Chapter Text
'Dear you who I don't know your name of,'
No, too weird.
'Dear you,'
That sounds weird as well, no.
'Dear—'
He immediately ripped off the papers in half without any hesitation, crumpling it and throwing it to the trash can right beside him. He probably should just abandon the 'Dear xxx' for the start of his letter.
Ike let out a long sigh, ruffling his hair out of frustration. His favorite fountain pen is still on his hand, waiting to be used once the writer is finished with his short tantrum. With clinking from his earrings getting caught on his glasses chain, he threw his head up to stare at the ceiling decorated with a simple yet elegant pattern, one of the favorite things in his small house.
The man let out another sigh. Who knows writing a letter for replying is so hard?
Just a few days ago, Ike was browsing on the net. He was done with his recent work, and decided to take a hiatus break to look for more inspiration. And guess what he found by pure coincidence?
A website that says, Pen pal From Afar.
He remembers snorting from the ugly name.
And Ike was purely curious, so he scrolled through the websites, reading any interesting information. Then he found it. A form that requires some basic information, or at least, he thought of so.
Because weirdly, there was no column to fill in your name in the form.
This is probably a scam , Ike scoffed, but he was bored, so he filled up the form with his address and a short introduction of himself.
And that's what brought him to the present moment.
He was checking the mailbox, reading through some fanmails he received (which he kept all in his cabinet, stored nice and neatly), skimming through the bills (water and electricity, typical), tossing out some junk, promotional nonsensical letters, and then there was only one left.
It only had his address, no name no nothing. Not even the sender's name.
Hm, how curious.
He took the letter back into his room, which he liked to dub it as an ' inspiration room' ; or more like suffering, but it's both more or less the same anyway. Taking his fancy paper knife that his editor bought at A-bey, he carefully opened the letter and took out the actual paper inside.
There were two contents, one was a small card adorned in a pink and swirly golden flower frame, and the other one was a normal, letter paper. Ike decided to take a look at the card first, which was perhaps the more important one, and is quicker to read.
Greetings,
Your first letter from your pen pal has arrived! We will not provide any information or help on any of your interactions with your pen pal, to let you have a very exciting journey of—
Okay, no. Skip.
He flipped the card to look at the back, but there was only a fancy font printed on it.
"Pen pal from afar…"
Oh wait, it's actually real.
He immediately put the card down and took the actual letter instead, one that is supposed to be from his penpal . People actually use these kinds of stuff too?
Well, here goes nothing .
Ike flipped the paper open, and immediately read the content from the first line.
'Dear stranger,
You must be thinking, and I quote: "What the fuck is happening". Or maybe something else like, and I quote: "Who the fuck are you".'
Wow. Genius , Ike remarked to himself.
'You see, I can't answer either of those, since we need to swear an oath around this penpal kind of thing. But isn't it exciting? I dare you say no.
I hear you're a writer yourself, so tell me more about yourself. I'll tell mine as below:
not telling you ;)'
Ike really had the urge to rip the paper there by then, but thankfully he's still clutching on to his sanity, as much as he would like to crumple up the paper himself.
'I'm joking, don't be an angry big boy.
I'm (guess it by yourself), I spend most of my time playing games and doing nothing.
Let me know more about you, little novelist. Write me back xoxo
Address as below—'
It wasn't long, but it definitely was a waste of time. Ike was tempted to answer back just in pure spite. The fact that the handwriting of this person was beautiful. He wouldn't necessarily call it neat, but the way the letters are connected toward each other, some thin line at the end of the alphabet e, it is actually in cursive— who writes that in this kind of era?
And yes, yes he did decide to answer it back for pure spite. Hence why he is in this frustrated mood.
He had already planned on what he wanted to write from his mind, yet it wasn't transferred properly on the paper, on the contrary of what his capability is. He sighed for the umpteen times, should he just write whatever he had in mind?
Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.
He lifted his fountain pen, applying more ink and watched the ink seep out as he lightly pressed it on the surface. Then he writes, anything. Starting with a polite greeting, then going into the body of the letter. He wrote about himself, some more details on what some of the books he likes to read, songs he likes to listen to, anything that he could think of. It is definitely his first time writing something like this, especially to a stranger that he practically never met.
But it was weirdly exciting, Ike thought.
He ended it with attaching his address as well, writing it neatly and detailed. Though judging from the address from the other, they both lived in different countries.
Pen pal from afar alright, Ike thought as he folded his letter neatly and put it inside the envelope, before sealing it with wax and pressing it with his signature quill design wax stamp. It was bought by his close friend as well, she insisted on having something 'fancy and befitting for a dreamy novelist'.
It does feel very old fashioned, writing letters when you have the internet that you could use anytime. Sure, it is not the fanciest thing yet, but it is surely more convenient than letters.
Ike still sent the letter in, and he decided to go stock his carbonated soda cans.
Few days– or maybe a week, he forgot– and he received the letter again.
He had completely forgotten about it, already starting to note down all of his ideas for his next novel because his editor is chasing him with reminders for it.
He took the envelope and opened it, taking the letter out.
'Dear stranger, or maybe acquaintances now
Delighted to see your response with your letter. First of all, I just would like to say that you have very nice writing. Fountain pen, fancy. The wax seal was also very fancy, by the way, you sexy man.'
Ike cringed, but he continued to read it.
' I bought the books that you were talking about, and I can say that you have a very nice taste. Although I'll be honest, I'm quite questioning your taste.'
Now that is rude , Ike's taste in his book is completely fine, like his taste in caviar toast.
' And yes, that caviar toast thing too. Why does that thing even exist, ugh.'
Oh, he's going to write a whole paper on how magnificent and delightful caviar toast is. Ike scoffed, but continued to read anyway.
'But hey, my favorite out of the ones that you recommended is the trilogy. It was very exciting, although I'm still on the first book (when this letter is written). Let me know if you have any other suggestions, I would love to read more and get to know you more about your book and taste. Or maybe let me know about your taste in men too, so I can prepare myself ;)
And no fair that you get to gush yourself about your favorite stuff, I will also write mine here! I like Lorax, no, don't start with the movie. I like the book, not the movie. The original book is the best, while the movie—'
The letter had gotten longer, and Ike chuckled a few times reading his pen pal's choice of words. They also wrote a few about their recent encounter around them, like 'a bird crashed into the car tire that was parked on the side of the road', or 'I was buying some food when suddenly this auntie just came yelling at me and immediately left' . Ike couldn't say he did not enjoy reading the letter, how the writing became messier and written hastily, but it just shows how excited the other was.
This time when Ike took his fountain pen out, he was more than ready to write.
'Greetings, fellow acquaintance,
I'm glad to hear that you liked my book's recommendation, although I must say I am quite saddened reading that you do not like the caviar toast. In which, I would like to debate it with you right here right now by this letter.
Firstly, how dare you to—'
From weeks to months, and then without him realizing it, it had been almost half a year since Ike met his pen pal.
Their letters had become longer and longer, pages written out hastily and passionately. Ike took his time in writing as well, making sure to take breaks in between as well. When he's taking a break from typing his latest chapter, he goes back to writing, and so forth. He knows the schedule of the letter delivery and would always be jittery on his feet, waiting for the mailman to come and fill in his mailbox with letters.
They started attaching photos too in the letter, one printed out small but nicely, taken with polaroid cameras. It is filled with random things, such as a photo of a cup of coffee that has 'the best coffee here, be jealous' written with a thick pen marker, the squirrel that Ike found by a tree beside his windows, the beautiful night sky, blurry mess.
It was fun. Ike felt like he had something to look forward to in his lonely writing journey in this life.
And at one point, when Ike was laughing by himself from an ugly dad joke that his pen pal wrote, he wiped his tears and said, "He's so cute."
And Ike froze.
Did he,
Did he just call his pen pal cute ?
It was just a bros and bros kind of thing, Ike convinced himself, as he wrote the reply for that letter, attaching a photo of his cans collection that his pen pal frowned on. It was nothing much, it's just a slip of a tongue.
He didn't think of it much, or at least, tried to. He wrote his response normally, writing some of his recent achievements and work in progress. He gave the other nickname of 'Milord', since the man randomly wrote down his quote unquote 'background story' of being a demon lord and had a clan. While Ike was given the nickname of 'Mikael' by his pen pal, saying how 'angelic' Ike is, that gradually turned to 'Ichael' for some reason.
Thinking about that somehow made his cheek flush red from warmth and embarrassment.
No, no, it's just a bros thing. Ike convinced himself for months.
But he saw his pen pal's writing on 'Love you!' with a tiny heart drawn on the side of mostly all of Milord's letters. How he wrote 'you're so adorable' when Ike was talking about how he woke up and panicked that he missed his meeting with his editor when it was actually scheduled for next week. Those cringy flirtatious words, 'do you have a map? Because I'm lost in your eyes', or 'I hope you know CPR, because you just took my breath away', and—
'—and by the way, amuse me, Ichael. I'm thinking that you have blue hair, you probably wear a blue christmas sweater, everything is blue. This is not leaving my mind.'
To which Ike once wrote back, 'and regarding my appearance, no. I am not a smurf.'
He did get the other's appearance, on how Milord described himself. Fluffy and smooth shoulder length hair, gold yellow eyes and red eye make-up. His most favorite shirt is the dark red off shoulder that is the most comfiest thing, especially during winter, and he always wears unmatching socks because he can't find the other pair. His favorite accessory is the golden hair clip that put his right bangs away, and the red rope necklace that was too long so he styled it like a choker.
(And on that day as well, Ike almost broke his favorite fountain pen from imagining Milord's appearance. Imagining how pretty the man would look.
He did spills his drink on his old keyboard, which almost caused it to malfunction.)
By the eleventh month, almost reaching one year, Ike Eveland realized something as he sat by his chair, paper scattered around the table, his half-written ideas crumpled and wasn't thrown out just yet, and the numerous cans of energy drinks on his desk.
Ike groaned, head propped up by his hands. The email written by his editor, yamino_ey_shu , had already been long abandoned.
He had fallen in love with his pen pal.
Shit .
Ike felt like he's in pain, falling in love with his pen pal.
He had never seen the man at all, although he does have the address. He's hesitant in writing freely now, scared that he might accidentally write his feelings out, what if Milord finds it creepy and he'll be weirded out?
The fact that he got busier wasn't even helping, so the letter that he wrote became lesser and shorter. He did state that he was working on a new novel, but the fact that Milord once wrote 'are you doing well, Ichael? Because I will personally make sure that you're okay' made him feel even guiltier.
And that is one of the things too. They had written so much, but never had they ever asked each other if they wanted to meet up.
At this point, writing is probably such a pain, and emails exist. They could have moved to the technology, taking an easier route, but none of them wanted to. Ike had compiled all of Milord's letters and put them in some boxes that were specifically displayed on his shelf right beside his working desk, even keeping the envelopes complete with the photos and other attached documents.
It felt special, something that none of them wished to change.
Yet some changes would be better, but none of them wanted to take that first step.
His letter became shorter while Milord's letter became longer. It took him more time to read and reply, and the letters he sent became less and less. He was buried in his work, chasing a deadline of the end of the month in his own house. He needed the profit, he was planning on doing something too. It's tiring, but that is what he does for a living, writing stories.
The letters he received became less and less as well, from seven a month down to five, then four, then one letter per month. It was short, never filling the entire page of the letter paper. But it always ends with three words.
'Remember to rest up, Ichael, go get those deadlines!'
'Don't overdose on energy drinks, Ichael, go touch some grass outside and enjoy the view.'
'Want me to kiss you on your forehead so you will be better? I'm joking, but do rest up, Ichael.'
'I feel nervous too, wishing it all goes well for you, Ichael.'
'Hope you're doing well, Ichael.'
'I miss you, are you doing well, Ichael?'
'I love you.'
A year and four months since they both started writing.
Ike never replied back.