Pairing: Armin Arlert/Jean Kirschstein
Rating: Teen and Up Audiences
Words: 1300
Prompt: Letters
Warning: Major Character Death!

AO3

He wrote those letters every week. Every Friday night to be precise. He sat down at his desk, put out the nicest paper he had and wrote down what was going on in his head. He wrote about work and about his annoying neighbour with his awful taste in music. He wrote about the weather and his family. Sometimes he wrote down what worried him or bothered him. He never forgot to write down what he loved about him, the deep blue of his eyes or his silky hair. He ended every letter with one million kisses, folded it neatly and put it into an envelope. Added a stamp, and sent it away the following morning.

Dear Armin,

How are you doing? Are you feeling any better? I saw this movie the other day, I think you’d like it. It was called “Night Train to Lisbon”. You reminded me a bit of Amadeu, but he wasn’t half as beautiful as you are. We should watch it together some day. Also, I forgot to mention in my last letter that I got a raise a couple of weeks ago. The office is doing better again and we had a few lucrative cases during the past months. With the extra money that I make now, we could actually do that journey to France that you always dreamed about. Imagine the two of us, a cute bistro with view on the Eiffel Tower! We will drink the best wine and I’ll feed you with expensive cheese. And then we’ll kiss at the Seine, kissing under the setting sun. I’d spoil you rotten, you know. Paris is the city of lovers after all!

He went to the mailbox every day, opened it and took out what was inside, bills, flyers from restaurants and grocery coupons, sometimes a post card. Whenever he walked the way from his front door to his mailbox, his heart started to race and his palms got sweaty. This time for sure, he would tell himself. And while he opened the box, he would hum their song. It felt like his heart stopped whenever there was nothing besides the usual content. The air he breathed felt sharp. He walked back inside and continued with his day.

I thought about getting a dog lately. I know you prefer cats and I really wanted to consider getting a cat instead but I’m just more of a dog person. I want to adopt one from a shelter, one that needs a home and a family. Maybe one that wasn’t loved enough by his previous owners. I’ll take good care of it and pet it without end. I’m lonely, Armin. That’s why I thought that a dog would be great company. I could also talk to him. He’d listen to me and I think it would help. My therapist thinks it’s a good idea too. Will you be mad if I get a dog? If you are scared of big dogs, I’ll get a smaller one, a terrier maybe, but to be honest, I would love to get a huge German Shepard. Do you remember when my grandma’s dog got really excited to see you again when we last visited her? He jumped at you and you fell on the ground, Maxie on top of you and licking your face. You looked really happy back then.

He did this now for what felt like forever. He couldn’t even think of something else to do on a Friday night. And as he sat down once again, he realized that he should go buy some new writing paper. Didn’t they perfume love letters in those cheesy romance movies his mother used to watch when she ironed the laundry? He remembered a scene where a girl in a 19th century gown wrote a love letter to her sweetheart, and once it was done, she had kissed it and fondly pressed it against her chest. Back then, how old had he been? 14 maybe? He had laughed at that girl. He had believed she was stupid, hopeless, a cliché. And yet, he sat in front of his desk, chose every word with care. His heart was beating fast while he wrote it, he was excited. He thought about what Armin would think when he’d read it. And once he was finished, he sealed the letter with a kiss.

It’s getting colder. I already miss the summer days. The leaves are turning red. The lime tree in front of our house looks so beautiful now. It’s shimmering in warm golden colours, I checked it the other day and from the window in your study, you can still see where we carved in our names. Your study still looks the same too, I dust it every week. Sometimes I sit down in your chair and read one of your books. And then I wonder what you thought while reading it. It helps a lot that you always marked the passages that you loved the most with pencil and I reread those countless times, just because I know that they were special to you. The last time I read through your poetry collection by the way. I never knew that those poems were so beautiful, I found them boring and stupid when I had to read them in school. Also, I’m incredibly sorry. I found the notebook in which you wrote your own poetry and read it. Your poems are a million times more beautiful than the ones that I read from Shakespeare, Keats and Shelley. I cried myself to sleep that night because I missed you so much.

He wondered if he should try to write his own poems, if Armin would like it if he sent him one. He knew that he would, he could practically hear him saying that it wasn’t necessary to write something for him, that he knew already how much he loved him. That he didn’t deserve it. He knew that he’d tell him that he was wrong. That he deserved the world and more. He wanted to hold his beautiful fair hands and kiss his lips, his forehead and his nose. But when he tried to find words that would make a poem, when he tried to write out just that, he ripped the page out of his notebook and threw it into the trash can. It wasn’t even halfway good enough to show it to Armin.

You know how much I love you, right? And if you don’t, I’ll tell you again and again, I’d do everything for you. I’ll take the stars down for you. I’ll sail the world, find a new continent and name it after you. I want you to be the happiest person of all. Because your smile is my sunlight, everything is dark and grey when you aren’t with me. I love you to the moon and back. Please, come back. Armin, I beg you. Come back to me. Let me hold you once again, kiss you and breathe in your scent. Smile for me one more time. Please, please come back. I don’t know how to take this. I need you.

One million kisses,

Jean.

He sealed the envelope, wrote the address of the house of Armin’s parents on it and placed it on the kitchen table, so that he could take it to the post office tomorrow. His hands were shaking. His throat was tight. This was the 52nd letter. He knew himself that the post office threw his letters away when he brought them. He knew that Armin’s parents have asked him countless times to stop. But he couldn’t. It would feel empty without them. And he didn’t want to let go.

PS: Please answer me this time.

He knew that Armin wouldn’t, that he couldn’t.