The creases were precise, but fingertips marred the edges and fiddled with the corners, rendering them permanently dogeared. Lettering leaked through the paper, covering the backside in shadowy hieroglyphics. Keith had read this letter a thousand times over, noting how the author connects every "s" to an "a" and how he writes his "q's" funny and how his letter "n's" have a wisp of a wing on the top of their arms. And of course at this point he practically had the words memorized.

That didn't stop him from compulsively slipping it out of his ratty jean's back pocket, though, holding it between shaking hands and unfolding it again gently. "Dear Keith," is as far as he gets this time, before he feels a now-familiar warmth flow through the marrow of his bones.

It's funny, too, because the first "Dear Keith" is crossed out. Closer inspection reveals that the author, in his haste, spelled it "Kieth." And so it reads, "Dear Kieth Dear Keith, if you're reading this it's too late."

And even though this is reading number one thousand and one, Keith still feels the distant echo of fear clutching at his heart, tempered only by familiar, present annoyance at the next line: "Ha ha. Throw a little Drake reference in there for your health."

"Anyway," the letter continues, and Keith's hands still as the words drip into him, like warm rain. "If you're reading this, it actually is too late for me to back out of what I promised to do. You're leaving the country for what feels like a million years– six months, sixty years. Same shit to me. And I want this waiting for you when you get there. Give you some light reading before bed."

A crude wink was drawn instead of a period, ending the sentence with a smirk that Keith can practically feel against his own lips. More doodles appeared down the side, and smudges of leaked ink and still-wet highlighter. Underneath the mess the letter continued.

"You're going to love Prague, I know it. You have a wild soul and you love adventure and doing crazy shit with people, so it's gonna be a great time. Drink all the beer for me and fuck cute European guys. I want all the dirty gossip.

I am gonna miss that so much, you know. I thought living with you would be a disaster but now I legynimitely (pronounce that like dynamitely LOL) cannot imagine being away from you for... more than a week. Is that really unhealthy? Maybe. Do I care? Maybe.

I'm trying not to meme too much, believe it or not. It's just hard to even comprehend you're going to be gone this whole time. And when you come back, I'll be graduating, and we might even be going to different grad schools. Basically, there's a lot about to change. But I'm pretty sure one thing is going to stay the same, and it's something you might not know."

And here, the handwriting gets substantially shakier, and the script more cursive-like, as if each individual letter was leaning on another for support.

"I love you," Keith reads, and he even thinks he reads it aloud, and it doesn't sound as good in his own voice as he knows it could.

"God, that feels good to get out. I LOVE YOU! And I have for so long, and I really feel like I will forever. You are the brightest star in my life, Keith, and even when you piss me off or make me scream or make me cry... I feel like you make me a better man. I'm a better person now than I was before I met you.

And speaking of that. I think, really, I've loved you since then. You have to know, that you're something insanely special to me. And I'm not telling you this to make you uncomfortable– I just needed to tell you now. Our lives are about to change a shitload, Keith, and I didn't want to live the rest of mine wishing I had told you sooner.

If you never want to see me again, I totally understand. My love... God this is cheesy, but. It's not conditional. I want whatever will make you happiest, really and truly.

(Sorry, I just have to write it again: I love you, Keith Kogane.)

So that's my big confession. I know we won't be able to talk while you're abroad because your cheapskate ass won't even pay for a flip phone. But please don't forget me, even when you get dicked down by hot Europeans.

To paraphrase my old favorite book: love you forever, like you for always, as long as I'm living my best friend you'll be. Have an amazing trip, Kieth. Keith. Already miss you more than words can say.

Reppin XO to the death,

Lance."

A shuddering breath leaves Keith's body and he closes his eyes only to see the letter behind the lids. It's consumed him for the last few months, kept him awake, left him wondering how and why and what and when– when can he get back. It never felt like it would come soon enough, so he decided to make it come sooner than expected. Two months sooner.

So now he's stood in front of Lance's front door, uninvited, unexpected. A part of him whimpered for the safe distance of Czechia again.

He forced it down, though, underneath the rush of adrenaline that coursed through his blood. Now or never, he thinks, and he slips the letter back in its home one last time. Three knocks, the creak of an opening door, a surprised gasp– and smiling blue eyes.