Chapter Text
His small apartment felt dizzying as he attempted to maneuver the sacks of untouched fanmail that seemed to arrive in larger quantities each day; he had learned that just one bump would see hundreds of letters scatter across his floor and now he takes each step with a little too much caution.
He refused to make eye contact with the nonperishable groceries that were still sitting on his counter awaiting to be lifted into his cupboards and stacked away and instead poured himself a large glass of water and downed it in two gulps.
Mike's new normal was spending all day in his favourite coffee shop that overlooked the blossoming trees listening to the everyday hustle of life, he found it comforting as he quietly transported to the faraway lands and the lush worlds he handcrafted. Each daydream brings new ideas that form compelling stories filled with wonder, awe, excitement with a handful of pain and devastation.
Writing had quickly become his escape, creating stories that occasionally came from a memory or his past quietly haunting him. Sometimes they came from bits of conversation he picked up as he sipped his coffee and nibbled on whatever pastry had caught his eye that day.
After finishing a second glass of water he turned to the never ending sacks of letters from fans that hung on every word he wrote, some just thanking him for sharing his stories with the world and others begging and pleading for a sneak peek of what’s to come next.
After a few moments of being lost in thought, he decided on the bag he was determined to make a dent in. He had accepted that not all the letters needed replying to but he read each one with a sense of accomplishment and gratitude. Some made him smile, laugh and filled his chest with a warm fuzzy feeling of pride and others made him cry. But he read them all, each word fueling his determination to give his work the ending it deserves… maybe even the ending he deserved 6 years ago.
The sound of his phone ringing made him jump, he was replying to a letter from a kid with a story he’d heard a thousand times already, one he related to and one he always felt compelled to reply to. A young boy, bullied relentlessly but someone who found solace and safety in the confines of his writing. Something he knew all too well.
“Hi Mom.” He answered the phone confidently, it was 8:30pm and his mom called him every other day promptly at this time; asking about his work and trying to convince him to come around for dinner the next night and picking holes at whatever excuse he came up with.
He managed to get her off the phone after agreeing to go around the next evening after she promised to make baked ziti and his favorite dessert and he couldn’t help but smile as she squealed down the phone with excitement. He knew he needed to stop avoiding his family so much, he had gotten into the habit of spending most of his time alone. The nights slipped into days at a faster pace than he liked but in the loneliness he was able to imagine things without fear of interruption, he was able to imagine the future that had been cruelly ripped from him and he was able to fall asleep hanging on the comfort it gave him.
It was only as he placed the phone back on the receiver that from the corner of his eye he noticed it, the light from his lamp hitting the shiny print of a postcard sitting neatly on top of his newest bag of mail.
He took three small calculated steps and stared down at the photo printed on the front as felt a warmth sweep through his entire body. He slowly reached down with his left hand and let his fingers drift across the card before he picked it up and studied it with a sharp intensity. He took his time studying each waterfall and appreciating the striking beauty and the uniqueness of each one.
“El.” He said with barely a whisper, her name slipping through his lips like it was made just for him. He took a deep breath before flipping the card. It was addressed to his parent’s house and had one word written on it. No signature. No name. “Pretty.” But the singular word was enough and he knew who it was from.
He flipped the postcard back over and this time focused on the town and country that was written in small print on the bottom right hand corner. Háifoss, The River Fossá Iceland.
“I’m coming, El.” He promised with a whisper at the postcard, tears streaming down his cheeks and he let out a long exhale. His first real exhale in years.
Three days later, that promise was fulfilled. He landed in Iceland, the postcard nestled comfortably in his hand as he made his way to the towns determined to reunite with the love of his life and rewrite the ending of the most important story ever told.