Chapter Text
The music lulls him; a gentle caress against freezing skin. He rubs his hands together when he’s inside the warm building, encouraging blood flow to return to his digits. He rubs at his arms after, warming himself up before venturing further into the shop. The woman behind the counter eyes him suspiciously before noticing his lack of appropriate winter wear. He feels her watching him, knows her eyes contain some sort annoyance.
He knows that she knows he doesn’t have any money for the pages bound by leather and string. He knows that she judges him silently, shaking her head before she turns to another customer. He knows that she’s seen a hundred, maybe a thousand, like him. Maybe they don’t have a home to return to. Maybe they do, like him, but it is far better to be away from it. He wonders if she wonders the same things before pretending to be busy.
His fingers skim over hard spines, bumping against a book out just enough. He grabs that one, pulls it from the shelf before flipping it open to a random page. The smell of dust and age hits his nostrils and a smile attempts to break across his face. He crushes the smile before it can pull at his face. Who knows who is watching? He’s sure his mother would find out about it and punish him like always.
He panics briefly at the thought. She’d punish him if he saw. Punish him for even picking up a book. He flops the book in his hands, flips it to read the title:
Lolita
He pushes the book back onto the shelf, rougher then he ought to have. She may not punish him for the smile but he knows she’d punish him for holding a book, even worse for one such a blasphemous as this. He rushes away from that shelf, moves towards a section that is safer.
The word says Religion like a brand on the sign. He’s safer over here, he thinks. If anyone were to see him and tell his mother, at least he were looking into something holy. Maybe she’d even give him praise for that. Sickness rushes through him at the thought. He doesn’t need her praise, nor does he want it.
“The bible is the most stolen book throughout the world, did you know?”
A voice rings out over the sound of the music and Credence can’t help but jump slightly at the sound. The owner of the voice waits for an answer from Credence. He uses the time to raise his eyes to take in the appearance of the other person.
The man stands leaned up against a bookshelf. He wears a nice, white shirt underneath a black vest. His tie is a striking blue color that makes Credence eyes hurt from the brightness of it. He wears black trousers, allowing for the outfit to remain professional yet relaxed. However, Credence can tell the man is anything but relaxed most of the day. His hair has streaks of grey at the temples, topped by black hair that is gelled back. He looks stylish and Credence can’t help but be embarrassed at his own state of dress.
Credence shakes his head to answer the man but doesn’t raise his head up. The man steps away from the bookshelf, comes closer to Credence. He holds something out to Credence.
“Very cold at this time of year.”
The smell of chocolate wafts its way into Credence’s nose. A white styrofoam cups comes into his vision. It’s only then that Credence looks up properly. Soft brown eyes greet his own, almost lighting up at Credence’s gaze.
“Why don’t you have some, hm?”
Credence begins to shake his head. No no he could not impose like that…
“When it gets this cold, Tina insists we let people have hot chocolate.”
Credence tentatively reaches for the cup. It squeaks against his grip when his hand wraps around it. He murmurs a ‘thank you’ before taking a sip.
Ma never lets them have something so decadent. He can’t help the small moan that bubbles out of his throat when the chocolate washes down into his stomach. He blushes, averts his gaze away from the stranger. But the man only laughs, warm and deep.
“Queenie always makes the best hot chocolate, my boy, no need to be ashamed.”
Again with the strange names that Credence doesn’t know. But it doesn’t matter. His lips pull into a small smile against his will. He returns his gaze to the handsome stranger once more. The man smiles back at him.
“Finding anything good…?” The man asks, more so wondering about what to call Credence. Credence takes another hurried sip from the chocolate. He sighs out his pleasure, licks his lips of any chocolate residue before answering the man.
“I’m Credence, sir. Credence Barebone.”
“Well, Credence, why don’t I show you some of our new books?” The man says, begins walking away from Credence. Credence debates turning around, walking out to the street again and making his way home.
But he doesn’t.
He trails behind the man, looking around the bookstore now that his blood sings with warmth. It’s much bigger then Credence first perceived. Books line every wall that Credence can see. He’s only taken out of his thoughts when the stranger says something to him again.
“Ah,” The man exclaims before picking up a book. “This is the popular one these days.” He waits for Credence to extend his free hand before placing the book into his palm. It’s not too heavy, a few hundred pages at best. He takes the chocolate from Credence’s other hand, ignoring the whimper of protest from the young man. “I’ll get you some more.” He motions for Credence to flip through the book. “Take a look.”
The kind man walks away, disappears behind a bookshelf before Credence looks at the cover. There’s an illustration of a boy on a book flying through an archway. His arm is outreached, attempting to catch some sort of golden ball. The title reads ‘Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone’. He doesn’t need to read through the book to know that Ma would have his hide if she saw him with something like this. He moves to put it back down when a voice rings out to him again.
“What do you think?” The rumbling baritone voice greets him again and Credence pushes the book into his chest. He can’t put it down now, can’t seem ungrateful for the man’s kindness. The man has two styrofoam cups this time. He passes one to Credence before taking a sip from his own.
“I-It seems very interesting, sir.” Credence practically whispers. But the man doesn’t seem to mind. Instead he smiles against the cup. Credence watches as his throat works to swallow the liquid. He feels his face heat up once again before he pointedly makes eye contact with the floor. He can’t think those things. She’ll know.
“I’m glad you like it,” The man says before placing his empty cup on a nearby shelf. “Why don’t you take that home? Give it a bit of a read?”
Credence looks up once again, surprise evident in his features. He’s about to place the book back down onto the shelf, insist he couldn’t do something like that before the man pushes a finger into the back of the book. He makes sure that Credence can’t put down the book this way.
“It’ll be a Christmas present,” The man begins. “You just have to tell me about it when you come back. How about that?”
Credence swallows down any protests. He nods his head, grips the book tighter against his chest. The man’s finger leaves the back of the book and he smiles once more. Credence moves pass him. He needs to get home soon or his mother will punish him. He stops, turns to face the man once more.
“Thank you, Mister uh…” Credence trails off. The man extends a hand towards Credence.
“Graves. Percival Graves.”