Work Text:
The University of Pittsburgh has dozens of libraries its students can attend. Though why you would go to any other place when the Hillman Library existed was a mystery to Mel. It was the largest of them, had every book you could possibly look for, several floors with different seating arrangements, different ceiling heights, different windows.
Mel was entering her second year of med school and she'd had plenty of time to experiment and find the ultimate best study spot.
It was on the fourth floor. Any lower and you wouldn't get an even sunlight distribution, any higher and that'd be way too bright. The ceilings were at a perfect height too, a great balance between feeling suffocated and feeling like you were studying in a soundbox. Walls were painted silver lake blue, her favorite, parquet floor did not creak under her feet.
Perfect room. Not too small that you felt observed, not too big you felt lost.
She had tried every table and seat in this room and by April of her first year she had found it .
The table was tucked in the left corner, in a dead end surrounded by bookshelves about topics barely anyone cared about. There was one window you could open, giving a satisfying amount of sunlight throughout the day, positioned in such a way that she would never have the sun shining directly in her eyes.
Four seats. She always took the green chair (the others had some weird stain on them) and the layout of the room was made so that no one could come from behind or from the sides.
She had found her personal cocoon. A magical spot that maximised her focus. It was perfect.
Every day when she didn't have classes to attend, she waited for the library to open and be the first one to reach her table. She always succeeded.
Well, she used to. Only that one day, she had somehow ignored all her alarms, her body screaming at her to get more rest, and it was already 10 a.m. when she got there.
Mel was already distressed going up the stairs. It was a Monday, finals week, the library was packed to the brim. There was no way her perfect table was gonna be empty, anyone with a working brain would know by now that it was the best spot on campus, and she had left it unattended! The fool. She considered going backwards, studying in her room instead, but her roommate was there and that was a different kind of hell. Trinity had a newfound obsession for the Real Housewives of Salt Lake City.
Fourth floor. There she goes. Now is the time to start believing in miracles Melissa King!
Except miracles weren't real and there was a boy in her seat. Her precious green chair had someone else's butt on it! He was engrossed in his book, long strands of brown hair falling on his eyes, not noticing the state of despair Mel was in.
Could she ask him to move? No that was rude. He had been there first and there was no other table available. He looked focused and she didn't want to disturb him. She couldn't quite make out his face but something about him felt somehow familiar.
Mel could usually handle some disruption in her routine, but she was already late, hadn't slept properly, no time to braid her hair, her clothes felt weird on her skin. Her brain short-circuited, suddenly every option she had was terrible and she stood there for what felt like hours, barely a minute, unable to move.
She broke out of her daze when the blue-eyed boy looked up and opened his mouth.
“Oh shit. Sorry. I didn't know you'd be there today, I took your table. I can move, it's no problem.” He hastily stood up, gathering his books in a messy pile he shoved into his backpack. “There you go. I'll just find another spot. Sorry again.”
She looked at him bewildered, and mindlessly sat down in his spot. His face looked flushed but she couldn't quite make out his expression. Had she said something to make him flee? Did she look scary today? Why did he sound like he knew her? She had to ask, “My table? I'm sorry if I don't remember, but have we met?”
“Oh no, fuck. Now I must look like a creep, promise I'm not, let me explain.” Exactly what a creep would say , she thought. “So this is the best spot, right? Anybody with a working brain would know that! ( The author would like to clarify that it was not a universal truth among students of the Pittsburgh University.)
“I come here often and most of the time when I get there you're already seated in the spot . But if you're not then I know I'm good for the day. Does it make sense? Judging by your face I feel like I've made it worse. I sound like a stalker. I'll just go, have a nice day.”
“My name is Mel.”
He turned around and said, “Frank.”
“It does make sense, this is the best table, but now I feel bad I was taking it from you all this time. I’ve been sitting here for months and I’ve never noticed. It's very hard to find a decent seat that meets every criteria.”
He didn't fancy this conversation ending there, but he also didn't know what to tell her next. What he wanted to say was, ‘Please let me sit with you.’ What he said instead was a pathetic, “I know, right, so hard.”
“We can share. I just need that chair if it's okay with you, but there are three more. And you won't find anywhere empty at this hour so might as well. Please sit, I feel bad enough about those other times you had to find somewhere else to go.” Maybe it was the fact that he looked equally distressed that gave her the confidence to say that, or it was because they were linked with the special library-table-preferences-bond. Her roommate had laughed so hard when she had explained.
Frank sheepishly took the seat across from her. “What’s your major?” He asked.
“Pre-med. I’m in my second year. You?”
“No way! Fourth year. Same major. If you ever need help with something, I’d be happy to, I’m very good at anatomy.”
“Are you flirting?” She said, looking at him like she was genuinely trying to solve a riddle.
He was lucky he wasn’t drinking anything and he had to remind himself to lower his voice, they were still in a library. “What? No! Not that I would never flirt with you, you're very—yeah. I’m really just—I had good grades and I tutor other undergrads sometimes. There was no double meaning, just offering.”
“Okay, thank you for clarifying. Someone from my class once told me he was an anatomy connoisseur, and he could give me night tutoring. Of course, I refused his help because he was really bad at anatomy, like comically bad for a future doctor, but then he said what he had meant was sex. That was weird.”
“Yeah, I’m not propositioning you in a library Mel, glad that’s out of the way.”
“I might take you up on the offer." His face was turning red again, Mel found she liked that look on him. "The tutoring one.”
***
They fell back into comfortable silence, spending the day stealing careful glances at each other. Oddly, that was the most productive Frank had ever been, he had to show he was a serious student and tutor after all. And just like that, one routine had replaced the other, and order was restored.