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r/penpals • 2h ago

Posted by u/roz_by_any_other_name

[22/M] Looking for someone to write to

Snail Mail & E-mail

Hello.
I am a young guy from Moscow, Russia. My interests include fashion, hockey, good vodka, and literature. I am also looking to practice my English by corresponding with a native speaker.
Life can be lonely. I would like to meet someone with whom I can share my passions, thoughts, and troubles with, and support them too.
Please message me if that can be you. I look forward to hearing from you )))

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hollyhockey24 • 12m ago

Hi! We have some interests in common.
I am 22 M from Canada :) I'd love to be your pen pal.

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"Well, this has got to be a new all-time low," Shane mumbled to his empty room as he hit send on his comment. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms until he saw stars behind his eyelids.

He had finally been reduced to scrolling through Reddit as a way to search for companionship?

He sighed as he flicked the Gordie Howe bobblehead on his desk. Although he knew that the painted face couldn't reasonably project any judgement, he felt it radiating through the teeny tiny eyes.

He stared at the screen a moment longer. Had he been too eager? The smiley face was definitely overkill. Given the amount of months Shane had spent scrolling through r/penpals, he thought he would've felt more confident in drafting his first comment. He’d found out quickly to identify himself by age and gender in the typical format accepted in the forums. He’d also noted that comments should be brief but inviting, hence the smiley face.

Other comments were clever, playful, sexy even. Shane had never felt like he was any of that; at least, he didn’t know anyone who would describe him that way. He was dependable, focused, practical.

He was also acutely aware that the odds of him getting any kind of reply from u/roz_by_any_other_name would be slim. Shane reasoned that he wanted it that way. A trial run before he found a sensible person to write. The stranger had probably written their post and looked back at it with the same regret he already felt blooming in his gut. Besides, would this man even entertain the type of relationship he’d described with another man?

Still, he couldn’t deny the tenderness of this stranger’s confession. To broadcast one’s loneliness to the expanses of the internet seemed desperate and… brave.

He logged off having decided it was for the best that no reply had come.

***

As the sliding doors of the metro came to a close, Shane scanned the space for a seat.

He weaved through a group of men in perfectly-tailored suits and watches that had to be worth more than his year’s salary, then deftly sidestepped a child with the evidence of a jam sandwich all over his face and hands. Once he’d settled on a seat, he allowed the book perched atop his knee and the gentle sway of the metro car to lull him into a focus he hadn’t managed to achieve in days.

Like a record scratch, the buzzing of his phone broke through the peace that had enveloped him for a precious… 3 minutes according to the home screen's clock. Before he could begrudge any of the usual suspects, Hayden, Rose, or his parents, he noticed that the notification had been a message on Reddit.

He had tried to forget his (admittedly) half-hearted bid for connection, but it seemed as though the Russian hadn’t agreed to let his momentary lapse of judgement stay hidden. With a sharp intake of breath, Shane opened the app.

Shane deduced quickly that this Ilya guy had a death wish. Who in their right mind would give out their home address to a stranger on a whim, even if it was a nice apartment. Yes, Shane had looked it up already. He had to make sure his pen pal didn’t live in some scary cement building owned by the Russian mob. Did they call it the mob in Russia?

No, none of that mattered. He didn’t even want to be his pen pal, not when he’d already called Shane boring. No wonder the man was lonely, Shane thought, the crux of the issue was his terrible personality. He tucked the phone back into his pocket, deciding that this entire experiment had been a bust.

***

Before the high-pitched whine of the kettle could find purchase in the small kitchen, Rose’s slender fingers turned the stove off. She, more than most others, understood how the noise could make its home in Shane’s skin.

He threw her an appreciative smile as she turned to fill their mugs he’d prepared. Hers with black tea and a teaspoon of honey, his with the dried lemongrass.

“Hey can you," Shane started.

“Here,” she said, handing him a coaster.

“Thank you."

Rose sat across from him, reading a script that looked severely dog-eared and mottled with stains from coffee cups. Under her breath, she began reciting the lines around the piece of toast she had in the other hand. As the morning light filtered in from the balcony window, he catalogued the furrow of her brow and how sleep had drug tendrils of her auburn hair out of its braid.

On mornings like this, he wished it could all be this simple.

A familiar pang caught at the side of his ribs as he thought about it. Even as the years had gone by, sometimes he found himself wondering what could be so wrong with him, how what he and Rose shared somehow wasn’t enough for him.

They’d met at university their freshman year when they’d been set up by their close friends, Hayden and Jackie. After deciding they’d be a perfect match, the couple set about a scheme where they would sign both friends up for a fundraiser and then fall mysteriously ill. Left to sell tickets to the school’s carnival for hours, Rose and Shane hit it off. Their first date was the following day.

She was creative, generous, and beautiful. Shane knew she was objectively the perfect woman; his friends and family loved her. Rose took all of his anxieties in stride with warmth and patience. He’d assumed everything was fine, that he just didn’t want the physical aspect of their relationship to override the friendship they’d built.

He repeated the line until it became the truth. One he repeated every time she’d let her hands wander across the plane of his chest or the strawberry lip gloss tasted sickly sweet against his.

Eventually, she sat him down to end their short-lived romance because above all, Rose was intuitive. She’d been the first to voice what Shane had long suspected: he was gay.

She’d been the voice of reason then and in the years since. He knew how lucky he was that Rose had not only not hated him for it, but had chosen to stay in his life. Looking at his best friend across the table, he watched her demeanor shift.

Halfway through her breakfast, she set down the script and looked back at him. He felt the tremor she’d created from bouncing her leg under the table when suddenly, she opened her mouth then closed it without a word.

“Cliff asked me to move in with him and I said yes,” she said the words so fast they’d seemed to merge into a wall of sound. Her eyes were searching Shane’s for something he wasn’t sure he could provide.

“Oh, well-” Shane pushed his chair back as his gaze fell to his lap.

“I know, it’s soon. And we have a few months left on our lease-” Before she could continue explaining, he knew what she needed to hear.

“Rose. We can figure out everything later. I’m so happy for you!”

The line that had been pinched between her brows had barely softened by a fraction before she was throwing her arms around his shoulders. Within seconds, they were embraced jumping around the kitchen.

She threw her head back laughing and it felt like the sun had cracked open in their dining room. A warm flush settled on them both, pushing away the cold that tingled in his fingertips and threatened to spread through his limbs.

The writing had been on the walls since Rose had met Cliff, if her hair products’ slow migration from their shared bathroom was any indication.

In the last month, she averaged 2 nights a week in her own bed, her favorite yogurt had gone rancid, and the instances of finding her loose hair ties had significantly dwindled. Shane had even begun watering her plants. Her pothos hadn’t been nearly as forgiving as Shane, but how could he ever be upset that his best friend had fallen in love?

Holding her lightly by the elbows, he pulled back to take another look. Tears had gathered at her lower lashline, searching his face for permission to spill over. A small nod and the stretch of his lips into a half-hearted smile was all either of them needed.

“You have to train Cliff though, no one can fold a fitted sheet like you,” the words came out with a wet chuckle. Shane let out a gasp in fake offense.

“Wow Rose, you wound me. How can I ever overcome this betrayal?” He clasped his hand over his heart; maybe living with an actress had started to rub off on him.

“I don’t think you can, but I’m going to start by showering,” her voice trailed off as she padded to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

Watching her fade into the hallway, he couldn't help but feel like some significant part of him was being torn away. The tingling came back, as if anticipating the loss. Like Rose was already a phantom limb.

***

Nervous pen clicking had been a habit Shane picked up in grammar school, but the sound had never felt so amplified as it did right now. The lamp at his desk felt too invasive, deliberately piercing his field of view while obscuring the far walls. The jangle of keys and the rough curse of someone who'd attempted to kick off their shoes and failed moved through the small apartment. Rose. If she was sneaking back in, it had to be at least midnight.

Earlier in the evening, Shane dropped his gym bag and briefcase to be met with a note from her on the fridge. It simply said "Out dancing with Miles. Don't wait up!" He knew the two of them rarely shared an early night.

So, instead of wallowing at home alone, he had decided to do something productive.

He chose to wallow over his inability to write a letter to an insane man from Moscow.

He plunked his head down on the desk and accepted defeat. Shifting, his eyes met the wastebasket overflowing with balled-up notebook paper from the previous attempts at composing a single letter.

As it turned out, messaging a random person on Reddit wasn’t his personal all time low. Fishing his miserable attempts at writing one a letter out of the trash was.

Ilya was right. He was boring. Even worse, his letters were boring, every iteration some phony combination of a greeting and then a collection of musings on the current hockey season. Some were even peppered with questions about the KHL.

Well, if he was going to be boring, he would at least be himself.