Chapter Text
It’s funny, the way people can wake up one day and not realise their life is about to change. Scary, sure, but also a gift. That everyday can bring something new.
It’s one of these days for Bob.
He’s cleaning his desk after his last class of the day – his kindergarten class, the youngest he’s ever taught – when one of the janitors knocks on the door.
“Mr. Reynolds? Am I interrupting?”
“Uh? Oh, Clark, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there. No, no, do you need something?”
“Not me, the new English teacher two doors down. She needed some of those colourful cardboards you asked from me earlier, if there’s still any left for her.”
“Yeah, sure. I’m just wrapping things up here, I’ll stop by her class when I leave.”
The janitor just nodded and quietly left, leaving Bob to his papers and cardboards. He needed some to decorate the class for the year, and assumed the new teacher was doing the same now. He quickly grabbed his things, shoved what he could on his courier bag and left, planning to drop by the cardboards and go straight home.
He wasn’t expecting to be welcomed by the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.
“You must be Mr. Reynolds!”, you offer him a big smile, opening the door and giving him the space to walk into the classroom. “Clark told me you’d come. Would you like to come in?”
Bob must be silent for a moment too long. Enough for you to look back as you walk to your desk. “You okay, Mr. Reynolds?”
“Bob. You can–” He cleans his suddenly very dry throat. “You can just call me Bob. I-I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
He walks in, leaving the door slightly open. You give him a shy smile, offering you his name. Bob can feel your name dancing on the tip of his tongue. It’s a weird imagery, but it’s also a weird feeling, he thinks.
“Um, I- I brought you the cardboard papers…” He offers you the papers folded in cylinders, and you gleefully take it, practically hugging them.
“Oh, thank you!” You beam at him. “Principal Barnes didn’t say anything about us decorating our classes. I had to find out cause Mr. Clark asked me about it this morning.”
“My students were the ones to call me out on it.” Bob said, chuckling. He glanced around the room, realising the whole class was covered in posters with historical figures — famous writers, he assumes. In the back of the class, a huge carpet and four different shelves, forming a L shaped mini library.
“I think the place looks great.” He says, looking back at you. Your smile grows quickly, excitement slithering in, and he takes it as an opportunity to talk some more. “Are those books from the school library?”
“Most of them, yeah. The kids can take them home if they want to. Some are from my personal collection, though.”
“You’re not afraid of the kids borrowing them too?”
“As long as they come back to me in one piece, I’m good.” You grin, and Bob gives a temptive step toward the library.
“May I check the books?”
You nod, and Bob walks the distance to the first shelf, sitting on the burgundy carpet.
“These are all from the library.” Your hand traveled through the surface of three of the shelves. He followed with his eyes, avoiding the fact that you’re now closer than before. “There’s multiple copies of the same books cause we’ll be using most of these, so it’s good we have spare copies. Teenagers tend to be quite forgetful, in my experience.”
Bob chuckles, silently nodding and agreeing. You smile at him before moving over to the fourth shelf, “And those are my babies.”
He looks carefully, his eyes scanning your personal collection. He doesn’t recognise some of the authors, but knows a few of them. Something else gets his attention. He pulls a red hardcover from the shelf.
“You have six copies of Little Women?”
He can see your eyes looking down, avoiding his out of embarrassment.
“Uh, seven, actually... I left my favourite at home.”
“I haven’t read it yet.” He says, his fingers touching the golden lettering carved on it before starting to put it back in, when you interrupt.
“You can have it.” Your voice is slightly high pitched, and he looks at you wide eyed. “I- I mean, you can borrow it. I’d like to have it back, of course. But if you want to read it, you can take it home.”
Bob knows what it's like to feel nervous. He has never been an outgoing kid, nor an outgoing adult too. And it takes one to know one.
So when he hears that tiny hint of hesitation in your voice, he allows himself to feel hopeful that you’re just as infatuated as he is.
He smiles fondly before holding the book closer to his chest, “I’d love to, thank you.”
When he goes back to the impromptu library to return your book and you give him the promise that you’ll bring another one if he wants to — and god, he really, really does —, he feels like his face is tearing apart in a grin. He wonders if his roommates can see it, delight written all over his face.
Apparently, they can.
“Is this another book given to you by the new English teacher?” Joaquin says, dropping himself on the couch near Bob.
”Yeah, it is.” Bob looks at him briefly, but just enough for Joaquin to see the bashful smile on his face.
“Oh, I see what’s happening.” Joaquin gets closer to Bob, poking his cheeks. “You’re in looooveeee.” He sings-songs in Bob’s face, his face scrunching as he pushes Joaquin away.
“Get off me!” Bob uses a pillow to protect himself from any other attack. “I literally just met her!”
“But you’re soooo charmed already…”
Bob groans, “Please, shut up.”
Joaquin opts to give Bob some grace, just throwing a last jab. “So, when are we meeting her?”
“I genuinely, genuinely dread the day I’m gonna introduce anyone to you.”
And yet, in the quiet of the night, when he's still hooked in the book you offered him, addicted to the thrill of finding your notes in the margins – knowing they came from your thoughts, Bob secretly hopes one day he’ll get to introduce you to them.