Chapter Text
Your work skirt is way too short. Even with leggings on, it hardly hides the curves of your body to the ogling customers. One man, in particular, is being the absolute worst he can be. It’s already been a long shift for you, who can blame you if you’re a little aggravated? You carry plates around effortlessly, dancing around the small little cafe with ease. Your movements are fluid–magical, even. The customers are enraptured in the elegance, and for a moment you actually enjoy the job. You enjoy being good at something you worked hard to learn. Some people just have to ruin it all, though.
He has piercings adorning an unshaven face, leaning over into your personal space with a smug grin. Robust, and sipping on a latte. A revolting creature, sure, but one that your job forces you to put up with. Slurs on his words as he flirts, long fingers running up your arm. It stops you from giving some lady her coffee, and you have to halt at his table. “Do you need something, Sir?” The fabric of your work shirt is pinched in between his fingers, and he’s fondling you. Holding you like some treasure he’s not supposed to have.
“Are you on the menu?” It’s cheesy, yes, and might even get you to blush if this man wasn’t so disgustingly smug. It takes all your willpower to not wipe that look off his face. You’re so sincerely used to creeps like this one, however, that it hardly phases you. Sure, your fists bunch up and a vein even forms on your temple, but who cares? He’s just like all the others. Smile, give a little giggle, and he’ll be on his way. More money in it for you, anyways.
Shyly, you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. Lips a soft pink as you purse them ever so politely; a natural. If only Sam was on the floor, maybe you’d even make some extra money for your delicious display. No such luck, though, but it’s alright. The more you can steal from this man’s pockets, the better. You even give a little laugh, “Well, aren’t you smooth,” Sensually, you bend over the table in front of him, doing your best to ignore the way his eyes train along your enticing form. “Let me take that for you,” And you reach for an empty plate.
A gasp escapes those lips of yours as his hand grasps at your ass through your tights. You’re red, now, but for reasons other than just being flustered. You’re angry –so unbelievably upset that this stranger thinks of you as such an object. “You’re not leaving so soon, are you?” He sure is forward, you’ll give him that. A nervous laugh escapes you, and you take the empty plates. You’re a professional , remember? Just breathe . A few other nearby customers are looking at you, you can feel it. Feel their stares digging ditches into your round ass.
It’s all worth it for the payout, you think to yourself. His fingers grope you, force shivers down your spine as they wiggle around and squeeze the fatty flesh. “I have a job to do, Sir,” You tell him, not missing the frustrated expression that shows on him for just a moment. Standing up straight, a real smile showing on your crimson cheeks as his hand drops away. Perhaps elsewhere, this encounter would seem unusual, but it happens to you almost every shift. Back when you first began, it shocked you. Now, it only gets under your skin when you’re forced to think about it.
A breath of relief as you go behind the cafe counter to start brewing more coffee–the pain of constantly being understaffed–and a small hand suddenly along your spine. “Hey, cutie!” You jump, hair sticking straight up at the scare, relaxing one your eyes are met with Sam’s soft ones. You thought she was outside, but you must’ve missed her entering again.
“You scared me,” You take a breath, settling your shaky hands as you continue the brewing process. Her eyes gaze on you for a moment longer than usual, and now you’re worried. “What’s up?”
Sam is your boss. Strong words, however she’s very soft for such a scary title. She’s plump, round and short with tan skin from all the hours spent out in the sun, chatting up customers. Naive, innocent light brown eyes that could hardly hurt a soul. Her grin spreads along her entire face, cheerful as always, giving you a reassuring pat on the back. “Just checking in! I see the customers love you just as much as usual.” You nod, appreciative of her company although still extremely busy.
“That’s nice, Sam,” You say absentmindedly, and her grin falters slightly.
She’s silent for a moment, before giving you one last pat. “Well, keep it up! I’ll be in the back if you need anything.” When her back disappears behind the shutting door of the kitchen, a sigh escapes you. Not sure why, considering you adore Sam. She’s always been kind to you, but something about today just isn’t your day. Not one bit, and you can still see that guy from before drooling over you in the corner of your eye. Safe to say, the shift would continue to get rougher from here.
It passed by quickly, much to your liking. Who knew that being annoyed actually helped time pass, even if you weren’t having fun. Your car is parked in the lot behind the building, specific to employees, where the dumpsters are. Sometimes people lurk over here, considering this town has a very bad homeless problem, but you’re pleasantly surprised when nobody is there. The sun’s going down, casting a beautiful sunset along the clear sky. A sky you missed being inside serving all day.
Once in your car, the air seems to still. You were fine when you woke up, and when you got dressed, and when you went to work. You were fine –totally, utterly fine. It’s dead silent. You don’t even make the motion to turn the keys in the ignition, because suddenly you’re shaking. Hands gripping the wheel in front of you as tears cascade down full cheeks, and you’re crying. Fucking crying . Shaking your head, you refuse to cry. You can’t get upset, not today. Not ever, not because of this.
But, fuck, it’s just so awful . The customers, the people you work with. You still feel the tingling feeling on your ass where that man had gripped you, and you can’t stop now. Your palm hits the wheel with a rush of aggressive adrenaline, and again. Again, and again, and again, until your skin is ignited. Flesh burning with agony as pain shoots through you but at least you can finally feel something– anything . You hit your head so hard into the wheel you’re shocked when there isn’t blood.
Your chest heaves. Panting, and you move your fingers to grasp at the place your heart resides. The sound of thumping inside your chest vibrates throughout the car, and you’re crying loudly now. Sobbing so loud you’re sure it can be heard outside the comfortable space you reside in. You don’t even bother wiping the tears as they fall now because that’s it, you’re done. You just have to sit here and focus on breathing again, right? In and out and in and out and–
Looking out your window, you see a few of your employees by the dumpsters, just staring at you. You blink. One gives an awkward wave. Then, in a quick motion, you’re wiping all the evidence off your pained face, and driving away. Driving who knows where, right? You just need to get out, go anywhere else. And, like destiny, you land upon a bookstore. You didn’t even know there was a bookstore in town, although you haven’t really had the time to look for one considering everything. Maybe it was because you were emotional, or maybe it was for no reason at all, but you parked the car and immediately got out of it.
One rule: Don’t buy anything. Not one thing. You can’t afford it, and you’re too upset to be shopping, you’ll spend all you have. And you need to pay rent this week, so it’s a definite no. You made up your mind, but all those thoughts crumble to dust at the sweet scent of paper. New paper, old books, and a warmth that wraps around you like a tight, comforting hug. You haven’t been hugged in so, so long, and it’s nice. It’s nice, being in this quaint little bookstore that you somehow managed to stumble into.
You take a moment to look around some sections. It’s all stuff you’re not exactly jumping to buy, which is great, because you have a rule! Yes, a rule that you will not be breaking today. Your eyes trail over to a faded, hanging wooden sign that reads– romance . And shit, your feet carry you there before you even have a thought to resist, because you’re a sucker. A sucker for a book that can give you something you’re sure you’ll never find in this town. Not any time soon, anyways.
There’s one other person in this store right now, and he seems to be a worker. The first you’ve seen, at least, considering it is quite an awkward time of day to be at a bookstore. All the books are listed in a neat, concise alphabetical order. Not all messy and difficult like the rest of this town, no, it’s organized. Someone who clearly cares about literature took care of these shelves, and you subconsciously give your remarks to whoever did this. Whoever tended to these books with such respect, more respect than you, a human, had ever been given the right to receive.
You reach with all your might to the top shelf, holding all the real classic romances. You have no time to search for anything else, because you already know exactly what you want to see. If only you could reach it, that is, curse being short. A shimmer of something bright shines in the corner of your eye, catching your attention and completely distracting you. It’s a man, nothing like the many who saunter in and out of the cafe. He’s clean, neatly kept like the books, and dangerous .
Dangerous, not because you fear him, but because he is ravishing . It hurts to look at him like it would hurt to look into the sun’s blazing rays. Bright, beautiful, and your mouth slightly hangs open at just the sight of him alone. He’s tall, so very tall. Long, blonde hair that sits angelically over his shoulders, cascading down his back, and the jet black vest that adorns him. Was this man sent from the heavens? “What did you need?” He’s talking–his sultry, slick voice. It’s smooth, so delicate, and it runs along your body like a wave of desperation.
You realize all too late that he asked you a question, and his eyes fall on you. Golden, like a real live angel, in subtle confusion. You’re left to pick up the slack, close that gaping mouth of yours, before finally composing yourself. “Oh, what–?” Eyes that trail along his extended arm and you realize he’s trying to help you. Golden irises don’t leave you, no, they burn into you. You’re not uncomfortable with it, though, not like when the customers stare. Not like how you felt earlier, when your coworkers watched you from the dumpster.
“Did you.. Need a book from up here?” He asks so slowly, so carefully, you feel fragile. Like a sweet, delicate flower that is one moment away from wilting. A soft gray sweater that matches his clear skin, and a cross dangling from his neck. The glimmer you had seen, you supposed, but you didn’t dare ask him about it. Glasses that he pushes up the bridge of his nose, and you realize you’re staring. He’s cute in the way his cheeks blush softly.
You stammer out something dumb. “Um, yeah–yeah! Pride and prejudice, please,” Silence as he grasps the book instant, like he has it memorized. He hands it to you unsurely, and you give a soft, “Thanks.” You expect him to leave now, but he doesn’t. No, fires of amber burn holes into your face, like he’s scanning you. Examining you.
“Have you been crying?” He ever so delicately reaches a finger up, moments away from grazing it along your face before you quickly turn away, blushing for another time today. That’s what he was looking at, obviously. You’re red, puffy eyes that still show signs of your previous pathetic cries. It feels different from when your coworkers saw, though. You don’t feel pitied or judged, not with the way he asked. You do, however, feel put on the spot. “Sorry, sometimes I speak before thinking. I didn’t mean to pry.”
You shrug your shoulders, “No, it’s alright—“ And now you’re in this conundrum. An issue, where a man is standing in front of you, sweet as ever, but you won’t let yourself believe that a person so polite exists in a town so horrid. He has a nametag pinned to a sweater vest that daunts his white collared shirt. Sydney . An awkward silence hangs over the two of you, so suffocating that you clear your throat, and speak up once more. “Do you work here, or do you just wear a nametag for fun?”
He gives a chuckle, which heats up your pretty face. “I work here.” He points to his nametag. “I’m Sydney. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before, is this your first time coming here?”
You give a soft nod. “Yeah, I honestly didn’t even know this town had a bookstore, and I’ve lived here all my life.” You decide to hide the fact that you hadn’t left the orphanage until the age of 18, because that’s possibly too much for just strangers. “But now that I know of it, I’ll probably come by more often.” You look him up and down once more. “I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before, you look vaguely familiar.” You mention. “Did you go to..?”
“Oxford?”
“Yeah!”
Sydney nods. “I did, actually, yeah! I’m sorry, I don’t recognize you. You might know me because I helped out in the library.” He smiles. “And my dad works there.”
You nod, “Ohhh, yup, that’s it. You haven’t changed much since then, huh?” You gesture around, finding it slightly amusing that he went from library worker to bookstore worker.
It’s his turn to nod, and he does so, before looking down at the worn down book in your hand. “So, pride and prejudice, huh? A classic.”
You laugh. “Yeah, well, I can’t call myself a romance genre lover without reading this, y'know? It’s actually a crime that it’s been so long.”
“I suppose, but I honestly think it’s a little overrated.” He places down the stack of books on his hands and easily, due to his gifted height, reaches for a new book. “My personal favorite? He holds it close to his chest to show you the cover. “Pestilence.”
You shrug, “Haven’t read it, to be honest. I’m lacking in the book department. And the money department.”
He gives you a soft smile, his eyes crinkling gently. “Have you read any of her other work?”
“Yeah,” You smile softly. “I’m a big fan of romance novels. It makes things.. Easier.”
“Easier? How so?” He inquires, now leaning against the bookshelf. You regret saying anything at all, because you were already so emotional. Perhaps that’s why you so easily gave in, teetering over the line of actually trusting a person in this godforsaken place.
Your eyes graze along the cover. Pride and Prejudice . “When I was younger, I dreamed of a world where I’d meet somebody, I’d fall in love, and then I’d have my happily ever after. You get older and you realize that is an impossible feat, and it’ll never happen. I can dream when I read stuff like this, though. Even if it’s distant, it still gives some resemblance of hope.” After your ramble, you finally look up at him with a dazed grin. “Doesn’t that make it worth it?”
He’s silent for a moment. You worry that you said too much, but then suddenly he’s rambling, too. “I see,” He begins. “For me, what makes romance so special is that it makes or breaks a story, don’t you think? You can have any sort of genre, and still include a slimmer of romance in it, without anyone batting an eye. Human nature is so addicted to the feeling of it, and every single person can relate to it. Whether they’ve ever felt true love, or just know of its existence.”
You rest your back against the shelf, hugging the book to your chest as you stare ahead at a random row of books, taking in his words. “I suppose.” You comply, “That’s a good way of thinking about it. It’s raw, y’know? Passion is just something that can’t be broken. I envy all the authors that understand it enough to write about it.” He laughs, and you give him a quizzed look. “What?”
Sydney points his finger out. “Well, how do you write something that you feel?” Sydney responds so effortlessly, like this is a normal interaction for him. “Do you have to feel with the words that you write, when you are writing them? Put everything you have into every little sentence of each little paragraph? Feel with your heart, instead of your mind?” And you look like an idiot, the way you’re now gawking at him. “Modern literature just doesn’t capture the true feeling of devotion like the classics do, don’t you agree?”
You choke out, “Yup.” Uninspiring, and put plainly, just dumb. You’re thinking now that maybe you’re devoted to every letter that leaves this man's tongue.
“Half the authors who write romance don’t write it because they found their ending, it’s because they lost it. With almost every romantic novel comes some sort of tragedy. I would never wish to be like them. Take Poe, for example, his life was filled with pain. Only a mind so tainted could write something so desperate.”
Soft lips that purse for a moment, and you’re so deep into this conversation that you forgot what made you sad in the first place. “I disagree. If I chose to lose hope that there’s a happy ending, one where there is no hurt or pain, then I might as well kill myself now.” Harsh words, but you meant every single one of them. He stares at you for a moment; Did you say too much? Did you go too far for just a conversation between strangers? “I’m sure it wouldn’t be hard to write about something that you do not understand, but wish to. Like a happy ending. It’s in TV shows, and modern movies and such. Even modern literature. Only old literature has true tragedies.”
Sydney scoffs. “Modern literature.”
“What? You don’t like it?”
Sydney shakes his head, expresses an even deeper disdain for the books. He must really, really hate it, then. “They have no emotion. No thoughts, no feelings. No book made in years has ever made me cry, or feel . What do I have to do just to feel something again? There’s no rush, no adrenaline. No care, or anything. Just people writing because they want to have any resemblance of fame; it’s pathetic. My biggest wish is for people to just write what they feel in their hearts. At least then, maybe it’ll actually be something worth reading.”
You smile. “Wow, you feel so strongly about this.” Then, you shrug. “I don’t know, I don’t want to give them too much hate. It’s hard expressing the things you feel inside. I can’t imagine doing it to one other person I know , not mentioning however many complete strangers . I’m not sure modern day could replicate old literature, and perhaps we’re better off. No one knows how to understand their emotions nowadays. I’m sure they didn’t back then, but at least everyone then knew that everyone else was also traumatized.”
Sydney raises an eyebrow. “Are you saying that nowadays, we don’t all know that everyone has trauma?”
A swift shake of your head. “No.” You state, “What I’m saying is that nowadays, we get in each other's heads. We envy everyone who is better, and judge everyone who is not.”
“Human psychology hasn’t necessarily changed much, though, besides the intolerance to murder or death.” Sydney retorts, and you realize now that you’re in a full blown debate. This hasn’t happened in—Ever. This has never, ever happened before to you. But you’re into it, that’s the thing! And he is too, you can sense it, with the way his eyes won’t leave yours. There’s an energy in the room that hasn’t yet dissipated, and you’re positively riding off of the fumes. It’s fun .
You give a soft laugh. “We’re a little off track, now, don’t you think?” The more shy part of you looks down again, cheeks just growing darker by the moment. “What were we talking about? Writing what you feel, yes? I could never imagine what that would be like.” He doesn’t respond, and you take in his appearance again. He’s really so pretty, almost like he was sent by angels. Skin so pale, it’s white like lilies. So white it’s paler than yours, and you have never seen such. You brush a strand of long black hair behind an ear. And not to mention his–“Your eyes are pretty.” It comes out so suddenly, you almost don’t hear yourself say it.
When you realize, however, your own eyes widen and you begin to stutter out an apology. All this for Sydney to put his hand up, shushing you in an instant. “It’s okay,” Your own face darkens as you look upon his newly rosed up cheeks. Your heart suddenly feels like it’s being grasped. Long fingers wrap around the fragile organ and they threaten to squeeze oh so roughly, so much so that you can’t even breathe. Can’t even remember what it felt like to. Sydney can’t even bring himself to look at you, he’s too flustered. His blonde bangs cover his eyes as he looks to the side. “Thank you.”
You’re silent. Don’t want to speak again because you’re sure you’ll mutter something dumb again, so you just give a nod. You wait for him to fill the silence, because you don’t trust yourself enough to do so. The two of you stand there for a moment, neither of you saying a single thing. You finally open your mouth to speak again, sucking in a breath before–”So I–”
“What’s your–”
You give a soft giggle. “Sorry, you go first.”
Sydney nods, smiling. “What’s your name?”
Tightening your grip on the book, you finally push your back off the shelf you previously leaned against, facing him directly. “I’m Eva,” You smile, holding a hand out while your other keeps its grasp on the book. “Sorry, I probably should’ve mentioned it sooner. Got a little side tracked.” He takes your hand, and it feels rougher than you would’ve expected. You both look away, almost in sync, with a soft blush.
He gives you a nod, slightly bowing his head with respect. The air in this bookstore suddenly feels stuffy. “What were you going to say?” He hasn’t yet let go of your hand, so you pull it away slowly and return it to the book. You miss the touch. It’s far, far different from how it felt when the man at the cafe touched you. Sydney is gentle, and he doesn’t go farther than he should.
“I honestly don’t even know.” You laugh nervously, playing with a strand of your hair. You have this need to constantly be fiddling with something. You don’t remember him putting Pestilence back on the shelf, perhaps you were too enamored by the conversation between the two of you.
You look up at it, up there where you cannot reach, and he notices. “What is it?”
You point in the general direction of what you desire. “I think it’s about time I read Pestilence. If a major book nerd like you enjoys it, it must be worth it.” You half jokingly say, smiling sweetly at him and the way his face heats up once more. With how pale he is, the slightest of things you say makes him turn all sorts of colors, and you’re finding that you love painting him. “Do you mind grabbing it for me?” You blink your eyelashes at him, and he straightens.
Sydney coughs, nodding shyly as he reaches up for you, and hands you the book. It has such a fancy cover, and you’re already excited to read it. You came in here with the intent of buying nothing, and now you’re buying two things. You internally groan, but you can’t back out now, not when Sydney is eyeing the book in your hands with such strong adoration. “I hope you like it.”
Your eyes soften at his statement, and you position the books as to easily carry them. “I will.” The cross around his neck glints, swaying as he returns back to his normal stance. He notices you observing it, his fingers wrapping around it strongly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.”
“No worries,” He holds it just slightly closer, allowing you to get a better look. “I never take it off.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“I volunteer at the temple whenever I can. I truly believe that God is watching over us all, guiding us in a better direction.” It’s all stuff you hardly understand. For you, if God was ever in existence, then wouldn’t he have helped you through the times at the orphanage? No, no, if he is real, then that asshole put you in that hellhole. Wouldn’t the world be more fair? Wouldn’t he help? “I can see that you have some anger in you by the look on your face when I talk about it.”
Shit. You bit your lip, oddly apologetic. “Sorry,” You didn’t mean to be rude, truly, but after living in a town like this for long enough, you begin to lose your belief in not just God, but anything else that gives such hope. All things that are good become poisoned. “It’s just that, where I grew up, I didn’t really have the time to go to church or anything like that.” It wasn’t necessarily a lie.
Sydney’s hand gently grasps your shoulder, only after hesitating beforehand as to not scare you suddenly. It fills you with warmth, and you suddenly can’t stop thinking about how close the two of you are. You’re not uncomfortable though, no, not like you usually are. “You don’t have to apologize. I understand that everybody has their reasons. If you ever change your mind, though,” He pulls away, “I recommend the Temple. It’s a safe space, so if you wanted to try a new start, that’s where I would do it.”
You’re silent for a moment, almost stunned. You didn’t expect to suddenly have a catholic believer beckoning you to the church, but this feels different from those people who hassle you on the street to join. He’s so tall, and his eyes are so bright. He seems so genuine in his belief that it almost brings tears to your eyes, and you find it impressive that he can put his all into something so hard. “Maybe. I’ll think about it.” You finally say, eliciting a nod from the taller.
You’re looking right into his bright, golden eyes. Amber, burning with passionate, bright orange fire. So beautiful, and bright, and they take your breath away. “As much as I love my religion, I’m not an idiot. The church can be corrupt, and it’s pathetic how often it happens. But the people at the Temple.. They’re good people.” He looks down at the hand he still has on you, turning bright red before backing away. “Ah, sorry, I didn’t mean to get in your space. I’m just really passionate about it. Ever since I was a little kid.”
“It’s admirable.” You’re quick to praise. He flushes even darker crimson, and a pride begins filling in you. When he doesn’t say anything in response, you continue. “Really, it is. I can’t think of one thing I value as much as you value your beliefs. Even if I’m not a firm believer, just talking to you was inspiring.” The only thing you see is him. Your whole world is him. There is no bookstore, there are no books. Only Sydney and you, in your own conversation, in a voidless world. It’s completely taken your mind away.
He lets out a huff, breaking the tension in the air. Sydney’s face is so red you wonder if it feels hot. The shine in his eyes seems to spiral as he pulls at the collar of his shirt, giving a soft laugh before looking down. He seems simply speechless, swallowing before saying a curt, “Thank you.” And you begin wondering if you could push him even further.
A sly smirk spreads along your lips as you lean against the bookshelves. “Say,” He looks up at you with slight curiosity, like a golden retriever with his tongue hanging out. “For such a firm believer, you really do enjoy all the steamy romance stories.” You watch as the crimson burns deeper, and you feel the need to tease him more. “All those hot, heavy, sensual– ”
Sydney straightens up, covering his face with one hand as he looks away. Hair covering the top of his face, and hand covering the bottom, you can hardly see anything but a canvas of velvet red. “I- I should really get back to work now, sorry!.” Without even another word, he’s spinning around on his heel, practically running away from this conversation. You reach out for him, books close to your chest, and you feel yourself heat up as well. He’s adorable, that’s the only thought you have as you watch him.
It all hits you in a moment, and you yell after him–”Wait!” You begin to chase, “Can you ring these out for me first!?”
-
Outside the bookstore is so cold and dark, you wish so deeply to go back inside. In there, it’s warm and cozy, almost the complete opposite. It’s like a different universe, where trash doesn’t litter the streets with broken streetlights. A homeless man is sitting with a sign nearby, and you let out a sigh as a car speeds by, far over the limit. Walking to your car, you notice a board with some posters on it. Some vague news, a missing poster (not uncommon for this town), and–yup! Just what you were looking for, a job application.
A new sex toy store opened up, and you grin. Another job would definitely help bring in some money, so you grasp the ad off the board and plan tomorrow to go. Right now, however, you would get in your car and finally head home. You craved your bed more than anything, and that’s the first thing you would hit once back. Getting into your car, it was a pleasant ride home. The books sat in the passenger seat safely until you arrived at your cheap apartment, parking and entering the worn down building.
It was probably unsafe, almost certainly so. The area around it was terrible, too, but at least you knew how to fend for yourself. You headed inside, and into your apartment, placing the books down on the dresser as you changed into far more comfortable clothes. And finally– finally –your back hit the mattress with an oomph. Eyes that fluttered closed as your mind began to race. Thoughts about Sydney, and the conversation between you two. Would you ever see him again? You definitely would, if you specifically went to visit him, but you really couldn’t spend any more money this month.
You really couldn’t afford the two books you already bought, but for some reason, you could hardly care less. Looking over at your books, the two novels sit stacked on your dresser. They glimmer slightly in the deep night of your bedroom, and you rise in your pajamas to go grab the top one. Pride and Prejudice . You read the one at the bottom: Pestilence . You grasp it, leaving Pride and Prejudice on the dresser as you take Pestilence into your bed. Turning on your cheap side lamp, one you probably bought from some thrift or antique shop, you flip to the first page.