The mailbox continues bellowing in laughter as you lay down on your sunset-ridden porch, confused. His giggling dies down as time passes and the awkward phase settles in, all the while unanswered questions keep popping in your head.
“I… I didn’t scare you now, did I? I figured a simple ‘BOO!’ would’ve been far too bland.” the supposedly-male mailbox asks with concern in his voice. His voice comes out with a civilized, refined and archaic accent, very much like an old butler serving in a mansion for the yakuzas.
You hear him mumble to himself regretfully, something about going too far with his scream.
The confusion that fills your body has shifted to curiosity, an overwhelming will to get some answers overcoming you.
Immediately, you make a mad dash for him, managing to rip him off his rusty foundation with what little strength you have. You’d be pretty surprised how easy he came off, but then again, he’s been there for quite a long time already.
“H-hey! Watch the bolts!”
Tucking him under your arms like a baguette, you hastily enter your household, making sure no one’s near enough to have seen or heard your now-sentient mailbox.
The door gives a large thud as you press yourself against it, panting in exhaustion from the sheer amount of force you had to use to retrieve him.
“Soooooooo…. Hi, how are ya?” the mailbox pipes up, shifting your focus from your recovery to engaging in conversation.
“Wh...what are you?” you utter a standard response inline with your confusion.
“Why, I am but a humble mailbox. I store mail that is delivered to me as I anticipate my owner to acquire them as soon as they are available.” he explains… quite literally.
“Wait, no I mean. I get that but, like, why can you talk?” you ask more specifically.
“I am here on a mission.” He vaguely, yet straightforwardly, answers.
You ponder how that relates to his sentience and, moreover, his relation with you, but he continues as the thoughts swirl around in your head, “Perhaps this matter is better suited to be discussed over dinner.” he turns to face the takeout you’d left by a table near the front door.
As if agreeing with him, your stomach growls quite loudly. You instinctively turn to your dinner, and start to salivate at the mere thought of egg rolls in your tummy.
“Fine.”
You grab him and your takeout as you proceed to head towards your bedroom.
Gently, you set him on your bed and take a seat on your gaming chair, unfurling your dinner’s packaging. Looking at it, there’s quite a lot even for you. You suppose that’s why you’re saving some for later, but for some reason, you feel a little inclined to share some with your mailbox. He probably can’t eat though, but then again, you shouldn’t make any assumptions given that you don’t know anything about him.
You pull out a portion for you and bring out the other for him. You turn to him and ask, “U-um, can you… eat?”
“Hmmm?” he queries as you bring the carton of rice and egg rolls nearer to him.
“Ah!” he perks up, “Worry not, little one. I have supper of my own. Though I must say, I am not opposed to the idea of sharing.” he reassures you.
He’s already… having dinner?
You’d start eating with a sound mind before continuing your urgent conversation with him, but your mind feels obliged to find out what he means.
“So, what are you eating?” you grab his attention.
“I believe it’s a staple classic in your world. A Peetzer. Here, have a slice.” his lid opens, revealing a slice of Pepperoni pizza inside.
In our world? A talking mailbox IS pretty foreign in your world, so the idea that he’s an alien isn’t too far fetched.
“We call it pizza. And... thanks...” you grab his delivery and, curiously, you wonder if his mail goes two ways. You attempt to confirm your suspicions by placing a serving of your dinner in his empty, hollow letterbox.
His lid slams shut, “You have my gratitude as well. Egg rolls with fried rice? Thank you once again for the treat.” he expresses with enthusiasm, though only through his voice, as you take a bite into the pizza.
It’s not exactly the best pair with Chinese food, but it’s pretty good.
“Now then, for introductions I suppose. I apologize, that should’ve taken priority” he continues.
“Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m Christine, Christine Bates.” you announce as you dig in further to your dinner.
“Please, call me Mr. Mailbox. That’s what everybody calls me. I am here to assist you with acquiring your love, Alexander York.”
“W-w-wh-what!?”
“S-so… if I’m getting this right, you’re a sentient mailbox that’s here to help me with my romantic problems?”
“That is correct.”
You just had a considerably lengthy discussion with Mr. Mailbox regarding… matters. Both your dinners had already been long gone and digested since then.
He was pretty vague about his origins, but he’d helped you understand the pain you’d always felt around York.
So… you did like him. A thought that often popped up in your head, but also a thought that you always dismissed. Romance was never really your field of expertise, in experience and knowledge, and that’s probably why you never realized how you truly felt.
You decided to just accept what little you know of Mr. Mailbox, though you do hope to find out more about him along the way.
“Well then, what do we do now?” you ask, wondering how your life will now change with the addition of Mr. Mailbox in it.
Wait, why did you let him in your life? It’s not too late yet to let him go.
Well…
Life’s been boring… dull in the face of it all no matter what you do. Nothing gets you riled up anymore every morning you wake up.
Maybe this is that “something” that you needed?
You suppose that much… is enough.
He seems like a pretty cool guy anyway.
“Nothing. I will admit that I only know so much about you and your life, so I’d like to find out as much as I can while I help you. So for now, things should remain by their status quo.” he answers, his lid opening and closing in sync with his words.
Status quo huh? Well then, guess it’s game time.
“Ms. Bates. Isn’t it about time you go to bed?”
“What? But I’ve got no work to do and it’s only 2 AM. That’s way too early!”
Mr. Mailbox has been unsuccessfully attempting to get you to bed for a little while now as you move further into the game’s campaign with concentration. With great focus on your game, you simply give him absent-minded answers.
“Ms. Bates, sleeping early is key to becoming a better version of yourself.” he wisely states.
“Well, I gotta get better at this game.” you hastily reply.
“Why not get better for Mr. York?”
You feel your cheeks warm up a little, but your focus never wanes from the animated screen before you.
He heaves a heavy sigh, but it’s not one of defeat, “I apologize Ms. Bates, but I am here to assist you in your romantic affairs, and sleeping early is significant in the process. I’m afraid that should you not comply, I’ll have to take authoritative measures.”
Oh? A threat? That’s new. Though you don’t plan on stopping anytime soon, you are curious as to what he has in store.
You feel a little compelled to taunt him just to see what he does, so you do, “I don’t think any package you have for me can convince me to stop.”
“Oh I’m fairly certain this one can.”
Suddenly, red packaging ribbons slither their way towards you hastily from his letterbox.
“What the hell? WAIT! THE CAMPAIGN’S NOT OVER!!!”
You quickly find yourself wrapped in ribbons, and quite expertly too. With the red appendages still intact from within him, he lifts you and gently lands you next to him on your bed.
As you continue to revolt in resistance like the angsty teenager you are, you feel an odd feeling of… relief.
This… this is pretty comfy.
You’re not sure if it’s the ribbons or something else, but right now, you feel at peace. Like a large brown teddy bear is giving you a warm bear hug.
It could just be your tired state, or it could be the warm comfort you’re feeling, or both, but you feel incredibly drowsy.
“Good night, Ms. Bates.” you hear him along with the muffled and standard sound of his lid moving as your consciousness starts to drift off.
His words remind you of your campaign and how you need to finish it, and moreover, save it.
Your worry can do no more than stress you out as the lights shut off, the room being lightly illuminated by your TV alone.
Welp, guess that’s that.
*ping*
Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
Oh? That’s the sound of the game saving.
At least he had the courtesy of doing that.
You cheer inside blissfully with a smile plastered on your face as your muscles relax.
You’d say goodnight back, but, you’re already fast asleep.
Duuurururururururu! Duuuuurururururururu!
There it goes again. Your alarm goes off once more as very dim rays of light assault your face. You reach out for your phone by your desk and turn it off. Huh? Well, that’s certainly odd. Your body feels… energized. You’re still a bit groggy but you don’t feel as tired as usual.
You feel even livelier than when you sleep for much longer than you did. You’ve got a feeling Mr. Mailbox has a hand in that, but you’ve got to find that out another time.
“Good morning, Ms. Bates.”
You turn beside you as you notice that the ribbons have dissipated.
“Good morning, Mr. Mailbox.” you greet him back. Given the situation, it seems almost as though you’re both married. You’d be flustered by the mere thought but… he’s just a mailbox.
“Well then Ms. Bates, I think it’s time we get the day going.” he gestures towards the bathroom by turning towards it.
You give him a nod as you stand up from your bed.
“Here we are, my classroom.”
You think to yourself, indirectly communicating with Mr. Mailbox.
“Seems like a nice place.” he replies.
You had a dilemma just a little while ago. The urgent matter at hand was that, well… you couldn’t exactly bring him along with you to wherever you went. But apparently, you COULD bring him wherever you went. That is, whenever you bring your bag at least.
And so here you are now, bag in tow with a sentient mailbox. Thankfully you don’t carry much stuff in your bag when you go to school. He fits just perfectly in your bag even with your scarce school equipment, you’d have to take him off his wooden stand first though, which he was fine with.
There was also the problem of communication. You couldn’t exactly understand his muffled words through your bag, and moreover, it’d look sketchy or weird if you were seen talking to a mailbox.
But who knew a sentient mailbox would be capable of telepathy? Well, there’s also the matter with the ribbons. You wonder what else he could do.
“So, what do you usually do in this nice place at this nice hour?”
His question snaps you back in focus to the world that is reality.
“Well, I usually sleep at this hour until class starts,” you approach your table and gently place Mr. Mailbox on your seat, “but I don’t feel quite as tired as I usually do.”
“Well then, anything in mind? I’m certain anything at all will help me find out more about you.” his voice echoes in your head.
“Well, there IS one thing that I could do around this hour…” you propose, just as your proposal rounds the corner of the classroom and glimpse you on the back. Well, “Glomp”. More like “Gives you a warm hug from behind”.
“Mornin’, Christine!” Stacy, as always, enthusiastically greets.
“Good morning, Stacy.” you greet back.
“Ah, the meeting of the comrades. That’s something I can get behind.” Mr. Mailbox gladly states.
“Hmmm? You look like you got more hours on the clock last night. Something happen?” Stacy asks, getting a little giddy as you notice a little glint of joy in her eyes.
“Something did, I guess. But I can go with you today.” you grace her with a little smile as you reveal that you’re finally able to join her little “morning stroll” after all this time, which was actually just the short period of one to two weeks.
Her eyes sparkle even brighter as your words slide out of your mouth, “Yay! Let’s go!” Stacy abruptly grabs your hand and starts comically bolting for the door of your classroom.
Thankfully, you manage to grasp the straps of your bag just by your fingertips right before you were blasted into orbit.
You spot Chad in the hallway, heading towards your classroom with a skip in his step until he turns into a kidnap victim just like you are, and with his girlfriend as the culprit no less.
“Jesus Christ what a run!”
You pant heavily, complaining to Mr. Mailbox as you try to regain composure, despite the fault being mainly on your unfit self.
Now you sit calmly enough on a bench right next to your two friends, Chad and Stacy, Stacy and Chad.
The run wasn’t really too far, but it was enough to run you down. Though you must admit that the serene scenery coupled with the faint lighting from the rising sun is quite a sight.
You suppose that’s why this specific bench in the middle of the courtyard is considered a landmark in the school. The view from here encompasses the entire area and there’s a large Callery Pears tree right behind it. The place is well decorated even more when the trees’ flowers and leaves often flow down like feathers from a flock of birds. Must be a pain on the custodians though, but hey, whatever gets the bills paid.
And so, hugging your bag casually, you sit timidly on the bench. You made sure to be on either end of the bench so Stacy and Chad are next to each other. You’re next to Stacy, Stacy’ next to Chad, but there’s still a bit of space to your right. Seems like this bench has enough space for four people. Four people huh? Seems a little… ominous.
The minutes pass by and the only sounds that can he heard are the sounds of students roaming about the halls and the occasional leaves finding their own spot on the ground from the tree.
“Is this the morning tradition? Just sitting on this bench in the mornings?” Mr. Mailbox asks you with no sense of impatience or restlessness, just 99.99% curiosity, and maybe 0.01% of confusion. Well, definitely more than just 0.01%.
“I don’t know, it’s my first time doing this with them.” you give him a reply.
Leaning forward a bit, you take a look at your friends. Giddy expressions are plastered on their faces, their bodies expressing all the signs of someone who’s almost at peak elation. Hands clasped together with twiddling thumbs, a pink streak across their face with the suppression of a smile that should be bigger than the lower class’ minimum wage, the works. Figures, another sign that those two are perfect for each other.
“Hey Stacy, is this, well… what you two usually do without me?” you lean in to Stacy’s ear and give her a whisper, passing on Mr. Mailbox’s question.
“Ummm, maybe.” she whispers back.
You reply with a blank stare, devoiding your eyes of any signs of life.
“Okay, fine... yes.” she finally admits. Good grief, how troublesome. Is this why she called you here? Well, they can’t just be doing and saying nothing every morning. Maybe they pick up on something after a little while? Guess you could light the fire earlier than usual for them.
“Ms. Bates, I came here to observe you and your life to be able to help you better, and I’d suggest you observe these two lovebirds as well and maybe even take down some notes, but, well… the candle burns rather slowly. Could you perhaps perk up and say something?” Mr. Mailbox caters to the same idea you just did.
“My thoughts exactly.” you tell him.
You turn towards them, noticing that Chad is peeking at you and Stacy from the corner of his eye. He’s a big guy all the way up there at Chad Airspace, but he most definitely still heard at least muffled words from your curt conversation with Stacy just a seconds ago.
It’s showtime, baby.
“S-so, I thought you two go on a stroll in the mornings.” you blurt out the first conversational topic that pops into your head.
“Well-“
“Umm-“
Chad and Stacy both manage to interrupt each other.
“Please, go ahead.” Chad starts, ever the gentleman.
“No, please. I insist.” Stacy timidly returns.
This’ll be one hell of a morning.
At least you get a bit of joy from seeing Stacy, the sadistic teaser, be put in her place and be the flustered one for once.
“Alright then, Stacy. Well you see, Christine, we do usually walk together but sometimes we like to enjoy each other’s company at this bench.”
Hmmm? You’ve already forgotten what you even asked them. The only thing you managed to pick up from his response is that they haven’t given each other pet names yet. That and that they literally mean “enjoy each other’s company”.
You notice that silence reigns supreme around the three of you once more.
You’re not very good at this, are you?
“You’re not very good at this, are you?” Mr. Mailbox reminds you in verbatim.
“Sh-shut up!” you scold him in your head.
Should you pull off something loud and dumb? A stunt, or even a reference maybe? Beats this awkward silence anyway.
You stand up fiercely, fists clenched and looking down. You turn towards Chad with a piercing gaze, “Tell me about Bane! Why does he wear the mask?!”
They both quickly shoot you astonished looks. You can tell that either they don’t get the reference or they’re too skittish to reveal to the other that they do get the reference, though it’s most probably the latter given what you know about them.
God, this is pretty cringe now that you think about it, but you already got the ball rolling.
“A lot of loyalty for a hired gun!”
Still silence from the both of them. Maybe they really don’t get it. At least there’s no one around the surrounding area to secretly judge you… or so you thought.
“Well perhaps he’s wondering why someone would shoot a man… before throwing him out of a plane.”
Your blood runs cold and a shiver runs down your spine as you recognize the voice that piped up.
You turn around and your suspicion is confirmed.
“At least you can talk. Who are you?” for some reason, Allec is in the courtyard right behind the big tree. It looks like he just arrived too as he strides towards you, but that still doesn’t stop you from heating up in embarrassment. Nevertheless you continue the bit that has already been initiated.
“It doesn’t matter who we are. What matters is our plan.” Allec goes on, continually attempting to deepen his voice with the right tone.
“No one cared who I was ‘til I put on the mask.” he’s already walked up to you at a point blank distance, ironically towering over you as he’s just about as tall as Stacy.
“If I pull that off, will you die?” you say, despite Allec’s absence of a mask.
“It would be extremely painful.”
“You’re a big guy.”
“For you.”
End scene.
You’d consider that golden had you not done it with Allec. Not that you didn’t enjoy that but… you were a little flustered.
Well, you guess that’s the art of the trade.
Allec gives out a satisfied snicker as he takes his seat by the other end of the bench, “Really, Chad. You know better than to keep two fine ladies bored. Now Christine had to be the epitome of cringe for a second.”
You only fume up at his teasing, unable to mutter or even think of a proper response as Allec pulls out a stick of Pocky but simply keeps it on his mouth like a cigarette. Classic Allec. You’d call his little habit cringe, but you’d be lying if you said that you didn’t have a trace of Chuunibyou in you.
You hear a stifled laugh of amusement echoing in your head, and you presume it’s from your little skit, or rather, you hope it is.
“Ah, my bad, Allec. I’m still quite new to all this, and I’m not very good at it.” Chad reasonably defends himself. Speaking with two or more women in Otome games has shown you just how difficult the task can be.
“Well then just do the usual. Relationship dynamics shouldn’t change just because the status does.” Allec spouts wisdom unto the three of you. Well, the four of you, but you’ve got a feeling that Mr. Mailbox is immensely wise.
“Oh no, that’s quite alright Allec. We do talk after a little, but… even his presence speaks for itself.” she looks down, a crimson coat coloring her face.
Blegh! You don’t really get it, but then again, you do seem to feel the same around Allec.
Even right now, actually.
Christine.exe has stopped working
“Ms. Bates, I think I’ve learned enough for now. Not exactly plenty, but enough. Anything else today should just be icing on the cake.” Mr. Mailbox addresses you, his voice reprogramming you to reality.
“Well then, go about your business now. May I suggest sparking conversation?” he continues.
You perk up at his words, finally giving him acknowledgement.
Take two, baby.
“S-so, do we have homework today?” you manage to sputter out.
“Nope.” Allec flat out answers.
Smooth, Christine. Real smooth.
A bit of time passes, the same silence dawning in all of you, save for the occasional few words with few answers, as you all just enjoyed each other’s company. Well, less enjoying more worrying from you.
It wasn’t this hard talking to him before, damn it! Why is it different now?
The bell gives a resounding ring, filling you with relief as it always does.
“Well then, I believe it’s time we go.” Allec stands immediately upright, patting his uniform to straighten out the creases, “Shall we?” he turns towards the lot of you with his hand extended.
“S-sure.”
Today was horrible. Well, not so much today as this morning, but it sort of ruined your mood. No one’s to blame for what happened, really, but it did frustrate you. You hope your future encounters with Allec won’t be like that, but you’ll certainly try to be more social soon enough.
At the very least, you did get comforted by Mr. Mailbox throughout the day. Had a nice little chat about more of you and he seemed pleasantly swell to get more ‘icing on the cake’ as he put it. It wasn’t enough to repair you, but talking to him definitely made you feel better about yourself.
At least the day’s over.
You make your way outside to wait for Stacy, but you catch a glimpse of Allec on the way out. He’s...he’s talking...with Emillia. That alone would’ve been enough to heave your chest down and make you feel heavy with despair, but she’s giggling as he is laughing with a genuine smile.
Is this jealousy you feel with a heavy, pulsing feeling in your chest? Perhaps a higher tier of envy? You don’t know what it is, but you know your blood is steadily boiling, fast.
Is it rage? But there’s no one to blame but yourself. Are you mad at yourself? Mad that Emillia is able to do something that you can’t? Have you already started wallowing in your own self-pity? Why can’t you be better? Why are you like this? Why did it have to be like this?
These thoughts mindlessly cloud your head, but they haven’t shown signs of letting up. You start fuming as your body temperature rises, not out of embarrassment, but rather, hate.
...you’re...you’re not too sure what you’re mad at...well, you do know, actually...but you don’t want to think about it too much before you start blaming yourself.
With a thud to your step, you start stomping away, your blinded hate making you forget about Stacy.
“Ms. Bates, I understand your frustration, but please remember that grievance will take you nowhere.” Mr. Mailbox attempts to comfort you, only to fail as your own thoughts overtake his.
“Oh, Christine. Are you alright? You’re not with Stacy this time.” Ms. Rose asks out of courtesy as she passes you by in the hallway. You noticed how her usual cheery attitude dropped as soon as she noticed how you dropped your usual cheery attitude.
“I’m… I’m fine. Ms. Rose. But I’ve got to go. You take care now, ma’m.” you lie to her, but she clearly picked up on it. You don’t await for a response as you simply walk past her. The only response that she manages is a worried wave goodbye.
You feel bad about having to lie to her, but you don’t exactly want to share your problems with her. And you just had a nice conversation with her this morning about the political circumstances of pre-modern dynasties during war. Shame, really. But you’ll have to make it up to her soon. For now, a sorrowful walk home.
It hasn’t been long, but Mr. Mailbox has been encouraging you all the while as you walked home. He was quite persistent too, considering you didn’t respond at all. You feel like an ass but you’re just thankful he’s kind, gently supporting rather than condescendingly scolding.
You enter your room, trying not to break the door as you do. You almost throw your bag, but then you remember Mr. Mailbox is in it. You’re not really sure if he can feel pain, but even the mere thought of it is already rude. You’re not quite sure if you’ve already reached the stage of spite, but even if you were, you’d never spite someone who’s not at fault, you hope so at least.
You gently set down your bag by the side of your bed and divebomb onto the sheets, the remaining momentum making you bounce once before lying completely still, closing your eyes.
Maybe some sleep will make you feel better? Dinner’s not really important right now, and sleeping through the rest of the day doesn’t sound too shabby.
You hear something shifting around your room. You take a small peek with one eye and see that Mr. Mailbox has reattached himself on his wooden stand.
You close your eye, darkness encompassing your vision. Silence has also encompassed your ears. Mr. Mailbox just comes closer and wraps his red ribbons around you once more. Wearing a uniform in bed to sleep isn’t exactly as comfortable as wearing your home clothes, but his ribbons still feel just as lovely as before.
It looks like he’s finally decided to just give you some time to yourself.
“Ms. Bates…”
Nope. No he hasn’t.
“How are you feeling?”
You don’t really know how you feel. Rage, weariness, sorrow...you feel a lot of things, and self-pity is one of them. Your mind wanders back to the scene in the classroom. Allec… Allec and… Emillia…
You feel your eyes starting to well up. You’re too tired to get mad now, despair replacing your anger.
“I don’t feel very okay…” you tell him the truth.
“You’re filled with self-doubt, aren’t you? Pity flooding your chest, blaming your incapacity to strike lucky with Mr. York on yourself.”
“...Maybe. How can you tell?”
He heaved a heavy sigh, his lid creaking as he does, “There comes a time in everyone’s life where they go through times like this. It’s all just a matter of when…”
Both of you remain silent, your muffled, silent tears being the only sound in the room.
“Alright, let’s go someplace.” his voice and the clanging of metal take you away from your drowsiness.
“Too tired.” you make an excuse, but you could probably go somewhere if you really tried.
“No no, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. Besides, I think you’ll want it more than you need it.” he boasts.
Well, now he’s piqued your interest. You’ve got a feeling he’s referring to someplace you’ve never been to before.
“...alright, fine.”
“Lovely. Now, are you ready Ms. Bates? The clothes you are wearing should be just fine.”
“Ready as I’ll ever be.” might as well try anything under the sun to feel better. Better than moping around for the rest of the day at least.
Weariness quickly overcomes you and you find yourself shutting your eyes.
You wake up in… a strange place. It looks like a humble little city, but, it’s definitely not on Earth if the books flying like birds are any indication. This place isn’t exactly under the sun, or maybe it is? You’d still give it a shot though.
“Mr. Mailbox, where are we?”
“Home, Ms. Bates. Home.”