Return to sender

Developments

You'd taken the letter home, no fear of repercussions as the mail technically wasn't for your company, data protection the furthest thing from your thoughts. Reading over it again while you sat on the couch, a strange sensation crept over your skin, invaded deep inside and it gave you a probably stupid sense of excitement. One random note from fuck knows who had caused such a reaction, return address hundreds of miles away and the writer could be anyone, a sixty year old man or a horny teen. It didn't feel like that though, some odd certainty that this person might be quite the interesting find and you grabbed a pad, intent on doing this by hand to mirror the other's methods. Tapping a pen to your lips, you wondered what the hell you were actually going to write - coarse language was obviously ok, which was good. It came all too easily to suppress sufficiently.

Ten minutes passed by and all you'd managed to achieve was 'To the man concerned with my perfume…' and even that sounded shit. Keeping it in style seemed the correct option though, it added that facet of humour which had gripped your attention in the first place. Clearing your mind, you tried to estimate a date for his second reply, knowing how your letter would have made it there the next day yet his took two to reach your office. Perhaps the mail system in his small town wasn't as evolved as your city network, able to receive but not send so swiftly. So if you posted this tomorrow, give and take for the weekend, Tuesday would be the very latest date that this person would get your response, meaning his part would follow by Thursday. If. If you posted it, if he replied, if the world didn't cause a flood or something to delay the vans. As much as your livelihood depended on this old version of corresponding, right now email sounded great.

~~~~~~

Your suppositions had been incorrect, a damp and dreary Monday being the date that Levi's heart fluttered as he carefully picked up the envelope, scrawl much more guided and neat than the last one but he recognised it instantly, lifting his newest message to sniff. Smiling, the man placed it back down, senses filled with that summery flavour and he left your letter to one side, meaning to savour the thrill and prolong his excitement. It was a kind of sweet torture, turning to the other weekend mail instead and drawing out the moment of unveiling.

He worked slowly as always, flick of the wrist cutting each and every package correctly as a small smirk remained on his lips, joy dancing in often matte orbs and transforming the male's stare to a melding pot of expression. It wouldn't take long to get through his work as usual, however the languid movements applied meant it could be an hour before he opened your reply, maybe more if he did his rounds first too. Teasing himself, Levi huffed a tiny laugh at his behaviour, a strange form of foreplay almost - skirting around the main event like finger tips circling flesh, never touching what begged to be stroked.

"What the fuck am I doing?" Speaking into the silent office, he shook his head and began the first pile of paperwork, lithe digits securing multiple pages in a clip to ensure the whole bundle made it out complete. "She's probably just told me to piss off and stop being such a weird bastard." He was convinced you were female given the scent and before he could stop himself, the item was snatched up again, pure fields of petals causing his lids to flutter closed and take him on a journey, flown away from his shitty little coastal village and this godforsaken building. Outside might have been getting ravaged by a storm blown in from the sea but he wouldn't know, lack of windows preventing any type of reality so he sat back and imagined. Imagined grass and leaves, sun and warmth, a soothing breeze…"Fuck…"

"Talking to yourself again, Levi?"

Upright in seconds, the flash of silver appeared before dwindling into a speck of white, real life hitting hard in the towering form of his manager.

"I've got no one else to talk to so why the fuck not, Mike." Leaving it as a statement, the pale man regained himself and lifted his sharp, gleaming knife. "What brings you down into the depths of hell today?"