Chapter Text
You met him at the library.
He was at a table by the window, picking at the mouse chip that was inserted into his laptop. His face was clouded with an earnest confusion and his chin was stumped into the palm of his hand as he frowned. You were pacing slowly by a nearby bookshelf, scanning the books, looking for your next mystery—when the small sound of scraping metal was followed by a yelp, then a mumbled exclamation of sorry.
At this point, you had been searching for something to read for a while. You glanced through authors and titles, picked up books and read the blurbs, studied their first few pages—but nothing really stuck out to you that day. Maybe because you've already read this one, or because this other one just didn't appeal to you—you couldn't find a book you were interested in taking home. Who knows how long you were looking? Saying you spent more than an hour here doesn't feel like a stretch to claim.
So, that is how he found you.
The mouse chip, in a display of more cricketlike behavior rather than a rodent, had hopped across the old carpet and had decided to a small distance away from your feet. You, being so eager for something to steal your attention, had easily walked over to pick it up and silently return it to its owner.
He plucked the chip from the palm of your hand with a thumb and two other fingers. "Thanks."
"Much obliged," you replied. That made him smile—and he, who already carried this natural vibrance, had suited the smile (it being reminiscent of crackling sparklers and lofty whims).
"What?" he said, and then you felt your face warm—much obliged was an expression of gratitude akin to thank you, which is an inappropriate response for this situation that calls for something more like you're welcome. Before you can further ruminate your fraudulence, he speaks up again. "Okay, I'm convinced. You're smart. Help me do the Wordle."
He pulled the chair next to him back, and patted the seat. You blinked—then exhaled. So that was the activity that had made him looked so puzzled before, when you saw him all those moments ago. He showed you his laptop screen: his starting word was slime. The letter I was green, and the letter E was yellow.
What other choice did you have? He has welcomed you so warmly. You sat down where he asked you to, because you wanted to, because he made you want to.
"Slime's my starting word," he explained. "So I did that. Then I tried ender, because, y'know, it's like—" He faltered. "—Minecraft." He glanced towards you, appearing brightened and relieved when you nodded in understanding. You are a veteran Minecraft player. (Your finger twitches in amusement.) "So, uhhh, yeah. I'm kinda stuck there because I'm not really sure what word to try next, but I might just go screw it and do a random one? Again, I dunno—what do you think?"
He pushed the laptop towards you, welcoming you to type in a word.
"Ingot's another good one," he supplied helpfully.
You hum and stare at the puzzle, then eventually raise your hands to his keyboard in preparation to type.
"Oh, yeah, by the way—I'm Avery."
"I know."
"Oh. Wait, what?"
"Your nametag."
"…Oh," he said again, and looked down at his shirt to confirm the nametag stuck on the yellow flower pattern on his shirt. "I—totally forgot. Haha. I was just volunteering earlier."
"Mh."
You type in a word while Avery peered at the screen. Then—abrupt in the slowest way—you freeze, realizing the mistake he just watched you make.
🇸 🇱 🇮 🇲 🇪
🇪 🇳 🇩 🇪 🇷
And then, staring back at you innocently in blocks:
🇦 🇻 🇪 🇷 🇾
You… you typed Avery into the Wordle.
On accident.
…You hadn't meant to do that.
(Your fingers—moved on their own. Your brain lagged and heard Avery and suddenly the name you just processed appeared on the screen. You didn't even think about it. You were already thinking about it? You heard his name and your hands moved accordingly. You didn't necessarily mean to do it. It just happened. You looked, and bam, Avery was there.)
You hold back a grimace. But—
It makes him laugh.
"That's me," he stated. "What about your name?"
You feel like tucking yourself into your shell, but relent to him anyway.
Your fingers stutter before the muscle memory kicks in and, without even thinking much about it (the fabric of your brain is caught on the hook of his laughter), you tap the keys that make your name appear on the screen.
🇩 🇪 🇷 🇪 🇰
"It's very nice to meet you, Derek!"
He smiled at you.
Somewhere, in the dredge of yourself, you found it within you to smile back.
From that moment on, because he had decidedly found you—you had believed that a part of you to always be his. Isn't that silly? That a stranger in that moment could carry such a piece of you with them, something you had not consciously given, but had just known in your mind where to belong.
Only after receiving the news that everything will end soon, do you realize how brief your time together was.