Chapter Text
As a med student, Lucas should have understood that procrastination was detrimental to his education and waiting until the last minute to start his essay would damage his mental health as well. But here he is, on a Monday morning, trying to highlight whatever the fuck he believes is important enough to be included in his five-page research paper on cell modification and cell mutation. The essay was assigned three weeks ago, but three weeks ago Lucas had planned to get drunk and hang out with the boys all week because really, his other classes hadn’t assigned numerous tasks, so, Lucas could do his essay later.
Two weeks down the line and many warning texts from Imane later (that he chose to ignore because he was drunk off his ass), he wakes up hungover to a Remind from his biology professor reminding students that if they want him to look over their paper, they need to send it by Wednesday, catalyzing him to shoot out of his bed, throw out a hoodie and shoes, and sprint to the library, backpack in hand and Yann at his heels.
So here he is on a Monday morning, the caffeine in his system already fading and the crash that follows slowly preparing its attack, while he stares at numerous rows of the Bembo font trying to decipher what any of it means and how he’s going to write this paper in a week.
Yes, Lucas is royally fucked and he knows it.
“How long do you think you’re going to be here?”
“Yann, I legitimately have no idea how I’m going to do this.”
“You’re dinner will be wrapped up the fridge. You’ve got lunch though, right?”
Lucas distractedly pulls out a granola bar and holds it next to his head, putting it back in his hoodie pocket a second later, all focus strictly directed to the various paragraphs in his biology textbook.
Yann lets out a soft exhale and leans back further in the wooden chair positioned opposite Lucas’, who has now placed his pointer onto the page of the textbook, moving it horizontally along with the words he was reading, his eyes following both of them. His takes in the furrow of his brows and the slight frown on his lip, Lucas' face going from confusion to comprehension, back to confusion, and then ultimately frustration before his finger moves back to where it started. Yann smiles at him amused, shaking his head before slamming his hands softly, so to not make too much of a sound on the chairs wooden armrests, the material only releasing a slight squeak as Yann gets up.
All of this only makes Lucas' eyes flicker up at him for a second before they fall back onto the pages, dragging his finger along with the pace once again. Yann rolls his eyes playfully at this before he grabs his bag and slings it over his shoulder, walking around the table, Lucas conventionally sitting on a chair near the edge of it, so he can reach Lucas side, patting his back once before heading towards the door, a quick “later” thrown in the air at some point, Lucas isn’t paying attention. He is pretty sure a murderer could hold a knife against throat at any moment and Lucas probably wouldn’t notice; he would be too busy trying to write down notes on the difference between prokaryotic and eukaryotic cells to even consider the prospect of death.
Honestly, Lucas hoped that by the time he entered college that his studious attitude and educational ambition would increase, and in some way it did, since he had paid thousands of dollars just to attend four years of it—which he’ll have to do again for medical school, which roughly translates to Lucas being homeless for the years after—but at the same time, he is still partying and still hooking up on Friday nights instead of studying, which is reasonable for a Friday, Saturday, and Sunday even; but, when its Monday night and he has a two hour lecture at nine am the next day, another shot of an ominous pink liquid is most likely not what his body nor educational career needs. Yet, he drinks it anyway, and now he is here on a Monday morning, writing his five-page essay, making up for all the times he opted working on his assignments for cheap liquor.
***
By one pm, Lucas is pretty sure he can recite numerous facts about prokaryotic cells in pig-Latin while doing a handstand, write it forwards, backward, upside down, and in fucking Korean, but he had no idea how he is going to relate them to cell modification and mutation. Sighing, Lucas pushes his chair away from the table, creating space between him and the textbook, placing his elbows on his knees and rubs his eyes, physically needing to distance himself for the book. He comprehends what the assignment directs and what pieces of information he needs, it is just that he cannot find the direct quotations, things that specifically support his statement, not just general concepts, which the pages can’t give him—
Reference book.
He needs a reference book.
Lucas is honestly surprised his groan was not any louder, his stupidity and self-hatred flowing through his veins like goddamn heroin because of course, he could have used a reference book. Instead, he has wasted three hours fumbling through his textbook, trying to piece together facts to sound informative.
He pushes himself out of the seat, trying to avoid making eye contact with other students as he walks pasts the various tables and towards the shelves. He scans the various walnut bookshelves placed a few feet apart, facing each other, stopping when he sees a plaque on one of the shelves sides, black ink on a gold background that spells out “Pro—Que”, eyes glossing over the spines of the books there, looking for any titles related to prokaryotes, eukaryotes, cell mutation, or cell modification. But he finds nothing, which has to be impossible. He looks left and right, quickly looking over the spines of the books residing on their respective shelves, yet still finds nothing. That cannot be possible; this is a fucking library.
Unless it is on the top shelf.
Now, Lucas doesn’t believe he’s short, 5 foot 6 inches is not short, but for some reason, this library has incredibly tall shelves. He sees a stepping stool out of the corner of his eye, grey, plastic, and most likely sturdy, but he will not use it. Lucas is a nineteen-year-old college student, not a seventy-nine-year-old petite, French woman whose back cannot bend at an angle greater than 15 degrees. His pride won’t let him.
No, it’s not happening.
Thankfully, it doesn’t have to, because Lucas quickly sees a bush of brown hair pass by, only a glimpse, most of its body past Lucas peripheral vision, but thank god for its bushy hair. Turning his body, Lucas starts to head the direction he saw the figure walk towards, making sure to kick the standing stool lightly as he passed by.
“Umm, excuse me—“Lucas quickly remembers that he is in a library and him speaking at a normal volume translates to blatantly loud in this facility, so he cuts himself off, adjusts, and speaks again as he rounds the corner. “Excuse me, could you help—“
Then, he cuts off again, but not because he is at an inappropriate volume level. No, the problem this time is that his brain may have short-circuited.
At first, all he had seen was a tall figure with broad shoulders, but any person can have those physical traits and not make Lucas’ body physically stop moving; however, this is not the case. The bushy, spikey hair and broad shoulders belonged to a boy, a boy whose eyes couldn’t decide if they wanted to be green, blue, or grey, so they chose all three; a boy whose jaw cut sharply, defining his face while also complimenting his prominent cheekbones. His face and tall stature screamed raw beauty, to the point where the voice most likely became hoarse; yet, that hoarse voice became quieter, and whispers the fact that the boy has a lightness to his presence, softening the cuts and lines with a dusty warmth, all of it wrapped in a black sweater and matching dress pants, and—holy shit, how long has Lucas been looking at him?
“Yes?” The boy says, looking down at Lucas expectantly, but still with those soft, techno-colored eyes, and Lucas has to put in an extraneous amount of effort to remember why he called this man in the first place.
“Um, yeah sorry, I just—can you see if this book is on a shelf?”
“This book?”
“Well, there’s a book ad I think it’s on that shelf over there, but I’m not sure.” Lucas starts to vaguely point behind him, towards the bookshelves as he speaks, immediately stopping once he realizes how idiotic he looks doing it.
“You think?”
“Yeah, but I don’t know.”
“Ahh, okay.” He says with a giggle, the last letter raising slightly in pitch and Lucas' heartbeats a second too fast. “Can you take me to where it is?”
“S-sure, yeah.” But Lucas pauses then, stands still and doesn’t move, and the librarian is looking at his face expectantly, giving Lucas small smiles and a little scan over his body that send Lucas fucking flying, mentally. He doesn’t need to embarrass himself in front of this hot guy.
“Where is it?” Oh, he’s already done it.
“R-right! Yeah, sorry, follow me.” Lucas stutters out, spinning around to hide his face from the man, cursing to himself before walking past numerous walnut shelves filled with books, back to where his problems are rooted. He glares at the plastic stool viciously when he sees it again, but ultimately stopping in front of the shelf he is referring to. “This one, top-shelf.” The man nods his head before stretching his legs and neck up slightly, placing his hand against one of the shelves for balance as he peers at the top shelf, head moving as he looks through the titles.
“What is the book about? Or the title?”
“Something about prokaryotes.”
The man nods and scans again, and then comes back to where he started, but this time with his eyebrows slightly furrowed and lips in a frown, scanning them again. He glances over at Lucas, confused, before going back to the shelf, eyes running over the titles before he brings his body back down, relaxing his body before he faces Lucas, shrugging softly. “I’m sorry, I can’t seem to find it.” Lucas tilts his head slightly in confusion, scoffing playfully.
“What, does this library have no books on prokaryotes?” The man’s eyes soften at Lucas playfulness, rolling them before crossing his arms almost challengingly.
“Of course we do. Do you know the authors' name?”
“What?”
“The authors' name.”
Lucas scrunches his forehead and nose in confusion, not understanding the relevancy of the authors' name when they were trying to look for the title of the book Lucas needs—
Then it hits him, the realization and Lucas own dumbassery. The shelves are sorted by author’s last names, not by book titles.
He has asked the librarian to look for a book that is probably not going to be there because apparently, Lucas does not know how libraries work. He stares down at his shoes is self-realization and shock, and the librarian waits a few moments to allow Lucas to speak if he needed too, which became unfilled, prompting him to ask again.
“Do you know it?”
“The…name…”
“Of the author.”
“Yeah no, I understand that.” Lucas' voice spikes up slightly, embarrassed, and the librarian becomes confused again, eyebrows crinkling together adorably.
“Do you…not know the name of the author you’re looking for?”
Sadly, it’s stupider than that.
“I didn’t think of the author’s name.” Lucas sighs, curling his head towards his chest slightly in embarrassment, and then the librarian tilts his chin up in question.
“So, you walked randomly into the shelves and hoped to find a book on this very specific topic.”
“No, I had intentions.”
For a second, the librarian couldn’t decipher what Lucas intended to say, eyes scanning Lucas features and posture in an attempt to make sense of his words, a secret code too vague to decipher. But then, suddenly, his brows unknot, his eyes widen slightly, and his mouth part in realization, as if the conclusion abruptly appeared in front of him.
Then, there is a quick exhale of breath.
“Did you try to look through the shelves by book titles?”
“I—shut up.”
“Did you really?” The librarian is giggling, his left arm holding his stomach while his right hand becomes a fist that covers his mouth, but the toothy smile still appears behind it, wide enough to stretch past it. His techno-colored eyes scrunch now, crinkles appearing at their edges and Lucas finds himself in awe. The beautiful librarian with technicolor-ed eyes and dusty brown hair is giggling, and Lucas couldn’t find any fiber in his body to be mad or even embarrassed anymore.
“Look, I—“
“You went to first grade, right?”
“Listen!”
The giggling gets louder, and Lucas probably would have hit the stranger if he hadn’t bent into himself in laughter, only to come back when he realizes how loud he is. When he calms down, he looks at Lucas with a soft smile and Lucas feels some of his fatigue and irritation leave him. He stares at the boy for four more seconds before turning back to shelves, gesturing to them with a swift jutting of his head in their direction.
“Are they on this shelf?”
“Possibly. Here, we’ll go to the computer.” And then the librarian turns and walks out of the shelves. Lucas follows him, staring at his broad shoulders and dusty hair once again, a few butterflies appearing in his stomach and a warm feeling growing in his chest, and his eyes take in how the tiny hairs near the back of the man’s neck curl in different directions. They get to a cube pillar in between two different shelves, each with a computer on one of its sides, and the librarian presses a button to start it up. “So, prokaryotes?”
“Yeah. That.”
He starts to type, his hands covering the computer mouse placed over a sponge pad, moving it slightly before clicking on one of its buttons. He waits a few seconds before moving to the side, looking over at Lucas and gesturing to the computer with his head.
“Choose what you need.”
Lucas walks forward, hands in his hoodie pocket, and scans the page, eyes looking through the array of titles and digital book covers until he settles on one that has a picture of a prokaryotes cell and a eukaryotic cell on it, one of the thousands, yes, but nonetheless one. He takes his hand out of hoodie pocket and clicks on the title with the mouse, settling on the page before turning towards the librarian with pursed lips, nodding his head.
"This one?" The librarian asks him, and Lucas nods his head again. Taking his confirmation, the librarian then pulls out a pen and notepad from his pant pocket, leaning over Lucas slightly so he can read the title and the author of the book, jotting down what he sees. He looks down at his notepad for confirmation, nods his head once, and then turns towards the direction of bookshelves they just came from, silently walking back towards them. Wordlessly, Lucas follows, hands stuffed inside his pockets as both him and the man stroll through the library, stopping once they enter a section labeled Yay-Zah.
"See, author’s last name." Lucas only scoffs at the comment.
The stop after a few more seconds of walking and the man turns to face a tall bookshelf, leaning down to a bundle of books, and running his fingers across their spines. Suddenly, his finger pauses and the librarian taps the book before pulling it out, turning it so he can look at the cover before holding it out for Lucas to grab, all done with a cheeky smile plastered on his face.
“Prokaryotes versus Eukaryotes by Viktor Ziemer. Here you go.” His smile grows after he this, and Lucas knows exactly why that is, and honestly, he wants to slap him. Slap him playfully, of course. But, he feels as if any contact with the librarian will cause him to combust due to over-stimulation, and Lucas has already embarrassed himself enough. So, he takes the book from his grasp, making sure their fingers don’t brush against each other and holds it against his chest.
“Thanks.” The librarian only smiles in return, nodding slightly before speaking.
“You’re welcome. Will that be all?”
No, kiss me.
“Yeah, that’s it.”
“Okay, I’ll be at the main desk if you need me.” And then he is walking towards Lucas, but it’s at an angle, attempting to go past him, and Lucas understands that. What he doesn’t understand, or fathoms is when the man stops when their shoulders touch, bending down slightly so his lips graze Lucas' ears and whispers “Just make sure to remember that the plaques go in order of author’s name next time.” And he does, Lucas does remember, and he wants to say that back, but, he can’t. Lucas is frozen, the man’s breath tickling his ear and leaving a buzzing sensation, as well as light feather touches of his hair against Lucas temple and upper cheek.
He wants to respond, he does, but he can’t.
He is frozen in the middle of walnut bookshelves, and the clench on his reference textbook gets a little bit tighter.