Chapter Text
A letter arrived on my doorstep today.
A small white envelope, scented like candy, with a wax seal decorated with engraving of grapes.
The contents read, in purple ink and neat calligraphy:
“
To my good friend, Braun,
I hope this letter finds you in good health. I write to you to tell you the medicine you’ve sent before has worked miraculously, my colleague is rapidly recovering from his illness. We’ve yet to discover what it was that caused it though, but he seems to be in good spirits, as he has found good company at the hospital ward in the form of a peculiar silver haired man who’d been hospitalised with similar symptoms previously. I hope you’ll be able to join us when we all go out to celebrate his recovery.
As for our other matters, I apologise for my sudden disappearance. I am deeply grateful and hope that we are still friends, and I’m sorry for not being the man for the job. I wish you luck in your search for someone else, and I hope we can put this experience behind us for good and go back to how we were before.
Best regards, Grapes. “
A truly peculiar letter, from a man with the most outlandish pen name I’d ever heard.
I’d assumed the letter had just been sent to the wrong address by the post office, but the envelope clearly stated: ‘Baekilmong street 13, house 666”.
I knew I shouldn’t have bought this place, it had been sketchy at best and at worst it was definitely cursed. The previous owner moved away to another country, leaving all his furniture and belongings behind, not to mention the demonic house number and strange neighbours who avoided him like their life depended on it.
The letter came on my first day as a resident of my new house, I had thought it must be from the contractor so I didn’t even read who it was addressed to before taking a letter opener to it.
…
‘Ah…’
‘To my dear friend. Braun’
The letter read.
My name is not Braun, but perhaps the previous owner’s name was?
Quite an American name, perhaps that’s where the gentleman flew off to so suddenly, leaving house and furniture behind.
‘I’m already having a hard time cleaning up the physical mess that fellow left behind, now I have to deal with his messy relationships too?’
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about the letter’s contents. Who wouldn’t be?
A boy’s got to get entertainment somehow when he can’t afford a newspaper!
A strange man who wrote under the name Grapes.
Had I been raised with any less self preservation skills, perhaps I’d have dared to write a whole letter cursing this stranger out telling them that I am definitely not their sketchy runaway friend.
But in my haste, I made a mistake that would later cost me a great deal of pain.
I wrote on the back of the letter:
“Mateus Rosé 1940 - Well wishes from Viper” and with it sent back a bottle of wine of the same name.
I sighed- It’s better to not start anything with strangers.
The previous owner may not be able to join them for drinks, but I may as well send back a bottle for the fellow who’d just recovered from apparent sickness.
If that man wouldn’t get it, then perhaps the bottle of rosé would end up in the hand of the gentleman whose identity seems to be centred around grapes and sickeningly sweet scents.
I didn’t like Rosé anyways, it was a bottle given to me by my sister a few years ago.
I went back to cleaning. And I had my dinner without even sparing a thought towards the letter.
I could never have expected how relevant that day was for my future self.
***
There was another letter on my front step by the next day.
The yellow mat beneath it is one that was left by the previous owner. It contrasted greatly with the purple stamp with grapes on it on the front of the letter.
I looked at the milk bottle I’d never ordered by the door.
That’s right, the previous owner had ordered to receive milk every day. The entire ordeal was paid for in advance for another two months, so I picked up the letter and the bottle of milk and headed inside.
I’m grateful for this one small thing to be free. I’m barely scraping by as is. After paying for this house, which an acquaintance of mine from university, Youngeun, told me about, I’d been left penniless, and broke until my next salary.
It was a wonder how cheap this good looking house was. Two floors, a small basement, fully furnished and filled with potentially valuable things to sell away, I jumped on it before anyone else could.
This was a once in a lifetime opportunity, not eating much for a couple of months over it is worth it.
For years now I’ve been commuting from Jisan to the city, and it’s been a pain living with my parents at 22.
Only goodness knows how annoying the two can be about marriage.
They mean well- but what I consider my well being isn’t quite what they consider well.
I sighed as I poured the milk into one of the cups I’d brought from home.
I sat down and looked at the letter.
Sender: Grapes
Receiver: Viper
“So it’s you again…” my annoyed voice echoed in the empty house. Despite all the furniture, it felt like this place was never quite meant for one person to live alone. Sounds echoed and bounced off the walls, driving you insane.
The paper ripped from the dull blade of my letter opener.
The letter read.
“
To Mr. or Ms. Viper,
please receive my endless gratitude for the wine. I apologise for the bother as I realise this letter must have not reached the right sender. The well wishes were well received, though I am hoping you could tell me the whereabouts of the original recipient of that letter. If he’s perhaps besides you reading this and was the one to ask you to send that bottle, then please communicate that my apology was sincere, and that his coldness and ignorance of my numerous attempts to contact him has saddened me.
Thank you once more, and best regards, Grapes.”
As I hummed, I realised there’s a small pattern.
A man named Braun who very hastily left his house and belongings behind- a mysterious man, named Grapes, who had apparently done something to upset him…
Something regarding a job, if my incurrence from the previous letter is correct.
From the way it’s phrased it seems that perhaps Mr. Braun had hired Grapes, his friend, to work for him- and somewhere along the way, Grapes had stopped working for him and felt the need to apologise.
What an intriguing story- I can almost feel the inspiration coming to me.
Too bad my job didn't quite allow me the energy to paint.
I sipped the last bit of my milk as I threw a glance towards the painting equipment I brought from Jisan, sitting dejectedly in the corner.
The only luggage I hadn’t unpacked…
I glanced back at the open letter on the table.
A small idea seemed to bloom inside my mind as I stared at the white envelope.
***
In oil pastels, grapes hanging from a vine were depicted on a blank postcard, the light shining through the dark fruits.
On it’s back was written:
“Mr. Braun is no longer here, new house owner. Mr. Viper, no Ms’. ”
Dull and lifeless, so unlike the painting on the front. The words lacked cadence, they felt hollow, almost bored.
The recipient of said postcard laughed as he gently set it down next to the bottle of Rosé he hadn’t opened yet.
At first he’d thought Braun sent it. Braun knew his taste in alcohol, he knew he liked this kind of wine- could a mere stranger infer from one single letter what his favourite drink was?
It felt pesposterous.
“You’re sure it’s not him, Grapes?”
“...”
He looked at the beautifully illustrated grapes on the postcard. Hiring someone for something like this- could it be possible to draw something so beautiful for money and not just passion?
“I’m sure, it’s not him.”
The conversation ended there. But Agent Grapes would later be found on his desk with a glass of wine in hand, staring at a small postcard at his desk, a wall mounted lamplight illuminating his slouching, drunken, figure.
No one dared to tell him anything- leaving him to his lonesome mourning instead.
***
I spent a week cleaning before the house was finally cleaned. Anything valuable was set aside for selling later on.
There was another letter with a grape insignia on the table…
I sighed as I spared a glance at it, before looking back to the problem at hand.
The gouache that my sister bought sent to me from France grew mold.
‘What a shame.’
I don’t wanna throw them away- I looked back towards the letter- but even if I clean out just the moldy parts it’ll regrow by the time I’ll use them again anyway…
I looked back at the letter. It was quite distracting-
‘No! Focus!’
Shady letters between men I don’t know are none of my business.
They’re grown adults, do they have to involve me in this?
‘I don’t wish to be involved. This is none of my business.’
Perhaps I should write a letter to my sister to buy me a new set of gouache- they were quite handy for painting on the go…
A letter…
The letter on the kitchen table…
No!
I turned my head back to look at the harmless envelope.
It was so small- I’m already involved- would ignoring the letter now solve anything?
What if this man assumed I died in this house because I didn’t reply and came here himself? That’d be a whole nother heap of trouble for me…
I walked towards the kitchen, grabbing a utility knife and cutting the wax seal away from the paper.
I sighed as I unfolded the paper inside, the same writing in purple ink greeted me once more.
“
To Mr. Viper,
I hope this letter finds you well, thank you for informing me on the whereabouts of my friend! I’m also in awe of the post card you’ve sent me… It was done in reference to the wax seal I use, is it not?
I was enamoured by your work, I’d love to know more about you if you wouldn’t be bothered. Of course, that is to say, I’ll introduce myself beforehand.
I’m a novelist, I write under the pen name Grapes, and I work for the publishing house up north- but with all that to say, I do more than just write, I’ve worked many professions, and have met countless people!
And yet…
I seem to find myself drawn to know more about you with each reply you send back. Your words are short and harsh, but your colours are vibrant and they draw you in for what feels like hours.
Please, allow me the honour to get to know such a talented artist personally.
Kind regards, Grapes.
P.S. You have great taste in wine. ”
***
I was never good with words. I’m not a novelist.
I have an education, I can speak eloquently- but even when I speak in the way everyone expects me to, sweet, elevated speech, and compliments spared discretely throughout the conversation- those words never feel my own.
They never convey my soul the way colours on a page do.
And for the first time in my life, someone pointed that out- someone whom I’ve never had a proper conversation with either.
How ironic…
I picked up another blank postcard. I used to sell painted cards for extra cash back during university, so I still had a lot of this paper.
I began to sketch, and this time, with what remained of the gouache I scooped the mold out of, I painted a bottle of wine. The bottle was the same as I’d sent to the man named Grapes on our first interaction.
The small card could only fit so much detail- but that’s part of its charm.
In a world of big oil painted chapels, I most enjoyed painting small post cards.
The thought of them traveling the world in a way I never could filled me with a certain sense of fulfilment. There was no greater payment than gratitude either- the bright smiling face of Go Youngeun as she instantly began writing on the back to her parents is a sight I’ll never forget.
As I washed the brush I thought back to my first real conversation with the brown haired girl.
She was similar to me, came from a village from who knows where, was ambitious, had good grades, and didn’t tolerate any meaningless charades.
I’d first talked to her because I fell ill and missed classes. I’d been unable to commute in my sickly state- and she personally taught me everything I missed in full detail-
The price?
A custom painted post card of a radio. A radio her parents had given her. She’d fought with them before moving to the city, and had not reached out since.
She claimed the card gave her confidence. Confidence for what? I wasn’t sure.
We remained acquainted. She didn’t particularly like me, and I did not care much for her-
But it was pleasant to have someone to complain to about professors and someone who’d come with an extra pastry to class in the morning, later in the month, right before I got paid and couldn’t afford breakfast.
It was a mutual exchange.
The bottle was finished.
The texture of the gouache on the paper filled me with satisfaction.
Now comes the difficult part… ‘What do I write on the back?’
***
Choi slid a mountain of letters on his desk.
Soleum glanced up, glaring at the man, but said nothing.
“You’ve got mail.”
“Thank you for the keen observation.”
“You’re welcome.” Choi laughed.
He truly loved teasing Soleum. It was frustrating, but he never complained, because he knew his senior cared, and did it to keep him focused and not overthinking.
Soleum slid the typewriter in front of him to the side. He wasn’t being productive anyways. His inspiration had been ephemeral. Gone before you could even capture it.
No matter how much he looked at that painting, no matter how his heart lit alight with passion every time he saw it- he couldn’t quite catch that fire that inspired his love for writing again.
He started sifting through his mail.
Through fan letters, reports, and-
Postcards.
There at the bottom was a postcard, on it a pink tinted bottle painted in viscous paint.
It was the same bottle that still sat empty on his shelf for commemoration.
It was from the peculiar artist who called himself ‘Viper’.
A man who recently bought a house that had been previously owned by his acquaintance, Braun.
He was quite a strange one. He was a man of few words but quite obviously many things to say.
He stood there looking at the illustration for a long time without even reading the back. He was sure it couldn’t be as interesting as this.
Eventually, with hesitance, he briefly parted his gaze from the painting, to read the back.
“ Wine is best enjoyed with others. Send me one of your books, and I’ll drink some while reading.”
The meaning was clear. They’d, in a way, be drinking together that way-
“- Viper. P.S. you’re quite famous in the papers.”
Kim Soleum laughed.
His last novel was one titled Seqwang High, where he wrote from the perspective of a troubled school boy. The book described the way the ruffian boy met a police officer who saved him from a criminal and decided to become an officer himself.
The book sparked controversy, saying that it was unrealistic for someone to change so much from one small event. Soleum disagreed- just look at how much he’d changed since receiving this postcard. His previously exhausted demeanor had switched to a livelier one, a smile gracing his face weary from work. But critics were indeed harsh, especially now…
“My my, is that a letter from some madam? Ryu! Look at Grapes- he’s smiling like a chimney sweeper who just found a penny in the ash!”
The comparison was garish. Soleum fixed Choi with a glare.
‘Ah- not a boring day with him around I suppose…’
He looked towards his other colleague, Ryu Jaekwan, the man was probably as stoic as ever, but-
What was that?
On his face was a hint of… curiosity.
Agent Bronze only coughed at seeing his expression.
‘Ah- not a boring day with the two of them around I suppose…’
***
There, on my doorstep, was a letter.
And a parcel.
And a bottle of milk.
From two to three-
I may as well claim I’m rich with how often the post man crosses my gate.
I brought them inside, and I started preparing myself to go to work.
I poured the milk in a mug, and I opened the letter without any hesitation.
“
To Mr. Viper,
I’m quite delighted to hear you’ve heard of my name. While I trust your judgement, I would not put much weight on rumours, as they tend to get out of hand from time to time-”
I laughed reading this. A man overly worried about his image-
Although I’d be worried too if the rumours about me reached a level where they called me an undercover spy for the government to promote propaganda that the poor aren’t believers of the devil or whatever the paper had claimed.
I became quite curious about his books. What could they possibly be like?
As I sipped my milk, the smell of the sweet scent that I’d felt on the very first letter returned.
The others have lost their smell quickly after arriving, like magic, disappearing not long after being read.
As if the scent was only ever there to hypnotise its intended target with sweetness before fading away without a trace.
I’d strangely grown fond of this smell.
It’s been so little since I’ve moved into this new house, and yet my life has taken such a strange turn…
I’m now sharing correspondence with an author who is a fan of my artwork, and I’m exchanging gifts as well.
I also feel my bones growing stronger from all this milk. Because I can never quite finish a bottle a day all on my own, I began to leave some outside for the resident stray cats.
They seemed to enjoy it, and have started frequenting my house a lot- not that I mind.
There was less of a chance for mice- even if this was a nice neighbourhood, rats and mice chewed their way into every place imaginable on earth.
In fact- one of these stray cats had grown quite comfortable with my kitchen windowsill.
The kitchen gave off a picturesque feeling, a small window above a sink that showed my small garden, a café curtain with rabbit embroidery at the bottom, light yellow kitchen cabinets with matching appliances…
It was quite a nice kitchen, albeit a bit small.
Through the sheer short curtain, the ears of a black cat were seen in haze, as it peered through the window towards the inside.
I’d dubbed it, Lord Cat.
On the back of the post card where I’d painted the scene of the cat sleeping on my windowsill in the early morning, I wrote in black ink:
“I wasn’t actually sure if it was a Lord or a Lady, but just calling it Cat felt wrong, and it seemed to me that the other cats respected this one so-
Lord Cat was born to be.”
As for the book I received? My written review to the author was as follows:
“If this novel truly was propaganda, as its critiques claim, I’d only be indoctrinated to believe that you, Mr. Grapes, are a man who was never raised with a silver spoon in your mouth. I will finish this novel within the next few days.
-With gratefulness, Viper.”
***
Somewhere in a barely lit office late into the evening, Soleum laughed at the sudden barrage of words on the back of the post card.
Viper was an endearing man.
He could talk so freely about cats and novels within the same two paragraphs without any shame for such an abrupt and brusque topic change.
Choi whistled. “Postcard from the lady again? Those postcards look hand painted, must be some rich lass…”
Soleum hummed, pleased.
“They are hand painted, aren’t they beautiful? He paints them himself…”
Choi was taken aback.
He firstly expected Soleum to ignore his teasing, secondly he didn’t expect to find out his recent correspondence was with an artist.
He grabbed the Postcard out of his hands.
“Hey!” Soleum exclaimed in surprise.
“This address…”
Choi frowned.
Soleum shied his gaze away. “It’s not him- a new resident moved into the building, I enjoyed his paintings so…”
A disappointed sigh was heard from above him. Choi shook his head but said nothing as he placed the post card back on the table.
“Be careful,” was all he said, ”Grapes-ie.” before leaving the office.
***
As weeks passed by, I settled into this strange house. I sometimes wrote to Grapes about my new discoveries of his friend’s old belongings; I was quite surprised to find he recognised some of them so well.
Such as a framed newspaper of one of his book releases. He would obviously know about the published newspaper page. Especially since the public opinion seemed to be in Grapes’ favour at the time. The newspaper singing endless praises to the man.
But he even knew where within the house it was hung. It was likely his old friend bragged about it.
They must’ve been close.
In fact, he’d told me he once lived here for a while too- I wonder why…
I could not be bothered to think too much of that at the time though, the joy of coming home after walking door to door everyday from work and getting to paint a postcard of something around me was insurmountable-
Or- perhaps it could be thwarted to second place by receiving drafts written by Grapes.
Short stories, nuvellas, poems-
He was quite the poet you know? I often spent my nights with a glass of wine reading his poems and prose.
I’d noticed that oftentimes these stories incorporated the subjects of my paintings I’d previously sent.
It was… endearing.
As time went on, I too went on to grow more curious about the anonymous writer.
The more I learnt, the more I wanted to know.
The more I knew about him, the more I realised I knew nothing at all.
His likeness for grapes, his taste in wine, his political opinions and favourite foods- they all felt like a painted image- hah.
Ironic.
We were both holding back.
I was holding back.
Perhaps the anonymity behind this correspondence was why it felt so comfortable to chat about whatever came to mind without particularly trying to be so honest and open- but at certain times I was convinced that I was talking to a thief- could someone truly be so perfect??
It annoyed me.
Grapes was a man who graduated from a top university- successful author, and more than that he was self confident and assured.
It scared me.
Grapes scared me sometimes.
Not because the man was particularly terrifying, but rather, there was a certain distance between the two of us.
Could I, scraping by as an advertiser, ever dream to reach such heights that Grapes reached? He was younger than me, and had so much more success…
It was inappropriate. I knew it was- but part of me wished to drag him down. Because I couldn’t accept him being so much better. It was jealousy, ugly and unmistakable.
Envy borne from spite. Spite at not being better.
I spent exactly 3 quarters of a moment wishing his new publishing deal wouldn’t go through before I’d realised how egotistical and useless that kind of negativity was.
Instead… wouldn’t it be alright to strive to be better? So that I may one day walk alongside him in success?
It’s a futile thought, but it brings comfort- and more importantly, it brings about resolve.
I wished to close this distance between us, to shatter the illustrated facade we’d built through such avoidant letters. Perhaps then- I could learn to live with this feeling of unfairness…
I placed on my office desk a mirror, and set up my oils that I hadn't used in a while.
The theme of this post card was going to be…
Self Portrait.
It was narcissistic, but as they say, a man’s face tells more stories than his mouth ever will.
Was that the saying? I was sure I’d read that somewhere but couldn’t quite remember where from…
***
Soleum was at his office again when he saw the endless mail pile on his desk. He instantly ran towards it and began rummaging through it.
“Can’t you at least pretend to be casual?” Choi laughed before Bronze pushed him out of the way to enter their shared office, Choi stumbling and hitting himself on a chair.
His yelp caused Soleum to laugh to himself.
“Hey why are you laughing? Do you think this abuse is funny?”
While looking towards Choi to answer, his hand brushed a familiar texture. Paint- but, it was different, smoother.
He looked down and froze.
“Grapes?”
Soleum did not wish to know how he looked at that moment.
On the post card was a portrait of a gorgeous man, with eyes as green as the grass in spring, and features as sharp as a blade.
Below it in messy black ink wrote “Self Portrait”.
He understood where the name Viper came from now…
Choi walked up behind him to get a peek at what he was looking at, and Soleum quickly flipped the post card so that Choi would not see the painting.
“
I wish to get closer to you and understand you better.
- Best regards, Viper. ”
It was such a quick and short sentence that he wasn’t even sure he’d properly understood its contents.
Soleum just stood there.
His office began to spin.
Choi's whistle behind him woke him from his daze.
“So forward~!”
Soleum’s face must’ve been steaming like a kettle from how hot it was.
He knew his penpal was not a man of many words, but this was too much!
***
The letter did not arrive today.
There was only milk on my front step.
Had I made Grapes uncomfortable? Did he think I had been pressuring him into sharing more about himself?
I half considered writing back a letter to him to apologise if he didn’t send word by dawn the next day.
…Or well- just a check in would be fine wouldn’t it?
But as it so happens, at dawn the next day I awoke to a letter.
It was slightly bigger than before, but the iconic wax seal was there.
With rapid steps, I walked towards the kitchen, letter in hand and opened it.
I didn’t even sit down.
From the envelope fell a piece of paper that had been placed alongside the letter.
I decided I’d pick it up after reading, my impatience growing.
“
To my friend, Viper,
I was honoured to receive your words. To hear you wish to know me better, because I share the same sentiment. As of now, I am swamped with work and would not be able to meet with you face to face, but I thought of an alternative that could perhaps help us get to know each other better.
I’ve noticed you say a lot more through your art than you do your words, so I was wondering if you’d be willing to exchange questions instead. I have many things I wish to ask you- and I’m sure you do as well.
I won’t deny, I was a bit taken aback by your words with the last postcard I received, and I was even more surprised by your self portrait. I hope this isn’t too forward of me, but I think you look quite handsome. I must say, I now understand where the name Viper came from.
But I'm still curious to know, how has this name come to be?
-With care, Grapes.
P.S. I apologise for the lateness of this letter, finding a photographer so last minute was difficult!”
I flinched. Photographer?
I instantly turned towards the paper that fell on the floor, as I bent to pick it up.
I turned it around and-
A black haired man with eyes as deep as the endless dark of the ocean smiled at me.
I heard my heart thump out of my chest for a brief moment.
Surely not… could this man really be…
Grapes?
The black and white photo stared back at me.
The man in the photo- Grapes- had a kind smile, his eyes were crinkled, but burdened by dark bags.
He had a handsome face too, dammit.
Couldn’t he have stopped at being successful??
I held the photo close to my chest for a few moments.
It almost made the emptiness of this house feel more bearable.
…Almost
What an annoying man.
***
“To Grapes,
The name 'Viper' came from an university acquaintance. She used to study medicine before switching to economic studies. She said I was quite similar to vipers because I was nocturnal and silent, thus sneaking up on people. I'm sure other implied meanings apply, but that was the main reason.
My question: Where did the name Grapes come from?
-Viper.
P.S. Your photo took me by surprise as well.”
The front was a portrait of Soleum, in the same style as the one he had received of Viper.
Soleum glanced at it for a while before beginning to draft his reply.
“
Dear, Viper,
My name has no story, no one gave it to me, I chose it simply because I enjoy the fruit.
As for the origin of your name, I can't help but be jealous of not having seen what you were like during your university days!
[...]
How did you come to start painting?”
.
.
.
“Dear Grapes,
If you wish, one day, perhaps after I've known you longer, I would be honoured to give you a name.
I paint because my older sister showed me how to.
Where do you draw inspiration from?
[...]”
.
.
.
“Dear Viper,”
“Dear Grapes,”
“How come you ended up living at your current residence?”
“How come you once lived at my current residence?”
