"I don't need to know the end, just tell me you feel it too."

It's about unspoken love, anonymous letters, and the choice to risk it — even without a guaranteed ending.
The pairing is open, so names are revealed naturally, building mystery and emotion.

Pairing: Open (revealed later)
Trope: Secret admirer / Anonymous letters / Love without a roadmap
Theme: The courage to feel even without knowing the ending
Tone: Soft, romantic, vulnerable

The first letter was never meant to be written.

It came out in a moment of restlessness — during a midnight practice break, heart pounding from too much overthinking and not enough breathing.

It wasn't a confession.
Not really.

Just a few lines scribbled on a notebook page.

You looked tired today. But you smiled anyway.
I noticed. I always do.
Does anyone else?

He folded it in half. Stared at it. Then slid it into the back of his drawer.

He wrote the second one a week later.

You make everything look easy. But I know it's not. And I wish I could say something. Something real.
Instead, I write to the version of you who will never read this.

That became the routine.

He wrote them late at night, when the dorm was quiet and the city had gone to sleep.
When the only sound was the low hum of traffic and his own thoughts getting too loud.

Sometimes he wrote two a week.
Sometimes none at all.
But every letter ended the same way:

Yours (but never really),
—

The drawer filled slowly.

Scraps of notebook paper. Envelope corners. The backs of old practice schedules.

He never signed his name.
Never addressed it to anyone.

But every word was for the same person.

Until the night he caught them humming.

The melody was his — something he'd written in the margins of a recent letter, a tune he'd never shared, never sung aloud.

And yet.

The hum was quiet, under their breath, as they fixed their hoodie and reached for a snack.

He froze.

And his heart whispered, they know.

He could've brushed it off.
Could've pretended.
Could've burned the letters one by one and sworn it all away.

But instead, he sat down that night with trembling hands and wrote one final letter.

I never meant for you to know.
But I think maybe I wanted you to feel it.
Even if you didn't know where it came from.
Even if it was just a warmth in your chest, or a song in your head.
Even if it wasn't enough.

I don't need to know the end, just tell me you feel it too.

Yours (this time, for real),
—K

Nicholas stared at the letter in his hands.

His heart had started racing after the second line.
By the fourth, he couldn't breathe.

He'd found it inside his bag — tucked between his lyric sheets — a plain white envelope, no name.

But the writing?

He recognized it now.

And the melody he'd been humming?

Suddenly made so much sense.

He didn't know when it had started.

Maybe during that late-night walk when K offered him his jacket without asking.

Maybe the day K stood beside him in silence while he fought back tears in the practice room, offering nothing but his quiet presence and the barest shoulder bump of support.

Maybe it had been there the whole time — this quiet thread between them.

Nicholas had just been too scared to pull it.

He ran to the living room.

"Where's K?"

Maki blinked at him from the couch, half-asleep. "Shower, I think?"

Nicholas didn't wait.

He stood outside the bathroom door, heartbeat climbing like it was scaling a mountain with no ropes.

When K opened the door, steam spilling into the hallway, hair dripping and hoodie half-zipped — he froze.

Nicholas stood there, letter in hand.

No words.

Just breath.

Just eyes.

Then Nicholas said, soft but certain:

"I feel it too."

K's hands tightened at his sides.

"Nicholas—"

"You didn't sign your name," Nicholas said, stepping closer. "But I didn't need it. It was always you."

K swallowed. "You weren't supposed to—"

"I'm glad I did."

They didn't hug.

Didn't kiss.

Didn't need to.

Just stood there in the hallway — no longer lost in the middle of something unnamed.

Now it had a name.

Now it had a heartbeat.

Now it had a chance.

A week later, Nicholas slipped a folded paper onto K's pillow.

You said I looked tired in your first letter.
That day, I didn't think anyone noticed.
But you did.
You always do.

I want to keep being noticed by you.
And I want to notice you back.

Let's not go blind anymore.
Let's go forward.
Together.

Yours (for real this time),
—Nicholas

They started writing letters to each other after that.

Not secret ones.

Just real ones.

Folded into hoodie pockets. Left on water bottles. Taped to phone chargers.

No longer afraid.

No longer unsigned.

No longer waiting for the ending.

Just choosing it.

One word at a time.

The End.
(Because love doesn't always start with a name. Sometimes it starts with a letter.)