He stood in front of the bank of bronze mailboxes along the wall, holding a white envelop in wet hands. There was a steady drizzle outside, leaving the tops of the shoulders, and the hood, of his olive-colored sweatshirt dark with wetness. The envelope, too, was wet in spots. He turned it over in his hands, not with nerves, but with awareness of the moment. Gazing along the bronze plates, he found the one marked J. Travis, and stood, looking at it for long moments, memories flowing through his mind, invoking feelings of regret and sadness, but also of something else. Hope, he wanted to say, even though that sounded cheesy even to him. But Jason would probably have liked it.

Finally, with a deep breath, he reached out and slipped the slightly wet envelop through the mail slot. Standing back, he slid his wet hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt. Actually, it was Jason's; he'd left it, knowing it was David's favorite. His hands rubbed the soft material inside the pocket, and he pushed his hands deeper, causing the hood of the oversized garment to slip down over his forehead, obscuring his face.

From the small leather bag slung across his chest, his phone began to ring. He reached for it, looked at the caller ID. Clearing his throat and nose, he answered.

"Hello."

"David," came the relived and also concerned voice of his brother. "You answered. Are you okay? You sound funny."

"Yeah," David said. He passed a hand across his cheek. "I'm sorry. Were you worried?"

"When am I ever not?"

David gave a breathy chuckle. "Sorry." He cast one last look at the mail slot, then turned away. "Do you want to have dinner tonight?" he asked, pushing out through the glass doors and into the rainy day that was not as bleak as it was before.

**

Jason jogged up the sidewalk to the brick-and-mortar apartment building, a bag slung over his shoulder and a box under his arm, head down against the fine drizzle that had been falling since he left the house that morning. He headed towards the heavy tempered glass doors of the building entrance, regretting wearing only his leather jacket over his shirt and tie, and not a raincoat. Really, after all this time in this city, he should know better. He should have also gotten his keys before he left the car, and was just about to struggle to get them out of his bag when, just as he reached the doors, someone opened the door from inside on their way out. Head down and eyes squinted, he saw only booted feet and the closing door.

Catching the closing door on reflex, he almost dropped the box, and hurried inside before pausing to get a better grip on it. Inside the brown and green lobby that was always humid, even in winter, he shook out his hair with a sigh, combing it with his fingers as he crossed the green carpeting to the bank of bronze front mail slots in the far wall. Dropping the box down on the floor, he opened his mailbox with the jingle of keys and extracted a small pile of envelopes. Letting the mailbox door swing shut, he quickly shuffled through the pile.

He stopped at a slim white envelope, with no postage or address. It just had his name, written on the back in handwriting that made his heart quicken. There were wet spots all along the front and back. He turned and glanced back at the door, even took a step towards it, before stopping. It had been months since they last spoke. All of Jason's calls and texts to check-up were answered with single word replies. And now a letter. There was a reason it was a letter. Dropping the rest of the mail on top of the box, Jason stood right there and opened the envelope, shaking open a single sheet of notepad paper and read:

Dear Jason,

For so long now I've wanted to say something to you. I didn't know what it was though, I didn't have the words, just the feeling. For a while I thought it was an apology, but you've heard my apologies enough, and by now they must seem hollow, even though they are not. Then I thought I wanted to beg you to come back, but I know you won't, because nothing will have changed. And that's what made me finally realize what it is I want to say to you.

I want to make you a promise. And ask you a favor.

You were right to leave. I messed up. I hurt you. I knew what I was doing, and I didn't stop, not until the damage was done. I have to live with that, but the worst part is, I made you have to live with it too. I can't go back and undo what I did, but I can control what I do from now on. It took be a long time to realize that. Too long. Having control over my life is still not something I'm used to, and it was thanks to Drew that I was able to see that I am in control of who I am, and what I do. That control comes with responsibility, and accountability, and I'm going to work on managing both from now on.

Because I wasn't being responsible. I was getting older, but I wasn't growing up. I need time to do that, to get not only older, but wiser, to learn from my mistakes, to be better. And when I stand in front of you again, I will be worthy of the man I met three years ago, who saw me when no one else did, who cared when no one else did, who was there for me when no one else was. That is my promise. 

As for the favor. I know I have no right to ask, but I will. You once waited for me to get older—will you wait for me again?

I don't need an answer. I'm going to do it anyway. I'm going to grow up and take responsibility for myself. And then I'm going to find you and show you the man I've become. I'll show you that I don't need you. I want you.

I realize I could have just called and told you this or come to see you. But I wanted to say it in a more lasting way, to hold the words tangibly in my hands, to feel the weight of them and remember them. I wanted you to have that, too. This is my accountability.

Until next time, Major.

Love, David