marlon brando hated you. he hated a lot of people, but you the most. he had never met a woman so...independent. a woman who didn't fall on her knees before him, blush when he complimented her. a woman he didn't have to work for, he simply had them.

but you were someone he had to chase. he had to watch his words, his tone, his attitude. it both irritated him, and attracted him. and most of all, he wasn't one to give up.

it was like clockwork for him, everyday, he would meet you outside your place of work - sometimes with flowers or food - and walk you home. on weekends, when you didn't work, he made sure to leave a letter in your mailbox. you always checked your mailbox on saturdays, just before noon. every saturday and sunday, you either found a letter or a poem by marlon. sometimes, a small gift - like earrings or small paintings he had done himself.

this saturday was no different. and you had started to grow accustom to marlon being in your life. you went to your mailbox, expecting a new pointless envelopes and then marlons letter.