Fic: The Postcard

[ladytauriel]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Fandom: BBC Merlin Real Person Fanfiction
Pairing: Brolin (Bradley James/Colin Morgan)
Word Count: 4,623
Summary: Katie, a post office clerk, mistakenly thinks that a handsome blonde customer is trying to get her attention by writing open love letters on postcards.
Author's Notes: This fic is completely based on the Korean short gay film The Postcard. I changed the ending to make it happier, because I just can't bear the non-resolution of the actual short film. The dialogue, summary, and title and shamelessly ripped off from the film! This one isn't as famous as Eu Não Quero Voltar Sozinho, so you probably haven't seen it! Watch it!

Thanks so much to LarielAris for beta-ing this fic, too. You're so great! <3

This is written for the Week 2, Day 6 prompt for Team Arthur of the BBC Merlin Fest. The Casting: The Merlin cast is probably one of the main reasons why we love this show so much. Show us why! You can do anything that is related to one or more members of the cast. I am, again, very late. I'm really sorry, once again!

Angel and Katie sit together behind the post office counter, halfway through their first week at their new job, bored out of their minds this early in the morning, while Colin bustles around the office, gathering post from the previous day for his morning's delivery. No one ever shows up at a post office at six in the morning, and yet still they sit here. Katie yawns soundly, letting her head fall onto her forearms. Angel ignores her, continuing to read as she has been for the past half hour of their work shift.

"What are you even reading?" Katie asks, eyeing Angel warily.

"A poem," Angel responds casually, "by Walt Whitman."

"Oh god, are you still stuck on classics, Angel?" Katie groans.

"I'm surprised you even knows who Walt Whitman is, Katie," Angel responds, glancing at Colin, who snickers along with her. "At least I find a way to entertain myself during the boring parts of work."

"Ugh, work" Katie grumbles. "I don't want to work. I shouldn't have to; when there's absolutely no way anyone will show up at this time, anyways."

"That's not news," Angel laughs. "You never want to work."

"That's because there no work to do!" Katie complains. Their boss shushes her, and she sinks a little lower into the chair, shooting a playful grin at Angel.

That moment, however, the doorbell rings, signaling the entrance of a customer. It’s is a man, with fluffy golden hair, protruding cheekbones, a strong build that is softened by his white t-shirt and grey sweatpants. He looks like a lost puppy, looking around for his missing owner, and Katie feels a twinge of sympathy for him. More than a twinge, actually, as suddenly, her heart starts to beat faster. This man may look shy, but he's absolutely gorgeous. It wouldn't be like her not to notice that. She sits up a little straighter, flipping her hair over her shoulder in the process, and rings the bell on her desk to signify her station's vacancy. The man is holding a little postcard, kneading it in his fingers nervously. He is biting his red, plush lower lip and Katie's heart contracts in a mixture of sympathy and adoration. He makes his way to her as soon as he hears the bell, and Angel looks over to her in disbelief and jealousy. She throws her a smirk of self-satisfaction, and Angel mouths, 'Are you serious?' Then she rings the bell at her own station. The man looks to her with a puzzled expression.

"I thought you didn't want to work," Angel adds to Katie in an undertone, then looking back at the man with a smile.

Katie glares at Angel, trying to throw as many daggers as possible with one look alone. "I changed my mind," she growls. She rings her bell again, and now the man just looks completely confused. Angel, damn her, rings her bell once again without fail, and Katie is absolute furious. It will have persisted into a completely war for the attention of their shy, exquisite customer, if not for their boss, who barks at them it cut it out and get back to work. Unfortunately for Katie, Angel got the last ring, so the man makes his way over to Angel's side of the counter. He approaches cautiously, sliding the postcard across the table towards Angel.

"May I please send this to the indicated address?" he asked.

Angel gapes for a second, struck dumb by his velvety voice. She has to force herself to recover in half a second. "Of course," she says, flustered. It's Katie's turn to smirk.

"Oh it's a postcard!" Angel exclaims happily. "It's so pretty.”

Katie rolls her eyes,irritated by Angel's blatant flirting, despite the fact that she probably would have said the same thing and more.

The man looks slightly uncomfortable, and Angel takes pity on him. "That'll be fifteen pence." The man hands over a few coins, nods in sent thanks, and walks out in the direction from which he came.

Angel is about to pile the postcard away for Colin to deliver later, when Katie tries to snatch it out of her hands. Angel pulls it out of reach. "Don't even think about it," she growls.

"Oh, I will," Katie assures her. "Let me see."

"Obviously I won't. It's an extreme breach of privacy."

"Well, I said yes, so give it here." With that, Katie reaches and snatches it out of Angel's fingers, looking at the messy crawl that decorates the back of the postcard.

'Your eyes are like the stormy seas that fill my heart when I look at you,' it reads. 'Your cascading hair is like a pillow in which I would like to bury myself forever. Your uniform, hanging lightly off of your shoulders, draws my arms towards you.'

Katie scoffs, pushing it back towards Angel. What an adorable love letter it was. However, the only thing that mattered to Katie is whether she can make the man shimmy out of his tight jeans later. From the clear declaration of love on the postcard, she can't, because he isn't available.

Angel reads it, looking up thoughtfully. "I wonder who it’s for," she muses.

"Probably for someone just as otherworldly and perfect," Katie says with a sigh.

"It doesn't have a return address, either," Angel mentions. "Why wouldn't he write one?"

"It looks like someone already has him as a secret admirer," Katie says sourly. It isn't her lucky day.

~

Bradley lies in his empty room, waiting for the clock to strike four in the afternoon. It's truly quite empty: he moved in just a month ago, and nothing has motivated him to decorate his flat with more than the minimal necessities. His blank, white walls bear down on him, and he almost regrets not having enough energy after his move here to make them less imposing friendlier. Frankly, his parents' death in the car accident one month prior sucked all of the energy out of him, and all he could do was flee, away from the place where he was raised, where the memories of the two people who loved him most in the world still linger. Forgive Bradley for not having the enthusiasm to decorate his walls with his multitude of diplomas of primary school achievements. Instead, the only personal commodity that stays in sight is the calendar in the shape of a triangular prism, with one stamp of an airplane carefully placed over the little box that marks the previous day.

Bradley first saw the postman roughly two weeks ago, when he came to the post office to send in a letter explaining his resignation from the acting business to his agent, including a letter of recommendation for future clients. All Bradley wants to do is curl up in a ball and do nothing. It feels as if his parents took his whole heart with him, and now there is none left to give to his dying passion for acting. It was at this post office where he unintentionally glanced at the man, feeling immediately as if his world once again tilted on its axis. This time, however, it was a reason completely opposite to the death of loved ones.

While Bradley does not even know the name of the scrawny man, everything about his appearance and personality captivates him immensely. His postman's uniform hangs off of his bony shoulders awkwardly, and his wavy tufts of dark hair keep falling into his eyes whenever he bends over to pick up large packages that people roll in. His lips are a lush red, and all Bradley wants to do is gather the man into his arms and cling to him for all of eternity. He does not know whether it is a side effect of grief, loneliness, and lack of physical comfort, but he is drawn to the man like the tide to the moon.

He continues to see the postman when he enters the office, to send in personal belongings or important letters to the people he left behind in his hurry to move. However, it is was only yesterday when the man appeared at the doorstep of his flat block, delivering a response from his ex-agent and the passed on packages and letters of concern from his acquaintances in the acting business. Bradley ran downstairs as fast as his feet carried him, looking from behind the stairwell to see the man place his mail in the mailbox with a gentle and genuine smile before leaving. When Bradley took the mail, he noticed a small stamp left behind: one with an airplane.

Today, Bradley hears the clock strike four in the afternoon, which is the time the postman arrived the previous day, and runs downstairs once again. He is out of breath by the time he reaches the edge of the wall that hides him from the view of the mailbox, where he indeed sees the postman standing. He is holding the postcard in his hand, and there is a barely visible lift to the corner of his lips. However, Bradley is tired, can barely hold in his puffs of breath, and has to clutch a hand to his chest to calm it down. The postman lifts his head and turns towards the corner of the wall, behind which Bradley cowers, and the latter has to stumble backward to prevent any part of his body for being seen. When he hears the sound of footsteps, gradually fading, he runs towards the mailbox and opens it. Out falls the postcard and a stamp with an airplane.

The stamp takes its place in the little box on the calendar that marks the date of today.

~

The next day at the post office is busy, and Katie and Angel are both busy with the acceptance of packages and letters. Katie spots the light-haired man from yesterday first, however, but she doesn't ring the bell when her station is free. He's second in line after an old woman that's holding a large pot in her hands, and Katie thinks that she'll let Angel take that one. When the woman Angel was occupied with walks away from her station, Angel starts powdering her cheeks and nose behind the counter urgently, apparently having already seen the man. Katie, scoffing, reaches to snap the mirror that Angel is holding closed and ringing the bell for her. Angel looks up at her in disbelief, but it's too late, and the older woman with the pot already makes her way towards Angel. Katie snorts and puts on her best smile for the man, ringing the bell for him to come forward.

"What's this?" Angel asks, scowling, referring to the enormous clay pot that the woman heaves into the countertop.

"It's soybean paste for my grandson," she responds proudly.

"You are required to send that in a box, ma'am," Angel replies with more than a hint of irritation in her voice and expression.

"A box?" the woman asks, appearing extremely surprised, as if it was more abnormal to send packages in boxes than in fragile, breakable pots. "Whatever for?"

Angel stands and leans over the counter towards the pot, opening it to reveal what appeared to be several kilograms of soybean paste. An unpleasant smell wafts towards her nose, and she closed the pot as fast as possible. "You wish to send this in a pot?" she asks in disbelief.

"What else do I send it in?" the woman has the nerve to ask.

Angel sighs, realising that the woman is a force to be reckoned with, and definitely not by her. "Colin, can you come here for a moment?" she calls. Colin bounces over towards them, and she gestures towards the pot. "Can you package this up for this woman?"

He removes the lid gently, not even flinching from the strong smell. The handsome customer, having stopped along with Katie to watch the proceedings at Angel's station, looks at Colin with an indecipherable expression.

"Ah!" he exclaims excitedly, with an Irish accent that is thicker than Katie's own. "Soybean paste it is. My own mother loves making it for me and sending it my way. I'll have it packaged carefully and sent off to your grandson in no time, ma'am!" With that, he carries off the pot, the woman following.

The blonde customer finally turns towards Katie and hands over a package, a postcard attached to it. Katie inspects it, and expectedly finds no return address. As innocently and sweetly as possible, she says, "I apologise, sir, but to send packages, you must write the return address."

The man shuffles on his feet uncomfortably. "I absolutely must?" he asks awkwardly.

"Yes," Katie nods, smiling. "It is a mailing policy that must be followed. Here’s is a pen."

Accepting the pen, the man leans over, a tuft of golden hair falling into his eyes. "One second," he mutters, writing the address.

When he leaves, Katie inspects the package, intrigued by the mail that the man turned in today. Looking at the postcard, she notices something extremely weird. "Angel, look. Is it just my imagination, or are the recipient address and the return address one and the same?"

"Everything is your imagination, Katie, as we can see by your belief that every man wants you," Angel teases, taking the postcard nonetheless. Her eyes widen when she notices that Katie is correct. It's strange and completely inexplicable. "I don't understand. Has he been sending these postcards to himself? Why would anyone do that?"

Katie takes the postcard again, inspecting and reading it carefully. When it finally hits her, her eyes almost widen to the size of flying saucers. "I can't believe it. Listen, it's says, 'I saw you smile gently while reading the postcard yesterday. The happiness in your expression made my heart race in your presence once again. If you don't mind, would you like to meet up?' Do you remember what he wrote yesterday?" Angel shakes her head. "Something about eyes, hair, and smile," Katie remembers. It's all fitting together like the pieces of a beautiful puzzle. She can barely believe it. Are they really meant for her? "He has good taste," she mutters smugly.

"Yeah, right," Angel scoffs in disbelief, realising what Katie is thinking and plucking the postcard out of her grabby hands. "He gave the postcard to me." Angel doesn't actually think that the mysterious man is in any way interested in her, but she doesn't want Katie to be too encouraged by this recent progression of events.

Katie reclaims the postcard, turning to face Angel haughtily. "But today, he smiled at me."

Angel shakes her head with silent laughter, realising that arguing with stubborn headed Katie is useless. "Yeah, I saw that too. He was smirking at you."

"What?!" Katie practically shrieks, boggling at her. "What's wrong with me?" However, their conversation is interrupted and when their boss slams his arm down on the table between them, cutting Katie's fuming and Angel's possible responses immediately. Angel hopes that Katie doesn't take her imagination and fascination with the man out of the context of their boring office job.

At the end of the work day, when they're changing out of their uniforms, however, Angel realides that her hopes are pointless. Katie removes high heels from her locker before applying dark makeup, and t contrasts with her dark locks and eyebrows. She looks stunningly beautiful, and Angel is worried that Katie is taking this whole thing with handsome stranger quite too far.

"You're not seriously going to his flat right now, are you?" she asks

"Why do you care?" Katie asks, giving Angel the evil eye.

"Wow, you really are an insane risk taker. You don't even know his name, and you definitely don't know whether the postcard is meant for you. And if it is, what if he tries to touch you?"

Katie laughs, but it's not a happy sound. "I'm not some virgin, Angel. I can handle it."

Angel sighs, leaving Katie alone. It's clearly what she wants. Angel isn't jealous of Katie anymore in regards to the man's attention, not in the slightest. Yes, she would have liked the opportunity to meet with him alone as much as the next woman, but something in her gut tells her that it's not Katie or Angel that he's going for, no matter the mysteries of the postcards. Either way, Katie will find out whether or not Angel's speculations are true when she meets up with him later today.

~

Colin tries to walk calmly towards the stranger's block of flats from where he parked his scooter, but it's practically impossible. The excitement that courses through his veins turns into pure adrenaline, and it’s as if he’s on another sugar high. As soon as he is at the mailbox, he can remove the package from his bag and see if his suspicions are correct. He almost doesn't dare hope that the postcard might be meant for him. After all, it's infinitely more likely that a secret admirer of the handsome individual is sending him these letters, but he can't help but hope.

Colin first saw the man two weeks ago, when he first came to the post office, before Angel and Katie had been hired. He looked incredibly tired and sad, and Colin's heart felt like it was being squeezed in his chest from a single look at him. He had no idea how to approach him, because the man looked shy and reluctant to speak, but he knew at that moment that all he wanted was to hold the man's face in his hands and tell him that all would be okay. And, of course, give him the biggest and tightest hug of a lifetime. If anyone needs a hug from Colin, it is that man.

Colin collects stamps with airplanes. It's just a habit that he picked up as a postman, and the airplanes were just a random choice that evolved from the fact that he owned five random airplane stamps at the time. Sometimes, he brings a few stamps with hi, just in case. He doesn't know, exactly, in which situation he would need stamps, until he delivers the first series of packages to the man's home. He recognises the recipient address on them as the return one the man used on the letters he sends in on the very first day. He sees it when he delivers them to the intercity post office that day. Colin first starts to place stamps in his mail that same day. Having his collection always makes him feel grounded, and maybe the man will feel the same way.

Now, he stands in front of the stranger's mailbox, removing the package and the attached postcard from his bag. With trembling fingers, he detaches the postcard from the string that holds it to the package, and reads it, 'I saw you smile gently while reading the postcard yesterday. The happiness in your expression made my heart race in your presence once again. If you don't mind, would you like to meet up?'

His heart stops from disbelief and a dizzying mixture of relief and overwhelming happiness. The postcards are for him, for him. He smiled while reading the sweet thing written on the postcard yesterday, almost letting himself wonder whether or not it was possible for the postcard to be for him. He also knows that it was an adorable proclamation of interest, no matter who the senders or recipients are. His eyes are a blue-grey, and his messy hair falls in his eyes quite often when he bends down for any particular reason. And he wears a uniform! And yesterday, when he read the letter, he almost thought he heard the sound of someone breathing, coming from the other side of the wall that blocks off the building's flights of stairs. Maybe it was the man, running down to see if Colin arrived? It's almost too good to be true. Colin checks the return address on the postcard: today, it must be there, as it is a full package that he sends. It is the same as the recipient address, and he knows that it can only confirm that the man means for Colin to see the messages while delivering them back to his home. Colin grins for a few moments, clutching the latest postcard to his chest, rocking back and forth on his heels. Not wanting to waste any time that he might have with the man today before returning to work, and with an intense, burning desire to know everything about the man, from his name to his deepest worries, that cloud his piercing blue eyes, Colin rounds the corner of the building's wall, immediately rushing up the stairwell that is situated behind it. He runs and runs, all the way to the fourth level, where he knows the man's flat to be from the address. However, what he sees before his eyes makes his heart plummet, spiraling down as fast as it soared.

Katie McGrath, the beautiful, confident new lady that works at the post office, is standing in front of the entrance of the man's flat, looking at him through the open door. Her curled long locks cascade over her fragile shoulders; her sea-blue eyes look like the sparkling ocean surface under the sunlight; her smile is mischievous and playful. Colin thinks that he can feel his heart lying where his toes are, being stepped on relentlessly.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Katie says, twisting a strand of hair around her finger. "The traffic was really bad today."

Colin can't bear to see anymore. With a hot prickling sensation pulling somewhere behind his eyes, he flees in the directions from which he comes.

~

"Excuse me?" Bradley says, looking at the office woman in expectation. He has no idea why she's here, but from the the way she tried to steal his attention away from the co-worker and the way she is eyeing him right now, he can put two and two together. She's interested in him, and that has never led to good things working out before.

"Do you need something?" he tries to ask as politely as possible.

She stares at him, her expression changing from one to expectation to discomfort. The silence stretches into awkwardness that Bradley knows will be pointless in trying to avoid. "Ah, well," she finally tries, "I read the postcards, and I thought... I thought that maybe..." She shuffles on her feet, trying to find the right words to express herself, all cockiness disappearing,

She trails off, but Bradley is no longer thinking of her, no. He suddenly remembers Colin, who comes to his flat at four in the afternoon. It's already four minutes past. He can see by looking at the clock, and he knows that it's roughly at this time that the mail arrives. If he read the postcard, then he will probably have come upstairs towards Bradley's flat, believing that they are meant for him. And they are. But if Colin has already been witness to Bradley’s interaction with Angel, they he now has the completely wrong idea, which might cause him to walk away forever. And Bradley can’t let that happen.

Even while conflicted with his emotions, unsure of the reason behind Colin's absence, Bradley knows that he needs to go downstairs, see if he can find him. He steps clumsily into a pair of sneakers, steps outside, and closes the flat behind him. The woman looks surprised, almost hopeful, but Bradley just mutters an "excuse me" and runs as fast as possible. He can hear footsteps when he arrives at the stairwell, which is at the bottom of his hallway: footsteps that are not his own. He rushes down, determined to catch the man before he has the opportunity to speed away from his life. Stopping at the bottom of the steps, Bradley sees him, pacing restlessly by his scooter, wiping at his eyes.

Bradley steps forward to where he will be able to see him. "Colin?" he calls tentatively.

Colin looks up with a mixture of surprise as fear. He brushes a strand of curly hair out of his eyes, which are red from fallen tears. Colin looks lost, guilty, uneasy, as if someone just caught him in an act of crime. He waves his hands in an attempt to do something with them, spinning around as if searching for something. Finally, his gaze settles on Bradley's mailbox behind him. He takes out the package with the postcard that Bradley himself has sent, hovers with it for a second, and comes towards Bradley to thrust it into his hand. "Here's your mail, sir," he says.

Bradley slowly accepts the package and the postcard from Colin, never looking away from his face as he does so. Colin holds his gaze before looking down with a sniffle. Bradley's heart sinks. It's obvious that Colin saw him speak with the clerk, and that he now believes that the postcards are intended for her. Bradley never meant for that to happen; it creates the unforeseen complications of Colin's broken heart, and Bradley can almost feel his own crack in response.

When Colin moves to pull away, Bradley catches his wrist. Colin recoils as if shocked, pulling his wrist out of Bradley's grasp. However, he stops walking, and turns to face Bradley once again. "Yes?" he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

Bradley steps forward and they're so close once again. "This," he says, extending his right arm, which holds the mail, "is for you."

After an endless moment of consideration, Colin mutely accepts the items, but something in him changed. Tangible sadness leaves his eyes, and a painful weight from his shoulders seems lifted. His eyes skim the postcard, crinkling lightly at the edges. Bradley can't help himself - he places a hand on Merlin's upper arm, leans in, and gently kisses the corner of the soft crinkles that form. Colin freezes, and Bradley feels a cold fear flood his heart, but Colin doesn't pull away. Instead, he looks down at the package, removing the parcel paper with thin fingers until it reveals a small, plain box. Inside it is a folded calendar in the shape of a triangular prism. When Colin puts it together, making it stand up three dimensionally, Bradley flips to today's month and date.

There are airplane stamps for the last two days, and Colin skims his fingers over them reverently. Bradley takes those fingers with one hand, bringing them up to his lips and placing a gentle kiss on each knuckle. The corners of Colin's ears turn a dark shade of pink, and he ducks his head in embarrassment. Bradley, however, asks Colin to look up at the calendar once more.

When Colin stills underneath his fingertips, Bradley knows that he has noticed the scrawling letters, as they run across the page for the whole month. For each date following the airplane stamps, Bradley has written something for Colin. It's about his smile, his hair, his eyes, his uniform, his kindness, his happiness. At the bottom of the page for this month, however, it reads, 'Colin, I would like to spend each of these days with you, instead of marking stamps for every time you come to my mailbox. I would like to have you near me for as long as possible, instead of having to remain in the distance and only notice you from afar. - Bradley'

When Colin looks up at him, his eyes wide and earnest, his body humming with energy right in his arms, there is nothing stopping Bradley from giving him their first sweet kiss.