Jules had always had a soft spot for authors, namely the ones who wrote poetry.
Most nights he would often sit alone, the newest collection of poetry from some poetic writer sitting in his palms, and he would leaf through, marking the ones he loved and the ones he despised. On this particular night, on a cold October evening in the country of France, Jules nestled into his chair and pulled his night shirt closer around him, pulling the cap down just slightly above his ears. The tips were freezing, much like his trembling fingers, which hovered over the cover a red-covered poetry collection.
He'd heard of this author for many years, as the man was horridly famous for his despairing poems that tumbled into the most depressing oblivion. Edgar Allan Poe. The name stood out to him on the cover, and his finger tips grazed it softly. An American author, born in Boston. What care would, or could, he possibly have for this man?
Still, he was bored, and the chill in his fingers and toes implored him to hurry reading and head on to bed. Since he was a human being and couldn't resist being required to the terms of daily habit, he quickly obliged to his appendages and pulled open the aging cover.
His eyes skimmed the rims of letters, of vowels and consonants His eyes teared at reading Aloneand The Raven sent chills down his spine. Now his heart and his lungs were cold, right along in tune with his toes and fingers, which had grown slightly more so.
By morning's dawn, the light stretching itself through the silk curtains and window panes, curling around Jules in a comforting aura, he had completed the book twice and desperately begged for more.
Je dois rencontrer cet homme, he thought to himself. "I must meet this man."
Quickly he gathered up his belongings, in a feverish attempt to meet the man who can write such captivating and soul-wrenching works, when suddenly, he stopped.
No. He must become an expert first, he decided. He needed to know this man in and out.
So he did.
—-
Three years and several poetry-filled books later, Jules finally earned enough confidence to mail Poe a fan letter. He knew not what he would say, only that words must be shared between the two. Jules simply couldn't hold out his feelings any longer.
Quietly, quill point to page, he scribbled out the words with shaking hands and trembling fingers.
—-
"Honey, who delivered this?"
"The normal fellow," replied Edgar's wife as she sat tea down in front of her husband, who rose above his desk, teetering slightly as he yanked opened the letter.
"Who's it from?" Asked the slightly plump woman as she bit into another morsel of cake.
"I haven't the slightest idea," smiling, he pecked his wife on the head, the smell of the paper striking his nose. "It smells of French perfume." His wife sneered.
"Darn French know nothing," she spat. He grinned before shooing her off.
He knew very well whom the letter was from - a man he admired yet never spoke of. He's not sure how his wife would approve of his care for such a French man.
Dear Mr. Poe - I love your work!
Poe gulped. "Hm." His pulse pounded in his throat and a small stream of sweat trickled down his neck. Even the most graceful and respectful of openings could ultimately result in an awful and most horrid demise.
Can you put more balloons in your stories? I think we should be friends!
Poe couldn't help but smile at that. He crinkled the paper in both hands.
Also, I drew a picture of us! Write me back,
Love Jules.
An arrow directed the way to the back of the page, which held a hot air balloon (which lied among the multitude of things Jules enjoyed) with the two in the balloon. Jules had his arms wrapped around Edgar, and on the outside of the basket they stood draped a banner which read, BROS.
Edgar released a hearty laugh, and without hesitation he brought out a piece of paper and began his next note.
Dear Mr. Verne,
"Marry me."
"I love you."
"Yes please let's be friends forever."
Thank you for your letter and your picture. I look forward to be acquainted in the future.
Much love,
Edgar.
Based on a piece of art I found on Tumblr. Who knew these two had such a thing for each other? ^.^
Sorry it's so short. I didn't want to drag it out. Hope you like it.
Much love,
Hannah.