CHAPTER SIX
In a span of 2 months ever since Nile first started writing, nights like standing by his side as he wrote his feelings on a piece of paper while seated in the study table became a nightly routine for the lot of us.
Erwin's letters grew more and more faint, and mine only grew in numbers.
I believe he was holding back; for the sake of our friend, Nile, who seems to be devoted to solely Marie.
Ever since Nile had sent his first letter, I could tell Marie was overjoyed. Up to the point where she told me she could no longer pay attention to multiple love letters all at once and decided to entrust me the responsibility to write to Erwin without the need of her knowing specifically the contents of it.
I was vexed at first, but I could never stay mad at Marie.
And so, I began writing more freely now that I didn't need Marie to read it. I began to let my thoughts speak for itself, the words flowing as easily. But most nights, my hand was not nearly as fast as my mind— I couldn't exactly keep up to my trail of thoughts and so, I'd leave Marie's place with letters often unfinished.
For the past 2 months, I became brazen. Bolder. I started writing more without considering Marie's initial perspective. I was declaring love in a piece of paper in the most subtle way.
I knew it was wrong of me to do so. Especially when in that way was I leading Erwin on to believe Marie thought of him as deeply as I did. But I wrote with no intentions of harming him. I simply wrote with the intentions of expressing myself as a whole. Knowing awfully well that I could never tell him such words any other way.
I took the opportunity and grasped it. I let my mind run free as I wrote and wrote endlessly each week.
By a month and a half in, I had began signing the letters no longer with the clear name of my sister. I started writing our shared last name, my mind clouding its belief.
I thought it was inherently wrong, terribly so— to sign such absurd letter and pin it on Marie. To accuse her of feeling this strongly.
While 'Marie' increased the intensity and passion of her letters, Erwin's came less and less. Only ever sending perhaps twice a month with the short vagueness of a man writing to his mother.
And I believe I've done it. I scared the poor guy away.
Thus, warranting my misery.
In one evening as I return from my weekly visit to my sister's place (sneaking off obviously), I had been humming a small tune away as I walked around the cabin.
As I was about to climb up the small little stairs leading to the main entrance, I paused upon seeing a familiar blonde figure glint brighter under the moonlight.
I stared skeptically.
"Erwin?"
He slowly looked up, as though anticipating my arrival with not much surprise. He offered me a gentle and serene smile before patting the spot next to where he sat by the stairs.
I was still skeptical but I took my seat next to him anyway.
I let the silence envelope us for a split second before eventually turning my head towards the view he was looking at.
The sky.
I didn't take him for a sky-type of guy. I thought he just didn't bother with the more simpler things in this world. I always thought he thirsted for knowledge, the insatiable thirst for something more complex than what our simple lives could possibly offer.
"You're late." Erwin light-heartedly spoke up.
I pursed my lips, "Yeah. Helped out a little with her chores."
There a few short seconds of silence before one of us spoke up again.
"You're a good brother."
My eyebrows raised at his words.
A good brother? I almost found it hilarious.
A good brother doesn't think as selfishly as I do. A good brother would have done more, would have helped more, would have tried to fight off his feelings for his sister's suitor more.
I was, in no ways, a good brother.
But Erwin didn't to know that. Erwin didn't need to know of the sins that kept me awake most nights. Not when I had even sinned against him.
He, a gift of the Gods, would never understand a sinner's sheer desperation to sin.
"Has Marie written me a letter?" Erwin hesitated for a second but his tone was hopeful.
My hands dropped to my lap as my heart did my stomach. My throat suddenly felt dry as I made poor attempts to hydrate it enough so it wouldn't sound coarse when I speak.
"No." I gently nipped at my bottom lip briefly. "Not yet."
Erwin sighed with a small smile on his face, as though thinking about the letters alone brought him immense joy.
It only further made me shrink and feel absolutely villainous.
He deserved genuine happiness from a legitimate source, not from whatever this is.
"I think words written on a piece of paper is one of the most sincere things one can receive in a lifetime." Erwin stated, "The raw emotion you wouldn't expect from an inanimate object, the gentle strokes of each letter that actually is capable of telling a story about the writer. You can tell if it looks rushed, the thoughts are flowing faster than the human body. If there's a slight stutter of the letter with bleeding ink, the writer hesitated. If the letters are slightly more vivid than the others, then excitement is shown."
I simply sat there, listening to his observations and wondered if Marie's my letters ever indicated any of those he mentioned.
"You're pretty observant." I acknowledged with a small nod.
"But of course, every individual is entitled to their own fashion of writing. It can't be applied to all. I just have grown used to a certain manner of writing to the extent I am able to read the writer's emotions upon seeing it." He chuckled softly.
I bit my bottom lip, cursing myself in every star.
How can I even begin to tell him it wasn't Marie? How can I tell him that all this time, it was I— a dishonest man— who wrote him words of affection under the guise of the woman he loved?
It was terrible. This hollow feeling in my chest as it squeezes and tightens in each passing second.
How could I ever grow used to the feeling of being despicable?
"Have you ever written a love letter, M/n?" Erwin turned to me, gentle eyes looking over my guilty ones.
It was as though he was the judge and I was the verdict. Or at least, it realistically should seem that way.
And yet, he looked over at me with gentleness. A gentleness that I most definitely do not deserve.
I believe it would have been easier to write from a distance, to not write as though my heart sat atop my quill. Maybe in that way, I didn't have to feel the humiliation of being made of bones.
I swallowed thickly as I averted my gaze and nearly stammered, "No."
A second of silence hung over us before Erwin sighed, glancing at his watch before standing.
"It's getting late. We should head back before anyone catches us here." He murmured before offering an outstretched hand in front of me, waiting for me to take it.
I looked up, contemplating.
Thinking.
If I was already made of sin, then there wouldn't be much of a difference if I was selfish for just this instance, right?
It wouldn't have to be so wrong to live and bask in this moment before life sweeps me by its strong unpredictable tides.
And so, with a firm resolve to last me these short few seconds— I placed my hand into his and allowed him to pull me up.