The courier clerk smiled fetchingly. Oh, it was times like these that made her job worthwhile. Dealing with lecherous co-workers and not knowing if your next delivery would be to a house with hungry pitbulls waiting in the yard? If it meant a day like today, delivering a parcel to a famous, sexy, sleep-rumpled man, then HELL YEAH. And didn't the celebrity tabloid say Sean Bean's birthday was this week? Lucky bastard, getting a present this big!
The box is huge; the clerk can barely wheel the delivery cart through the door. Sean gives the package a once-over -- Viggo's distinctive scrawl is all over it -- and signs the delivery slip with a pleased grunt.
The clerk smiles again, hoping for an autograph or even a smoldering "Thanks, love," but Sean is too interested in the package to notice. "Thank you. And have a nice day," she adds, bitterly disappointed as he rushes her out the door and shuts it.
The box stands imposingly in his hallway, like the monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey. The hugeness of it mocks him as he thinks of the last time they saw each other: six months ago (practically to the day) and frustrated that they could never manage to be in the same place at the same time for long enough. They'd argued about it for awhile, and when that didn't work they tried to screw the problem into oblivion. Which also, naturally, hadn't worked (though he certainly couldn't complain about the quality of the sex.) And they'd left it at that, unresolved and unfinished.
Sean reckons this gift is probably Viggo's way of apologizing. Wish it was more than that... Christ, I'm allowed to be greedy and selfish for once! It's my birthday, right? Or maybe it's a kiss-off gift. Those are always the worst. Well, let's find out.
He sighs heavily, and appraises the package. Truly, the only thing that comes in boxes this large is a washing machine.
As he hunts for the kitchen shears, Sean has a fleeting thought of Viggo having somehow packed himself into this monster box and shipping himself halfway across the world. The guy was most likely capable of such bizarre things; Sean had been at the receiving end of one too many Mortensen pranks in New Zealand to believe otherwise.
He struggles to slice the seams open, but they're sturdily duct-taped. Fuck. Bloody wanker.
He finally gets the top flaps undone, and carefully peels them back to reveal a mountain of foam packing peanuts. There's a note stuck (also with duct tape) to the top of the pile:
THE FOAMY PEANUTS ARE MADE FROM POTATO STARCH & ARE BIODEGRADABLE. JUST DISSOLVE THEM IN WATER AND YOU CAN POUR IT ON YOUR GARDEN. THANK YOU.
Yeah, that was Viggo all right.
Sean hefts up his sleeves, curls his upper body forward into the box, and starts digging. Peanuts cascade like water over the sides of the box, carpeting his polished hardwood floor, but he doesn't care.
His hand strikes something hard. Excited now, he burrows a bit farther down and pulls out a large box, wrapped in plain brown paper. And more duct tape. Oh, most definitely Viggo's handiwork.
Nearly slicing his thumb off in the process, he whacks through the silver tape and brown paper with the tip of the shears. The paper turns out to be several layers thick, so he wrangles a corner free and just starts ripping. Sean frowns; there's something printed on the back of one layer. "Whole Foods Organic Market, Los Angeles California." What, the bastard couldn't afford proper gift wrap? He starts to wonder if thought was actually put into this gift or if it's of the last-minute "can't really be bothered" variety. Or maybe the kiss-off variety...
Finally, the last pieces of paper are ripped away and he's holding a large paperboard box, medium weight, painted a brilliant blue with random emerald green smudges. He sits down on the floor and scrutinizes it. "Happy birthday Sean / much love, Vig" is written in red calligraphy on one panel, and something in Sean melts as he reads the words. He touches the lettering reverently, running his fingertips across it. Looks like it took a lot of time to make...
As beautiful as the box is, his curiosity is really getting the better of him now. He turns the box around to find the openings, and squints at the seams. It appears Viggo had duct-taped this one too -- before he painted it. Sean sighs, hating to cut open the lovely artwork, but he hasn't much choice.
The top of the box folds back with a creak (as far as painted boxboard can creak, anyway) and he stares at a ton of crumpled-paper balls. They look mottled, like expensive rice paper. Hmmmm, okay. Suppose more burrowing is in order...
But as he tosses a few aside, he notices they have dark markings, like there's something written on the other side of the paper. He picks one ball up and carefully un-crumples it, smoothing it out on the floor beside him. In giant block letters, it says:
ANYMORE SO INSTEAD I
Huh? He reads it again, confused in his early-morning haze, and notices there's a circled number 22 in the top right corner. Huh?
He picks up another ball and smoothes it out. This one also has a number in the top right corner, 8, and some equally-abstract words printed on it. Sean suddenly clues in and grins. Okay, Vig, I get your game.
It takes him more than 20 minutes (and two cups of coffee) to carefully flatten out all the balls of paper and arrange them according to number. Finally he stands up, knees aching, and steps back to read the letter that's currently covering his entire hallway floor.
Dear Sean,
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
Look, I miss you. A lot. I'm so sorry about everything -- that we haven't been able to make this work, that we've both been stubborn, that we keep making excuses, and so on. I'm not sorry about all the sex though. Obviously. I hope you're not either.
You know I'm not very good at saying these things, but I can't go on like this anymore so instead I (the next two papers were torn quite a bit and Sean couldn't make out the words) and there's something I want to give you so we can hopefully move forward. It's
-- SORRY OUT OF THIS KIND OF PAPER SO CONTINUED IN A REGULAR LETTER CHECK YOUR MAILBOX HOPE IT'S ARRIVED BY NOW, LOVE VIG
"Oh, bloody hell!" Anticipation and frustration mix with emotion, all of it bubbling over in a loud shout. Sean runs for the front door, stomping on the assorted letter pieces and stumbling over the carpet of packing peanuts in his haste to get to the post.
He charges through the front door and smacks right into a beaming Viggo, who's holding up a large blue envelope addressed in the same red calligraphy as the box.
"Oh, look, Sean! It's arrived!"
Stunned, Sean can only stare as Viggo pulls him close into a hug and whispers, "We've got a lot to talk about, Sean. And then I'm going to give you your birthday present..."