Dear Tsuzuki,

I promised not to speak a word about the subject I'm going to bring up...it's good thing I'm not talking, then. I've been agonizing over this for a while, though, and figure you may actually want to know why I did what I did about a year ago. I was dreaming and I knew it - I guess I should've been glad it didn't involve Muraki, but looking back on it now, I wish that was the case.

I was in a place I'd dare to wager was supposed to be heaven; it was somewhere wherein the clouds served to be soft yet firm ground and I was surrounded by the blue of the sky and the shades of white and light gray that clouds tend to be. I had what I'd always wanted - a loving family who didn't shun me on the claim I wasn't human, good friends, no empathy - no curse...I knew I didn't die - that, for some reason, this life was the one I'd been living out since the instant I was born and that no harm had ever befallen me, except maybe a few scrapes. How I knew I couldn't say - immediate enlightenment is an inexplicable benefit given only in dreams.

Yet I didn't want any of it to be true - I'd have forsaken whatever paradise it was supposed to be - because there was something missing. Namely everything, or that's what it felt like. This wasn't heaven...but wasn't this what I'd always wanted? Granted I'd never really wanted to live suspended high in the air, but it was an otherwise normal life.

"...Tsuzuki wo aitai," I murmured absently, an intense pain and desire forcing my chest to cringe. Your name alone could invoke that sort of pain upon me. Driven by some part of me that's clearly overridden by masochism, I wondered how I would feel if you denied ever knowing me...you hadn't, after all - not in a world where I was still alive.

Being as that I exuded angst enough when conscious, I tried to remove you from my thoughts - and so I did...for all of six glorious seconds whereupon I mused that, "This would really be the ideal life, impossibility of the location put aside...if only it weren't that Tsu--oh, damn it!"

I tried to think as I did alive before I recalled my constant thoughts were self-loathing, hopelessness, and melancholy. Again attempting to deflect any thought of you, I thought to study the so-called heaven only to discover I was floating in darkness.

Of course. Heaven only is what you want it to be...
And more than anything else, even the 'heaven' I initially thought of, there is someone I want to stay with me, isn't there? Someone I can't have...

Shocked slightly, words fell out of my mouth I barely heard, "Tsuzuki is..."

I didn't finish talking, but I knew what I was going to say.

"Tsuzuki is the person I like the most."

If I told you, what would you say? What would you have done? I thought maybe avoid me as much as you could, then I stumbled upon the revelation that's what I would do if you said something like that to me. You would actually probably just misunderstand what I meant by "like;" if you would on purpose or not I don't know. I suddenly had an intense desire to scream, to stop dreaming...to see you and not feel anything but what you did. Reiterating a point I'd been thinking since I'd ceased to be Hisoka Kurosaki the boy and commenced existence as Hisoka Kurosaki the demon child, I whispered, "This is cruel."

"...Up," a voice from outside the dream suggested. "Hisoka, wake up!"

I didn't see a reason to make a point of defying you. Opening my eyes, I noticed two things: one, it's not wise to open your eyes when you know your sight will go from viewing black to brightness, and two, I was sleeping on paperwork. I fixed a glare pointedly at you and before you could make any sort of remark and asked, "Why, exactly, didn't you wake me?"

"Well...I was, uh...sleeping, too," you confessed somewhat unconvincingly - but what else would you be doing? Rephrasing that...why would you lie? I admonished, "Stay awake next time, baka..."

"Said the pot to the kettle," you quipped gleefully. I sighed and picked myself off my work. You actually had me...for once. It wasn't like I didn't walk into that, anyway. And the way you smiled - I was thinking that - should I even write it? - you were actually cute sometimes.

"Just stop thinking about him already!" I accidentally hissed to myself. You looked at me questioningly, probably concerned over the general wellness or lack thereof of my mental state.

I thought it was then or never that I would tell you just how much I needed and wanted you. It was then that I had to tell you or forever hold my peace.

I don't think I've ever felt so certain about any emotion since the moment of my conception, in all honesty. More than a shame I wasn't certain enough of you to do more than walk out of the office and transfer to America.

I wish I didn't think so damn melodramatically. I kept calling you names when all along it was me who should be called an idiot. All I needed to say were three words that were becoming exponentially more obvious and instead I could have said a thousand more easily. If you don't believe me, count the words I've used to write this.

Over here in the Chicago branch...there's nothing to comment on, mostly. Everything in general is bland. The secretary, who is unfortunately named Repeat, could give Tatsumi a run for his money, no pun intended. My new partner's name is Dick. It fits him.

I feel dead...more so than usual. Then again, what else am I but a walking cadaver? And I reiterate: I wish I didn't think so damn melodramatically.

I didn't originally transfer to Chicago. First it was Naples, Florida, then St. Joseph, Michigan to Manhattan, New York to some random hicksville in Alabama...I've been nearly everywhere, but I never found what I was looking for; realizing I wouldn't, I just randomly selected Chicago to permanently transfer to.

You may wonder what it was I was searching for. The answer is somewhere I could manage to forget about you - the inverse is what I got. I haven't forgotten anything - I couldn't forget you any more than I could myself.

This is getting pretty long for just a simple hello letter to an old friend...Dick's getting disgruntled at my lack of work. He shouldn't talk. He's been 'reading' Playboy for the past five hours. Still, why don't I say what I've been meaning to say before Dick decides "Kurosaki" is Japanese for "human punching bag."

To summarize: I can't feel anything but remorse, pain, and melancholy affection any longer. There's nothing more - I have no reason to live and I have no one and nothing I love. Here, anyway. In case you haven't been paying attention for the better part of this note...

I love you, Tsuzuki Asato. More than anyone and anything else, I want you with me...but it's too late to be saying that. To reuse a good phrase...it's a good thing, then, that I'm not talking.

I'm sorry that I didn't say goodbye. I'm sorry that I left. I'm sorry about a lot of things, but if I know anything, it's that sorry is meaningless and useless; the problem is that I don't know what else I can say. I don't even know if you're reading this or if you've ripped it from the start seeing who this is from. Either way, mine is a pathetic existence - it's taken me two years and a few hundred words to say I love you and to ask if you hate me for it. So please answer me...

Sincerely,
Hisoka Kurosaki


Now edited! I feel horrible, but the site mandates it so, so...

Disclaimer: Yoko Matsushita owns all mentioned except for Dick and Repeat, who I made up myself. Hugh Hefner owns Playboy.