Chapter Text
Your name is Tavros Nitram and, for the first time in, like, seven months, you’ve travelled outside the five mile radius of your apartment all by yourself. Why? Because the library you spend most of your time at - the one closest to home - is under renovation, and the next closest one was the biggest library in the city, about 8 miles away. Also, you need to get your hands on some D&D books, because Vriska won’t let you borrow hers after you “left fingerprints on it”.
Your group is in the midst of preparing for a new campaign, after your last one got too intense and Sollux quit being your DM. It was all Vriska’s fault, really. She was the one who was too impatient for Sollux’s heavily detailed plots and riddles. Well, you all were, because they were always so difficult to figure out and not really enjoyable… But Vriska was the only one who really said anything. Eventually Sollux caved in and now your group has to prepare for a brand new “swashbuckling adventure” that’s “actually gonna be fun this time”. You were pretty excited, honestly. Maybe now you’d get a chance to develop your character. Knowing Vriska, though, she’d probably do everything in her power to make you die before you even reach level 2.
Oh, well. If your character dies, you’ll just make a new one. Which will be fine, because making a character is the most fun part!
You continue to think as you wheel down the sidewalk to the entrance of the library, swallowing your nerves. It’s been so long since you’ve been on the city streets by yourself. It feels like everyone is staring at you. As you reach the door, you notice the front window littered with safe space stickers, local band posters, clubs and programs, and various pamphlets. That makes you feel a little better. That’s one of the things about libraries that makes you feel so safe. They’re meant to be all-inclusive. You have nothing to be afraid of.
You press the handicap button to open the door, getting some weird grime on your hand in the process. Ew. Discomfort and fear come rushing back in as you wipe it on your cargo shorts. Cities are gross. Why would anyone wanna live here?
Wheeling your way inside, the strong smell of books hits you right away. After that, an even stronger smell of marijuana.
The first thing you notice is how high the ceilings are. Online you read that this place has over 3 floors to it. How cool! The second thing you notice is how crowded it is. Your heart drops to your stomach. Not so cool.
A library is supposed to be a quiet, private place. Conversations buzz all around the atmosphere, shuffling noises come from every corner. This isn’t what you’re used to. Once again, you try to swallow your nerves, and ignore the eyes that linger on you as you enter. You make the mistake of locking eyes with one of the librarians at the front desk, who gives you a phony-feeling smile. You nod in return, darting your eyes back in front of you with a goal in mind. D&D books. You have to get to the fantasy section. Where the hell would that be? You’ve never been here. God dammit, you should’ve grabbed a pamphlet at the door. Now you’re already ten feet in and you’d look like an idiot if you turned around now. Stupid goddamn lousy wheelchair making everyone turn and look at you wherever you-
“Can I help you find something, sir?”
You look up and see the same woman who smiled at you earlier. You suddenly are very thankful for her presence. You take a deep breath and avert your eyes to the floor, feeling embarrassed, mentally preparing to speak.
“Y-yeah, uh, heh. I’m, uh, this is my first time here, I’m l-looking f-f-f-for… Uh, f-f-”
You feel your lips start to spasm, and get caught. Shit. Doing your best to work through it, you continue looking at the floor, refusing to see the woman’s expression as she waits for your damn sentence to finish.
“F-fantasy.” Finally . “I’m looking for-” You already said that. “Sorry, do you know-” Idiot, of course she knows where it is, she works here. Try again. “Can you sh-sh-show me w...w-wh-wh....w..” Dammit.
“Fantasy? Sure, follow me.” She simply states, a smile in her voice. You sort of hate it, but you appreciate her understanding or whatever. You curse yourself and your damn stutter once more as she begins walking ahead. She leads you to the right, around a bend near a grand staircase, next to a large area with tables, sofas, computers, and chairs. Almost all the chairs and sofas were full, and just about every computer was taken. There were people on the floor, too. They were all mostly either businessmen with their sleek macbooks and briefcases, or disheveled-looking people with several jackets, backpacks, and grocery bags full of stuff. You suddenly feel bad for being upset about how crowded it is. Of course it’s crowded. Libraries are a safe place, and people off the streets would much rather be in a comfortable chair than on a crummy sidewalk. You pass by a young woman in a wheelchair, making brief eye contact with her. She gives you a quick grin. It goes straight to your heart. Maybe this library isn’t so bad.
The woman stops a few paces later and gestures to a blue sign labeled Fantasy Books hanging on the side of one of the bookshelves . “Here you are,” she says. “If you have any other questions, you know where the front desk is. Here’s a map of the library if you need it.”
She hands you a small laminated pamphlet. “Thanks.” you simply say, boldly looking her in the eyes for a brief moment before she walks off. A sizeable weight is lifted off your shoulders.
You tentatively look back to the area where so many people were sitting, some sleeping. You can’t help but feel sad for them, and a little guilty yourself for thinking you had it hard. Before spiraling into a whirlpool of self-doubt, you quickly remind yourself of your intentions, and turn your head back to face the bookshelves in which you would find what you’re looking for.
Gazing down the colorful shelves, you feel a bit more at home… Except that this place is huge. The sheer size of the fantasy section in this library makes your jaw drop. Not only are there multiple rows, but there are multiple AISLES full of fantasy books. It’s a whole corner of the first floor dedicated to fantasy. Incredible. You know where to come next time you’re in need of some reading material. Your regular library is nothing compared to this. No way, is that volume six of Elders of Grimdark ?! You quickly grab it off the shelves and place it in your lap. Finally. You’ve been waiting on that book forever.
You wonder what else could be here. You scan the wall of books from where you sit, mesmerized by the diversity of color and size. You’ve never even heard of some of these authors before.
Suddenly a familiar row of book spines catches your eye from the top shelf. Dungeon Master’s Guide . Sweet! If that’s there, then there must be…
The Player Handbook! There it is, one row down from the top, sitting up there in all its glory, ready to get your fingerprints all over that shit. There’s even multiple copies. You breathe a sigh of relief. You reach up to grab it, and…
Jesus Dicking Christ, you’re an idiot. Of course you won’t be able to reach it. Lousy goddamn stupid wheelchair. You reach once more just for good measure... Nope. You quickly look back to your left to see if that librarian woman had gone too far, maybe you could ask for her help...
“Need a hand there, brother?” Says a gravelly voice from your right. Great. More talking. You turn to look at the person, mentally preparing to speak again.
“Uh…” You start, hesitating, before your eyes lock onto them. What you’re met with is more visual information than you’re able to process all at once. Usually you just get a glance at a person for a split second then result to dropping your eyes to the floor, but this time your gaze stays put.
The first thing you notice is his physique. Here stands a man who must be at least six feet tall, but can’t possibly weigh over 120 lbs. His arms, littered with tattoos and jewelry, are thin and boney. The next thing you notice is how he’s dressed. He wears a faded, oddly patterned button-down short sleeve shirt, well above his size, and baggy grey sweatpants hanging low on his waist - you have no idea how they’re even staying on. Maybe it’s the one or two jackets tied around his hips. But seriously, this guy downright looks like a pocky stick. Slung over his shoulder is a bag covered in patches and keychains (one of which you swear could be some kind of satanic symbol or something) with a metal water bottle covered in stickers hanging on the side. It looks like the bag is about to fall apart. It looks like he’s about to fall apart, really. The way he’s standing in a bow-legged stance with his shoulders thrown back and his head leaned forward like some kind of weird bird or giraffe has you convinced he could collapse at any moment.
You quickly force your eyes back up to his face, where he’s looking at you with soft, half-lidded eyes and an easy smile on his lips. You’re about to say something to break the silence you created, but you fall quiet. Again. Your brain short-circuits again at just how much is going on with this man’s face and hair and overall presence, and you’re left struggling to process information, gaping like a fish.
His afro-textured hair is wild and unkempt, growing in every direction, falling a little into his eyes, but not enough to hide whatever the hell is going on with his face. Not only is it ornamented with piercings just about everywhere you can think of, but he’s made an effort to look even stranger by adding some kind of white paint around his eyes and on his nose. Looking closer, you also notice little white dimples painted on his cheeks. Sort of like a clown. But, like, more subtle. Well, not subtle, it stands out even more contrasted with his dark skin. You’re torn between feeling intimidated, confused, and downright amused. It all combines into one, rendering you immobile, sitting and staring at this guy like a deer caught in the headlights. You couldn’t even remember what he first said to you.
Then he cracks a goofy smile, flashing his gapped front teeth and letting out a quick chuckle. It scares you for a second. “No worries, motherfucker, I ain’t gonna hurt you.”
His use of language startles you a bit, and you suddenly snap out of your trance and let out a nervous, breathy laugh, averting your eyes to the floor once again. “S-Sorry, just, um…”
“I get it, bro.”
“I’m j-j-ju-j...j-just not used to, like, y’know…” You look up for a second. Oh God. You don’t want to offend him. “N-no-not that it’s bad, I mean-”
“Nah, it’s cool.”
“It is cool! I think it’s r-really cool! I don’t know m-m-m-m-many people who c-c-can pull that off, y’know, uh, like it’s, uhh, r-r-re-r-really… uhh…” Oh, shit, he’s walking toward you. You involuntarily brace yourself against the arms of your chair.
“Relax, man,” he says, as if it’s easy. “What book are you needin’?”
Oh. “U-um, just the, uh, player’s handbook up there. S-sorry.”
“Nothin’ to apologize for, my brother.” He reaches up with ease and pulls it off the shelf, pulling it toward him so he can read the cover. “Dungeons and dragons? I’ve heard of this shit. What’s it all about?”
He speaks slowly, with a sort of monotone, laid back voice, and a smile in every word. It calms you down, sort of. You also notice he has a bit of an irregular accent. You wonder where it’s from, but you don’t want to be rude.
“It’s uh, sort of like a r-r-r-ro..ro...r-role playing game, I guess?” You say, watching as he flips through the pages. He nods in approval.
“Motherfuckin’ sweet. Like fantasy shit?”
“I mean, c-c-co-could be anything you want, I g-guess. Heh.”
He looks at you with an amused grin. “That’s wicked. So you could, like, do some alien sci-fi shit or whatever?”
“Sure.”
“Cowboys?”
“If you want.”
“Clowns?”
“Uh, I guess.”
He laughs again, looking genuinely excited. It makes your heart thump a bit. Seeing someone get excited over things you find exciting is.... well, exciting. You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips as you watch him read for a minute.
“That’s some motherfucking miracle shit right there, man. Sounds like a hell of a time.”
“Y-yeah, it’s fun!” You both smile at each other again. He looks back at the book for a moment. You feel a little awkward. He’s a little closer now, and he smells strongly of weed, but he also sort of smells like wood, and, like, spices or something. It kind of makes your stomach feel funny. Maybe it was just the weed.
“Sorry, brother, I don’t mean ‘ta up and take your book. That’s some cool shit though, motherfucker.” He says, handing it to you.
“Oh, no, d-do-d-don’t worry about it. It’s k-kinda cool to s-see other people interested in th-th-this stuff. A-and, uhh, thanks for reaching it for me. I appreciate it.” Your lips quiver a little as you recover from talking, but you smile nonetheless. You’re a little proud of yourself for saying that much and not fainting.
He returns the smile with ten times as much sincerity, it seems. Your heart does a floppy thing again. You can’t seem to look away from him, no matter how much your brain wants you to look at the floor. Maybe it was just because he looked funny. Or maybe it was just because his smile was really cute and made you feel all nice.
“Of course, friend! Us motherfuckers gotta help each other out, yeah?”
“Heheh. Yeah…” His language is more funny than surprising now. You’re starting to wonder if this is just how he talked or if he purposefully wants to entertain you. “Well, um, I’m g-g-gonna go check this out, b-but…”
He was silent for a moment, just looking at you. Then he blinked. “Oh, sure, man, sure. Need a brother to push you over?”
It took a minute for you to understand, but once you realized, you quickly shook your head. “Uh, n-no thanks, I’m alright.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I got it.” You nod at him as you begin to turn yourself around. It felt bad to sort of shut him down like that, but you really don’t like it when people push your wheelchair. It makes people stare more. At least it feels like it does. And with this guy’s looks, it would bring even more staring. You feel guilty for thinking that, but…
“Alright, well, take care, friend!” he says. You smile at him again and wave before heading out of the fantasy aisle.
The smile lingers on your face for at least half the trip across the library, and the funny feeling in your stomach lingers until well after you’ve checked out the books and left the building. As the day goes on, you find yourself thinking about him. His funny language, his accent, his clothes, his smell, his eagerness to talk to you… On the bus ride home, you realize you never asked his name. Or preferred pronouns. That never came across to you. You make a mental note to ask next time.
Next time… Would he still be there? Or… she? They? Hmm. You hate to be one to jump to conclusions about someone, but he - oops, you mean they seemed like they might’ve been homeless, or at least not in a stable living condition, like many of the other people there. If that was the case, there was a good chance they’d be there next time you visit. Maybe you could bring them some coffee, or some lunch or something. What kind of coffee do they like? What if you just brought them money instead so they could get it themselves? No, they might use the money for drugs instead. Wait, that’s a harmful stereotype. Maybe you could just take them out for coffee. Isn’t that a date? Would that be too fast?
Okay, slow down, Nitram, you’re not even sure they’ll be there tomorrow. Tomorrow? Are you going tomorrow? Ah, shit, you don’t even know. You need to get home, take a shower, and study up on your character.
As you make it back to your apartment, your mind is drained of energy. You go to put your key in and you find out it’s already unlocked, meaning your brother is probably already home. You enter to find the lights off, and your brother passed out on the couch in front of the TV while some anime is playing at a low volume. Rufioh works a night job as well as a part time day job (next to college classes) in order to keep a steady income for you both, so you’re really thankful for him. That being said, you want him to get enough sleep… so you turn off the tv, throw a blanket over him, and head to the bathroom to get ready for bed.
You still can’t stop thinking about that person at the library. You wonder where they got their piercings done. You wonder how long their hair would be if it was straight. You wonder if they have a safe place to sleep tonight. Somewhere between brushing your teeth and shaving, you commit to going back to the library tomorrow morning… after all, you do need to work on your character, and what better place to do that then a library? It’s small, quiet, private… Okay, you just really want to see them again and learn more about what they have in common. Also what kind of coffee they like. Also maybe their name and pronouns… Also where their accent came from.
With the thought of their warm, funny laugh still fresh in your mind, you drift off to sleep.