Chapter Text
ColdVibe - Historical college AU - with a dash of the unexpected.
Warnings: Classism mentions. Also references to period-appropriate homophobia...even though I can’t actually tell you precisely what period this is in *waves hand vaguely at late 1800s/early 1900s*. Despite the warnings, it’s overall happy I’d say. Not betaread since I wrote it in a couple of hours late at night. Hope someone out there finds it fun.
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Between the reading for his first year, and catching up on ‘recommended reading’ books most of his cohort claim to already have read – books his hometown library didn’t have and his parents couldn’t afford to purchase - Cisco spends so much time in the college library these days. This means he’s getting well acquainted with the library staff, even if he can’t exactly engage them in decent conversation when silence is enforced as much as possible.
He’s spending a lot of late nights in there, turning more into early mornings often enough, and he notices one staff member in particular seems to take those shifts, in addition to plenty in the day – Leonard Snart. He’s heard students greet him as Len, though that always causes him to scowl, the annoyance hardly hidden. Sometimes the scowl was accompanied by a skillfully worded remark that could be taken scathingly if you were uncharitable, and yet could equally be interpreted efficient and professional. Cisco once laughed out loud at one particularly borderline comment and almost got kicked out by a passing librarian. He thought he saw the hint of a smirk from Leonard as he gathered up his books, but it was hard to be sure without staring longer than would be appropriate.
Sadly, it’s also hard to miss how the head librarian drags out his admonishments of ’Mister Snart’ which is a snub around here, a jab at his lack of qualification. The richer students can equally be heard picking apart Leonard’s clothes, not up to scratch by their impossibly high standards even though Cisco thinks Leonard looks pretty sharp, within the confines of the librarian dress code, not to mention compared to the eccentric professors. But the other staff dress in rather expensive, usually mismatched, pieces that somehow are judged better. All that gossip riles Cisco up and makes him wonder what the same students say about him behind his back. Even though Leonard isn’t a student like him, Cisco feels a type of kinship with him.
Maybe that kinship is why Cisco gravitates closer to Leonard’s desk for his study sessions despite the engineering section being several rows over. He browses the card catalog at Leonard’s desk more than is reasonable too, sometimes daring to check out a book that isn’t in his field – it’s probably good for him overall. On occasion, he spies Leonard looking at him oddly and he shrinks back, trying to become invisible to Leonard like he mostly is to everyone else here.
Leonard is far from invisible to Cisco, but he notices the man has a strange talent for disappearing, sneaking off or sneaking up on people. One night, so far into the early hours Cisco should really be in bed, he’s surprised to see Leonard disappear before his clocking off time. The usual stacks by the desk are empty, everything re-shelved in preparation for the end of the shift. The main desk is open throughout the night anyhow so it doesn’t make much difference if there’s one less staff member for ten minutes.
But then he sees Len exiting the restroom of the library and his jaw drops – gone is the relatively dull jacket and tie, replaced by a snazzy blue jacket and striped shirt combo, finished off with an elaborately patterned handkerchief in his top pocket. Something about it pings as familiar; he thinks he’s seen flashes of something similar on some students briefly, hastily hidden, though he has no clue why it matters.
This out-of-hours Leonard doesn’t look his way, simply snags his satchel and heads towards the philosophy stacks. It takes a few stunned seconds for Cisco to come to his senses and question that – why the hell isn’t Leonard going home, or out, dressed like that. His curiosity is piqued, so he gets up and peers down the aisle, watching Leonard walk to almost the very end and turn left where Cisco didn’t think there was a gap.
And then he spots it, the handkerchief fallen on the floor. He jogs up to it, picking it up to find it’s silk. One side is plain but the other has a pattern which looks like one thing at a distance and yet examining it up close reveals very fine detailing; oddly enough, it reminds him vaguely of playing cards. An expensive silk handkerchief like this would surely be missed, he thinks. He feels like he has to make an effort to catch up to Leonard. He’s too tired to contest that logic, or for the thought to occur that it’s best to left til morning or another day, so he runs to the gap he saw Leonard disappear through and is suddenly facing a strange doorway revealed in the far wall.
The other man inside the entrance looks caught out but Leonard casually looks back at him, not at all surprised. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle it.”
He makes no attempt to move, so Cisco walks up to them both. He holds out the offending handkerchief, expecting it to be snatched back. He also half-expects to be threatened into some kind of submission with his stumbling onto this secret. Leonard looks at it and then back to the bouncer.
“He does have the handkerchief, so, technically, you can let him in.”
The man hmms and haws about it but waves them through and Cisco finds himself ushered by Leonard down a barely lit corridor. There’s a distinct slope to it that puts him off-kilter as he stumbles forward in the near darkness.
“Seems like it’s your lucky night, Francisco.”
For a moment, Cisco’s stomach lurches as he wonders how Leonard knows his name when they’ve only had stilted conversations here and there. And then he remembers what has that name on it, his library card.
“I go by Cisco actually, it’s a funny story…if you like funny stories,” Cisco says, suddenly stopping as a cold wave of realization washes over him along with the draft coming from whatever awaits them at the other end of this tunnel.”-which, you know, I have no clue if you do because I’m being led down a dark corridor by a virtual stranger to who knows where…”
“Okay. Call me Len,” he says, short and sharp, as he stops next to one of the few lamps and glances back, watching Cisco catch him up.
“I thought you didn’t like that nickname?” Cisco asks before he can stop himself. He’s so tired that normal etiquette, as much as he usually does manage, isn’t forthcoming from his brain.
“Like it just fine for people I like,” he says with a flick of his eyes up and down Cisco - taking him in. It makes Cisco feel like he needs to swallow hard, but he resists mostly because he wants so bad to seem cool in front of this man.
Len backtracks a little and then his hand is in the small of Cisco’s back, ushering him forward once more until they come to another heavy wooden door which Len knocks on with an unusual rap. When it swings open inward Cisco is suddenly overcome with color and noise. The walls are adorned with recreations of famous paintings that certainly fit a very particular Classical theme. One that might be interpreted more personally in the bodies who inhabit the room; bright and affectionate, oh so familiar and close in the ways Cisco rarely lets himself dream of. In ways that are not considered polite elsewhere, but here they look fitting; expected, reached for, and rejoiced in.
Len leans in just as close as he sees mirrored around the room, to whisper in his ear - in a raspy drawl Cisco has never heard before that both twists his stomach and excites even lower on his person. “Had a feeling this would be your kind of place. Hope I’m not wrong, would be all sorts of trouble for me if I were.”
“I-” Cisco starts, but he can’t find the words. He looks around again at the secret, decidedly queer, clubhouse and sees so much happiness he’d never let himself imagine like this. By those words Len had uttered, once his mind processes it, he realizes Len had meant to get him here. He’d engineered this situation, but seeing this Cisco can’t find it in himself to be mad at being manipulated into finding such an oasis of joy.
Len takes several steps back and Cisco’s heart stutters, worried his lack of confirmation or apparent enthusiasm has ruined everything. But then Len’s holding out his hand, looking at him with what he thinks is fondness, perhaps. “Care to dance?”
Cisco nods, lets Len lead him to an impromptu space for a dance floor, and forgets about everything. Except the look on the handsome face of a person he desperately hopes to get to know here. To know the man behind those now distant walls better, to deserve calling him that affectionate name he’s somehow already been trusted with.
Also rebloggable on tumblr here.