Author's Note: Thanks for the amazing response, guys. I'm sorry for the late, late update, but I lost the last two chapters when I wiped my hard drive in the spring. I kept thinking that it was somewhere and that I would find it, but, alas, I had to re-write them. Here is your second chapter (or half of it anyway, because the second chapter was way too long). And once again, thanks for all the support!

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This can't be happening.

Why not?

Because it's impossible.

It's impossible, but it happened, didn't it?

I suppose so. Either that or I've gone completely crazy.

Where are you?

The Lake House, of course. Where are you?

Allen looked at the hastily written conversation in blue and black ink. He had no idea what was going on. All he did was put the letter in the mailbox with a reply, and seconds later, an answer would follow. The paper was still cold from where Lavi was, wherever that was. And then he had to go and say something crazier than usual. The lake house? How could he be living in the lake house too?

That's impossible.

And why is that?

Because I live in the lake house.

The reply took longer than the others, leaving Allen standing at the mailbox in his robe, with Timcanpy trotting around behind him. His mind was racing with possibilities, all of which seemed as improbable as ones that came before. There was no way that Lavi could be living in the lake house, that Allen could be receiving letters from two years in the past. These sorts of things didn't happen in real life. They happened in fairy tales and the books that people like Mana wrote. The red flag stood at attention, giving a creak as it did so. Allen opened the lid and reached inside for the response. It had been scribbled on a new piece of paper in the same slanted handwriting.

Well, haven't we come to find out that things we believed to be impossible are suddenly possible? After all, how could I be talking to you when you live two years in the future? And how can we be living in the same house if it weren't for that two years difference?

Allen begrudgingly admitted that Lavi had a point. This revelation had been the perfect example that things had stretched beyond the realm of possibility. A smile quirked at Allen's lips as he read the note again, replying a few moments later.

Okay, you have a point. So, why don't we introduce ourselves properly then? My name is Allen Walker. It's nice to meet you, Lavi Bookman.

And so began the most interesting pen-pal relationship Allen had ever experienced.

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Lavi found himself smiling more than usual as the days went on as he corresponded with Allen. There was something so interesting about the man on the other side of the mailbox, in another part of time. It was strange, no doubt, but there was such sincerity in Allen's tone when he wrote, that Lavi discovered something he hadn't felt in a long time. Was it…

Why don't we ever talk about the things that we like? Allen asked him one day, leaving Lavi to wonder this himself. So far, they only spoke about the mailbox, spitting theories back and forth until their hands were too sore to write. One night, when Lavi made some brownies, he wrapped one in saran wrap and left it there. Allen was all compliments the following morning. But still, they had never spoken of their family life, the things they enjoyed. All Lavi knew was that Allen was a doctor, but that was about it.

Okay. You first. Lavi instructed. The next morning, he received several sheets of paper with the answer. He was late to work because he had lost track of time sitting at his kitchen table, coffee forgotten, as he read Allen's neat script.

It's hard to explain the things I like, I guess, because sometimes, I contradict myself.

I like spacious places. Little places like the lake house, you know, that no one really knows about. I like the quiet at night, but sometimes I miss the pulse of the city. I like the smell of markets opening in the morning, crisp air in the fall, the sweetness of the spring. I like watching snow fall. I like the sound of rain on a tin roof in the middle of the afternoon. I like gardens. Any place with flowers, really. I can't keep them alive, though. The only thing that's managed to survive my brown thumb is bamboo.

Let's see. I like all kinds of food. I found that my guilty pleasure is red wine and chocolate. Or cheese. When I was younger, I always wanted to go to Italy, but never managed to scrape up enough money to do so. It would have been fabulous, I think. But yes, I like wine. Not enough to get drunk. Just the taste. A merlot or cabernet is always perfect. It's the loner's drink, they say.

I like dogs, going on walks, seeing new things, hearing new languages. On some strange level, I like the smell of disinfectant, like in the hospital, just as much as I hate it. I like driving with no place in mind, just going. I like sunrises, but not sunsets, because sunsets are too sad. I like cats more than I like dogs, and yet, I have a dog who I love with all my heart. I'm bad at chess, but I like to play. And even though I don't have a lot of time, I love to read. I like books so much and I have so many, but I haven't had a chance to read any of them.

In a sense, perhaps I like being a contradiction.

What do you like?

Allen.

That night, when Lavi returned from work, he went through his usual routine. After dinner, he fed the dog. Then he took a shower, dressed for bed, and stayed up to read. But now, the only change in that was spending the evenings immersed in Allen's letters instead of the pages of a novel. Sometimes it was just reading the notes and other times, it was writing them. That night, Lavi wrote his longest letter yet.

That's quite the list. Let's see if I can match it with as much feeling as yours.

I like this city. There's so much life here. You called it a pulse, I call it a heartbeat. It's like the city is alive. Everything from the sidewalks to the trees. It's amazing to feel such life in a place, like you can reach out and touch it, touch someone, almost. I guess that, being lonely myself, I notice the things others don't. You've noticed them too, I gather.

I like the buildings. They're so tall and speak of so much history. The windows look like diamonds in the right light. Have you ever been in the park when the sun is at about eleven in the morning? They all shimmer together with such light it's almost blinding, but so beautiful. At night, they light up like Christmas trees, but nicer, neater. I like the lines, the composition, the feeling it must have taken to create such structures. It must be the architect in me.

And I like other things too. Perhaps I'm a contradiction, too, because I like both the indoors and the outdoors, the heat and the cold. I like the seasons. Autumn is my favorite, for your favorite reason. The air feels so fresh, like there's never been any pollution at all. I like the colors of the trees, especially at this house when the sun rises. Fire has never looked prettier.

I like Japanese food. Fine dining is nice, but take-away is just as good. I don't like TV, but I like watching it sometimes. I like reading more. During those raining days you were talking about, there's nothing like a warm blanket out of the dryer and a good book. I like chai, too. I learned how to make it in India. I love the spicy smell to it, but that sweetness. It reminds me of the sunrises there and the scent of the markets just before the crowds get there. The sweet taste reminds me of that coffee shop on Second Street. It's probably not there anymore, for you at least.

I guess I like writing too, because this is the most I've ever written since college. Well, this is the most I've ever written on a personal letter. So, I can also conclude that I like talking to you.

Lavi

Before he could even wonder if that was inappropriate, he had put it in the mailbox and hadn't looked back.

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You know, we never talk about ourselves very much began Lavi's letter one day.

What do you want to talk about, then? Allen replied back.

Well, I mean…what do you do. I know you're a doctor, but what kind of doctor? Do you have any family? Are you married? What do you want to do with your life? Those sorts of things. We never talk about those sorts of things.

Okay. Well, let's see. I'm a successful neurosurgeon in Chicago. I come from a rich family where both of my parents love each other and have never been unfaithful. I'm married to a beautiful woman and we have five children. But none of them look like me. Perhaps I should be worried.

If that's so, then I'm a successful architect in Chicago. I also come from a rich family, where both of my parents loved me as much as they loved each other. We like to go fishing on the weekends and my mom makes a dinner every Sunday. I'm dating a hot Asian who goes both ways, so I'm used to having two women in my bed. It's going great.

These are such lies.

These are such lies, you're right.

Let's be honest then.

Let's.

You first.

You started it.

Allen laughed, pressing his pen to his lips as he thought. Timcanpy lay on his feet, snoring softly.

Fine. I'm a trauma specialist at Saint Joseph's. I work horrendous hours and the pay decent enough to get me an apartment, but not much more. After spending years interning at the Mayo Clinic, I finally got out here. It took me forever to be accepted. I slept in my adoptive-father's den for months. Yes, I am adopted. My father, Mana Walker, took me in when I was about seven. Good of him, really. He writes novels and is doing pretty well. For me, there's just work. Relationships have been only failures. I like my dog, Timcanpy, though. He's sleeping right now. Have you ever heard of a dog who snores?

Now, it's your turn.

Allen

The next morning, Allen found the reply waiting for him.

Well, that's interesting. Okay, here I go then. I'm an architect, but I build townhouses in the suburbs. I hate it, but I've got to do it, you know. My mom died when I was young and my dad left before I was old enough to understand anything. My grandfather took me in. His name is Johnathan Bookman, perhaps you've heard of him? He's a pretty prestigious architect in Chicago. Anyway, he raised me (kind of) and I went to school to build things like him. He builds beautiful things (probably to balance out all the ugly inside him?!) and I told myself I would too. But, I build the same house over and over again. It's terrible. And we don't talk anymore, my grandfather and I. We just don't. I think he's just angry and I'm bitter, I don't know.

But I do know about dogs who snore. Man! This mutt I took in keeps me up at night!

Lavi

So, no relationships then? Allen found himself asking, his cheeks hot as he wrote. He considered throwing it away, but didn't.

None. What about you?

None.

It's sad, isn't it?

Kind of.

Mine never work out.

Neither do mine.

That's what happens, I guess. Well, it's harder for me because I'm gay. Everyone just wants to fuck, whatever their sexual preference. It's just…I don't know how to describe it.

Allen read the lines over and over again. He couldn't believe that Lavi would throw something out like that with such a casual feeling. And he couldn't believe that he was speaking with someone who felt exactly like him—who was exactly like him. How unfair was it that they were so far apart?

You don't have to describe it. I understand. My past relationships have been the same way. This one guy I dated was only about that. Others were just…not the right ones, I guess. You don't think it's punishment, do you?

Of course not was the immediate response. How could you think that?

Well, you know. It's not exactly accepted.

Because people are too closed-minded. It doesn't matter if you're straight, gay, bi, transgender. It doesn't matter if you're white, black, Hispanic, Asian, Indian, purple, polka-dotted, whatever. Everyone deserves to love and be loved. It's all about finding that person who is perfect for you and not letting go, that's all.

Allen smiled.

You're right.

I know.

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Lavi was in a better mood than ever before. He had never felt such warmth in his chest before. Whenever he looked in the mailbox and saw that a letter awaited him, it filled him with happiness. He didn't want to know or understand the mystery of the letterbox. At this point, he was just glad to have been so lucky to find it; to find Allen.

"I want to do something special for him," Lavi told Kanda, when they went out drinking later that week. Kanda did a shot, pulling on his tie a bit.

"Is this your guy who doesn't really live where he says he lives?" Yuu asked, looking at him with a bored expression.

"Yeah," Lavi said, ignoring his friend's reaction to that word. "I just…I'm thinking I want to take him somewhere, you know."

"Then take him somewhere and stop bitching," Kanda suggested, pushing his bangs from his flushed face.

"It's complicated," Lavi replied, staring at his sweating beer.

"You're complicated," Kanda answered, taking another drink.

"He said he likes wine," Lavi said.

"I like wine," Kanda put in, slamming his beer down onto the counter.

"I don't think you need any," Lavi replied to him, giving him a look. Kanda had definitely had one too many, just judging from his color and disheveled appearance.

"Why don't we ever drink wine?" Kanda asked, that night when Lavi was dragging him home from the bar. Lavi laughed, sending up a cloud of white. It was cold, almost March, and the streets were slick with snow and ice.

"Because if you were sober you would know," Lavi answered. Kanda gripped his shoulder, stilling their staggering gait towards the smaller man's apartment.

"That doesn't answer my question," Kanda said.

"Because you're drunk," Lavi replied, trying to pull him along. Kanda must have been digging his heels into the ground to keep Lavi from moving him very far.

"Why?" Kanda asked again. His brown eyes were glassy because of the alcohol, shining from the light of the street lamp above their heads.

"Because, Yuu," Lavi said gently, not wanting to upset him in his state. "You're straight and I'm not. You don't want to drink wine with me because it's inappropriate. You drink wine with someone you love, or at least someone that you want to be romantically involved with." Kanda took a moment to process this information, turning his head to the side.

"Fine. Buy your butt slut wine and ignore me," Kanda said, seeming truly dejected.

"Yuu, don't get like this," Lavi murmured, shaking his head. Kanda had a terrible habit of sulking when he didn't get his way. This happened when he was sober too, but more often when he was inebriated.

"Get like what?"Kanda grumbled.

"Like you're jealous," Lavi said, pulling his drunken friend along.

"Maybe I am," Yuu replied.

"No," Lavi said, his smile falling slightly. He didn't know if it was in disappointment or for some other reason. "You're not."

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Allen had to return to work sooner or later. He wished that he could have spent more time at the lake house, exchanging letters with Lavi. The notes were scattered on the kitchen table from where Allen had been reading and rereading them. Lavi sounded so kind and so lonely. Every word reminded Allen of something he'd forgotten to put in his reply. He could have filled novels with his feelings and known that Lavi would have read them. How, Allen wasn't sure, but he knew Lavi would have.

I'm going to leave the lake house soon.

Why would you do something like that? Isn't the Lake House your home?

It is, but I have to go back to work. This was just…a reprieve for me.

I understand.

The two words hurt Allen deeper than he could explain. Leaving the lake house meant abandoning the correspondence with Lavi, didn't it? He ran his fingertips over the words, unable to ease the regret he felt. The next morning, when Allen was putting his belongings into the car, he checked the mailbox one last time out of habit. Inside, there was a thick envelope with his name upon it.

If it is our last time corresponding, then I want you to take a walk with me. Well, not precisely with me, but you understand…

Allen drove back to the city with the rest of the note unread. It sat in the passenger seat beside him for the entire trip, Allen biting his lip when he glanced at it. He couldn't shake the feeling of losing something important.

That Friday, he unpacked his things and reacquainted himself with his apartment. Timcanpy did not enjoy being back, as made apparent by his constant whining and jumping up onto the window seat to seek the sun. Allen lay on the couch and stared at the letter, not wanting to open it further. If he did, he would only want to talk to Lavi even more through that otherwise unappealing mailbox.

Saturday morning, start out at about nine. Walk towards Grassmarket out on James Boulevard.

Allen pulled his coat around himself as he followed the directions in the letter. It wasn't too early, so he had to wait a few times to cross the roads. People sped by in their cars without a glance at him, but that was fine with Allen. He pushed his hair from his eyes and walked, breathing in the March morning air. It was crisp, almost like autumn, but softer, hinting of the oncoming spring. The vendors were setting up their booths in the squares, along the sidewalks. It smelled like cooking fish, fresh vegetables, Earth, the ocean, coffee…the scent made Allen smile, closing his eyes for a brief moment to enjoy it. He listened to the sounds of people gathering their wares, arranging their products, peeling their produce. It was the heartbeat that Lavi had spoken of with such love and affection. It made Allen smile.

Go through there and get something to eat. Find a vendor there called Alambra's. Buy an authentic chai tea. He stirs it with a stick of cinnamon. It's the best in the city.

Allen found the place in question, surprised that it would be there in his time. Above his head, a peeling, faded sign read: Alambra's. Despite its wear, Allen could see its love, feel the compassion that the owner felt for it. It was his heartbeat in a city of heartbeats, pulsing the life that Allen felt rushing through his veins at that very moment. A man wearing a turban was happy to help him, preparing the hot drink in the most interesting of ways. It was a frothy result, stirred with a fresh cinnamon stick, just as Lavi had said. Allen also purchased a type of breakfast bread from the man, who smiled somewhat mysteriously upon seeing the letter in his hand.

"What is it?" Allen asked, feeling as if he was missing out on something.

"Love," said the man. Before Allen could ask another word, he told him: "Drink up and enjoy!" Allen folded up the letter and secured his breakfast, hurrying away towards the nearest clearing in the square. He sat down on an empty bench and took a sip of his drink, eyes widening at the flavor. It was everything Lavi had described: the spiciness, the sweet flavor, the warmth that spread through his body.

Now, relax and eat. Watch as the market gets busier. If you look at the buildings around you, you can play games as the shadows retreat into the crevices. Sometimes, they look like faces.

Allen did as Lavi suggested, watching and feeling as the city woke and came to life. Watching as the sun chased the darkness away. It brought more warmth to the chilly air. People began to come to the market as the faces appeared in the nooks and crannies of the old buildings. They weren't evil expressions like Allen thought. They were merely watching faces.

The guardians of the city of the wind.

When Allen was through with his snack, he continued to sit on his bench until it became too noisy to do so. Then, he removed the letter from his pocket and turned it to the next page, where more script awaited him.

Now, let's walk down towards the park. It's not that far. Only about fifteen minutes. Because it's so early, the baseball team won't be out there if you walk to the fields. Stand on second base and look at the city. It's sure to dazzle.

Allen walked the distance. The park was open and quiet. A few people were jogging, walking their dogs. Some children were laughing on the playground and at the skate park, Allen could hear the sounds of jamming metal music. He did not concern himself with this, searching for the baseball field. It was out further, closer to Birch than he remembered it. Just like Lavi said, it was empty. With certain steps, Allen walked through the red clay from first to second base. Then, he breathed in and turned around to face the city. It was the most breathtaking sight Allen had seen in a long time. He never imagined that the buildings could be so majestic or could provide such beautiful light.

If you can tear your eyes away, let's continue on. I love the historical district, don't you? All the houses are so interesting there. No two are alike. The streets are so narrow that it's cozy, not annoying. Let's enjoy the sights.

That was what the note said when Allen glanced at it again. And so, from the glittering buildings, he began walking towards the old portion of roads. The streets were old, lined with trees, protected historical sights. Lavi pointed out some of his favorite houses and explained the architecture, the stories, behind them. Allen was enthralled.

And what kind of walk would it be if we didn't have lunch? Let me treat you to something spectacular. Go to Schmidt's and take a seat at the bar. Tell them your name and my surprise should be there waiting for you.

Allen's brow furrowed, but he did as he was told, finding the restaurant. It wasn't busy, just opening for the afternoon rush, and so when Allen stepped inside, he was assisted immediately.

"Can I help you?" asked the bartender.

"Um, I'm here…" Allen didn't know what to say, putting his letter into his pocket. "M-My name is Allen Walker. A friend of mine…told me to come…" The man looked at him, eyes rather wide, blinking too often to be normal.

"You say Allen Walker?" he asked, as if he had misheard.

"Y-Yes," Allen said, a bit hesitantly.

"Take a seat," said the bartender, pointing at the empty bar. Allen did so, shaking all the while. What was Lavi's plan in all of this anyway? He didn't want to read ahead, pleased with the surprises that Lavi had in store for their walk that day. So, Allen sat silently, his curiosity burning and fingers curling around the hem of his coat with anticipation. The bartender returned a few moments later, but did not put him out of his misery. A brown, wooden box was placed before him, his name written in permanent marker on the side in a familiar scrawl.

"I had to pry the top off it," the bartender told him, indicating the top that was missing. He wiped his forehead on his sleeve with a laugh. "I've been wondering what was in that box for years, you know." Allen swallowed and leaned forward to look inside. There was another letter and…a bottle of fine wine.

Surprise! The note said. You said you liked merlot, so I bought this when Schmidt's first opened. I asked them to let you have it when you came in and they agreed. Drink up! It's on me. –Lavi

The bartender brought him a glass, opened the bottle and poured him the wine. Aged, it tasted wonderful. Bitter, but not too bitter. The flavor was sad. Red wine was the drink of the lonely, wasn't it?

After his wine, the bartender packed it up for him and asked him to come back sometime. His co-workers would love to put the name to a face. Allen smiled faintly, assuring him that he would do so. He wanted to know what Lavi looked like, but since the bartender hadn't known what was in the box, then he wouldn't have known the purchaser either. With a thanks, Allen left and walked out into the sunny afternoon.

I hope you enjoyed it. When I tasted it for the first time, it reminded me of us, somehow. There's something very sad about this, isn't there?

Allen couldn't agree more. He stood on the corner and looked down at his shoes, shaking his head. The entire day would have been so much better if Lavi had been there with him. His fingers clutched at the letter, reading the last sentence there with a bitter smile.

I know what you're thinking. But didn't we have a great time today? I know I did. Look north towards the freeway.

Doing so, Allen's eyes filled with tears he didn't bother to wipe away. The wine was still tart upon his tongue, reminding him of the relationship with person two years in the past, on the other side of the mailbox. The person who he had enjoyed the day with, despite being in two different times.

But didn't we have a great time today? I know I did was what he said. Before Allen's eyes, the freeway. Below it, an aged brick wall covered in graffiti. But what caught his eye were the words in black, nearly at the top, as if to escape the art down below. They were clear, bold, and went right to Allen's heart:

Allen, I'm here with you. Thanks for the wonderful Saturday together.