Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

As far as days went, this one hadn’t been terrible.

Despite the abysmal parking situation, he’d actually managed to find a spot. He hadn’t been late for his meeting, and his advisor hadn’t pissed him off for once. The coffee stand hadn’t run out of dark brew, and nobody had bothered him when he’d gone to attend lecture.

All in all, really not bad.

Of course, it couldn’t last. As it always did, Kunikuzushi’s luck ran out. 

He stood in front of a large shelving unit in the Akademiya’s library, pacing about the aisle as he looked up and down through the rows of aged book spines with waning hope. The book he needed should’ve been in this spot, but it was nowhere to be found. That generally meant one of two things – either they didn’t have it at all, or it was checked out.

Kunikuzushi knew they should’ve had it, though, and nobody ever checked books out, so something was wrong. People these days just didn’t do books in general. Most papers were available online, and everything was digital. So who in their right mind would’ve been checking out the exact book Kunikuzushi needed? Who the hell wanted to read some crusty old tome about politics?

Well, he did, but that was a different matter.

Sighing, he made his way towards the reference desk, impatiently drumming his fingers on the wooden table as he waited for someone to notice him. He wouldn’t say he was an expert on library filing systems, but he was at least decent enough at navigating the library that he didn’t usually have to stoop to asking about things. But maybe, maybe he’d misread the situation.

Unlikely. But still.

Otherwise, if someone had actually checked it out for some godforsaken reason, he needed to know when it would be back. There wasn’t much of a way around it.

“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t see you there,” the clerk said, running over from where he’d been reshelving some books. Kunikuzushi eyed him critically. Wasn’t that just a kid? Since when did university libraries start hiring high schoolers?

Well, whatever. As long as he knew what he was doing.

“It’s fine,” Kunikuzushi said with a sigh. “I’m looking for a particular book. It’s either out of place, or checked out. Could you search it up?”

“Oh uh— yeah, sure! No problem,” he replied, punching it in as Kunikuzushi shared the details. As he looked at the screen, typing it in, his eyes kept nervously flicking over towards Kunikuzushi as though he wanted to say something, or maybe he was intimidated.

Obviously, it really didn’t matter which. Kunikuzushi would leave as soon as he found out what he needed to know.

“Well, um,” the clerk said, his attention eventually settling on the screen as he read its contents with a frown, “it’s checked out, but…” he trailed off, sounding unsure.

Of course it was checked out. Fantastic. What more could there possibly be to it?

Kunikuzushi waited for the answer, but it wasn’t forthcoming. It quickly became clear the boy was too skittish to speak up, so he did it himself. “But?” He prompted impatiently, a disgruntled sigh passing his lips. 

“Uh… well…” the clerk said, shifting in place. “Apparently, it’s been on loan for two years.”

Oh, great. Two years. Whatever polite expression Kunikuzushi had been making at the clerk evaporated instantly as his irritation crashed upon him full force. “Ugh. Seriously?” He grumbled. There was no way it was coming back, then.

“Sorry,” the boy frowned, sounding genuinely apologetic. He paused, fidgeting with his hands, before inhaling deeply and speaking before Kunikuzushi could walk away. “Um… you’re here a lot, right? So… if it turns up, I’ll let you know.” He said hopefully. “Sorry we didn’t have it.”

Kunikuzushi pulled in a breath. It wasn’t the kid’s fault. He had to remind himself not to take it out on him. “Sure,” he said noncommittally, turning on his heel to take his leave. “Thanks anyway.”

If he could meet whoever had borrowed that book without returning it, he would’ve run them over with his car. He hoped they would stub their toe tonight.

Grumbling irritably to himself, Kunikuzushi slid into a chair in the back of the library and pulled out his laptop, resigning himself to his final option: scouring the web to see if anyone had digitized it.

Of course, again, his luck was never that good.

Not available. Please see reference desk.

Stupid. Today was stupid.

Kunikuzushi sighed. 

He considered tearing one of the phone number strips from the flyer, but he would’ve felt like an idiot if he did that. He wasn’t that desperate. 

Ajax T., 21, likes to go HARD ! Not picky about roomies, give me a call.

Yeah, right. Kunikuzushi would rather die.

The only thing worse than rooming with some undergrad who liked to party would’ve been rooming with an insufferable guy who didn’t shut up. What did that description even mean?

He had absolutely no interest in finding out.

The progress on his search for a new place to live felt like it was moving backwards rather than forward, despite his various attempts at locating a potential roommate. In an ideal world, Kunikuzushi would’ve lived alone, but he hardly had that kind of money. His side job paid him in pocket lint and broken dreams, and that didn’t take paying for tuition into account, either.

So, no. Living alone was off the table. Kunikuzushi was picky, though, and refused to give up on his principles. There was no way he would live with someone like that guy.

As he put the idea out of his mind, his phone buzzed, and he pulled it from his pocket with a sigh.

I forgot to ask this morning, but could you get more milk on your way home? We ran out.

Kunikuzushi shook his head. As far as roommates went, it wasn’t like he was in any particular hurry to find a new one – after all, he liked his current one just fine. He cared about her a lot, even if he’d never tell her so much out loud.

He texted back.

And you won’t get it yourself, why? 

Because I know you pass by the grocery store from the exit you always take. See you soon, thanks for the milk :-)

Kunikuzushi always grumbled over things like this, but he wasn’t actually mad. Truthfully, he didn’t even mind going to the store, but he wouldn’t have been himself if he didn’t give her a hard time for it anyway. Nahida was probably the only person he’d ever met who accepted him the way he was, bad attitude and all, as corny as it felt to say such a thing. So, really, there was no reason to ever hold something like a milk run over her head.

Didn’t stop him from doing it, though. He would absolutely make sure to hold it over her head as soon as he got home.

Still, despite caring a lot about Nahida, the commute from their place to the Akademiya was stupidly far, and Kunikuzushi was getting tired of driving it every day. He’d already been traveling that distance for a while now, and it was getting tedious. He’d felt bad to even suggest the idea to her, worried she might think he was tired of her, or ungrateful, or possibly something worse, and he admittedly had barely slept the night before bringing it up to her out of apprehension – and then she’d had the audacity to just laugh when he mentioned it, saying I’m surprised you didn’t get tired of it sooner, as though she were smarter than everyone else in the world and ten times more worldly wise than him for accurately predicting what he was going to do. 

Nahida was a busy person and had a lot of friends, so she probably wouldn’t even notice him being gone, but they’d been together for so long that Kunikuzushi felt a little ill imagining having to live with some loud, overbearing roommate instead of her.

Still, he supposed, that was life. Either he traded familiarity for convenience, or he continued driving his hourlong commute twice a day. Maybe some people got to have it all, but not him.

He sighed. 

Then, of course, there was his thesis.

Grad school is rewarding, Nahida had said. I promise you’ll like it, she’d said. It was easy for her to say, because her advisor hadn’t been a complete fuckwit like his. What kind of advisor tells you to put factually wrong information into your paper? His, apparently.

He had the sources to prove it, but no amount of pointing at the page of a book older than the both of them combined was enough proof, apparently. His advisor had such a big ego that “minor details” like historical accuracy and qualitative data allegedly didn’t matter, as though the end result mattered more than the facts.

Well, his advisor had another thing coming. Because Kunikuzushi was nothing if not spiteful, he’d already been working on authoring several other papers just to refute every wrong point his advisor had ever made.

Of course, that also meant he was doing a lot more work than he already should’ve been, so he spent plenty of late nights in the library. If Kunikuzushi had been like any other normal person in this day and age, he would’ve done most of this stuff from the comfort of his home, but unfortunately for him he was extremely particular and hated the idea of digital books. Maybe it was something about the reliability of a physical book over the headache that was staring at a screen for too long, or maybe he was just an old soul, but he hated having to do any of his research online. It pissed him off.

At the end of the day, if he could find the sources he needed between the pages of a physical book, he would. That was all there was to it.

Tapping his pen on the table, he flipped through the book he’d just pulled out from between two dusty shelves, a hefty old thing that likely hadn’t been touched in years. Sifting through it for the information he needed, he jotted down some notes, reading between passages and marking down whatever historical information he needed to remember. It was a comfortable routine, one he’d become quite accustomed to over the years; a quiet evening spent by himself in the library, with no sound but the turning of a page between his fingers to interrupt his thoughts.

Kunikuzushi was nose deep in a book on sociopolitical commentary when someone slid into the chair across from him.

It wasn’t as though he would throw a fit about someone sitting at the same table as him. Libraries were public places, sometimes seating was limited, and as much as he’d rather keep his space to himself, sometimes he had to deal with some other person in his proximity. It was a fact of life.

But across from him? Not even on the other end of the table? And in the evening, no less, when there were countless empty tables to choose from?

This person had a death wish, and Kunikuzushi looked up with a scowl, ready to tell them to get lost.

He never was able to voice that thought.

“Um,” the person said nervously, whom Kunikuzushi vaguely recognized as the clerk he’d spoken to about the missing tome, “I noticed that you’re always in here reading books,” he said. “I just wanted to say… I think that’s really cool! I love books too. Not too many people do, these days.”

Kunikuzushi eyed him as though he’d gone insane. It wasn’t as if everyone on campus knew him, but most people knew him enough to keep their distance. It wasn’t like he didn’t know his own reputation – he was unapproachable, disagreeable, and brooding, though that last one hadn’t been his own word choice.

Still, this guy looked a little young to have been on campus long. Kunikuzushi might’ve been so uncharitable as to immediately profile him as a high schooler. He might’ve been a freshman or something. He probably didn’t know any better than to keep his distance from Kunikuzushi.

As much as Kunikuzushi wanted to rebuke him, though, he didn’t have the heart to. Those words had been spoken with such hopeful earnestness that he would’ve felt like a complete asshole to snap at the kid as harshly as he would’ve normally been inclined to.

Still, Kunikuzushi wasn’t a nice person, and it was only his moment of bafflement that had saved the clerk from his criticism, as the boy had taken the brief silence as an opportunity to keep talking.

“I just really want to make friends with other people that like books,” the clerk said, his bright eyes looking away nervously. “But it’s kind of hard to find people like that.” He turned his attention back to Kunikuzushi, giving him a radiant smile. “I’m Durin, by the way!”

Well, shit. Now Kunikuzushi really couldn’t be mean to him. 

He still needed him to go away, though.

Kunikuzushi sighed. “Well, Durin,” he said, “I wish you the best of luck finding friends,” he said, not without a hint of bitterness, “elsewhere.”. 

Durin only frowned, an honest thing that made Kunikuzushi squirm in his chair. “Oh,” he said, his disappointment immeasurable. “Well, if you really don’t want to be friends, then I won’t force you, of course... but I noticed you’re in here all the time by yourself reading books, so I just thought it’d be nice to talk to you. Am I interrupting your work?”

Yes, Kunikuzushi wanted to say.

Instead, inexplicably, he sighed. “No.” He said.

Why did he say that? That was not the answer to get this kid to go away.

The bright smile of happiness he got in turn was foreboding, at best, and Durin leaned forward with enthusiasm, plunking a thick book onto the table with a rattle. Apparently, he’d been keeping it in his lap, as though he’d had this entire interaction planned from the start. “This is my favorite book,” Durin said, “and it’s really good. I thought that since you like reading, well… maybe…” he trailed off, losing his nerve, before he gathered his courage and inhaled deeply. “Maybe you’d like to read it too? It’s my absolute favorite. I really want to talk about it with someone.”

Kunikuzushi looked down at the book with a bewildered sense of abhorrence. Of all the people to ask, he was asking Kunikuzushi for this? In all his life, he’d never been asked anything so absurd. 

“How ridiculous. If you hadn’t noticed, I’m busy doing real work,” he said, in complete contradiction to what he’d just said a moment ago, “so I hardly have time to read whatever little stories you want me to just to suit your whims.” 

Despite his words, he reached forward and flipped open the cover, thumbing through several pages. It was clearly for children, but the illustrations were admittedly beautiful, filled with vivid colors and extravagant scenery. It looked to be a fairy tale, one that Kunkuzushi hadn’t seen before. Still, his tongue was accustomed to being sharp, and he spoke before he thought better of it. “Aren’t you a little old for something like this?”

Somehow, though, Durin wasn’t put off by such a cutting remark. “This one is timeless,” he said with steadfast resolve, his adoration for the book clearly unswayed by its childish nature. “It’s about a dragon who was hated by everyone. But, he wasn’t a bad dragon,” Durin said. “He was just misunderstood, and lonely.”

As much as he didn’t want to see it, Kunikuzushi could immediately tell how deeply Durin cared about this book. He may have not been a nice person, but even he would never trample on such passionate devotion to something. He sighed. There really was only one way out of it, at this point. 

“If I promise to read it,” Kunikuzushi said, “will you go away?”

Durin’s smile was blinding, and Kunikuzushi refused to meet it, only scowling in turn. For some reason, though, the kid was not put off by this at all, nodding earnestly. “Yeah, I should probably get back to work anyway,” he said. “I’m sorry for bothering you, but I’m so happy you talked to me. I really hope you like it! Will you tell me what you think of it next time?”

Sighing more loudly this time, Kunikuzushi waved his hand dismissively. “Yeah, whatever.” He grumbled. “I’ll read your dumb book, so you can stop talking.”

Still smiling, Durin pushed his hands against the table, standing up. “Okay,” he said anxiously, clearly unsure of the mixed signals Kunikuzushi was giving. “Um, thanks!” He said quickly. “I’ll see you later, then!”

Durin departed with a sort of awkward energy that Kunikuzushi found almost painful, and his eyes tracked the boy hastily walking off until he was out of sight. Once he was gone, Kunikuzushi pulled the book closer to himself, settling it on top of the political volume he’d been scouring before he was interrupted.

Tales from Simulanka, the title read. Kunikuzushi had never heard of it before. He supposed, though, that he’d never really had much time for idle fiction like fairytales, so it wasn’t surprising that he was unfamiliar with it.

Kunikuzushi’s eyes drifted to the inside cover, where there was a handwritten message. 

To Durin, someone had written in pen. May these words keep you company on the coldest of nights. -M

He couldn’t tear his gaze away from the words, feeling like a chasm had just opened up between the book in his hands and his body. Durin had given him his personal copy? What kind of foolish person trusted that a stranger would take care of their prized possession, let alone return it at all? 

Kunikuzushi… wasn’t sure what to feel. Who was M? Was that shorthand for his mother? Or someone else important to him?

Not like it was any of his business. Still, he wondered.

Kunikuzushi’s head turned around, wondering if he should find Durin and tell him he was being careless for entrusting such a precious thing to someone he didn’t know. Kunikuzushi hadn’t even been half of Durin’s age when he’d learnt that other people weren’t to be trusted. The fact that Durin had apparently never learnt that harsh life lesson… what did he expect to do if Kunikuzushi never showed up again?

One one hand, maybe it was time for Durin to learn that harsh truth. At least if it were in Kunikuzushi’s possession, he could return it later, only after Durin had been rightfully taught that the world was cruel.

On the other hand… Kunikuzushi brushed his thumb over the wrinkled spine of the book, evidence left behind from years of lovingly spreading open its pages, and looked down at the colorful illustrations, delicate watercolor printed onto the blank canvas of each sheet. To be as old as Durin and still retain that innocent naïveté, believing that people were good, thinking that he could place his trust in them… it was foolish.

It was incredibly foolish, but Kunikuzushi didn’t want to be the one that broke him. If he could maintain that illusion for a person whose inner child refused to grow up, and let Durin retain his innocence for a few more years, then so be it. Durin would have to learn that lesson eventually… but Kunikuzushi supposed it wouldn’t have to be from him.

Glancing down at his phone, he realized he’d stayed in the library a bit longer than he’d originally intended to. By this point, it was already far past the time he’d originally planned on leaving. All because of a stupid children’s book… what an inconvenience.

Still, Kunikuzushi gently slid the book into his bag beside his other things before he gathered up his materials and left the library, pointedly not looking towards the circulation desk as he walked by. Whether or not Durin was even there didn’t matter, because Kunikuzushi was not going to look, regardless.

He’d read his dumb book, give his review, and then the two of them would never speak again. After that, Kunikuzushi would go back to his routine study sessions without any more interruptions, and that would be the end of it.

That was what he told himself, anyway.

Kunikuzushi was typing a report on his laptop when the chair across from him became occupied once again. Dragging his eyes slowly from his screen up to the anxious face in front of him, Kunikuzushi’s mouth formed an apathetic line.

Durin’s hopeful expression looked back at him. “Uh, hi,” he said awkwardly.

Kunikuzushi sighed. “You know,” he said, not bothering to return the greeting, “you shouldn’t trust other people with your things. You don’t know the first thing about me. What would you have done if I never came back? Don’t give your belongings to other people if you’re not prepared to lose them.”

Frowning, Durin’s hands fidgeted from where they were clasped atop the table. “Well,” he said nervously, “I don’t have any other copies except this one. But… I felt like I could trust you with it. You like books too, after all.” 

Kunikuzushi leaned down into his elbows, rubbing his temples with his fingers. That sentiment went beyond naïveté… it was just plain stupidity. He was going to get a headache if this kept up.

“Don’t make such idiotic assumptions,” Kunikuzushi snapped. “I’m impressed you’ve made it this far in your life, but people can’t be trusted. You’ll learn that the hard way pretty quickly if you keep this up.”

Kunikuzushi roughly pushed his computer aside and pulled out Durin’s book from his bag, pushing it across the table with enough force to make his discontentment known. Still, he watched as Durin’s eyes tracked the reappearance of his favorite book, his hands coming to meet it as it firmly slid into the waiting palms of its owner.

“You talk harshly as if you’re being mean,” Durin said cautiously, looking down thoughtfully at the book’s cover, “but… you’re actually nice, aren’t you?”

Those words settled uncomfortably in Kunikuzushi’s stomach, and he stared back at Durin with sharp indignation. “What?”

“Besides,” Durin continued, ignoring Kunikuzushi’s chagrin with a small smile that grew as he spoke, “I wasn’t wrong in trusting you to borrow it, was I? You gave it back to me.”  

Heaving a deep sigh, Kunikuzushi gave up. There was no reasoning with someone as naïve as this. “Okay, enough,” he grumbled sternly. “Look. I read it, and you have it back, so we’re done here.”

Durin’s expression brightened. “You really read it?” He smiled, his eyes shining with hope. “Did you like it? You promised to tell me what you thought of it.”

Kunikuzushi’s expression narrowed. He groaned internally. He… did promise that though, didn’t he.

Ridiculous.

He sighed loudly.

Truthfully, he’d raptly read Durin’s book from cover to cover. He’d started out trying to pretend that he didn’t care about it at all, but the truth was that the art was charming and the story was a lot more complex than he’d expected it to be. For a children’s book, it was dark, exploring themes of isolation and rejection, how alienation can lead to lashing out at others, and how one only grows more alone as those feelings fester. 

Of course, in the end, the dragon made lots of friends and lived happily ever after, unlike anything that would ever realistically happen – but aside from the fictitious nature of the narrative’s conclusion, it was a lot deeper than Kunikuzushi had anticipated.

The truth was, it really resonated with him. A lot more than he’d ever admit. He understood that lonely, misunderstood dragon more than Durin would ever know.

He looked into that optimistic expression sitting across from him, waiting anxiously to hear what he had to say, and spoke.

“It was okay.” Kunikuzushi said.

Durin frowned, barely masking his disappointment. “...just okay?” He asked.

Kunikuzushi looked away, swallowing his pride, heaving a sigh. He could say a little more, he supposed. “I didn’t hate it.” He added.

That was the best Durin was going to get from him.

Still, it seemed as though Durin was starting to understand Kunikuzushi’s attitude by this point, whether or not that was a good thing. There was an odd sort of smile that crossed his features, a knowing look that reminded Kunikuzushi a bit too uncomfortably of Nahida, and Durin leaned forward.

“Sooo…” he said casually, looking deeply into Kunikuzushi’s eyes. “You liked it?”

“I didn’t say that,” Kunikuzushi retorted, but something in his expression must have given his thoughts away, because Durin smiled brightly.

“That’s great!” He exclaimed. “I’m so glad you liked it. I knew you would,” he said excitedly, the words tumbling out of him more quickly than he could speak them. “I mean, I guess I didn’t know, but I had a feeling. It’s been my favorite ever since I was little, and it’s such a good book that nothing else has ever really managed to compare for me. And, well, you must be pretty well-read I’d imagine, considering how many books you’re always reading here, so I thought you might be able to appreciate it too.”

Kunikuzushi listened with all the indifference he could muster. “Okay? And?” He grumbled. “Are you happy now? Are you going to leave me alone?”

Durin didn’t seem as bothered by this as he had been the last time, and appeared unperturbed. “Are you busy working on something?” He asked. “And please be serious, don’t just tell me you’re busy because you’re trying to get me to leave. I promise I’ll leave if you actually need to focus.”

The dismay Kunikuzushi felt in that moment left him silently gaping for a moment before he finally found his reply. “Don’t make stupid assumptions,” he grumbled. “I…” he looked over at his laptop, where his screen had gone to sleep while the two of them had been talking. He did have a deadline, but technically, it could wait. He considered lying. It wasn’t as if Durin would know any better.

Kunikuzushi sighed, turning back to Durin. “Fine. What is it you want?”

Durin smiled brightly, sitting up in his chair. “Well,” he started, “now that you’ve read Simulanka too, we’re friends.” Durin said this happily, as though it were the most normal thing in the world to say, and not something completely absurd. “So I want to know more about you! Things like, what’s your favorite book? Or what’s your major?”

Kunikuzushi listened with bafflement. “You may not have gotten the memo,” he said dryly, “but I’m not friend material.”

“That doesn’t matter to me,” Durin said cheerfully. “We’re friends anyway now. Besides,” he added, “that just sounds like something the dragon of Simulanka would say when he was afraid of getting close to people. I’m the same way too. It makes me want to make sure to be friends with you, no matter what!”

Kunikuzushi could scarcely believe the ridiculous words he was hearing. It was absurd. It was… somewhat alarming, actually. It only made him push back harder, if only because Durin was treading past Kunikuzushi’s carefully-laid walls at this point. It felt like Durin was looking straight into his soul, and it set Kunikuzushi on edge. “I didn’t agree to that,” he said, just a little bit too hastily, and Durin seemed to catch it. “Don’t base your real-life interactions on a fairy tale.” He added defensively.

“I’m not,” Durin replied honestly. “But you seem like the kind of person who never says what they’re actually thinking. You didn’t even say no to me! So, I think you don’t actually mind at all.”

Durin’s assessment was frighteningly astute, and it was coiling apprehensively in Kunikuzushi’s stomach. He needed out from this conversation. If Durin wasn’t going to leave, then Kunikuzushi would take it into his own hands. As the building need to escape increased in urgency, Kunikuzushi reached the end of his rope, unable to take it anymore, and stood up abruptly, his chair skidding out from beneath him. “I have to go,” he said suddenly.

He didn’t wait, grabbing his laptop and shoving it haphazardly into his bag before he turned on his heel, ignoring Durin’s startled questioning from behind him.

He would compromise on his morals for today. He usually preferred physical books, but he’d just use digital articles to finish his report later. For now, he just needed to get out.

He ignored the fact that he felt guilty for running.

The next time Kunikuzushi entered the library, he didn’t even make it past the circulation desk.

“Hat Guy!” Someone called, and reflexively, Kunikuzushi looked over to see who in their right mind was shouting in the middle of the library.

He should have known, he should have known, but sue him for not expecting the person behind the counter to be the one yelling, staring directly at him. And yet, there Durin was, waving him down as if he’d been the one he was calling for.

“...What?” Kunikuzushi questioned, confused, standing in place with bewilderment. That nickname surely wasn’t supposed to be referring to him, was it?

“You still haven’t told me your name,” Durin replied, this time at least more quietly, but it was still loud enough to carry across the room, and several heads were turning to watch the exchange. Self-consciously, Kunikuzushi grumbled, resisting the urge to walk towards the desk just so that Durin would stop broadcasting his conversation to everyone within earshot. “Uh… is Beret Guy better? Book Guy?” Durin mumbled. “Or… maybe…”

“Stop yelling,” Kunikuzushi hissed under his breath. “Aren’t you supposed to work here? What kind of library staff shouts in the middle of the library?”

At least Durin had the self-awareness to be embarrassed, his cheeks flushing as he was reprimanded. He finally came running out from behind the desk to come stand in front of Kunikuzushi. “Sorry,” he whispered. “I just didn’t want you to leave again…”

Kunikuzushi sighed. So it was his fault, now? He clicked his tongue. “What do you want?” 

“I,” Durin started nervously, shifting his weight in place as he stood. “I just wanted to apologize. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I think I came on a little too strongly… I’m sorry.”

Eyeing him carefully, Kunikuzushi felt a little bad. The matter had clearly been bothering Durin, but it was just Kunikuzushi who’d overreacted and fled. Truthfully, Durin had been a little too spot-on with his analysis, and Kunikuzushi hadn’t wanted to deal with it. Hadn’t really known how to deal with it, either. He still didn’t, honestly, but he realized in this moment that he’d have to take responsibility for it. It wouldn’t be very mature of him to let a high-schooler keep blaming himself for something that was the fault of someone ten years older than him.

He’d at least had some time to calm down since. It had been a couple of days.

Kunikuzushi sighed. “Don’t worry about it.” He said. “It wasn’t you.”

Durin didn’t seem convinced, though, his frown small and miserable. “Except, it was.” He said. “I was just so excited to talk to you that I got ahead of myself. I’m really sorry. Can we… can we still be friends?”

Kunikuzushi sighed once more, with feeling. He closed his eyes, gathering himself, and then spoke. “Yes, we can still be friends. Can I go now?”

The smile he received in turn was so bright, Kunikuzushi had to look away. He was embarrassed on Durin’s behalf, honestly, because nobody should have looked that elated about being friends with someone like him. Durin would change his mind quickly enough, and Kunikuzushi would have his peace and solitude again, and everything would go back to normal.

It was fine. That was what Kunikuzushi wanted. People didn’t stick around Kunikuzushi for good reason. He wasn’t sociable, and Durin would realize his mistake soon.

“Mhm,” Durin said with a nod, his happiness still on full display. It was mortifying for him. “I’ll let you go do what you need to do. Can I come talk to you again later?”

Kunikuzushi stepped around him, then, not bothering to look Durin in the eye when he replied. “Do what you want,” he said dismissively, heading straight for the back. He knew Durin would take that answer as a yes, but it at least left some room to plausibly deny that he’d not expressly given such permission. It could’ve been taken to mean no.

…Even Kunikuzushi knew that was flimsy reasoning. He’d spoken without thinking.

Still, Durin didn’t comment on it, at least, and let Kunikuzushi walk away. “Okay!” Durin said cheerfully. “I’ll come see you in a bit, then.”

Honestly, what a pain. Somehow, he’d managed to pick up a little pest, hadn’t he?

With no one able to see his expression, Kunikuzushi let himself smile, just a little bit.

What Kunikuzushi had expected to last another week at maximum had stretched into a month, and Durin was still sliding happily into the chair across from him as though he were actually excited to talk to him.

It was unfathomable, but Durin wasn’t very good at hiding his true feelings. For some reason, inexplicably, he liked Kunikuzushi, who was still struggling to figure out why. He wasn’t even nice to him.

The two of them had certainly gotten their share of side-eyes from the other librarygoers, considering Kunikuzushi’s reputation on campus. Of all people, how was this random kid talking to him? They whispered. Wasn’t Kunikuzushi one of the most unpleasant people at the Akademiya?

Yes, he was, and all of that was true. And yet, somehow, here Durin was, rambling in the seat in front of him. Kunikuzushi couldn’t explain it either.

“...So then my brother and I had to go around cleaning everything up,” Durin explained, a furrowed draw to his expression. “He’s so smart, but sometimes he doesn’t think about things before doing them. Or, I guess he does sometimes, but he’s just so curious about what will happen that he doesn’t care about the consequences if it goes badly. He’s kind of funny like that.”

Kunikuzushi had heard Durin’s voice more in the past month than he could recall ever hearing anyone in the past several years of his life, except for maybe Nahida. 

He… didn’t particularly mind. It was… nice. Having the company.

“That sounds like his own problem to deal with then,” Kunikuzushi grumbled, not looking up from his laptop screen.  His boss had saddled him with an extra article to publish by the end of the week, despite the fact he’d already taken on as many as he could manage alongside his coursework. Life just loved throwing him curveballs, though, didn’t it? “Don’t help him.” 

“I guess so,” Durin said, leaning back in his chair. “But I felt bad. The foam got everywhere. He would’ve been stuck cleaning it for hours! At least with the two of us, it went a lot faster.”

Kunikuzushi looked up at Durin, then. Durin was too nice for his own good. He was too nice to Kunikuzushi already, and that didn’t bode well for the other parts of his life going forward. He was too trusting, and it was going to cost him someday. It wasn’t like Kunikuzushi would make any grand sweeping gestures and promise that he’d stop that from ever happening, but he did at least tell himself that he’d try to teach Durin to protect himself better from being used by people.

Not that it seemed like anything he said ever seemed to make a difference, though. Durin’s nature was immovable.

“Your brother sounds like a piece of work,” Kunikuzushi sighed.

Durin shook his head. “He’s just very eccentric! He’s the nicest person I’ve ever met. I know he’d always help me no matter what, so I want to do the same for him. If he’d help me even when it’s a dumb problem that I caused myself, then I’ll help him too! Even if it means cleaning foam out of the floor for an hour.”

Kunikuzushi hummed. That was the other thing about Durin – he talked about his family a lot. Kunikuzushi still had no idea who the M on the inside of Durin’s book was, but he sure had heard a lot about this brother of his. Whether it was anecdotes from their younger years or short exclamations that his brother had arrived to pick him up, at least half of Durin’s stories revolved around him. Probably more.

It wasn’t that Kunikuzushi was sick of hearing about Durin’s brother, necessarily, but he did sound pretty idiotic for someone that Durin claimed was prodigiously intelligent. He was a rather entertaining figure, to say the least.

That was not to mention Durin’s younger sister with an apparent penchant for arson, which Kunikuzushi had ardently laughed at, much to Durin’s dismay.

“Your family sounds absurd,” Kunikuzushi concluded.

Durin smiled fondly. “Yeah, I guess they kinda are,” he agreed, a small laugh escaping his lips, before his expression thoughtfully arranged itself into something more serious. “What about yours, Hat Guy? I’ve never heard you mention your family before.”

With that utterance, the amusement drained from Kunikuzushi’s chest, instead filling with something heavy like stone.

He drew in a breath. He turned his attention back to his laptop screen, mentally calculating how quickly he’d have to type up his next batch of articles before the deadline. He spoke to Durin without looking back up at him. “That’s enough chit-chat for today,” he told him. “I have work to do.”

Durin frowned, but gracefully complied, pushing himself up from his seat. “Okay,” he said quietly, cowed, the silent apology hidden in his tone. “Then I’ll see you later, yeah? Good luck.”

With that, Durin left, and Kunikuzushi turned his focus onto his work. There was no need to think about anything else.

Kunikuzushi sighed.

Despite his continued search, he wasn’t having much luck finding a new place to live. He’d found another possible contender this afternoon, but his phone buzzed with a reply that confirmed someone had already inquired about it before him, and was already moving ahead with the process.

A bust, in other words.

He didn’t hate living with Nahida, so it wasn’t like there was any particular rush to leave, but his commute was starting to feel increasingly worse as the weeks stretched on. If he was beginning to grow a little desperate, he wouldn’t admit to it, but he might have been getting more irritable than usual by the time he got home every day.

Last time he’d brought up his grievances, Nahida had smiled encouragingly and promised him he’d find something soon, but Kunikuzushi wasn’t so sure. He was beginning to wonder if he’d be forced to give up on finding any roommate that didn’t sound completely insufferable. Was a quiet roommate seriously too much to ask for?

He grumbled, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

“Hi, Hat Guy!”

Kunikuzushi’s head turned from where he sat, his response to the name becoming reflexive by this point. It really was high time Kunikuzushi told Durin his actual name, but simply telling him at this point felt too easy. The stand-in nickname he’d come up with was ridiculous, but it was more entertaining to watch Durin sweat a little, wondering how he was supposed to properly be friends with someone whose name he didn’t even know. Kunikuzushi smiled wryly to himself. He’d continue the game as long as possible.

“You’re early,” Kunikuzushi commented.

Durin hummed as he slid into his seat. “I finished sorting the returns a little bit faster than usual today. What’re you up to?”

Kunikuzushi narrowed his gaze, staring at Durin with skepticism. “You ask this same question every time you see me,” he said flatly, “as though you expect the answer to change. What exactly are you hoping to get from this?”

Unperturbed, Durin smiled. “Nothing,” he chirped. “Just asking in case you were doing anything different from usual today! Like, maybe instead of doing research, you were reading for fun.” He paused for a moment, and when Kunikuzushi said nothing to fill the space, Durin asked. “...Are you?”

“No.” Kunikuzushi replied, unimpressed.

Still, his mind flitted towards the phone he’d just shoved back into his pocket, and he heaved a massive sigh, leaning his cheek into the heel of his hand. His elbow was set just a short distance away from the book he’d been reading before the text had interrupted him, and Kunikuzushi inhaled as he glanced down upon it, deciding he could give Durin something different for once, if that was what he was after. He wasn’t usually very forthcoming with details about his life, but this one was innocuous enough, he supposed.

“Actually,” Kunikuzushi said, watching the way Durin’s eyes lit with delight, “I’ve just received an annoying text. That’s all.”

Durin’s expression faltered. “Oh,” he said, his lips dropping into a frown. “What about?”

Kunikuzushi sighed, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. “I’ve been looking for a new roommate,” he told Durin, watching with mild amusement as his expression brightened again in response to Kunikuzushi sharing something about himself for once. Durin’s responses to every microscopic detail of a conversation were pretty entertaining, but there was an earnestness to it that Kunikuzushi found endearing. It was that which ultimately made him decide to speak. “To put it bluntly, it’s not going well. You’d think finding a quiet person to live with wouldn’t be that hard, but apparently, nobody like that exists. People are absolutely insufferable.” He grumbled with frustration.

Durin’s expression twisted back into a small frown. “Oh, no! That’s a tough situation, I’m sorry,” Durin replied, attentively leaning forward in his chair. “I know it’s hard to find a good one. Apparently, using ads is super unreliable? I’ve seen how…” he trailed off, then, his eyes going wide as plates. His mouth hung open with whatever revelation he’d just had.

Kunikuzushi watched him, raising an eyebrow curiously, and Durin’s head turned towards him, his eyes becoming impossibly wider. Then, all of a sudden, Durin stood up with a gasp, his hands loudly slamming on the tabletop with excitement. “You can move in with Albedo! He’s looking for a roommate, too!”

Inhaling sharply to protest that he had no idea who this Albedo even was, Durin wouldn’t let Kunikuzushi get a word in edgewise, sentences continuing to tumble out of his mouth. “He’s super quiet! Ohh, this is perfect! He’s been trying to get another roommate ever since his last one moved out! He’s been looking for a while, too. You would like him, Hat Guy. He keeps to himself and won’t bother you at all.”

Opening his mouth to speak, still ready to protest, Kunkuzushi thought better of it. His first response was to say that he wouldn’t move in with any random guy that Durin knew, considering anyone close to Durin’s age was probably a freshman ready to start partying the minute they set foot on the Akademiya’s campus – but Durin’s insistence that he was quiet gave Kunikuzushi pause.

He leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed. “Are you just saying that because you’re trying to sell him, or is he actually quiet?”

Durin fervently shook his head. “He really is quiet, I promise. Sometimes he talks a lot if he’s excited, but you can just clear your throat at him and he’ll stop. If you tell him you don’t want to talk, he’ll listen.”

Kunikuzushi hummed, actually giving Durin’s suggestion some consideration.

“You should room with him for real,” Durin continued, his tone pleading, but optimistically serious. “I think you guys would get along really well! You’ll like him, Hat Guy. I promise.”

Kunikuzushi snorted. “That’s a pretty big promise to make,” he said dryly, pulling in a breath and resigning himself to it. He was, unfortunately, getting desperate. If Durin insisted on his friend’s disposition so adamantly, then Kunikuzushi would believe him. He could humor the idea.

Still barreling on, Durin took no heed of the quip, reaching forward to where Kunikuzushi’s pen and notepad were resting on the tabletop, and pulled them towards himself. He spoke as he began writing on it. “I’ll give you his number,” Durin said happily. “I feel like this was meant to be! He’s been—”

A new voice piped up from somewhere to Kunikuzushi’s left. “Durin,” a man said, and Kunikuzushi recognized him as one of the head library staff. He usually sat at the reference desk, absentmindedly reading or tapping away at his computer, but today he was standing several feet away with his arms crossed. “As invigorating as your conversation must be, you do actually still have work to do. I’d like to go home on time today, if you would.”

Flushing, Durin sat up quickly, pushing up from his chair with haste. “S-sorry, Alhaitham! Uh,” he stammered, turning to Kunikuzushi and pushing the notebook back towards him, “here’s Albedo’s number, okay? I’ll talk to you later!”

Without waiting for a reply, Durin scampered off, and Kunikuzushi followed the two of them with his eyes as they departed. Then, he turned his attention down to the paper below him, focusing onto the number Durin had scribbled down. Durin’s handwriting was absolutely terrible. Kunikuzushi wasn’t sure he’d ever seen someone who wrote that crookedly, actually. It was so bad it was almost impressive.

He huffed with amusement.

As much as Kunikuzushi wanted to be skeptical of Durin’s judgement, he found he did trust what his library companion had to say. He was an intelligent person, astute and sensitive to the emotions of people around him. He could be overly enthusiastic and far too chatty at times, but despite the noise, Kunikuzushi found he didn’t really mind it. Durin knew when to leave him alone, and when to remain silent, and those were two traits that put him far beyond the rest of humanity when it came to tolerability.

He stared down at the paper, the man’s name scrawled next to a phone number.

Albedo.

Durin hadn’t mentioned him before, but it sounded like it was someone he knew well. Kunikuzushi did place merit in Durin’s opinion, despite the fact there was no way to prove the veracity of his claims, so if Durin said this guy was quiet, then the least Kunikuzushi could do was send him an inquiry. He’d accept rooming with a freshman so long as he could live without any pernicious disruptions.

He pulled out his phone, contemplative – and then, Kunikuzushi began to type.

I heard you’re in need of a roommate, he typed. Are you still looking?

Kunikuzushi was sitting on the couch when his phone buzzed.

Curious, he pulled it out of his pocket, his eyebrows raised with curiosity as he thumbed open the reply.

Hello. Yes, I am. 

Kunikuzushi hummed. That was further than he usually got. He sent a few other texts back and forth – location, rent, logistical details – but Albedo was thorough and efficient, and they had it settled within about half an hour. There was an anxious knot in Kunikuzushi’s stomach as he typed his final reply, the thought of moving away from Nahida eating at him with more intensity now that it was imminent, but the draw of living closer to the Akademiya was too good to pass up after finally finding someone who seemed tolerable.

Sounds good. I accept.

That’s wonderful news. I look forward to meeting you then, Kunikuzushi. I’ll be in touch.

Kunikuzushi stared at the screen for a long while, the impending stress of having to move slowly descending upon him. Things were about to get busy, weren’t they?

But…

“What did he say?” Nahida asked, suddenly materializing beside him as she leaned over the arm of the couch with a smile.

“I accepted,” Kunikuzushi replied, hesitant, as though speaking the words were an admission of something woeful. It felt more like he was telling her that he hated her and didn’t want to live with her anymore, even though she’d reassured him several times that she knew that wasn’t the case. Still, he worried. Even if he wouldn’t put it to voice.

Nahida’s smile only brightened, though, and she clapped her hands. “That’s wonderful news!” She exclaimed cheerfully, putting a hand thoughtfully to her chin. “We’ll have to plan a celebration dinner, then, won’t we?”

Kunikuzushi was relieved to have found accommodations closer to campus, but he didn’t particularly feel like celebrating, either. Not that he enjoyed celebrations even on a good day, but it felt disingenuous in this case. “Why bother?” He sighed. “It’s not a happy occasion.”

Her gaze was trained upon him resolutely as she spoke. “Sure it is,” she said, sounding as assured as ever. “It’s a new opportunity for you, and that means meeting new people and having new experiences. That’s always a good thing, Kunikuzushi.” Her smile was as kind and understanding as ever, and he shrank minutely under it. “What reservations are holding you back from being glad you finally found a place to move to? You’ve been looking for quite a while now.”

Pulling in a breath, there was only one thing Kunikuzushi could say. “I have,” he agreed, pausing a moment as he hesitated to voice his doubts. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t, but Nahida had done so much for him over the years. He owed her this much, at least. “But I’m leaving you.” He said.

Her smile turned blindingly fond, if not a little bittersweet. “Aww, Kunikuzushi, I knew you cared!” She said warmly, reaching forward to pat his arm. “Of course I’ll miss you,” she told him honestly, her voice betraying her sadness – and he felt a pang of guilt in his stomach, but her words carried on, regardless. “But you will always have a home with me. And before you worry – I’ll be fine! I promise. You know how busy the city likes to keep me, anyway. I promise I’ll still listen to you reminding me to go take walks even if you aren’t here. So don’t stay on my behalf, okay?”

Kunikuzushi inhaled sharply, her words crashing over him like a torrent of waves. Having open arms to return to, regardless of what the future brought – that wasn’t something he had ever been used to having, and the thought of it still felt illusory, at best. But Nahida always reminded him that it was real, and that she meant it, and he did truly believe her when she said so much. She was the only person in his life who had ever stayed for him. He felt guilty that he would not be doing the same.

Still, she accepted him anyway, and reminded him she didn’t hold it against him. Nahida didn’t lie about things like this, so he could only believe her words.

“Okay,” he whispered, unsure how else to process her unending acceptance of him. He swallowed thickly. What more could he say?

“Besides,” Nahida said, “you won’t be very far away. It’s not like you’re moving to a different country,” she tittered. “We can see each other any time we’d like.”

That was true. Kunikuzushi pulled in a breath. He let the words simmer for a moment, the reassurance dispelling the worst of his lingering doubts. “So if Albedo turns out to be a freak, I can come back, right?”

Nahida’s laugh was much brighter, then, chasing away the edges of melancholy away from the both of them. “Of course,” she said with a chuckle.

“Good,” Kunikuzushi replied with a huff. He stared back at her critically. “And you’ll start telling solicitors to fuck off by yourself while I’m gone, too, right?”

Nahida’s expression rearranged itself into one of guilty bashfulness, and she quickly pushed up from her position and moved past him, heading towards the kitchen. In typical infuriating Nahida fashion, she ignored him otherwise, turning back to him with a smile that screamed willful ignorance and bright eyes that bored holes into him. 

“Anyway,” she breathed, exhaling with upbeat energy as though he hadn’t even spoken, “as I was saying – what do you want for your celebration dinner?”

Kunikuzushi snorted. Some things never changed.

Kunikuzushi stood outside the door of what would be his new residence for the foreseeable future, shifting on his feet with nervous energy. He’d already knocked, doing his best to appear as unbothered as humanly possible, but it did nothing to quell the uncertainty of waiting for the door to open and meeting the person he was going to be sharing a space with from now on. He still didn’t know the first thing about his new roommate, aside from his name.

He held his breath as he waited, and then – finally – the handle rattled, and the door creaked as it was pulled open.

The first thing Kunikuzushi noticed was that Albedo had rather large eyes. Bright, turquoise eyes stared back at him with mirrored curiosity, framed by blonde hair he’d half braided and tied back, the rest of it feathering about his shoulders. He was… not quite what Kunikuzushi had been expecting, in honesty.

“Ah,” Albedo spoke first, his tone pleasant. His vivid eyes disappeared momentarily as he blinked, a small smile accompanying the greeting on his lips. “You must be Kunikuzushi – it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Kunikuzushi’s weight shifted to his other foot as he absentmindedly gripped the edge of his sleeve. “Likewise,” he said stiffly, never one for small talk. He opened his mouth, feeling like he should say something else, but he really didn’t have anything else to add. I’m here to move in? Who even says that?

It seemed Albedo also was unsure what else to say – he lingered in the doorway for a prolonged moment, wherein they stared at each other hesitantly, before Albedo finally seemed to activate into motion. He opened the door wider, stepping aside. “Apologies,” he breathed, “it seems I’ve forgotten my manners. Please, come in. Would you like a tour? I can help you bring things in once you’re ready.”

Kunikuzushi was a bit surprised by the formality of his speech, despite the fact he’d texted in the same manner. Considering the type of business they’d been discussing, it made sense, but there really was no need to be so articulate now, was there?

Or was it just some weird, pretentious act to seem more sophisticated than he really was? Maybe Durin really had just set him up with a complete weirdo, after all.

Kunikuzushi exhaled, doing his best to rid himself of the tension he was holding along with it. “Yeah, sure,” he agreed, stepping in through the threshold. “Lead the way.”