Chapter Text
Chuuya hadn't planned on spending his entire afternoon in a library.
It just so happened that his art teacher assigned them an individual art history research protect due in four weeks. Of course, most of his classmates will procrastinate and half-ass it on the last minute, but Chuuya knew better than to underestimate their art teacher. The man had a way of dealing with things the most unconventional ways. He wouldn't be surprised with he man failed 90% of them for lacking originality because they used the same websites to copy from.
Great. Just great.
Chuuya had to think of something unorthodox to keep his grades up.
Meaning, he can't use the internet's help and has to look for, as the art teacher called it, 'physical sources' he can use. In other words: books.
It took Chuuya a whole week to figure that out since he didn't pay much attention to it, what shortened his time to three weeks to get this project finished. To his unfortune, the school library closed few days earlier for renovations or whatever, leaving him with one option.
Library.
So, after practice he left school. Instead of making a beeline for home and starting his weekend early like he usually did, Chuuya found himself reluctantly going off-track and stopping in front of a big, red brick building a few blocks away from the campus.
There he is. He told himself he'd just borrow a few books for notes and leave. Fortune has a funny way of playing tricks on people, however.
Friday evenings were one of the least busy times at libraries, so it seemed. Or they just weren't so popular these days. Maybe both. The place smelled of old paper, ink and coffee, the atmosphere dead silent except for a faint rustle of turned pages, computer typing, scratching of pens and occasional sighs. The difference between here and the outside world was enormous.
It's so... peaceful.
Chuuya pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, on it he had written down all the materials he'll need for the project.
Just when he was searching the aisles for the right category, his gaze drifted to the front desk he was approaching.
And then he saw him.
The boy sitting at the checkout desk.
Soft brown hair falling over his face like waves and curling up around his pale cheeks, perfectly contrasting with his pale skin adorned with a few beauty moles — one under the right eye, another above his upper lip, and the last one on his left cheek. His one visible eye a dark, chocolate brown while the other was covered with an eyepatch. He wore a loose beige cardigan over an untucked white dress shirt, hints of bandage around his neck and wrists, the rest invisible under the desk.
The name tag said: DAZAI OSAMU — library assistant.
He was absorbed in scanning the codes on returned books, muting out the world with headphones, the wire tucked into his shirt. Calm eyes scanned over the pages like they were bored by the monotone task at hand, but found comfort in the familiarity of it.
Chuuya noticed, for the first time, he was staring. And the boy, Dazai as the name tag suggested, noticed it too.
Turns out, he was so taken with the library assistant's slim, graceful fingers turning the pages, smooth hands gently putting the books to the side, and the faint shine of his black nail polish he completely missed when Dazai looked up at him.
He had one of the softest smiles Chuuya had seen his entire life.
His chest hurt only a little when he remembered how to breathe again, his heart traitorously trying to beat out of his ribcage for the boy he barely knew the name of.