Chapter Text
September 22, 2006.
16 days ago, Stephenie Meyer’s new book, ‘New Moon,’ the second book in the Twilight Saga got put on shelves.
Your sister isn’t impressed.
She’s up against your white kitchen counter top, biting into a emerald apple as she goes on and on about why she believes the book fell flat to her. Her other friends loved it, went straight on their Facebook blogs to post the newest theories and the cute aesthetic photos other people took with the book.
“I mean,” your sister said, crunching on the bit of apple still in her mouth. “Why the fuck did Edward have to leave anyways? He did it with like, no fuckin’ explanation too. He’s so narc-y.”
You heard another bite from her apple as you stirred your spoon around in your cereal, uninterested in eating. You’re sat at your kitchen table, trying to be more homey and actually do regular things that a person who owned an apartment would do (like cooking, cleaning, and definitely not piling up plates in your room) but you couldn’t stand the domestic lifestyle. You missed home, you missed not paying bills and staying locked in your room forever while you hid away from your mom, wondering if she’d forgotten about the dirty plates in the sink and had cleaned them up herself. Now, there was no one in your life to clean up your mess, except you.
“But, honestly?” Your sister mumbled, wiping her apple-stained hands on the sides of her jeans as she looked over at you, “I’d do it too. If I had the chance to leave this town, go anywhere I wanted to, I would. I mean, Edward is a vampire. He’s gonna outlive Bella and all, why stay with someone who you’re gonna watch die?”
You scoffed, smirking as you looked up at your sister. You and your sister were exactly what what you wanted to be, sisters. Yes, there was an age gap in between the two of you, but you two still made the smallest effort to get along. Monthly visits, scheduled calls, making sure the other was stable while trying to not peer too much into the other’s life, in fear that it might muddle you both up into a decades worth of drama that you both had silently agreed on never getting into. The two of you were perfectly boring, yet perfectly fine.
You didn’t live a terribly eccentric life like most of your friends did. Suburban house, one mom, one dad, one sibling, one big, boring family that never bothered you. Your worst years was your middle school days, but that passed, just like everything else. Life never stops, it just kept marching forward. That’s what your dad told you, and how you’ve been treating life as ever since, stagnant. Of course, you’ve had your fair share of problems and mascara-running days, but you’ve left all of that bullshit in your tween years. It’s gone now, all that’s left is now.
And ‘now’ is starting to look like not renewing your lease next year.
For fucks sake, you hated living alone. Yes, you begged your mom to help you buy a new apartment, but you never knew how excruciatingly depressing it was living alone. You thought it was just you being homesick, missing the way your father would furiously knock on your door to wake you up in the mornings, but as days passed, you realized that it wasn’t just your alarm you dreaded waking up to. It was the silence, the silence of everything, and of your own.
The only time you got to really talk to people was at your job, you worked a-
“Hey.”
You looked up from your cereal, raising your eyebrows subtly as you took a deep breath.
“Oh my god, you totally blanked on me.”
You scoffed, trying to hide your guilty smile as the two of you giggled about it. Your sister stood up straight, getting off of the counter, as she tossed the apple core into the trashcan. She walked over to the kitchen table, taking the seat across from you, and sitting down. She didn’t say much, her foot tapping on the tile making all of the noise for her. You started to get anxious, dreading the silence once again. You knew what she’d ask.
“Soooo… what’s up with you? You’re quiet.”
You shrugged, taking another spoonful of soggy cereal into your mouth. “Nothing, really. I’m just tired.” You said, letting your head rest on your closed fist. Your sister nodded, her lips curling into a childish pout as she glanced down at the floor. “How’s work?” She asked, looking back up at you.
Right, work.
“I mean, it’s whatever.”
You work at a library, just a 15 minute drive from your apartment. It’s small, in the town square area where there’s a bunch of other chain shops and bars up and down the streets. You started working there the week you moved in, having barely a resume to make up for your out of the blue interview (which, unfortunately was on the spot the minute you asked if they were hiring) but you got the job. Yes, you were still dizzy from the sudden change in environment and you’d make some silly mistakes like forgetting to give proper change or using your customer service voice, but after a few weeks it seemed like you’d gotten the hang of it. Your coworkers had just started to invite you to their ritual smoke breaks in the alleyway, so that must mean they see you as their own kin.
“I met some cool people,” you said, earning a wiggled smile from your sister. “And I’m starting to remember the regulars, n’whatnot.”
“Shiiit, look at you!” Your sister cheered, giving you a light smack on your bicep as you shook your head, trying to stay humble. “It’s going great, mm?”
The clouds started to sail off, leaving your head more open to share the visuals of what was happening at work. You told your sister about your no drink/food policy, and how you had to start making coffee earlier in the morning to get your daily fix. You told her about the time when you almost dropped one of the religious books right in front of your catholic boss, who could only hold her breath in when she witnessed it happen.
“Holy shit.” Your sister said, putting a manicured hand over her mouth.
“Yeah, holy indeed. I thought she was going to say she’d keep me in her prayers or something but she didn’t really do anything.”
“Why would she pray for you?”
“…I don’t know.”
You told her about the one guy who every Thursday would come by to your library, and would just read in the lefthand corner of the shop. His fingers brushing under the text at lightning speed, not even taking a second to even process what he’s read. It was scary, you once saw him read 6 books in under half an hour.
“Usually,” You continued to talk, pushing your exhausted bowl of cereal away, “he buys some random poetry shit or some scientific book. I swear, I can never see him blink once. He’s like a robot.”
“What’s he look like?” Your sister asked, picking up your spoon with the tips of her fingers and dangling it around in the bowl.
“Ummm… good point. I dunno, like, Paul Dano-y? Glasses, brown hair, y’know. Oh- he’s always wearing a friggin’ tie. I think he’s business.”
“Makes sense, a lot of business guys have to read a lot. I never met no guy who’s into poetry though.”
You nodded, inhaling. The two of you dropped the work talk, expanding into different topics like how Mom was doing, and talking about what kind of plants would make your apartment look better, until it tied back into why Edward was a terrible boyfriend, which made the whole conversation burn and disintegrate. It had been a whole 2 hours of you two talking, and once the two of you fell into white noise, your sister suddenly perked up from her seat.
“Oh, shit! I got you something!”
You walked down the apartments, and to her car, where she opened her Toyota and took out a decently sized gift basket. Mini balloons, a plush blue shark, Abercrombie & Fitch gift card, some Hershey’s Cookies ‘n’ Creme chocolate bars, a bottle of white, and some Tylenol.
“It’s for the wine.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
And then, after some last minute chatting, your sister drove off, leaving you with the smell of Nina Ricci and car exhaust. You glanced down at the basket, embracing the beauty and perfect placement of all of the items in it, smoothing your finger down the woven handle and taking in all of its contents.
You went back to your apartment and went to bed shortly after.
-
’I like it when someone gets excited about something. It’s nice.’
You smiled hearing the quote. It’s been a week and a half since your sister last dropped by. You were listening to The Catcher In The Rye by JD Salinger, for the sixth time. Yes, you owned the physical copy and you could’ve just brought it in with you at work, but you were a little embarrassed about the copious amount of annotations and tea stains that you left on it. So embarrassed, matter fact, that when nobody was bothering you during your shift, you had an earbud in, listening to the audiobook as quietly as possible so that the sound wouldn’t leak through your earbuds.
Most of what you did at the library was just shelving books and scanning returns. Your hands moved quickly, almost like you were on autopilot, just scanning books and then putting them into a neat stack next to your monitor. Sometimes they’d have you clean, but you’ve convinced your boss that you’re better at just sitting at the front desk scanning books.
“Slow down, or else you might double-scan one.” Your boss quipped, the volume of her Dior’s slowing down as she walked by you. You looked up, pausing your audiobook and humming at her to try and get her to repeat herself.
“And take that earbud out, it’s almost rush hour.”
You did not get the chance to inform her that ‘rush hour’ in the library just meant the time where most of the regulars would come in after their respective tasks. Also- why the hell would ‘rush hour’ at a library be at 1 PM on a Saturday? That’s the least rushed hour of the day. It’s like a zoo claiming that their busiest time was at 11 PM. Who the hell walks into a zoo at 11 PM and is still sober?
Maybe you just haven’t worked here long enough to understand.
You took your earbuds out, obeying to your shepherd as you pulled on your woolen sweater, starting to feel uncomfortable with how the fabric was shifting on your body. You inhaled, continuing to stretch and form at your sweater for a while as you started to scan books with just one hand. You heard the bell ring, signifying that someone had just walked in, and making you quickly remove your hand from your clothes in order to look a bit professional. You didn’t look up from your work, just scanning and scanning, but the pile was starting to get decently taller than you could handle at sitting position.
You stood up, turning around to watch the back of the shop as you waved over one of your coworkers to help you shelf the returns (or, in other words, do your job for you). As you slid over the pile to them, you realized that as they carted off the books, you saw that same man again. That ‘Paul Dano-y’ man.
Hm, he seems to be wearing glasses again today. Fun.
You try to not shamelessly stare at him, instead turning back around to get back to work, but after a couple of scans, you hear as footsteps come behind you and walk up to the front desk. It’s him, mister suburban, in front of you holding a Paulo Coelho.
“Could I get this?” He asks, voice a bit shaky. You smile, nodding as you take the book from his hands. You push aside your pile of books, registering in ‘The Alchemist’ for him.
“I liked reading this one,” you said, trying to be friendly. “Super good… ending and all.” You paused for a second, squinting as the website was starting to give you an error sign. Damn, might take longer than you thought.
“Oh, I already read it, I’m just getting it for a friend.” He explained himself, giving you a slightly curvy smile. You glanced up at him, a bit intrigued and also not wanting the situation to go awkward while you tried to fix whatever problem was happening on the monitor. “Really? That’s sweet. Coelho is always a nice treat to read.”
“Yeah- Did you know, um, it only took him 2 weeks to write the whole book? Coelho underwent a spiritual journey, and claimed that the book was ‘already written in his soul.’”
You finally got the site to start working again, glancing up at him every now and then as he brain-dumped every Wikipedia fun facts about Coelho. You took in every word the stranger said, hearing about how long it took for Coelho to get successful, and what Ernest Hemingway had to do with The Alchemist. Even after you had checked in the book for him, a whole minute had passed since then, and there you were, just staring up at the tall stranger who couldn’t keep his mouth shut.
It soon dawned on him, that he was a tall stranger who couldn’t keep his mouth shut.
He abruptly stopped talking, standing there awkwardly as if someone had just pressed his off button. He smoothed out his shirt, clearing his throat before weakly bringing a hand up to his neck.
“Sorry, um, I talk a lot.”
You shook your head, grinning up at him. “No, no, I love The Alchemist. I had no clue about… um, any of that.”
Silence dripped between the two of you, which made you think that you might’ve said the wrong thing, but the way he was trying to not smile said something different. You inhaled, looking back down at the book before raising your eyebrows. “You wanted to buy this, right? $12.27.”
He took his wallet from his leather satchel, handing you a $20. You were about to give him his change, but he insisted the rest of it to be a tip. Sweet, you just got 7 dollars as a tip, may as well call you an entrepreneur now! You watched as your friendly stranger walked into his usual spot, sitting down as he greedily bit down on his bottom lip, that same shy smile still plastered on his face. He must really like The Alchemist. Cute.
-
For the next couple of weeks, you started to get your own regular. He was no longer ‘Paul Dano-y’ or ‘Business guy’ to you. You found out that his name was Spencer, and that he was a big learner. He told you that sometimes his work had him go to different places, like Las Vegas or Minneapolis, but it was never planned ahead of time, so he’s kind of always on the go. You asked him what he worked as, but he seemed a little hesitant to answer, instead explaining that he worked not too far from the library.
“So, you’re shady?” You said, crossing your arms as you leaned back in the wooden chair. You were on your lunch break, but instead of going out back to the alleyway to smell it up with your fellow buds, this time you spent it trying to solve a crossword puzzle with Spencer.
“No- um, actually the opposite. I work for the FBI.”
That definitely took you off guard, making you sit up straight as you emptily peered back at him, trying to figure out how to react. He bit back a laugh, looking away. “Yeah- I don’t like saying that when I first get to know people.” He joked, earning a honeyed laugh from you. You spun your wooden pencil in between your fingers, looking away.
“Damn, I should’ve known. You’re always in here dressing up for business.” You teased at him, watching as his face slowly tinted with embarrassment. “Business? Like, accountant?”
You nodded, his mouth going agape as he rolled his eyes. You snickered, covering your smile with your hands. “What?! Do you hate accountants? I swear to god- I thought you were one!”
“Actually, studies show that more than 53% of accountants are miserable and don’t like their jobs.” He chirped out, letting a hand rest on the wooden table. “So, technically, you’re saying that I’m miserable.”
“That is such a logical fallacy.”
“But there’s still a possibility, mm?”
You scoffed, crossing your arms and looking away from him. He slid the crossword puzzle towards him, and flipped it around so he could read it. He looked up at you, and then glanced down at where your fingers had placed the pencil so neatly between them. You didn’t wait for him to ask, you just brought your hand closer and let him take the pencil from you. It was eerily silent, and you were about to start up a new topic to talk about, when all of a sudden he was jotting down letters on the paper and solving the puzzle.
“Hey- wait. No, let me solve it.”
“You’ve been at this thing for, like, 20 minutes. Cmon.”
“Just because you’re smart doesn’t mean you get to play my crossword- give it!”
You tried to take the pencil from him, but he quickly shot back his hand, holding the pencil away from you. You leaned forward, basically hanging on the desk as you tried to get the pencil. A few bickers here and a little more cursing there, and he had you waving a white flag as you defeatedly slumped back in your chair.
“You’re a dick.”
“A helpful one.”
“Dicks don’t help with anything.”
“Actually, a 2004 study showed that about-“
You gasped, interrupting him as you slapped a hand over your mouth, looking away as he mirrored you, shutting his own self up before he could finish his sentence. Later that day, your coworker asked about the 2004 study from you. You never got to hear the end of it. Nosy bastards.
-
It’s been 4 days since Spencer’s last been here. You never realized how slow work is without him. Yes, you’ve been able to fly through audiobooks and you’ve chatted with other regulars, but his absence is starting to kill you.
And, frankly, you’re worried. When you had to go off of return duty, your workmates caught you looking up “How Often Do Fbi Workers Die” on the monitor. The number says that last year about 55 members died, that’s too much.
You’re starting to spiral.
It’s just 2 more hours until closing, and you’re stuck restocking for your halloween specials. You got sick of audiobooks, opting for some Fall Out Boy to suffocate your eardrums while you shelved. You were knelt down on the ground, making sure everything was in the right place, until you felt two fingers tap your shoulder. You quickly looked up, and it’s your boss.
“Your mate’s asking for you.”
Mate? When did she start using that?
“Who?” You asked, holding your breath and anticipating her answer.
“Ummm… that guy, y’know? Just go, finish this later.”
Oh, she’s being quite generous today. You didn’t think twice, standing up and leaving the shelves alone as you walked up to the front desk. Tenuous and seemingly anxious, there he was, holding a peach Snapple and his brown satchel in his hands. He gave you a weak smile, holding up the Snapple higher. You tell him you’re not allowed to drink in the library, he tells you he doesn’t see your boss anywhere. Touché.
The two of you talked, mostly about the reason he was gone. He went to Texas, had to deal with a child murderer, and how one of his friends had just resigned from the BAU. You couldn’t tell if he was here because he missed you, or he needed someone to talk to. You didn’t ask, you just listened to him. He asks about how life is for you, and you don’t have much to say. You’ve almost completely forgotten the things you wanted to say to him these past days.
“Uhh… my mom said she’s thinking of getting a cat.”
“Really?” He says, his pitch jumping an octave higher, “what kind of cat?”
“Oh, I dunno. She just said she’s thinking.”
The two of you talk about your dream pets, and what you’d name them. Spencer wants a yorkie named Audrey, based off of the 1990s drama ‘Twin Peaks.’ You imagine him living in a house, a small molasses-coiled yorkshire puppy yapping at his feet. Cute. He says he watched Twin Peaks for a girl that he used to like in middle school. You think it’s sweet, he cringes at your words. You tell him that you never really thought of getting a dog, or a cat, but when you were younger you really wanted a hamster. Your parents never got you one, though, in fear that it might die gruesomely like the neighbor’s did. Spencer nods, crossing his arms.
“Yeah, adolescents witnessing a pet dying can really weigh heavily on them.”
“You’re so random.”
“…Sorry.”
You open up your Snapple, taking a sip as you guys chat about nonsense for the rest of the evening. After a while, you have to get back to work, but he’s standing right next to you as you stock the books, continuing to chat with you. This feels like the most diverse conversation you’ve had, jumping to board games like Apples to Apples and then to things like Facebook and its malware problem.
“Yeah, that’s why I don’t have facebook.” He comments, making your eyebrows knit together. “Really? Wait- did you ever have a MySpace?”
“A what?”
“Dude, how does anyone reach you?!”
“My phone.”
You left the shop with his number that day.