Chapter Text
Gajeel was pretty fucking sure he couldn't turn invisible. Well, that didn't explain how it had been more than fifteen minutes he had entered the guild's library and Shorty hadn't acknowledged his presence yet. Sure, he knew the girl liked her books like no one else, but come on. That much? There had to be a limit, right? Just as he started wondering if the reason for her not seeing him wasn't just a mix of him being too stealthy and her not having a keen nose like his, the vast room echoed a crystallin giggle.
Leaning, his shoulder propped against a wall-encassed bookshelf, his eyes landed on Shorty who had nestled herself in one of the puffy armchairs laid in semi-circle around a low table. The sight of her burying her giggling face in the book she was reading, while kicking her feet was something he couldn't tear his eyes from.
Curiosity flared within him, quickly followed by another emotion he preferred leaving unnamed. He wasn't annoyed by a book. He wasn't envious of an inanimate object, monopolizing the attention of a woman he might or might not be infatuated by. Gajeel Redfox was above such pettiness. Besides, he wasn't in love; he simply was rightfully exasperated from being ignored. Something that totally would have bothered him before Fairy Tail. As if! Goddammit, did this happy-go-lucky, dumb guild change him in the weirdest ways. Well, given by how weird the members were, it did actually make sense.
Shorty let out a contented sigh. The soft sound unbeknownstly sent shockwaves through his body. Fucking hell was it not normal to react like that no matter how cute she sounded. Readying himself to throw her a snarky remark about how her hyperfocus was not matching her spacial awareness, Shorty destabilized him when she noticed something on the low table.
“Oh my god, I am so late! They'll be so pissed.”
And with a speed that could leave even Jet impressed, she put everything back in her satchel and took the shoulder strap a tad too fast, making it swing so widely it went almost all around her, crashing her on her side on her way out, making her exit anything but discreet.
Just when the door slammed shut behind her did Gajeel realize his jaw was left hanging. Sure, he walked further in the library, his pride and boredom forbidding him to make his presence known, but how could someone be so single-mindedly focused to miss someone his size in a place that was vacant most of the time?
Feeling his face and ears burning from embarrassment at his own creepiness and false nonchalance, Gajeel groaned back a curse that was aimed at himself. Shorty was his friend, sure, but she didn't have to give him the time of the day. Especially after all the times he had driven her 'absolutely mad' – her own words – out of pure fun. As Lily had pointed out, he was lucky she even graced him with answers most of the time. He just couldn't help himself in teasing her; her reactions were always too entertaining. Most could argue it was not a way to show affection to someone, but what did most people know of how he felt about Shorty. Even he wasn't sure. All he knew was that he wanted to be by her side.
Discouraged by his own train of thought, feeling absolutely wimpy, Gajeel marched to leave, only to inadvertedly kick something that laid on the floor. The object spun from the impact and ended up under the armchair. With a sigh, he crouched and tried to retrieve it. Unsurprisingly, his hand landed on a book. What was a surprise however was that it was the one Shorty had been reading. Then, the whole storm of an exit she had made proved to be just as chaotic as expected. Enough for her to drop her current read and not notice it. Undoubtedly, she would be back in a flash to get it back once she noticed its absence. Although it might take a moment, given how in a hurry she had been.
Gajeel flipped the book to see the cover. Almost entirely dark purple, black markings that ressembled roses seemed to bloom from the spine while making their way to the front cover, towards the title, At the Dagger's End. As expected from her giggles, it was a novel, but judging by the title, it didn't look like a comedy. His curiosity only flared brighter. And then he halted himself. He couldn't read it; it was her book, something close to her and that was meant only for her eyes. The more pragmatic part of him reminded him that it was simply a novel and not her diary, so what would be the big deal? A novel was meant to be read by many, after all. But even so, why would he? He was no reader. The few detective stories that he had read didn't make him someone who would actively search for more books to read.
Then, again, the book he was holding was seemingly burning his hand by how it itched to be read. His mind told him to leave it on the armchair she had been sitting on but his heart wanted to flip it open and discover what had brought her so much joy. He took a deep breath. A couple of pages couldn't hurt, right? He might most likely not even understand what was happening in the story, anyway, he tried to reason himself. It was fine. Annoyed by his own internal conflict, he shook his head and opened the damn book. His sour mood was short-lived, as a – surely shit-eating – grin bloomed on his face.
Nestled in the pages of the book that had brought her joy laid a metallic bookmark, one engraved with tiny dragons in flight. The one he had given her to congratulate her for the prize she had received by the Magic Council on her groundbreaking research on Written Magic, bringing more understanding on the possibilities offered by runic magic and her own. The look on her face when she had received it had quickly annihilated the mockery he had heard from others about his gift lacking originality and her having already too many bookmarks. Her fanclub had just been jealous that he had thought of celebrating her success. Sure, she always received book-related gifts on her birthdays or for Christmas, but he couldn't see how it could be a bad thing. She loved such things, so why forcing her to pace herself on it? Maybe it was his hoarder side speaking but he would continue to stand by it, nonetheless.
Still, its sight warmed his heart in a way that even baffled him. She loved something he made for her, enough for her to use it despite all the other options she had. Suddenly, being ignored didn't feel as bad as before, knowing she always carried something of his with her.
His eyes widened at how sappy he was getting. He blinked away his daze and tried to concentrate on the pages before him. As expected it was in the middle of the action, the two pages were the end of a chapter. Even so, his curiosity pushed him to read.
Gregory was stalking within the close space. His stature felt even more imposing in the cell they were locked in. Seconds, minutes or hours had passed, but the only thing that broke the silence was their nerves cackling. It was surely the most time Leanne had spent with him without them jumping at each other's throat. Right now, all she had the strength to do was to remain sit and conscious. Surely, her crew would come to her rescue. She had taken the fall for them all to escape. They'd be back for her. Or maybe Gregory's unsavory group would get here first. It was all rather ridiculous of them to be such at odds; they were after the same thing. They all wanted the fall of Tyran Valorian. He was no king, as no leader would crush the world to gain infinite power and wealth in a fragile, finite world where magic was dying with its people.
“You always have to do stupid stunts, don't you?” Gregory asked her without looking at her. His dark hair all messy but still looking impossibly soft always captured her attention, as his solid, muscular back often would too, especially when his shirt was still somewhat soaked from him saving her from the rapids they had pushed her into. Because of it, he had been captured. Thanks to it, she was alive. Not that she could ever voice it to him and his kindgom-sized ego.
“Someone had to act for once,” she countered, adjusting her shirt, unpleasantly sticking to her skin, freezing her to the bones. She eyed the floor mat that served as bed in the cell, a single wool blanket on it. She wouldn't be the first to surrender to the cold. Not when he was still acting all knowingly and superior as he was.
His crimson eyes darted to her, almost burning her with their intensity. “And look where it got you!” He took a sharp inhale and added, “Where it got us.”
The thought of him caring what would happen to her was laughable. Closer to enemies than rivals, he had shown her nothing but obstinate disdain and exasperated dislike. All he had ever cared for was his own glory, always acting like some kind of hero.
“No one forced you to jump,” she reminded him. At his glare, she scoffed which had been a terrible idea, the movement rattling her abdomen, making her wince. Her teeth clenched to not let out a breathy sound, one that would show...
In a flash, Gregory was crounching before her, his eyes inspecting her. “You're injured.”
His hand hovered over her, as if hesitant to touch her in fear she would break. She pushed it unceremoniously. “I can take care of myself.” Avoiding to look at his face, in fear of finding perfection in his infuriating imperfections, she muttered, “Like you said, you've done enough.”
Just when she thought her words had done more than she intented, as he left her sitting with her legs stretched out, far from her painful absomen, she was startled when soft fabric was dropped on her. Before she could fully understand what was happening, her brain stopped working when she saw Gregory frowning, looking seemingly concerned, as he adjusted the blanket to cover her almost wholly.
The sight of him was impossible. The feel of his – badly conceiled – caring nature was overwhelming. And yet all she could find to say was more things she didn't mean. “As if a single blanket would fix me up.”
Before she could bite back her lack of decency – as he had acted nice with her despite his annoyance with her antics – he did something to shut her up. “You're right.” And just like that, on top of saying words she had thought she'd never hear from him, he picked her up as if she was the most valuable thing in the world. Her breath was caught in her throat and her eyes were glued on the sharp line of his jaw as his eyes remained focused onward, towards his goal. Just as she was noticing how safe she felt in his strong arms, he gently laid her on the floor mattress.
Ignoring the turmoil raging in her, Gregory asked her, “Let me see your wound.” When she crossed her arms over her chests, he smirked a disarming smile, a mischievous spark lighting his eyes in a way that made them shine like rubies. “I will do nothing unbecoming, don't you worry. I just want to tend your wound so it doesn't infect.”
Her shoulders dropped as her arms and she averted her eyes, confused and somewhat more wounded. Then, her thoughts caught up with the nonsense her heart was feeling. She had no rights to feel disappointed. It wasn't what she wanted. She was simply confused by his kindness that wasn't hidden behind exasperation. And how mortifying that he had thought she was ever conceiving them being... being anything other than rivals and occassional, reluctant allies.
Leanne tensed when she felt a finger lift her chin so she would meet his still burning eyes. “Don't get me wrong, Lea.” His lips curved into a mocking smile, inviting while looking forbiddingly so. “I want to do things right. It's just hard to follow you, but,” His thumb brushed her bottom lip, setting her inside on fire. “I will catch up eventually.” Cupping her jaw, he tilted his head, looking at her like he never had before, asking for something she realized she had given him a long time ago, unbeknowstly until now. “If you'll have me.”
Her lips parted. She did the only thing she could do. As if her life depended on it. She...
Jolted back to reality, Gajeel slammed the book shut when the floral – particularly lilac today – scent of Shorty hit his nose before he saw her rushing through the library, looking almost haggard.
“Gajeel?!” she said with a mix of surprise and joy before her face turned to shock and horror when her eyes landed on the book he was holding. “Y-you found my book.” The sentence almost felt like an unassumed question, charged with worries.
“Yeah, I guess,” he shrugged, hoping she hadn't seen him read as he extended the book to her, which she quickly grabbed. “You okay, Shrimp? You look jittery.”
A nervous laugh escaped her as her eyes darted around, avoiding his. “Just relieved that I didn't lose it outside, that's all.”
“Uh-huh,” he agreed, not biting back his smirk, as he was thorougly unconvinced, something that didn't go unnoticed by her.
A hand on her hip, a no-nonsense tilt of her face, she counter-attacked, “And pray tell why you're here when you bash my ears in about the fact that you are no reader?”
The promise of banter that this almost rhetorical question offered him brought him joy, making him forget once more that a moment earlier he had been throughly ignored, her attention always gifted to books over anything else. However, he always prided himself that once he had her attention she solely focused on him, making him feel on top of the world.
“Heard a devilish laugh from here and thought that I should make sure you weren't planning something diabolical,” Gajeel smirked. “And then I found this laying around. One would think you'd be more careful with those.”
For some reason, Shorty seemed to pale. “You haven't read it, right?”
Gajeel caught himself before frowning in puzzlement. From the two pages he had read, he couldn't fathom what made her so worried. Hadn't the scene simply been the assuming start of a mushy relationship? Still acting like he didn't know better, he preferred poking fun as if he were oblivious to what she had been reading.
“Don't worry, I already know you like naughty books.”
“I do not!” she denied too adamantly. And then, she changed her mind on her approach. “Even if I were, it's my own business.”
The implication stung him for some reason, but he had walked into it so, he kind of deserved it. It didn't mean he was done with his fun. “Yeah, it wouldn't be like you'd want anyone knowing your tastes, huh?”
Although he had thrown that remark without much thought, it seemed to ignite a lot in Shorty's mind as she became as red as a beet in a blink of an eye. With a strangled voice, she said, “Yes, no. Quite.” Her grip of the book tightened and Gajeel could swear he had heard her gulp, as if shy. “Alright, erm, see you later!”
Her stumbling on her words was something quite out of character for her and so Gajeel let her leave in a flash, simply dumbfounded. Had he said something truly so out of sort? Something beyond teasing? She hadn't looked angry or insulted. She had rather looked shy and embarrassed. As if he might have found something compromising about her. Had he though? He tried to think back on the scene he had read before she came back and remained unsure of what would provoke such a reaction from her. He had simply read a passage that made her kick her feet in delight and...
Then realization dawned on him. If words on a page could make her so happy, maybe he could learn a thing or two from them to make her happy. To potentially swoon her. A discouraged sigh racked his chest. There was no way she would feel the same as him. Not even a fraction of it. Still, was it reason enough to not try to see how she would react if he took some pointers from the books she enjoyed so much?
The answers to all his questions were so obvious now. She had given them all along and he had been too thick headed and stubborn to take the opportunity. Not anymore. He had a plan now. Not a solid one but still. He had drive and his plan could go a long way.
It was time for Gajeel to roll up his sleeves and read some mushy books to step up his game and see where Shorty stood with him.
He knew a title for now and that would be good enough for the moment. And so, he walked to the door with decisiveness, going for the first time to the bookstore by himself.
Time to swoon a bookworm, his bookwyrm.