Archive of Our Own ^beta

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Night Raven College was in desperate need of mental help, considering how many Overblots happened in the span of just a few months. Instead of hiring a real therapist, Dire Crowley appointed resident troubled boy Kouta Yuudai to figure out a way to relieve the burdens of students on campus.  

Well, he isn’t at all a certified mental health specialist, but he had an idea. The NRC Unsent Project— a place for students to drop off letters of all the things they could never say out loud, completely anonymously.  

These are said letters.  

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Hello, author here!

This is a project not just to explore the characters, but also a bit of a vent for me and anyone else out there reading who might resonate with what the characters are going through. It'll be happy, sometimes, and it'll be sad. Based on the real life Unsent Project (https://theunsentproject.com/) but not entirely the same. Might be a bit OOC and I apologize LMAO.

Tags, characters, and ships update as I go along. I'll be including minor head canons, and the Yuu featured in the story is an OC of mine. You'll learn a bit more about him later.

This project finishes when I decide it's finished.

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To a mother  

It troubles me to say that I don’t think I can forgive you. 

I love you. You raised me. But I can’t forgive you. 

I’m not sure if you even wanted me, to be honest. When you and father got together, I’m sure you had dreams and ambitions of your own. You wanted to be something, didn’t you? I understand that. I understand that wholeheartedly, as a matter of fact, because you pushed me to be everything that you could never become. 

I’m sorry that you being pregnant with me ruined you. 

Though you seldom say you love me, I don’t doubt that the feeling isn’t there. After all, I’m your son, and you fed and dressed me like any mother does for their child. You’ve sacrificed so much for me. I know full and well, because you tend to tell me quite a bit. 

But I am not you, mother. A child is not a blank slate you can mold to your whims, and a child is not a vehicle of which to live your own life through. I was ten. I wanted to eat sweet things, and I wanted to play outside with my friends, and be allowed to flourish as my own person. I wanted to be a child, not a dress-up doll with a few different college degrees and a high-paying job by eighteen. That isn’t possible. 

Had I not known the companions that I do, seen the world the way I had, I would have spent my entire life sitting at my desk and thinking the book in front of me was the entire world. But that is not what happened. 

I am flourishing without you breathing down my neck. I am my own person here. I am eating my favorite foods. I am celebrating my Unbirthday with pride and companions at my side. I go shopping for stupid trinkets and clothes that would appall you. I curse. I love. I breathe. 

And it is painful to admit that I cannot forgive you. I cannot forgive you for taking away so many of my formative years. My life. I am your son, and you are my mother, but we are not the same person no matter how hard you try to make it true. Not even my Overblot could change you, I know. So, trust me when I say, by the time I am graduated, I am moving far away from you. I will own several pets that I will love very dearly. I will color my house strangely and dance to bad music in my living room and never call you. 

I love you. But you don’t love me the way I need you to love me. So, I cannot, will not, never will forgive you. And when I am one day happy, I will look back at you and laugh.

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I fucking hate you  

This is so stupid and wrong but I fucking hate you. I hate you so much. I hate you and you didn’t even do anything. 

I think that’s the worst thing about it. You didn’t do anything. Not just anything wrong, but anything at all. I’m your little brother, goddammit, and every time I look at you, I want to rip your throat out and cry. You took everything from me without even knowing it. Attention, love, a throne, a family.  

I want everything I can’t have. I tried my best, I did, and it wasn’t enough for mom and dad. You and I both know I was a failsafe. I could see it in your eyes, you knew. You pitied me. I’m a damn prince and all I got were your hand-me-downs and your toys and everything you decided you didn’t want anymore. When I didn’t show up for dinner, you never came and got me. I don’t know if you all sent the servants to just give me my food in my room or if they felt bad and did it themselves. 

I really did try. I swear I tried. You don’t believe me when I say I tried. 

I didn’t want this to be my unique magic. It wasn’t flashy or pretty or useful like yours was. Do you know how alienated I felt when I got quarantined until I got it under control? Did you think I never saw the quiet fear in your eyes whenever I held onto you? You all thought I was gonna turn a person to sand, like when I did that to Kwame’s arm. I didn’t mean to. Is that why you didn’t let me hold Cheka when that rat was born? You thought I’d turn him to sand right there? 

You can’t even answer this and it’s stupid as hell that I’m even writing this. I’m trying so hard. I’m trying so hard, brother, but my best isn’t enough. It’s not enough in anything ▆▆thing I do my god it’s not enough I’m not ▆▆▆ the only prince here I▆▆▆ot even special I want ▆▆▆▆ up so bad I can’t do this I’m so ▆▆ tired I just want to ▆▆▆▆ I should die I should ▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆ die please let me ▆▆ quiet worthless ▆▆▆▆▆ prince of nothing 

 ...

A lot of this letter has been either entirely blacked out with ink or mysteriously covered with wet spots.  

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Everything  

I don’t know if I’ll ever tell you this in person, but I love you. 

It’s stupid, I know. We’re not even on the same level or anything. You’re a guy, I’m a guy. We don’t have a whole lot of classes together. You’re just the guy I go to club with. And I’m a dumb introvert with nothing good to ever talk about. But you’re everything, and I love you. 

I love that you’re smart. You’re so smart. Not just in Monopoly— though that is extremely appreciated, believe me —but in everything. I’m privileged. I don’t get to worry about anything like madol. But you’re, like, business oriented. That’s all you worry about. And it’s cute the look you get on your face when I drop a casual hundred or two for a dumb gacha game or a present for you. 

Actually, about that, you’re the only guy I get presents for. Aside from, like, my brother. For his birthday. But that’s beside the point. 

I love that you’re easy to talk to. We basically talk the same language. Not, like, literally or anything, you just like. Get me. Or something. You know how my brain works because yours works really similarly on the inside. And we both like puzzles. And games. And I like knowing that I can never tell who the winner is gonna be. You’re, like, the best challenge I’ve ever been given. 

It blows me away that I almost didn’t join your club. My brother made me do it. And you were the only one there. I remember you getting so excited, and I was scared because I thought your excitement was gonna be overwhelming and stuff. It wasn’t. 

I’m so sad that I can’t be anything to you. That I can’t do more for you. 

I know you watch your calories. Like, obsessively. Worryingly. You eat when you get anxious, and then you get even more anxious because you don’t wanna put any more pounds on, but you look fine to me. You look really pretty, actually. And it makes me so sad because you’re getting to where I am. It’s not fun being thin. It’s not fun being weak. I’m gross and misshapen and shit, and you’re literally perfect. Like. This is gonna sound weird, but I like looking at your cheeks. And your ass looks really good And your hooked nose is kinda like mine. Not really. Mine’s more flat, but, you know what I’m talking about. No you don’t, this is a letter, stupid. You just look cute, okay? I love you. 

I know I’m not fun to be around. I know I’m a sad loser that doesn’t ever do anything. I carry a lot of weight. Metaphorically, I mean. I’ve got so much baggage that I don’t think you’d ever like to carry, so I don’t say anything. What we have is... nice. We’re friends. I can’t call anyone else my friend, you know. And I sure as hell have never called anyone anything more than that.  

I can’t be romantic. I’m not hot or sexy or anything. I don’t even know if you’re gay or straight or what. But I love you, and if you find out and everything changes for the worse, I’m sorry. I’m not gonna risk losing you or making you think I’m weird and gross. So, I won’t tell you in person. We’ll just stay friends. And though it kinda hurts and I kinda want to be more, I won’t be selfish. I like where we’re at right now, too. 

If you’re straight, I hope you find a really nice girl and have as many kids as you want and buy that beach house you’ve been talking about so you can stay close to the water. Do whatever you want with your life. I just hope I can keep being a part of it, because you’re everything to me. Seriously. 

I don’t know how to end letters. 

Chapter Text

To Understand the Human Condition (And My Own)  

I have long since had this nagging fantasy in the back of my mind since I was but a dragonet. 

One where I am still young enough to not understand the intricacies of the world around me, but old enough think freely and enjoy passions. And in this fantasy, I have more friends than I have fingers on my hands, and we run in the fields waving sticks and pretending to be things that we are not, like the stories my father used to tell me of his youth. It is in this false reality that nothing is wrong with me, with the world, and everything is perfect. 

It’s quite a silly fantasy to have, but it’s one I shamefully return to quite often. In those late hours, I dream of those fields and those friends. Sometimes their faces are recognizable, but others, they are merely strangers. I do not mind that they are. In my fantasy, I understand these strangers perfectly, and they understand and love me. 

But then I wake, and it is filed back into the recesses of my mind. It is always nagging me. It is foolish of me to cling so hard to this fantasy, is it not? So supremely foolish. 

That fantasy is nothing like my reality. I am something, here. Untouchable, intimidating, and important. I do not doubt that anyone respects me, no, I’m hyper-aware of it. That is precisely the problem. 

Nobody talks to me like I am a man. I am a figurehead. A prince. That very title seems to strip me of my autonomy, in a way. I am approached as this ever-looming creature of power and grace, and I must know everything in the world— which, admittedly, I know more than the average person. Yet, when I try to speak like a man, I am incomprehensible to these people. Nothing I say or do could take away the veneer of royalty. 

I don’t understand. There are two other princes in this school, and they both have figured out something that I cannot. They both have friends to fall back on, experiences to boast about, true connections without even trying. So why am I the one treated to such a different extent? I have no true friends, aside from my guards and my father, but those are more out of obligation than anything. 

... No. No, I take that back. I have one friend. But... they are only human. Short-lived. They will be nothing but a second in my lifetime... 

This thought makes me so very depressed. I don’t think I can really talk about all these thoughts swirling in my head, or these fantasies that I’ve conjured just to make myself feel better. In a way, I almost feel like I’m never even present. I will always be in the back of my mind, chasing that fantasy that will never happen.  

I will age, and I will lose everything, become a king, rule, and die. And I will never be anything more than that. 

It is quite foolish of me to get sad.