that we let this happen to us?

Did we seriously start to believe there wouldn't be consequences?

Well, I don't know about you, but I'm just a love-struck sixteen year old who got his heart set on something he could never really have. I don't blame you, god knows I'm mature enough to know the consequences of what we were doing, but somehow I never pictured those things happening, not when I was with you at any rate. I'd be lying if I didn't have nightmares about this very scenario, where we're found out and you're dragged away from me so we can't see each other until I become a legal adult and I can run back into your arms or some romantic bollocks.

Oh god I miss you so much.

We can't have this anymore. You know that. I know that. Everyone in the whole FUCKING world knows it! So who are we trying to kid? Who the fuck were we trying to fool? What part of us thought anything about any of this would ever be alright? We're so fucked up Alistair! We're brother's! I can't want you to be near me this much! I can't want you to kiss me like I'm the only important thing on this whole fucking rubbish bin of a planet! I can't feel so shit when I'm sleeping because one of us hasn't snuck into the others room and I

I'm sorry.

I just miss you so much.

And I won't say the thing I'm desperate to, because I know if I do Mum won't give this to Dad, and Dad won't give this to you, but really, do I even need to say it at this point for you to know what I'm talking about?

I miss you.

And I never thought I could miss your stupid, ginger face as much as I do right now, but I do, and I hate it more than I've hated anything in my life.

I don't hate you though.

I can't hate you.

Because this is both of our faults, really.

I know I won't get a response to this, there's no way they'll let you influence their 'precious little Artie' any more than you already have, so I'm writing this as a final goodbye, I suppose. I know that's what they want. They want me to move on and forget that this little scandal ever happened, and I suppose that is the best thing for me to do. I can't very well go on moping about how much I miss my big brother now can I? That would be stupid.

I hope that you can try to move on too. I'm going to imagine you are, that'll make it easier for the both of us, I think. I hope that we can forget about it, even though the very thought of doing so is so painful I can't dwell on it long, but who knows, maybe one day we can sit across from each other at Christmas, our children on our laps and wives at our sides, and we won't feel that longing pull anymore, without stealing longing glances that we hope aren't returned, because if they are then how are we supposed to deny any of what we feel any longer?

As hard as I find it to believe, I know I'll be alright. Most people are. You will be too, you're too stubborn to be anything but okay.

For now I'll tide my days with memories of your smile, and nights with those of your touch. I'll cope. So will you.

I hope to one day see you again, under circumstances that don't leave us broken and pining hopelessly.

Oh, Alistair, we truly are hopeless.

We always were.

Goodbye,

Arthur

Alistair gripped the paper so hard he could feel it tearing under his fingers, but he couldn't find it in himself to loosen his grip.

He wasn't sure when he fell to his knees.

Or when he first started crying.

But here he was, sobbing like a baby, while his Dad watched over him like some kind of criminal. And he supposed he was. Arthur was sixteen, he was nineteen, he'd be twenty in less than a month and his beautiful little brother wouldn't even be a legal adult for almost two years. Little brother. He was so bloody little.

He was so skinny, always so skinny, all bones and not much else, and he always felt so delicate in his arms, so warm and soft, but with so many sharp edges, and that was just so perfectly Arthur and he was just so-

Just so goddamn beautiful.

He hunched over, hugging the letter to his chest, "I'm so sorry Artie," he whispered, so quietly his Dad couldn't hear him, "I'm so so sorry, this is all my fault."

After a while, he had managed to calm himself enough to notice that his Dad clearly had something to say, "I know what you're going to say," he said quickly, noticing the pause in Alistair's sobs, "And no, you can't write him a letter back. You've already done enough."

Alistair struggled and failed to hold in another sob, "But I-"

"I don't care," His Dad cut him off, an angry glint in his eye that meant only one thing shut up and listen, "We've had this conversation already, and Arthur deserves better. The less he hears from you, the faster he's going to let go. The last thing we need is you two pining for each other from a distance."

Alistair just stood silently, not looking up at his dad, and left the room, the crumpled letter held tightly in his hand, he didn't let go of it until the next morning.

Two hours by car away, Arthur curled up tightly on his bed, a stuffed unicorn with the words 'propery of Alistaire' scribbled on the label and a shirt with 'Alistair Kirkland' sewn carefully into the collar clutched to his chest.

Edit: Continued in 'Dear Arthur, I Love You'