Work Text:
George wasn’t one to say he hated his job, but going through packages like this really made him hate his job. He had to hand-check all the ones that didn’t quite make it through the scanner, and this particular package was stuffed with so many packing peanuts and so much shredded paper that the image of what was actually in it was distorted and irregular. Or maybe it wasn’t, and George just couldn’t believe such a thing was being sent to Adam Parrish, of all people.
It turned out to be the latter.
The thing was that Adam got mail every week. Almost every day. Not just packages, but letters, postcards, envelopes upon envelopes upon envelopes. He’d become friends with George simply because of the fact that he walked to see him every day at mail call, and it had gotten to the point at which George could ask, what’s the news this week? and Adam would tell him, my friends are in Argentina, or my daughter needs new boots, or my boyfriend drove his car off a barn roof. He’s fine! It’s fine. George was never quite sure if he was kidding or not, but Adam’s mail was Adam’s mail, and Adam was Adam, which was to say, intriguing.
Now, with his hands covered in dust from packing peanuts, George was unsure of how to process and respond to the object in the box. It was distinctly patterned like the Irish flag, but also distinctly shaped like a penis. Could it have been a misaddress? Or some kind of switch? Stranger things had happened before.
He decided to call.
“Hello?”
“Adam? Hey. It’s George, in the mailroom. There’s a package down here for you, but-”
“Oh, do you want me to come and pick it up?”
George paused. “I think it might be a mistake.”
There was rustling on the other end of the line, then a muffled curse. “I’ll come and look at it.”
When Adam got down to George’s room, he took one look at the box and turned red.
“Is it yours?”
“Yeah.” He raked a hand through his hair and pulled it slightly. His ears were pink. “Listen, I’m sorry about that. I can’t believe…”
“Yeah, no, no problem, man.” George re-folded the box lid and handed it to him, feeling his own face warm. As Adam started to walk back up the hall, phone pressed to his ear, George heard him say,
"Ronan? Jesus Christ. No, I- did you really? ... Yes, I recognize it. Fuck off..."
Intriguing.