Work Text:
Dear 祁煜，
When I started writing this letter, I wasn’t even sure whether to pick up my pen or simply just type it away. From a hunter's perspective, it’s more efficient to save time and resources. Papers are hard to come by when you journey somewhere a little far away from civilization. When I saw a body of water, I was again reminded of you. That was when I decided to write this with paper and pen, because maybe you would appreciate the indigenous way more.
The sea is windy, and the sand is pearly white. I was walking barefoot, my shoes safely tucked away under a palm tree. Thankfully, none of your crustacean friends decided that my shoes were worth their attention. Hunting wanderers without shoes will be very much a pain in the arse.
I saw shells, lots of them washed and stranded on the beach. I made sure to pick them up, and I think I had picked the best ones for you. The seashells seem to emit different hues from the ones on your beach. I hope you like them, or they will be useful for your colorful ventures. While picking them, the wind picks up, churning the sea at a far off distance that I’m barely able to make of. That also reminded me of you, and maybe our first meeting.
The sea which bleeds red, that was the first ever time I saw your painting, I think. I have no aptitude towards art, nor I understand them, but I thought that your painting was beautiful. If it was a dream, then your dream must be really beautiful. And that was also the first time I thought that maybe dreaming wasn’t so bad.
Nowadays my dreams are myriads of colors. I no longer see only reds and embers, not as much as it used to be. I saw colors from your palette, from your canvas, from your eyes, and maybe your smile. You said that pink is the color of romance, and yes, I might have dreamed too much of them nowadays. That was a little embarrassing to admit, please don’t laugh at me.
What I am trying to say, 祁煜, is that it has been a year since I first met you. When I thought all that is left of me is the burning of vengeance inside my mouth, and that it is alright to remain a survivor alone, you might have proven me wrong. I was averse to it at first, your colors invading the grey, the mutedness of it all. But like a habit, I’m starting to get used to it, waking up unalone, the empty space buzzing with your hums. Now, it feels a little lonelier when you’re not around.
The wind picks up again just now and all that I can smell is saltwater. The sky's the color of purple and tangerine and blush. Your birthday is a week away, and I hope this letter will be in your hands by then.
Happy birthday. May you always shine and gleam like the bluest part of the ocean. May your color stay the most vibrant like the color of twilight upon seawater.
I hope that I can always be the lone moon whose light is reflected on your surface. I hope to see more of your world, like you had mine. I hope to share more birthdays to come.
And I hope to always protect the water where you swim in.
(This part seemingly has been erased countless times)
Sincerely,
Your bodyguard.