Chapter Text
Nick considers himself to be quite the expert when it comes to fountain pens. It’s not that he’s a stationary snob necessarily, he just appreciates a good pen. They write beautifully and can make any average day note look like an official proclamation. Like romanticizing writing a grocery list. Which is why it’s so disappointing when one explodes on him at the most inopportune moment.
Nick is trying to fix a stubborn old pen brought over to the counter for him to work his magic. With a confident click of his lighter, Nick knows it will only take a second. Then the bell above the shop door chimes, and he lifts his gaze for a fraction of a second.
Curly hair. Deep blue eyes.
“Shit!” Warm ink bleeds onto his hands, and when he tosses the hot pen and his lighter onto the counter, more specks fly onto his white shirt.
Then Curly Hair Blue Eyes is standing right in front of him.
“Welcome to Nota Bene. Er, Is there anything I can help you with?” Nick’s hands still hover in the air, stained helpless and blue.
The man across the counter breaks into an amused smile. Oh no. “I don’t suppose you know where the highlighters are? Or maybe I should ask someone else while you-”
“No!” He runs a hand through his fringe, “No no, I can show you highlighters.” Fuck , now there’s probably ink in his hair. Oh well. That’s Future Nick’s problem.
Curly Hair Blue Eyes watches as he bounds around the counter. Too strong Nelson, calm down! “Oh this sort of thing happens all the time,” he tries to play it cool, “I just won’t touch anything for the rest of the day.” And thankfully, the workday is almost over. The shop closes at six, its large front windows looking out onto the town providing a sense of time while the sun slowly sets.
“You can make it the new fashion then.” Nick can hear a chuckle in his voice as he guides him over to the table. Thank god his back is turned, otherwise this stranger would see just how flushed his cheeks are. It’s becoming increasingly hard to think about stationary at a time like this.
“Right, so-” he plants his feet, finally taking a second to breathe, “Midliner is probably the brand I’d recommend. It has the highest quality and a really lovely colour selection,” Curly Hair Blue Eyes hums in appreciation- or maybe he’s just appeasing him, “But y'know, we also have your standard brands that come in the typical yellow, pink, orange-”
“Nicky!” Nick jumps. His mum’s timing is awful . “What are you doing out on the floor with ink all over your hands?” Great question. “Go wash up before you make more mess.” She shoos him the direction of the back room.
“Yep, okay,” He looks helplessly at Curly Hair Blue Eyes, who seems to be perfectly content to witness his most embarrassing interaction he’s ever had with his mum at work. “So sorry. I’ll be, um-”
“It’s fine,” the man shrugs. “I think I have an idea of what I’m looking for.”
Translation, not Nick Nelson. Sigh.
Nick nods, resigned, and turns towards the back room. He retreats down the hallway, floorboards creaking under his vans, ink-stained hands still hovering helplessly in the air. It only takes a few steps before he hears his mother greet the cute guy and pick up where he left off with the highlighters.
The back hallway at Nota Bene is a small one. At some point in the lifetime he’s spent here, Nick had to start walking at a bit of an angle in order to avoid knocking various illustrations from vintage books hung on the walls in mismatched frames. The back part of the shop is a little kitchenette area that they use sometimes for events. For the most part, it’s a quiet place for them and the employees in the connecting bookshop to take their breaks in.
He runs his hand under the faucet, watching the water run a touch cerulean as it drips off his fingertips. Nick sighs, pumping a furious amount of soap in his hands. Never has he ever embarrassed himself in front of someone like that. Especially at work. And that’s saying a lot because Sarah Nelson had her son on payroll the minute it was legal to do so. Sure, he’s dropped stacks of notebooks by people’s feet, mixed up the size of mechanical pencil refill, and gotten papercuts on multiple occasions, but never has he ever stood there covered in ink, when all he can think about is the fucking colour of someone’s eyes. Just when his hands feel like they’re about to prune, he looks down and remembers the ink is also conveniently on his white shirt. He can already hear his mum with her shop owner hat on, asking him why he didn’t put his apron back on after his lunch break.
Goddamit , Nick grunts to himself, now trying to undo the buttons of his shirt with wet, soapy fingers.
“Not like you to get all flustered like that, Nicky.” He turns his head to see his mum smiling at him from across the kitchenette, her arms crossed, teasing.
“I know, I just-” Nick sighs, defeated, trying to figure out exactly what possessed him to make such a mess.
Sarah Nelson frowns, her gaze softening a touch. “Oh baby it’s not that big a deal,” she steps into his space and begins helping him with the stubborn buttons on his shirt. And just like that, the manager of Nota Bene, the best independent stationary shop in all of Kent, flickers into the background. Sarah effortlessly switches to pure and loveable mum. “The rest of it just got on the glass, so it’s an easy clean up. Your shirt however, I’ll let you wash yourself,” she winks.
“Thanks,” he presses his lips together. He doesn’t always enjoy his mother trying to soothe him as an adult, especially when he’s done something as small and silly as mucking up a fountain pen.
“Don’t worry, I sent that lovely lad home with a ten pack.”
“Oh?”
“He was very keen to take your advice, you know. Really took to the pastels,” she smiles back at him, impressed with maybe the hint of something else.
“That’s nice,” Nick smiles to himself. He’s always been proud of his ability to perceive their clientele and make the best suggestions. You can tell a lot about someone by what’s in their office or pencil case. Highlighters belong to someone who pays attention to detail, who takes time and care to understand important information. Pastels are for soft souls who keep a lot of feelings in. Or maybe he’s just romanticizing and imagining the life of a stranger again. That’s probably one of the most fun parts of his job.
“Come on then,” his mum nods, having finished unbuttoning his stained shirt. “Sooner we get to closing up, the sooner you can take Nellie to the dog park.”
Surely he hadn’t spent that much time trying to scrub the ink off. But if the pink sky peeking through the back garden was any indication, it was indeed nearing that time.
As he follows his mum back out onto the shop floor, Elton John fades up over the crackling speakers. Today was Caveat Lector’s turn to play dj, which was perfectly fine with him given the stressful last half hour of the day. They make a good team, Nick wiping down all the counters while Sarah counts everything at the till. He even starts humming along and bobbing his head to the music as he begins to sweep. In the years he’s worked here, it’s the most easy and comforting routine. But something tells Nick Nelson that the last customer of the day is about to shake everything up.
🍂
Mornings in October are full of crisp air, and foggy, slow skies. But Nellie couldn’t care less about the weather, so Nick put on his favourite wooly jumper when they went out for their morning walk. Mum was trying a new pattern on Ravelry, so the sleeves are baggier than he’d like and often slip over his hands, but it’s proving to be a nice thing with today's wind. When they’re about a hundred meters away, the echoes of the clock tower in the town center echoing within the high street, Nellie kicks into a run.
“Hey!” Nick chuckles. He could never be cross with Nellie for too long. “Why the rush?!” He gives in and lets Nellie pull him down the street, stopping right in between the two shop doors.
“There’s my favourite girl!”
“And good morning to you too, Isaac!” Nick smiles and shakes his head as he watches his best friend sit down on the sidewalk and pull Nellie into his lap. They’ve known each other for so long, and Isaac’s not much of a conversationalist, so Nick just lets him keep giving her cuddles.
“Did I miss anything yesterday?” Isaac asks whilst scratching behind the dog’s ears. He looks perfectly content in his windbreaker and jeans, nevermind the cold concrete beneath him and the wind turning his ears the slightest pink. Isaac will always be at home with either a book in his hand or a dog in his lap.
“You mean my mum hasn’t told you about the rogue fountain pen yet?” Nick shoves his hands in his pockets, trying to hide his pale blue palms that still haven’t disappeared.
Isaac looks up at him, a smirk toying the edges of his lips. “She did say you seemed rather flustered yesterday,” Isaac raises an eyebrow as he slowly pushes himself back to standing. “Wasn’t aware stationary had that effect on you.”
Nick rolls his eyes as they both fish keys out of their pockets, nearly identical. Cute boys have that effect on me, Nick thinks. He’s never had to tell Isaac he’s bi. There just happened to be one day back in year 13. The two of them were working their respective shifts during exam week- Nick anxiously pacing between the watercolour paper and lined journals, Isaac nodding off into a textbook at the counter- neither actually doing the work they’d been scheduled to do. Sarah shooed them upstairs with strict instructions to give their brains a break and watch a movie, and Nick might’ve been a little too enthusiastic about Pirates of the Caribbean. Isaac also happens to be one of the most perceptive people he’s ever met.
Nick unlocks the old wooden door to Nota Bene as Isaac does the same to Caveat Lector’s. The rod iron handle is cold to the touch, another sign that they’re delving deeper into autumn. Their respective doors creak open simultaneously, the tiny bells above chiming nearly at the same time. Every morning they both open the shops, Nick and Isaac will turn to each other and nod before stepping forth into their worlds of paper and pen, the first of many rituals.
“Coffee?” Isaac calls out to him from the other side. Nick rolls up the sleeves of his jumper and unclips Nellie’s leash.
“Could I have apple cider, actually?” Nicks watches as Nellie skips over to the area behind the till, nails clocking on hardwood before curling up in her bed. He instinctually follows, bracing himself for the pale grey room to come alive with the flick of garish fluorescents.
He hears the hum of the espresso machine echo from the adjoining hallway, Isaac fiddling about behind the counter. It won’t be long before the comforting smell of coffee wafts in and joins the always-present base note of fresh paper, and the sandalwood candle Nick likes to burn on the counter before his mum will inevitably douse it with a pointed look. But that won’t be for another couple hours, so Nick turns on the sound system and puts Fleetwood Mac on shuffle- a little louder than is customer friendly. One day, he’ll finally convince his mum to retire and he can run the shop however he wants.
Slowly but surely, he preps the cash register and boots up the computer system. Isaac brings him cider with a cinnamon stick in his favourite work mug- University of Leeds with a tiny chip in the handle- and he takes a few cautionary sips before going to restock the composition books. Both he and Isaac have a lot of work ahead of them with shops’ first fall event tomorrow evening, so best to have a strong start to the day. Soon enough, somewhere between the second and third chorus of Landslide, it’s time to change the playlist and switch the shop sign to Open .
Weekdays are always a little slower, but have thankfully picked up since school is back in session. Students filter in and out, slowly clearing out the fresh stack of composition notebooks and mason jars full of various brands of pens. The elderly composer from the apartment building down the road comes to pick up his monthly pack of sheet music. The art teacher who works in the nearby grammar school drops by and wavers over hot versus cold-pressed paper for the umpteenth time. The manager of the restaurant in the plaza picks up their latest order of notepads for their servers. It's a small yet constant flow of people, and Nick is happy to chat with any and everyone. Some people who even know the shop well enough coax Nellie out from behind the counter for extra cuddles.
Nick hasn’t even realized the day is half over when he goes to take a sip of cider and it’s ice cold. The cinnamon stick floats lazily, staring back at him. “Well then,” he mutters to himself, “Watch the floor for me, Nel” he smiles down at her, pushing himself away from the counter and heading into the other room.
Caveat Lector also happens to be quite busy. A couple sits in the two armchairs in the window, one reading a poetry anthology and the other a sports memoir, a teapot between them. A group of kids in school uniform gather around the graphic novel section, shoving their favourite copies in each other’s hands. Sahar is behind the cafe counter steaming milk, which means Isaac must be somewhere else. Nick scans the tables and bookshelves, willing to wait for his drink to be reheated. That’s when he hears a hushed familiar voice from behind the memoir section.
“I can’t just go back there and keep buying highlighters. He’s going to think I’m a stalker or something!”
“Who says you need to buy anything?” Nick hears Isaac whisper as he rounds the corner.
It’s him. Curly Hair Blue Eyes. Talking to… Isaac?
“Hey,” Nick tries to say as casually as possible, but he can hear the slight falter in his voice.
The other two men have their heads bent closely together, clearly on a more familiar level than a bookshop owner and everyday patron. The cute guy who has still remained unnamed looks up at him, eyes wide, meanwhile Isaac breaks out into a shit-eating grin.
“Hey Nick,” Isaac’s eyes tease, “Fancy meeting you here.”
“My uh-my cider got cold,” Nick lazily lifts his mug, as if he needed proof for why he came over. He bites his lip, looking up to find Curly Hair Blue Eyes watching him.
“I’ll make up a new one for you,” Isaac gently takes the mug out of his hands, gesturing for him to follow towards the coffee bar. Nick barely catches it because he can’t take his eyes off the stranger in front of him. It’s a herculean effort to turn and pick his feet up to follow suit. “You know I was just telling Charlie here about the wine and book night we’re hosting tomorrow night? Maybe you’ll manage to finish your mulled wine before it gets cold then.”
Curly Hair Blue Eyes-no, Charlie- Charlie purses his lips like he’s trying to hide a smile. Nick scoffs and sputters. “I can finish hot drinks, I just get distracted!” He insists, leaning against the counter while he watches Isaac heat up his cider.
“Mulled wine sounds nice.” Charlie hums.
Nick turns to face him. “You should come!” He smiles, “Isaac is great at recommending books, and the mulled wine is really good.” Was that too strong?
Charlie chuckles, leaning against the counter. “And um, do you make any book recommendations?”
“Oh no, well I mostly help cash everyone out at the end of the evening,” Nick rubs his neck feeling his cheeks start to warm up. “Isaac’s more of a book person than me. But I do run calligraphy workshops sometimes. That’s why he’s here and I’m next door.” He shrugs. “But y'know I’m definitely going to be there tomorrow.”
He watches as Charlie’s lips spread into a grin, shoulders relaxing. How is he this cute?
“ Speaking of tomorrow,” Isaac jumps into the conversation while warm ceramic grazes Nick’s arm. He almost forgot Isaac was on the other side of the counter. “Do you think your blue hands will be cleared up by then?”
“That was one time!” Nick pouts. How fucking dare he. But Nick can’t be upset for too long, because he here’s a giggle from beside him. A giggle. As if Charlie couldn’t be more adorable. Nick feels himself involuntarily smiling, until he’s interrupted by the chime of Nota Bene’s shop bell. “Er, I should,” he nods his head toward the hallway. “I’ll um. I’ll be next door if you need anything.
I’ll be next door if you need anything. Who says that?? Nick sighs, backing up towards the hallway, eyes still trained on the people at the coffee bar.
“Kay thanks,” Isaac calls, already busying himself with drying some mugs with a tea towel, no longer looking at him. But Charlie. Charlie watches Nick leave, leaning against the counter, gaze soft and curious as he watches him go.