Locked up

It was late. Victor was sitting at his desk, writing. The only source of light in the room was a tall white candle. He was trying to be discreet. Since the costume party, he was forbidden from leaving the home alone.
"Dear Henry," he wrote again. There was a big pile of scrunched up pieces of paper on the floor. He just couldn't get this right. He wanted to apologize, to say he misses him. Could he?! Should he?! They barely knew each other.
He checked the time. Eleven? Almost. One word after another.
A love letter? Sin? A confession.