Sawyer stared at the bottle, limbs stretched lazily and long hair getting in his eyes, tousled by the wind. He would look the other way from time to time, at the clouds, the water, Walt, but his eyes always came back to this one spot. Finally, he bowed forward and reached for it, making it look as casual as possible. No one needed to know how badly he wanted to go through the stuff inside.

He opened it and took out the first letter. He unfolded it, squinting in the sun slightly.

"Dear Helen," Sawyer muttered under his breath. "First of all, I want you to know that I miss you and think of you every day blah blah blah," he rolled his eyes a little. "This island is a magical place, there is this special quality about it... crazy son of a bitch," Sawyer snorted and tucked Locke's letter back inside. He took out another one.

"Yo, Ma, I just wanted you to know that I'm okay, well, alive. There is not much to eat around here, but--" Sawyer raised his brows and shook his head incredulously, putting it away as well. If anyone ever told me I'd be stranded on the uninhabited island with the bunch of retarded idiots, I'd've laughed in his face, Sawyer thought to himself scornfully, before lowering his head and peeking inside. "Come on, I know you're there, you lil bastard," he muttered, fishing around with his fingers. "Ha!" he smirked triumphantly, taking out the third letter. Something told him this was it. He unfolded it carefully, holding his breath even though he wasn't aware of it.

"Dear--"

"Those are the messages everybody wrote," Sawyer paused above the letter, his eyes slowly sliding up to rest on Walt, who just stopped in front of him.

"Sure are," Sawyer agreed, trying to keep his voice in control. Damn kid always butted in.

"They're private," Walt said, giving Sawyer a meaningful look.

"Yep. I, for one, never knew how much Tracy missed her hubby and 2 kids back in Fresno," he lied, just to send the kid away. "Yet she's sleeping next to good old Scott to keep her warm at night," he hoped it was enough to shut the boy's little gab.

"That's Steve. Scott's dead," Walt answered resolutely.

Sawyer felt his patience begin to slip away. "Whatever," he rolled his eyes. "It's alright, Kazoo, we've got to keep ourselves entertained."

Walt regarded him disapprovingly. "How would you like it if I read yours?" he asked in an accusing tone.

Sawyer glared up at him, annoyed. " You can't read mine because I didn't write one," he said harshly.

"Why not?"

Son of a-- "Because the only one I ever wrote is to the man I'm going to kill," he growled.

Walt raised his brows, rather curious than intimidated. "Why are you going to kill him?"

Sawyer's brows knitted together. "Because I need to," he said in a low voice.

"Why?"

"Because!" Sawyer exploded. "Now, piss off!" Walt cast him a resentful glare and sountered away hastily. Sawyer stared after him for a little longer, pissed, before lowering his eyes back to the letter in his hands.

This was it. Had to be it.

"Dear Sawyer,

so you did go through the letters, after all. I was positive you would, even though it's rude 'cause they're private. Anyway, I wrote this one hoping you would," Sawyer rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched lightly. Damn her. She knew him, didn't she? "I'm not exactly an expert on writing this sort of thing, but I thought... well, I thought you'd understand.

Now as I'm writing it you're preparing to set sail. Tomorrow, by this time, you'll be away. And we will never meet each other again, will we? Never again.

I don't know if I'll get the chance to say goodbye to you. If I won't, maybe it's better for both of us. I wouldn't be sure whether to hug you or to kick your sorry ass for what you had done to me. You had betrayed me, Sawyer. I know I had tried to steal your spot on the raft, but you always knew it was my last chance to get away. Still, for some strange, irrational reason, I will miss you. Whatever you may say to this, we did have a connection. I could feel it, every time we were together. And I know you felt it, too.
But we're both too fucked up, aren't we? We could never say what we truly meant, or... I could never say what I wanted to say to you. So I guess that's why I'm writing this letter. Because when you're not looking at me, it's easier. Much easier.

So I just wanted you to know... I did enjoy that kiss, you know. I never planned it to go that way, I never wanted to feel things for you, but I can't say I didn't. And because we will never meet again, I have nothing to lose. And I can tell you know how much it had hurt me when you said I wasn't worth staying for. Because that was what you meant, wasn't it?

I don't know if you wanted me to ask you to stay. 'Cause I would've, you know. I would've. But you were looking at me then, and I couldn't let myself say it. Not like I can do now.

So yes, I wanted you to stay. I wanted you to stay and I wanted this thing between us to develop. You made me feel safe, and happy, and million other things I'm thankful to you for. You made me realise there are other things than pain and misery, and the failure that is my life.

So I guess what I really want to tell is that you mean to me more than you will ever now. I hope you'll remember only the good moments. I know I will.

Freckles."

Sawyer stared at the letter for a little longer, not moving a muscle. Then he went through it again. And again.

And again.

And then he refolded it gently and hid in his inner pocket, next to the letter to Sawyer, but closer to his heart.

He only hoped she would find his, hidden under her makeshift pillow.