Archive of Our Own

On a typical day, Niran started work behind the reference desk. Between answering people’s questions, he double checked books had been catalogued correctly, stamped new books with the date and added them to the collection, and answered emails.

A lot of the emails he handled were about events to be held at the library, whether connecting with a creator or host about their upcoming events, sending out reminder emails to people signed up for such, or evaluating prospective events before sending ones he thought were a good fit to the senior librarian for a yes or no. He also answered general questions, but his coworker got to most of those before Niran ever saw them because she answered emails in the morning, while Niran answered emails in the afternoon.

Niran liked working as a reference librarian. It was quiet, even when the day was busy, because of library etiquette. He frequently had to answer a lot of obvious questions, but rarely had to deal with someone being outright hostile, like he would in retail. He was paid to know stuff, or at least know how to find out. His desk didn’t deal with kids—there was a Children’s Reference Desk for that—which was good. Niran wasn’t good with little kids.

The event of the day was an Intro to Drawing, Ages 13+ class. The host teacher held classes for different levels of artists throughout the month. The intro class was usually the biggest, while the higher levels tended to be more of ‘do what you want and the teacher is here to help as needed.’ It was a community creative space.

From his seat at the reference desk, Niran could watch as people entered the library and found their way to the multi-purpose room for the classes. He saw people as young as thirteen and as old as eighty come in ready to learn to draw.

A few weeks ago, Niran hadn’t paid nearly as much attention to the people arriving for classes. People rarely asked the reference desk where the classes were taking place, because there was plenty of signage and arrows, and the class hosts only checked in with them before and after, or if something went wrong. Besides which, Niran had work to do and wasn’t security, so he didn’t care who all walked in at any given moment.

But then—

“Have fun, alright?” someone yelled.

Okay, not ‘yelled,’ but for a library with a typical noise level of a whisper, it might as well have been. It was ‘talking on the phone in a crowd’ loud.

As expected, it was the same guy as usual making the noise. He had auburn hair in a mullet cut similar to Niran’s own hair, with a small face and skin a shade or two lighter than Niran’s. As usual, Niran sort of hated that he always noticed how arguably cute the other man was.

“P’Pete,” the teen with him said, frowning. She held her finger to her lips.

Pete covered his mouth for a moment, then held his own finger to his lips. “Quiet,” he said at a much more reasonable level for a library, with an abashed but slightly amused smile. He pointed to the left, past the reference desk. “I’ll be over there.”

Pete waited until his sister entered the multipurpose room for the class before nodding and walking off. As he’d said, he walked straight by the reference desk. His and Niran’s eyes met briefly, and then Pete was past him without so much as a second glance.

For weeks now, Pete had brought his teenaged sister to the library for various events. She had attended library classes on fiber arts like needlepoint, macramé, and kumihimo, pressed floral art, photography, and coding. And she never attended the same type of class twice.

Not that Niran was keeping track or anything, of course.

Each time, Pete entered the library too loud, and each time, his sister reminded him to be quiet. Why he couldn’t remember, even once, was a constant aggravation for Niran.

He was more aggravated at the part of him that looked forward to the yell because it meant Pete had arrived.

Usually, Pete wandered the shelves, pulling out seemingly random books and reading their descriptions before putting them back. Other books he took to a table in the corner and read, flipping between books every so often like he couldn’t concentrate on just one at a time. Those books he put on the re-shelve cart, which a lot of people wouldn’t do, and maybe that sort of made up for the first yell.

Pete had read books on emotional trauma responses, childhood development, and the emotional well-being of orphaned children. He’d pulled books on the histories of various colleges in the area. He had even read the biographies of famous athletes who had a disability of some sort.

Not that Niran was keeping track, of course.

That day, instead of going for the stacks, Pete headed for the computers. Niran let the book he was checking fall shut as he watched Pete find the computer use information taped next to each computer, read it, then get started with an internet search. The computers were too far away for Niran to tell what he was typing, though.

“If you stare any harder, he’s going to notice,” Yok said, deadpan, as she wheeled a reshelve cart past the reference desk.

Niran scowled but didn’t protest. Instead, he turned his attention back to the books for cataloguing.

Yok was using the library to get her volunteer hours for school, and usually she and Niran got along fine. Neither of them had time for inconsiderate people. But times like this, she was like an annoying little sister Niran had never asked for. He already had an annoying older sister, thanks.

Niran had barely finished checking and stamping one book before someone rapped their knuckles on the desk, quietly getting his attention. Holding in his sigh, Niran looked up with a, “How can I help y—”

It was Pete. Who had never asked a question in all the weeks he’d been bringing his sister to the library. Not that Niran was keeping track.

Pete rubbed the back of his head, embarrassed. “Can you help me with—” he glanced at Niran like he was checking something and, seemingly finding it, let out a relieved breath and continued, “the computer? I’m not good at, er, internet searches.”

Computer help was part of the job of the reference desk, too. Niran nodded and rounded the desk, following Pete to his computer. On the screen, the search bar read, ‘college support.’ The visible results included websites about students with ADHD or autism, what an advising office was, academic coaches, and ‘what a strong college support system looks like.’

Pete looked around Niran’s age, about twenty-four, and Niran had already graduated with his Master of Library Sciences degree. Inanely, Niran wondered if Pete’s sister was older than she looked. Niran had thought she was around sixteen, but maybe she was about to graduate and start college. Pete brought her to the library for a new activity every time, so it was possible she had difficulty sticking with a task long term. Was Pete trying to find support for his sister’s education?

“What are you trying to learn?” Niran asked, turning his attention to Pete.

Pete was already staring at him, eyes narrowed in concentration. It was only when Niran stopped talking and Pete lifted his gaze that Niran realized Pete had been staring more at his lips than his eyes.

Scratching his cheek, Pete tilted his head to the side. It was annoyingly adorable. “I need to know if Suming University has any place that helps people with…” He hesitated, his eyes glancing off to the side, and swallowed. “Disabilities.”

The word was said haltingly, like Pete didn’t want anyone to actually hear it said. The tone rubbed Niran the wrong way. People with disabilities deserved the same respect as everyone else. Being different didn’t mean bad. For an instant, every moment of Niran’s attention given to this man felt tainted.

Pete was trying to find the disability services of Suming University, though. He was asking for help. If he was ableist, he was at least trying to be helpful, to be better.

Taking a deep breath, Niran grabbed the mouse to click in the search bar and erased the search terms. “Every college and university has a disability office,” he said, navigating to the Suming University website. “You just have to know where to look.”

He glanced at Pete and found him, again, staring at Niran. Heat rose in Niran’s face and he frowned.

“Look at the computer, not at me.”

Pete’s eyes crinkled when he smiled. It was unfair. “Sure.” He pointedly turned to the computer screen, then glanced at Niran from the corner of his eyes.

Sighing, Niran began clicking around on the Suming University website for where they had their disability services. It didn’t take long before they were on the page for the Student Disability Services Office.

Niran narrated the steps he was taking to get there and Pete nodded periodically, but always at moments when Niran stopped talking, even if it didn’t require a nod, like Pete was just listening for quiet to pretend he was paying attention. Except that his eyes were fixed intensely on the screen, and he had grabbed one of the scraps of paper the library kept next to the computers to jot down the steps, so he clearly was paying attention.

“Thanks,” Pete said with another smile, once he was done. He turned his smile on Niran. “You’re the best.”

For a moment, Niran pressed his lips together. Damn. Why did this man who talked too loud in the library and said ‘disability’ like shame make his heart beat so fast?

“Your sister is lucky,” Niran said, glad his voice came out even.

Pete’s eyebrows drew down. “My sister what?”

Niran motioned to the note Pete had taken on how to find the Student Disability Services Office. Pete glanced at it for a fraction of a second before looking at Niran again. “This is for her, right? For when she starts college.”

Pete let out a too loud laugh. At Niran’s frown, Pete covered his mouth, but his eyes were still sparkling with mirth and bemusement.

“Ploy’s only sixteen,” Pete said at length. “I’m bringing her to the library trying to,” he shrugged nonchalantly, but his eyes were serious, “figure out what she likes.”

Oh.

Well now Niran felt stupid. Who was the disability services stuff for then?

As if answering Niran’s unasked question, Pete pointed to himself. “I just got re-accepted to Suming University, had my orientation yesterday and everything,” he said proudly, but then frowned. “But…I missed a lot of the information they said during the tour, so I’m trying to, er, figure things out on my own. I don’t know how long this stuff takes and classes start next week, you know?”

Re-accepted. Pete had been in college before, but left—dropped out, failed? Not expelled, if they let him back in. He was looking into the student disability services. Was his disability why he missed information during orientation?

“Mm,” Niran let out. He nodded toward the computer. “Well, that site should have all the information you need. If you need help with something else, come back to the reference desk.”

Pete gave a tiny, playful wai. “I’ll totally come bug you if I need something.”

He waved goodbye as Niran headed back to his desk and Niran rolled his eyes, though his chest fluttered annoyingly.

Pete spent the rest of the hour clicking around on the Student Disability Services Office website, using up more than half a dozen of the scrap papers with his notes. Though he never came to ask another question, he did glance over once, then gave a pleased smile and wave when he caught Niran looking back.

When the class ended, the students filed out with their completed—or at least started—art pieces. For a few moments, the noise level in the library rose as the participants chatted amiably with each other on their way out.

Instead of heading for the door, Ploy turned and walked to the computers, where Pete was still diligently reading and taking notes. Ploy tapped him on the arm and Pete jumped in surprise.

“Done?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Ploy said.

Pete folded his notes and stuffed them in his pocket, then closed out of everything on the computer, Niran noted with pleasure. So often, people just walked off with a bunch of random stuff open and then one of the staff had to come fix it later.

“Can I see what you made?” Pete asked, gesturing for the paper in Ploy’s hands.

She handed it to him while they were walking out.

“Hey, this isn’t half bad!” Pete said jovially—too loud, but not all that much louder than the exiting crowd had been.

He met Niran’s eyes as they passed the reference desk and smiled. Niran’s brain shut down. Which was dumb. It was just a common ‘we talked so I tangentially know you’ smile.

Still, the smile affected Niran more than a patron's smile should.

“It’s alright,” Ploy said, like an agreement, drawing Pete’s attention back to her.

They were almost outside when Pete asked, “So, do you think…?”

Ploy shook her head and Pete’s shoulders drooped, the art falling to his side, still clutched in hand.

He perked up again a moment later, though. “That’s okay. We’ll keep trying.”

Then they were gone.

…

…

It was like a floodgate opened. Asking Niran one question meant Pete seemed to suddenly think Niran was his personal reference clerk.

Ploy attended an event about traditional myths and folklore.

Within five minutes of arriving, Pete was at the reference desk asking, “This is gonna sound stupid, but how do you make a doctor’s appointment?”

Niran blinked at him. “What?”

“I know, I know,” Pete said, gripping the edge of the desk. “But look, my parents or my uncle have always made those calls for me and I have no idea where to start. I’m—” He huffed, then admitted, “I’m nervous.”

Just Pete’s ability to freely admit that won him points in Niran’s eyes. He walked Pete over to the computer and stood beside him as they found the website for Pete’s medical services and Niran pointed out the various methods for contacting whatever doctor and finding the address and phone numbers for different offices. Niran noticed that there were a lot of doctors, nurses, and specialists listed on Pete’s account, way more than Niran had ever visited himself, but he pointedly did not read what their specialties were, turning his eyes away from the screen until Pete asked him where something was again.

Though it wasn’t part of his job, Niran also walked Pete through a typical ‘I need to make an appointment’ conversation so he would feel more prepared when making the actual phone call, too.

When Ploy’s event ended, Pete beamed at Niran and said, “Thanks, Friend. You’re awesome.” Niran pointedly ignored the small burst of happiness when Pete called him ‘friend’.

Ploy attended a presentation on candle making.

Once the multi-purpose room doors shut behind her, Pete came immediately to the reference desk, leaned across it, and asked, “Do you have any books on interview skills?”

Again, Niran was thrown. Interview skills? Didn’t Pete just start college again?

“What kind of interview skills? Are you applying for a job? Are you interviewing someone?” he asked.

Pete stared at him intently until he finished his questions. Then, shaking his head, Pete said, “Someone’s interviewing me. Not for a job. But even tips for that might help. The disability office said they have to interview me.”

Putting his paperwork aside, Niran led Pete to the appropriate section of the library. It was more out of the way than Pete normally went, so Niran wasn’t surprised he hadn’t spotted it before, but he also knew Pete knew how to search up these things himself. He’d watched Pete do it before. Not that he was keeping track of anything.

Once Niran had shown Pete the correct area, he could’ve gone back to his desk. Instead, he and Pete skimmed titles, pulled books, and read summaries together. A lot of them were on how to be the interviewer, and Pete turned those down quick.

“I’m the interviewee,” he said, then scrunched his face up. “Is that a word?”

“Yes,” Niran said. It was true, but the speed at which he validated it seemed to please Pete and earned Niran a smile.

In the end, they found three books on the types of questions that might be asked in a job interview. One said it would cover topics as basic as ‘what is your greatest strength’ to ‘how many cows are in X city?’, which sounded ridiculous but Pete grinned and declared it ‘perfect.’

He followed Niran back to the reference desk with his books.

“You have to take those to the check-out desk,” Niran told him. “I can’t do that here.”

Pete pouted. “Oh.” He shook his head and perked up. “I’ll be right back.”

Niran narrowed his eyes at Pete’s retreating form, confused. Be right back? Shaking his head, he started on his work again. Only a few minutes passed before Pete was, indeed, back at the reference counter, smiling at Niran.

“Did you need help?” Niran asked.

Pete shook his head. “Nope.”

For the rest of the time Ploy was at the event, Pete just stood at the corner of the reference desk counter, reading the books he’d checked out. He didn’t ask Niran anything and stayed out of the way of other people coming to ask their own questions, simply using the counter to hold his books while he read. It was odd.

Niran kind of liked it.

Ploy came to the library for a book club.

Book clubs were held after lunch, so Niran was no longer at the reference desk. Instead, he was printing posters and updating bulletin boards with Tong, who was Niran’s boss but who regularly took part in every facet of running the library.

“Niran!” Pete’s voice was too loud, but somehow, Niran didn’t mind.

Turning from the last bulletin board, Niran watched as Pete hurried over—just shy of running in the library. Hands on his hips, Pete took deep breaths to regain his composure.

“That girl,” he waved absently behind him before putting his hand back on his waist, “said you were over here. Uh…Jan?”

Jan was the one working the reference desk this afternoon. Part of Niran was annoyed that Jan hadn’t answered Pete’s question. The rest of Niran was glad to be the only one answering Pete’s questions.

“Did you need something?” Niran asked, lowering the poster in his hand. “Computer help? Finding a book?”

Tong said, “Did Jan not know the answer to your question?” but Pete’s attention was wholly on Niran.

“I passed my interview with the disability office,” Pete said, beaming. He clapped his hands on Niran’s shoulders and Niran’s eyes widened at the sudden physical touch. “Thank you so much.”

Having the full force of Pete’s beaming smile aimed at him, combined with touch, had Niran short circuiting. “No problem,” he managed. Then he blinked and cleared his throat. “Anyone could’ve helped you.”

Pete’s smile didn’t dim in the slightest. “Yeah, maybe. But it was you, so I want to thank you.”

“It’s my job.” It was a stupid thing to say. Niran had definitely gone beyond his job description in just their few interactions.

“Which he was glad to do,” Tong added.

Pete’s smile dimmed, “Aow. Don’t be like that.” He put one hand on his hip and motioned between the two of them. “We’re friends, at least, right?”

“Friends?” Niran repeated.

Did Pete make friends that easily? Helping him with a few library tasks meant he and Niran were friends now? The strangest feeling churned in Niran’s stomach—some amorphous mix of joy and bitter displeasure at the term ‘friend.’ He knew why. Pete was undeniably handsome, and even just a few actual conversations had taken the irritation out of Niran when Pete’s voice got too loud. He didn’t want ‘friends,’ but it was a step in the right direction.

“Mm,” Pete hummed with a nod.

Niran pressed his lips together as if displeased, but only for long enough to see Pete focus on his lips. Then, “Uh. Friends.”

Pete beamed again.

Tong stepped up beside Niran. Pete blinked, then gave a wai. “Sorry. I didn’t—I didn’t hear you. Did you say something?”

His tone was suddenly smaller, less confident, and he stayed partially hidden behind his hands. Niran narrowed his eyes.

Tong shook his head with a good-natured smile. “Nothing important. But Niran and I do need to finish updating the boards,” he said, as information for Pete and a reminder for Niran. “Can we help you with anything?”

It was odd seeing Pete give the same intent stare to Tong that he usually gave to Niran. And, like with Niran, it seemed like Pete was staring more at Tong’s mouth than anything.

Waitaminute.

“Sorry,” Pete said with another wai. “I just wanted to thank Niran for all his help. I can wait,” he motioned blindly behind himself, “over there.”

With one last wai and a glance at Niran, Pete retreated. Niran watched him walk off until he rounded a corner and disappeared down a row of books. Cookbooks and crafts.

“Niran?” Tong said.

“Sorry.” Niran turned around and started pinning up his poster again, but his mind was stuck on Pete.

He talked too loud when first entering the library, until his sister reminded him to lower his voice. He had looked up the Student Disability Services Office at college. He read all those books about athletes with disabilities. He pretended to listen to a conversation by humming in all the wrong spots. He stared more at people’s mouths than anything else in a conversation. He hadn’t replied to Tong at all until the man stood in front of him.

As soon as his poster was up and Tong’s smaller bits and pieces were arranged around it, Niran gave his boss a wai.

“I need a few minutes.”

Tong’s lips lifted at the edges. “Of course. Just don’t be too long.”

Niran checked his watch. The book club meeting would go for another twenty minutes. Good. He headed in the same direction Pete had, but went down one row early. He wanted to test something, but it would only work if Pete didn’t see him coming. Luck was on his side, as Niran saw Pete standing in the other row with his back to Niran, looking down at a book.

Stopping two feet back, Niran quietly said, “Pete.”

Nothing. Pete didn’t twitch or turn or hum.

A little louder. “Pete.”

Still nothing.

Niran let out a sigh, nodded, and spoke at a conversational level. “Pete.”

Pete tilted his head slightly, like he’d heard something but he didn’t know what it was. When Niran didn’t say anything else, he returned his full attention to the book.

Louder than conversational, but not yelling, Niran said, “Ai’Pete.”

Finally, Pete turned his head. When he saw Niran through the stacks, Pete’s eyes widened and he quickly shut his book. He slid the book back into place, then took two steps to close the distance between them and looked at Niran through a break in books.

“Niran,” he greeted, already starting to smile. “Are you done with the boards?”

Niran nodded. “Your disability,” Niran started, and Pete’s smile faltered. “Can you tell me what it is?”

…

…

After sitting on either side of a window seat, Pete, though haltingly, explained.

“A couple of years ago, my parents and I were in a bad accident,” he said. “I’d just started college, and Ploy was in middle school. Our parents…didn’t make it.”

Pete paused to take a deep breath and Niran resisted the urge to reach out and touch him. Pete had called them ‘friends,’ but it felt too soon.

“When I woke up in the hospital, I had lost about fifty percent of my ability to hear in both ears.” He waved at his right ear. “It’s there, it’s just…muffled. Sometimes it feels like I’m underwater and if I could just get my head out of the water, I’d hear fine, and it’s—it’s so frustrating, because that’s never going to happen.” He scowled. “There’s no fixing this.”

Hearing loss was not one of the topics he had a lot of knowledge on, so Niran had to trust that Pete was right when he said the hearing loss was permanent. He couldn’t offer options for surgeries or medications that might bring Pete’s hearing back. But—

“Do hearing aids not help?”

Pete gave a sardonic smile. “They probably would, but my uncle won’t pay for them,” he said ‘uncle’ like a curse. “He doesn’t want anything that makes my ‘disability,’” and there was that odd tone to the word again, “visible to others.”

So the odd tone came from Pete’s uncle. Is that how his uncle said it? Or did Pete hesitate and try not to be heard because his uncle wouldn’t even let them talk about it?

Pete shook his head. “Do you know how infuriating it is? Not being able to hear what people are saying, and then being blamed for not hearing it? Even worse, by the person who could make things easier, but refuses to?” Pete rolled his eyes in aggravation and punched his fist into his palm. “If he wasn’t my uncle, I would’ve already decked him so many times. I’m so angry at him, all the time.”

“Well,” Niran started, and waited until Pete was looking at him and not at his own hands. “I’m usually not for violence, but I think, in this situation, a punch is the least he deserves.”

The anger fell from Pete’s face with a loud bark of laughter. Pete covered his mouth, glanced around for anyone looking their way. No other patrons were visible from their spot, though, and Pete quickly focused back on Niran.

“Thanks, man,” Pete said, a soft smile on his face that Niran felt himself mirroring. “It’s…It’s really nice. Having someone on my side.”

Who the fuck would be on the uncle’s side? Niran didn’t ask, knowing that, somehow, the list was longer than it should be.

“Uh,” Niran said, like he was agreeing.

With a content sigh, like he was glad to finally get it off his chest, Pete said, “Anyway, I watched, like, a hundred movies to get good at reading lips, so I can at least get by when my uncle pulls some shit with a guest or something.” A shrug. “But I still struggle when people talk too fast.”

Niran pressed his lips together. “Do I talk to fast?” He’d never noticed Pete having difficulty before, but he also hadn’t known to look.

Pete shook his head. “Nah. Your speed is perfect.” He grinned. “Maybe because you job is helping people understand stuff.”

Maybe, Niran acknowledged with a nod. He often had to help people understand things they had no idea about. But even before becoming a librarian, his family said he enunciated well.

Checking his watch, Niran grimaced at how long he’d been gone. Tong was lenient, but Niran wasn’t actually on a break. He motioned back to the main area of the library. Haltingly, he said, “I have to get back to work.”

There was a brief moment where Pete’s expression dropped with disappointment, but then he perked up. “Sure sure. No problem.”

No sooner had Niran stood from the window seat than Pete grabbed him by the wrist. He looked surprised at himself for the action, but persisted anyway, holding out his phone.

“Can…I get your contact info?” Pete asked, tilting his head and giving Niran his most innocent look.

Pete was cute, and Niran had stopped being annoyed by his noise level three visits ago. Pete had called them friends, and Niran had agreed with it to make Pete happy. Because he liked the idea of them being closer.

Rolling his eyes, Niran took Pete’s phone and put in his contact information. Pete watched him, bouncing his leg in excitement.

“If you blow up my phone with nonsense, I’m blocking you,” Niran warned, handing the phone back.

Pete beamed. “That’s valid,” he agreed.

“And I can’t respond much during work,” Niran continued.

Pete nodded. “I totally get that.” He smiled down at his phone. “Lemme just…”

In his pocket, Niran’s phone vibrated. Even though he was pretty sure what it was, Niran took the phone out and looked at the notification. It was an unrecognized number and a message:

- Hey this is Pete from the library

Niran huffed a small laugh, barely a puff of air, and replied.

- You say that like I know another Pete

- You COULD idk

- Your contact name is now ‘Pete from the Library’

- no way

- At least make it Friend Pete from the Library

- No

“Aow,” Pete let out, pouting at his phone.

Niran finished editing Pete’s contact name to simply “Pete” just as Pete turned the pout on him.

“Ai’Niran, don’t be mean.”

“I have to get to work,” Niran said instead of replying, then walked away with a smirk, Pete letting out a whine behind him.

If he went home that night and started researching what life was like for people who lost their hearing in adulthood…well, he just wanted to understand his new ‘friend’ and not make his life harder.

…

…

Giving Pete his number meant that Pete absolutely spammed his phone. Or, maybe not. Niran didn’t have a ton of people sending him messages, so it was hard to judge.

He got messages from Pete after his classes.

- Thank god for note takers

- ?

- my head is killing me trying to listen to these professors

- who decided first year classes should be in damn auditoriums with a hundred students?

- if someone wasn’t helping me take notes I’d be so screwed

- The library is quiet, if you need a break later.

- absolutely!

He got messages from Pete about library events for his sister.

- Hey there’s a STEM event coming up at the library soon but it says its for kids

- can Ploy come anyway?

- maybe she’ll like building stuff

- She might find it too easy or childish

- maybe

- but she’ll go anyway if I ask

- that sounds bad

- she’s been quiet since our parents died. Gave up all her hobbies and friends.

- I want her to have, idk, an outlet? Maybe meet a friend at one of these.

- and she goes even when she’s not interested because she knows it makes me happy to see her trying

- I’m not, like, forcing her to go

- mm. I understand.

- The age range is a suggestion for some events, so as long as

she isn’t a disturbance, she can probably go anyway.

- awesome! Thanx!

- Thanks*

He got messages from Pete about family drama.

- should I get fried chicken or Chinese?

- Don’t you have a cook?

- I’d rather eat rocks.

- Your uncle said something again.

- I’m getting dim sum from around the corner from the library.

- On my way! :D

He got messages from Pete about nonsense.

- Do you think birds dream?

- There have been a few studies that suggest they do.

- huh. I wonder wat they dream about

- Hey! this dog looks like you!

- Too bad I think that dog is super cute.

- ?? of course it is???

- check out this graffiti on campus. Is that a book reference?

- I think it’s a TV reference?

- you ever watch anime? This one is wild

- Does Detective Conan count?

- duh

- wanna watch something sometime? I’ll stream it to you

- Sure. I’m off at 6

- Niran! I’m bored!

- I’m grocery shopping

- On my way, friend!

- Why? Grocery shopping is boring too

- not when its with you

And maybe that did count as spamming, but the more it happened, the more Niran looked forward to the ping of his phone with a new message.

…

…

The class of the day was Journalism 101 and, as expected, Pete and Ploy were some of the first visitors through the door. Niran finished up with his immediate task while Pete wished his sister fun, knowing that Pete would make a beeline for the reference desk as soon as she disappeared into the multipurpose room. Which he did.

“Hey, Niran,” Pete greeted with a bright smile, leaning on the reference desk.

Ignoring the fluttering of his heart, Niran grabbed a folder from under the desk and held it out to Pete. Curious, Pete accepted and immediately opened it. Inside were papers about a government funded vocational rehabilitation program. Once approved for assistance, the program helped people with disabilities find work, either through immediate vocations or by providing support for education. Each approved person was given an individualized plan to meet their goal.

What Niran had been most interested in, though, and what he had highlighted on the papers, was finding out that the program could help Pete with medical things without needing his uncle’s money. The program would provide support in getting assistive devices: Pete could finally get hearing aids, if he wanted them.

“I heard about them on the news last night. Then I did some research,” Niran explained. He shrugged one shoulder. “I can help you navigate the website, if you want.”

“Huh?” Pete looked up from the papers and Niran realized his mistake. He’d talked too quietly while Pete wasn’t paying attention.

But Pete didn’t look confused. He looked overwhelmed. His eyes were bright like he might cry, his mouth open like he’d forgotten to close it, his brow furrowing with emotion. Niran let out a small breath, then rounded the reference desk so he could stand at Pete’s side. Pete watched him the whole time, almost in a daze, still holding up the papers Niran had handed him. With a nod, Niran gently took the papers from Pete and put them back in the folder, then took Pete’s hand to lead him over to a computer.

It took most of the time of the Journalism event, but Niran helped Pete navigate the Vocational Rehabilitation website, found the digital forms needed, collected necessary information for the forms—including the contact information for Pete’s doctors, and submitted it all for consideration. By the end, Pete looked wrung out, exhausted but with a smile pulling at his lips anyway.

Niran tilted his head, frowning. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t—” Pete took a shaky breath. “I wouldn’t understand half of this shit without you. I’m so bad with computers. And you—Niran, you’re—” He paused, swallowed, licked his lips, “—the best friend I’ve ever had.”

Friend.

After all their texting and how often Pete had started hanging out in the library even without Ploy, and even getting meals together in the nearby area, Niran didn’t doubt that they were friends. But getting closer with Pete just made Niran more and more aware of how beautiful the other man was—in body and soul—and so the term ‘friend’ also left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He’d never been good at making friends. Of course he’d be bad at getting a faen, too.

They were so caught up in looking at each other that neither noticed the Journalism event ending, the participants chatting as they headed for the exit, until Ploy was at Pete’s side.

“P’Pete,” she said, and he jumped.

“Ploy!” Pete said, too loud, then quickly recalibrated. “How was the class?”

For about half a second, Ploy maintained a flat expression. Then, she broke into a smile. “I think…I want to be a journalist.”

A beaming smile overtook Pete’s face and he wrapped Ploy in a big hug. “That’s awesome!”

Pete kept celebrating with his sister and Niran couldn’t even find it in himself to care about the noise level. Not when they both looked so happy.

When Pete invited Niran to have dinner with them after work, even Ploy gave him an encouraging smile. So he said yes.

…

…

Niran had just finished sending an email regarding book requests when Yok knocked on the wall near his desk. When he looked up, she jerked her thumb toward the exit and the library beyond.

“Someone’s asking for you,” she said in her typical bored tone.

Brow furrowing, Niran locked his computer and headed up front. He checked his phone on the way, in case Pete had texted saying he was heading over, but there were no new notifications. So who was asking for him?

Ploy stood just outside the Staff Only door, and Yok motioned to her before waving and walking off with the shelving cart. Once they were alone, Ploy gave a quick wai that was so like her brother that Niran almost smiled.

“Can we talk, phi?” she asked.

They sat in the same window seat Niran had taken Pete to. It was out of the way of patrons and workers alike, offering a modicum of privacy and keeping Niran’s seniors from thinking he was wasting time. Once there, Ploy looked out the window instead of at Niran, her fingers clasped in her lap.

When she didn’t speak for a full minute, Niran asked, “Is something wrong?”

Ploy shook her head. “I came for another journalism class.” Before Niran could do more than open his mouth, she answered his question, “P’Pete’s still at school.”

Of course Pete couldn’t always bring Ploy to events, now that classes had started. And it wasn’t like Pete didn’t spend an inordinate amount of time in the library without Ploy. Still, disappointment brought Niran’s mood down.

“I need to tell you something, and you need to listen,” Ploy said sternly, meeting Niran’s eyes.

Niran hadn’t the faintest clue what Ploy could want to tell him, but she was choosing to do it when Pete wasn’t around. Not during dinner together or when Pete brought her to an event. That meant it was probably something to do with Pete. Niran nodded.

“After our parents…,” Ploy trailed off, her jaw clenching. She swallowed and continued. “I wasn’t doing well. I stopped talking. I stopped hanging out with friends. I barely ate. I didn’t see the point of anything anymore,” she admitted with a deep frown. “I know I caused a lot of trouble for my uncle and for P’Pete. But…I’m also glad that I did.”

She inhaled deeply and let out a long sigh.

“When P’Pete first learned that his hearing loss was permanent, he didn’t take it well. Uncle wouldn’t acknowledge it. His friends couldn’t adapt. P’Pete was...angry, all the time.” She picked at the side of her index finger but didn’t turn her gaze away. “He got in a lot of fights. He broke a lot of stuff at the house. Some days he screamed until he lost his voice. And he cried a lot.”

Ploy’s own eyes were misty just remembering that time, and Niran’s heart ached for both siblings. Pete smiled so often these days that it was hard to imagine him crying, and the very idea of it made something in Niran rebel and want to fix it.

“I couldn’t help him. I could barely get out of bed. I—” Ploy shook her head. “One day, it was like P’Pete just…woke up. He looked at me. He saw me. And he…He told me he couldn’t keep on the way he was because I needed him. Because I needed a big brother by my side.” A tear slipped down her face and Ploy was quick to wipe it away. “I think trying to help me get better helped him too. It gave him a reason to push through, you know? So in a way, I’m glad it took me so long to find something to push me through, too, because it helped my brother.”

In all the months of Ploy coming into the library, Niran had never heard her speak so much. It made sense though. Pete’s most long-winded talks were about his sister, so of course hers were about her brother in return.

“Why are you telling me this?” Niran asked.

Ploy sighed. “My point in coming here today was to thank you. For helping my brother figure out the college stuff, the medical stuff. But also…just…thank you for not leaving when you learned about his hearing.”

Niran frowned. “Why would I leave just because of that?”

Sure, Pete missed things he said sometimes, but what did that matter? He tried so hard at everything he did. He liked books and reading. He smiled easily and adapted to corrections without ego. He dropped compliments for Niran like it was second nature, which was something Niran was still getting used to. When he was focused, Pete’s eyes were intense and beautiful.

Why would anyone walk away from someone like that?

Another shake of her head and Ploy smiled and said, “That’s why he likes you.”

In his chest, Niran’s heart skipped several beats. “Huh?”

“P’Pete has always been awkward about people he likes, even before the accident. So he’ll never bring it up. Not seriously,” Ploy continued, as if she wasn’t rewiring Niran’s entire brain. “So if you like him too…you’re going to have to be brave and take the lead.” Her fingers started picking at each other again and she lowered her eyes. “Do you like him?”

Niran reached over and put his hand on top of both of hers, stopping her nervous motion. If she kept at it, she’d hurt herself. When Ploy lifted her eyes to his again, Niran gave a nod.

“Mm. I like him.”

It was the first time he’d confirmed the words aloud, and from the way Ploy’s shoulders dropped, she felt just as relieved as Niran.

…

…

On his next day off, Niran asked Pete out to lunch.

It wasn’t the first time they’d met up for food outside of the library, not even the first time they did it without Ploy along, but Niran’s hands were clammy with nerves. Pete showed up two minutes earlier than the agreed upon time—an improvement from being ten minutes late the first time they grabbed a meal. With a smile and a wave, Pete made his whaay to Niran’s table, sliding in across from him.

It was just like usual. Pete stole stuff off Niran’s plate, but always made sure to split the last of something evenly with Niran. And when was someone supposed to find the right time to confess feelings? How did people do this?

“Oh!” Pete let out like he’d had an epiphany, still with food in his mouth. Niran shouldn’t find it cute. After swallowing, Pete said, “I got a response from the vocational people.” His face screwed up. “Or, I guess, a company that works with them?” A shrug. “I have an appointment to get fitted for hearing aids next week.”

“That’s great news,” Niran said with a smile.

Pete nodded with his own smile, but it quickly dimmed. His eyes trailed listlessly down to the food on his plate. Why? Pete had said he wanted hearing aids several times in their messages and conversations, and he was mad his uncle refused to get them for him. Shouldn’t he be happy?

Reaching over, Niran tapped the table where he knew Pete would see it to get his attention. Only when Pete looked back up at him did Niran speak.

“Is that not great news?”

Shaking his head, Pete said, “No no, it is. I’m just—” He heaved a big sigh and sat back in his seat. “What if they don’t help as much as I think they do? What if they don’t work at all?”

Ah, high expectations that come with matching high anxiety. Niran nodded to show he understood, then put more food on Pete’s plate. Pete glanced down at it, then back up, eyes narrowing curiously.

“If they don’t work,” Niran began, “then you’ll figure something else out. There are other options.”

This time, Pete’s sigh was soft, and he followed it up by shoving food in his mouth. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“And,” Niran said, with enough weight that Pete stopped picking at his food. “No matter what, you’ll still have me. Even if your hearing goes away completely.”

Pete inhaled sharply. “Niran.”

It was Niran’s turn to play with his food instead of looking at his conversation partner. It was embarrassing to be so open. But he hadn’t lied.

If the hearing aids helped, that would be great. Pete would be relieved. He wouldn’t miss parts of conversations and wouldn’t have to see someone to know they were talking to him. But even if Pete lost his hearing completely, Niran couldn’t see himself leaving. He was good at research. They would find new ways to communicate, to adapt. Already, Niran knew to get Pete’s attention visually before speaking. He’d get even better at being with Pete the longer they knew each other.

Taking a deep breath, Niran forged ahead. “I like you, Pete.”

Across from him, Pete swallowed thickly. His lips pulled up into a crooked smile. “I like you too.”

It should have been confirmation, should have made Niran happy, but the way Pete said it—did he realize which ‘like’ Niran meant? Or was he still speaking as friends?

“Not as a friend,” Niran clarified.

Pete dropped his cutlery. “A-are you sure?” He pointed at himself, as if to ask ‘Me?’

A nod. “Mm.” Niran wrapped his hand around his drink glass, dragged his finger through the condensation. “I’ve never been so sure of anything. Except maybe becoming a librarian,” he finished with a teasing grin.

It had the intended effect, Pete barking out a laugh. Even after the laughter ended, he wore a fond smile that Niran couldn’t help but copy.

“Well, I’m glad you became a librarian,” Pete said. “I’m not sure how we would’ve met otherwise.”

“Maybe,” Niran said, still playing with condensation. “But I think we would’ve gotten here anyway. I would still want to date you.” He leveled his gaze, hopeful yet hesitant, on Pete. “Do you…want to date me?”

It took less than a second for Pete to lay his hand out on the table between them. When Niran didn’t move, Pete lifted a questioning yet inviting eyebrow. Ah. Rolling his eyes, Niran reached out to hold Pete’s hand.

“I like you,” Pete said, this time without the aura of ‘just a friend’ hanging around it, with a small, tender smile. “Yes.” Pete nodded, “I’ll date you.”

The feeling that spread through Niran’s chest was warm and buzzy. He squeezed Pete’s hand and got a wider smile out of his boyfriend in response.

They finished eating without letting go of each other, even though it meant Pete was eating left handed and kept dropping his food, making them both laugh. Since Niran invited Pete out, he paid for the meal, but made sure to let Pete know they’d share expenses in the future.

“You have more money than me,” he pointed out as they left the restaurant.

“Actually, my uncle has more money than you. I’m poor,” Pete argued, but he was smiling. “Uh. We’ll split things.”

Then he darted in to give Niran’s cheek a peck. Niran almost dropped his wallet.

Niran frowned. “Pete.”

Pete hummed, hands in his pockets and doing his best to look innocent.

With a sigh like Pete was being too much, Niran grabbed Pete by the collar and pulled him in close. “I’m going to kiss you,” he said.

Eyes wide, Pete barely managed to make an affirmative noise. Then Niran closed the final few inches and pressed a kiss to Pete’s lips. It wasn’t anything deep or evocative, just a kiss—or two—to show Pete that he was really, truly interested. That Niran really did mean ‘more than a friend.’ When he pulled back, Pete’s cheeks were dusted with pink.

He was gorgeous. As beautiful as the first day Niran saw him walk into the library and wave his sister goodbye with a too-loud voice. As lovely in the afternoon sun with a blush on his cheeks as he was sitting at a library table reading two books at once. And Niran wanted to know more about him. He wanted to know everything, every day.

“Do you want to go home or go on a date with me?” Niran asked.

Blinking rapidly, Pete cleared his throat. Standing tall, like he hadn’t just been flustered by a kiss, Pete reached out to take Niran’s hand in his own. “We’re already on a date, Niran, and it is so far from over.”

He leaned in to give Niran one more kiss before starting to lead Niran down the sidewalk. That was their third kiss on the lips. Not that Niran was keeping track.

…

…

fin