Christian got better.
Slowly.
It started with the little things.
He began eating again—not much at first, just a few bites here and there, but it was enough for Steve to breathe a little easier.
Then he started speaking more.
Not just one-word answers, but actual sentences. Sometimes, he even let himself laugh—short, quiet sounds that Steve held onto like they were the most precious things in the world.
And the nightmares?
They didn't go away. Not completely.
But Christian stopped waking up gasping for air.
Stopped flinching when Steve reached for him.
Stopped looking like he was trapped in his own body.
One evening, he sat on the couch with Steve, eating takeout, and when Steve cracked a joke, Christian actually smiled—really smiled.
And in that moment, Steve knew.
Knew Christian was going to be okay.
Knew Christian didn't need him anymore.
And knew it was time to go.
Steve waited until Christian was asleep before he wrote the letter.
The words came slowly at first, but once he started, he couldn't stop.
He told Christian how much he loved him.
How much he would always love him.
How he could never forget the memories they made together—the late-night talks, the stolen kisses, the way Christian had fought for him even when he didn't deserve it.
And then—
He told him goodbye.
He explained why he had to leave.
That as long as they were together, Christian would never be safe.
That Steve knew Christian had quit his FBI job for him.
And that was exactly why he had to walk away.
Because if Christian could give up everything for Steve, then the least Steve could do was make sure he had a future worth living.
A future without blood and violence and danger.
A future without him.
He folded the letter.
Placed it gently on Christian's pillow.
And then, without looking back, he walked out the door.
Christian woke up to the empty space beside him.
His fingers brushed against the pillow—soft fabric, still warm from where Steve had been.
Then his eyes landed on the letter.
His stomach twisted.
He sat up slowly, unfolding the paper, and as he read the words, his hands started to shake.
By the time he reached the end, his vision blurred with tears.
The paper crumpled in his grip.
Then, with a sharp, gasping breath, Christian shoved the blankets aside and ran.
He searched everywhere.
Steve's old apartment. The bars they used to go to. The places Steve would disappear to when he needed space.
Nothing.
No trace of him.
No sign that he had ever been there at all.
Christian clenched his jaw, gripping the letter so tightly his knuckles turned white.
He refused to believe it.
Refused to accept that Steve was gone.
So he kept searching.
Kept looking.
Kept hoping.
Even when the days turned into weeks.
Even when the weeks turned into years.
And still—
No Steve.
No answers.
Just an empty space in his heart where Steve had once been.