Every time I left, I promised to write. But I never wrote anything meaningful. Where I said what needed to be said.

I know it's too late for us, and honestly, there probably never was a time for us in the first place, but it's three in the morning and all I can think about is you, your smile, your laugh, your eyes, every little piece of you. And hating that none of those little pieces will ever belong to me.

Because every piece of me belongs to you. I gave them away, one by one, until I lived because of you and you didn't even know. Then you died, and I became a ghost, because all of me was rotting somewhere under five feet of dirt.

So I'm writing to you, I'm begging you to give me back, piece by piece, because I'm not ready to live without you, but I'm not ready to live with you yet, under all that dirt. You're going to have to give me back, you have to let me go, and then maybe I'll have figured out how to let you go.

When I first met you, you were so bright. Gods, how were you so bright? You talked like everything mattered, you smiled like everything was important. That day, you smiled at me with that smile, just for a second, and I was gone.

I actually fell from that pine tree on purpose. I just couldn't think of another way to talk to you, another way to look you in the eye (your eyes were so blue). It was probably the stupidest thing I've ever done, but you gave me your hand and helped me up, so I didn't care. It didn't really hurt that much, but you made such a big fuss over it, like you always did about every single cut and scrape and bruise.

When you wrapped gauze around a patient, you hummed softly to yourself as if you didn't even notice, and you had a different song for everyone. I never knew the name of mine, but the simple melody is still ringing in my ears.

You always had something positive to say to my negatives.

"Humanity's natural state is chaotic and violent," I had said once.

"Good morning to you too, sunshine," you had said cheerily.

"Seriously, though, humanity's only common hobby seems to be destruction."

"Destruction and creation, Death Boy, don't forget that."

"No, all we do is destroy. Wars are started and fought time and time again, and both sides cross the line until nobody is good, and people die, and nothing will ever change until we're gone."

You shrugged. "And yet we're still here, aren't we? And we'll be here tomorrow, and the day after, and that won't change until we're gone either."

Every day, you shone unfailingly. Even at two in the morning when your were stressed and overworked and irritated, your smile was kind and your touch was soft.

Your skin was so warm. Was that a sun god thing?

Your skin is cold now.

I left as soon as you let me out of the infirmary. I thought you wouldn't care that first time I left. We weren't friends then. I mean, everyone was your friend, but with that many people to hold onto, the ghost boy you barely knew was sure to slip through the cracks.

I didn't go anywhere in particular, just let the shadows whisk me away like the wind. I don't care where I end up, as long as I end up alone. And as long as it's not the seaside.

I left the day after you let me out because I had no idea what else to do. Because of you, and Percy, and Bianca, and the creeping suspicion that I was fated to hold on to people I could never have, that I would pull other souls inside me and there wouldn't be space for my own anymore.

I would have given everything up for you and you didn't even know. You never will.

As soon as I got back, you were there, eyes crackling like blue fire.

"Where were you?" You asked, seething. "You can't just go away and not tell anyone. I thought something had happened! I thought I'd done something wrong!"

You were so angry you were almost shaking. Your face was red and your expression was unforgiving. Usually you shone, but that day you burned. And I, on the receiving end, was burning.

My brain was numb. I had never seen you so angry before, I had never even imagined you could be angry. I had never imagined you could care enough to be angry at me.

"Usually nobody minds," I managed to force out. "My friends just accept the fact that I come and go as I please, and everyone else doesn't really notice."

You narrowed your eyes. "Well, I'm not your friend, and I'm not everyone else."

"So...what are you then?" I asked, mouth dry.

"I'm something much more important." You crossed your arms. "I'm your doctor, and you'd better find some way to tell me where you are, whether you're gone for a few hours or a few weeks."

I looked just a little bit to the left of you. It was easier to have that conversation with you if I wasn't looking right into those fiery eyes.

"I can't exactly call or text you. And before you say it, I never have any drachmas on me, so Iris messages are out of the question."

That wasn't true. The real reason I couldn't send an Iris message was because I couldn't exactly see your face if I was trying to run away from it.

"Well, do it then old-fashioned way, then. Send me a letter."

"How am I supposed to send you a letter when I'm only gone for a few hours? Even a phone call would be more convenient," I said helplessly.

You jabbed your finger into my chest. "You're the son of death. Figure it out."

And I did figure it out. I sent you letters every time, filled with sarcastic comments and cynical jokes and things I never thought I'd say hidden in between the lines. I was almost happy back then.

Now I'm just tired.