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“What about him?”
Lance glanced up. “Definitely science fiction,” he said without hesitation.
Lance knew working at the campus library wasn’t the most glamorous job he could have, and it got really, really boring sometimes, but it was paying for his degree. Plus, he had Hunk to keep him company every Tuesday and Thursday when their shifts aligned.
“No way,” Hunk argued. “He’s probably just here for a textbook.”
Everyone knows the saying, “Never judge a book by its cover.” Lance knew it was ironic, considering the two were library assistants guessing which genre their fellow students would pick based solely on their appearances.
What? It was a fun way to pass the time, sue him!
“Nah, he’s gonna come up to us and check out The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy or something. I can feel it.”
The guy they were referring to was wearing an ill-fitting hoodie and baggy cargo pants. One of his shoes was untied, the laces dirty from being dragged across campus, no doubt.
Hunk cocked an eyebrow. “How can you be so sure?”
“I’m good at reading people. Hah, get it? Reading people?”
Before his friend could roll his eyes, Cargo Pants walked up to the circulation desk where the pair were stationed, holding a paperback book.
“Hello,” he started. “Just this, please.” He handed the book across the counter towards Lance. Sure enough, he was met with a copy of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.
Lance bit back a smirk. “I love Douglas Adams! This is definitely one of my favorites. Do you have your student ID?”
Cargo Pants handed over his card, and Lance scanned the ID and the book before returning both to him. “Thanks! Have a great day!” Lance waved goodbye as he walked out of the library.
He turned toward Hunk and grinned, smugness radiating off of his body. It was his turn to cock an eyebrow.
“You were saying?”
Hunk blinked at him. “How do you do that?”
Lance shrugged, still smiling. “What can I say? I’m a people-person.”
The majority of the people in the library were students looking for a quiet place to study. Only a handful of them actually checked out any books. And when they did, it was mainly mandatory reading for some kind of literature class.
It was a dull Thursday afternoon. Hunk and Lance had busied themselves with different tasks all morning to make the day go by faster. They finished everything there was to do by noon, short of scrubbing the floor with a toothbrush.
Lance sighed, leaning back in his chair. He stared blankly at the computer in front of him, scrolling through the library database but not processing anything he was reading. He felt a nudge as Hunk leaned over. “Okay, what about him?”
Lance followed his friend’s gaze towards the main entrance. In front of the double doors stood a guy clad in a too-dark ensemble, looking down at his phone. He wore a plain, gray t-shirt under a thick leather jacket and tight, black jeans, ripped at the knees. He had an untamed mop of black hair, bangs falling over his eyes. His pale hands were covered by fingerless gloves. Who wears fingerless gloves?
“God, probably something edgy like a Stephen King novel,” Lance whispered. “He doesn’t look like he’s here to read, though.”
“Yeah, no, he looks like he’s here to kill us.”
Lance would’ve laughed at that if it weren’t so painfully accurate. Leather Jacket was staring, his deep eyes shooting daggers right at them. It was at this moment that Lance realized he, himself, had been staring the whole time.
Big, black combat boots (neatly laced) were moving, more stomping than walking, in their direction. Lance snapped his eyes back to the computer screen. The footsteps drew nearer and abruptly halted. Leather Jacket stood directly in front of Lance’s desk. He reached up to tug his headphones off and rested them around his neck.
After a moment, Lance lifted his eyes to meet Leather Jacket’s. They were dark and menacing (much like his outfit, actually). His brows pinched tightly together.
Lance gulped. “Uh,” he started. Eloquent. “How can I help you...?”
A gruff voice replied, “I’m picking up a hold. Under Kogane.”
“Right, a hold. Okay. Let me, um, take a look.” Lance typed clumsily into the database. He could hear the faint sound of rock music beating through Leather Jacket’s headphones. The results popped up quickly on the screen, and Lance felt his brows furrow in confusion.
“Is there a problem?”
“Uh, no! Must be the system acting up!” Maybe it was another Kogane? But that wasn’t a super common name, or was it? “Let me try a different way. What’s your name?”
“Keith.”
Maybe there were two Keith Koganes...? There was no way this guy had a hold for—
“It’s um, for Pride and Prejudice?”
Lance blinked at him. So the system wasn’t acting up.
“Okay... Let me just. Go grab that for... For you. Be right back!” Lance slipped to the back room where they kept the holds. He ran his fingers along the shelf until he got to the K’s. There it was, in all its glory: Pride and Prejudice.
Lance returned quickly and waved the book lightly. “Found it!”
Leather Jack— Keith didn’t look too impressed.
Lance cleared his throat. “Uh, student ID, please,” he said, scanning the book. He took the plastic card from Keith.
He didn’t usually pay any attention to the photos on the IDs he took. The ID was just a way for the library’s system to log and record everything properly, not to match the card to its owner. But this time, Lance couldn’t help but take a peek. The guy in the photo looked... disgruntled, to say the least. Silver jewelry decorated his ears. He wore a scowl on his face, mirroring the one standing in front of Lance, but it didn’t make him ugly. Actually, this guy was kind of... hot.
“What’s wrong,” Keith asked, peering over the desk. It was more of a demand than a question.
Lance looked back at Keith and felt his face heating up. “Nothing! I just...”
“What?”
“I just didn’t expect... I mean. You look like you punch cops for fun, but you’re reading Pride and Prejudice? You just don’t seem like the type.” Lance winced slightly, realizing how he sounded.
“What’s wrong with Pride and Prejudice?”
“Nothing! Nothing’s wrong with good ol’ P n’ P.” He cringed at himself. “Sorry, let me take my foot out of my mouth. Is it for a class or something?” He scanned the ID, not looking away from Keith. It was pretty much muscle memory now.
Keith didn’t respond for a moment. He let his gaze shift towards the ground. Lance swore he saw a faint pink lightly dust his cheeks.
“... No. I, uh, Jane Austen’s one of my favorites,” he muttered.
“Oh, cool! Cool, cool, cool,” Lance said, nodding. He slid the book and Keith’s ID back across the counter. “I... I love... Jane Austen, too...?”
Keith looked back up, his face more relaxed. A glimmer of silver peeked out from behind his bangs. He has an eyebrow piercing, Lance thought.
“Really?”
“... Yes?”
“Huh,” Keith eyed him for a few seconds. “You don’t seem like the type.” The corner of Keith’s mouth quirked up just barely.
Lance sputtered. “What? I’ll have you know I’m a huge fan of romance novels!” It wasn’t technically a lie. Lance was a huge fan of romance novels... That had been adapted into movies. He could feel Hunk’s incredulous gaze on him.
“Uh huh,” Keith said, picking up the book and pocketing his ID.
“I am!”
“See you around.” He turned away, the hint of a smile grazing his face.
Lance stared after him as Keith disappeared behind the main doors. He heard a snort. Lance whipped his head around to meet Hunk’s amused look.
“I didn’t know you were ‘A huge fan of romance novels,’ Lance,” he said, holding up his hands with air quotes. Lance felt his face heat up again.
“Well, I am now.”
Lance didn’t see Keith for a while after their initial meeting. He thought back to last Thursday. Lance had originally guessed Keith would like thriller or horror. He was rarely ever wrong with his guesses. Lance cursed the library gods for not keeping a record of people’s borrowing histories. He was dying to see if Keith had checked out any other books before (and if any of them were romance novels).
His thoughts were interrupted by a small notification on the top right of his desktop screen. It was a hold request. Lance clicked on the little book icon and saw what he’d been hoping for.
Patron: Kogane, Keith Title: Jane Eyre Status: Pending
He clicked on the book title, revealing its location in the library. English Fiction.
“Hey, Pidgey, what’s Jane Eyre about?”
Pidge was nose-deep in an old reference book. “What,” she asked without looking up, “Jane Eyre? Why?”
“Just wondering. Someone placed a hold on it.” Lance replied coolly, trying not to seem too eager.
“It’s a nineteenth-century novel about a poor, orphaned girl who had a hard beginning. She falls in love or something,” Pidge replied, still not looking up.
“So, it’s a romance novel?” The corners of Lance’s mouth twitched upward slightly.
“Mhm.”
“Huh, okay. I’m gonna go find it real quick. Be back soon!”
Pidge made a noncommittal grunt, and Lance was off to the English fiction section of the library. He liked working with Pidge. She was funny and quick-witted, so he never felt bored during their shifts together. Even if she was busy studying, like tonight.
He scanned the shelves and quickly spotted the book he was looking for. Actually, the shelves held two copies. Lance had an idea.
He waltzed back to the circulation desk. Pidge had moved on to a different, equally large book, still equally engrossed.
Lance slipped one copy of Jane Eyre into his backpack and another onto the K section of the “Holds” shelf before sending an automated message that the book was ready for pickup.
Patron: Kogane, Keith Title: Jane Eyre Status: Ready
The rest of the day flew by quickly. At the end of his shift, Lance walked around the entire library, checking every nook and cranny for straggler students who had spent the whole evening working. He gave them a polite ten-minute warning, letting them know the library was about to close and returned to his post. Pidge finally tore herself out of her studies and met Lance’s eye when he returned. She squinted slightly at him.
“What’s got you so.. Peppy?”
“What do you mean? I’m always peppy, Pidge-Podge!”
“Yeah, but you’re, like, more peppy than normal. You’ve been bouncing around the library all day.”
“I’m just ready to go home, that’s all,” Lance replied as the last person stepped through the exit. It wasn’t technically a lie. He had never been so excited to go home. Keith hadn’t stopped by to pick up his book yet, so that meant Lance could get a headstart.
After they locked up and parted ways, Lance made his way to the bus stop. He only lived about a fifteen-minute drive from campus, but the bus ride took nearly triple the time. He wasn’t about to complain, though, because his financial aid covered all forms of public transportation in the city. It was basically free.
Lance stepped onto the bus, greeted the driver, and sat in his unassigned-assigned seat. He always sat on the left side of the very back of the bus. He liked to people-watch, surveying the different kinds of characters that would get on the bus, and sitting in the back gave him a great vantage point. Office workers clad in steam-pressed suits and shiny shoes. Dude-bros with wrinkled shirts and pants that sagged just past their crotch (why bother wearing a belt?). Children, holding onto their parents while looking happily out the window, playing I-Spy.
But tonight, he wouldn’t be people-watching. Lance unzipped his backpack and pulled out a worn, well-used copy of Jane Eyre.
He got comfortable and situated before cracking open the old, yellowed book. He couldn’t guarantee that Keith would show up during his shift, but he was determined to prove that he was a big fan of romantic literature— thank you very much.
Lance flipped past the introduction and went directly to the start of chapter one.
It wasn’t necessarily a difficult book to read. But some of that old, nineteenth-century English had thrown him for a loop (and he definitely did not look up chapter-by-chapter analyses). Lance had been so eager to finish that he hardly put the book down and managed to finish reading it two weeks before it was officially due to be returned.
It took exactly fifteen days (not that he was keeping track) for him to see Keith again. It had been exactly seven days since he started reading Jane Eyre and exactly one day since he’d finished it.
Lance stood in line at the café, just outside the library’s main entrance. He was reading the chalkboard menu hanging from the ceiling. He didn’t need to since he always got the same thing.
“Good morning, Lance,” chirped a friendly voice.
“Hey, Romelle. Just my usual, please.”
“You say that like I remember it.”
“Romelle,” Lance gasped, feigning offense. “Are you saying my caffeine addiction hasn’t permanently carved my order into your brain?”
The blonde woman rolled her eyes playfully. “You’re lucky I can even remember your name. Physics is killing me,” she said, punching in Lance’s order despite her earlier comments. Her apron was decorated with different stains, most likely from the morning rush. A name tag rested crookedly on her chest.
“That’ll be $6.26 today.”
After he paid, Lance stepped out of the line to wait for his drink. He pulled out his phone and began absent-mindedly scrolling through various social media platforms. He heard Romelle greet another customer.
“Good morning, what’ll you have today?”
“Medium black coffee, please. With a shot of espresso.”
Lance glanced up at the gruff voice. He felt his heart rate go up a notch.
Romelle tapped a few buttons on her screen. “Okay. One medium red eye. Anything else?”
“No, thanks.”
“Alright. That’s $3.14 for today,” she said, turning the screen to face Keith. He was still wearing dark-colored clothing, similar to the outfit he’d worn when Lance first saw him. But had swapped the leather jacket for a black hoodie. He had a copy of Jane Eyre in his hand. He was still wearing those fingerless gloves. Keith tapped a card on the screen, and a little beep sounded from the device, indicating the payment had gone through.
“Hey,” Lance started, hoping his voice held steady. “It’s Keith, right?” Lance knew it was, but he was trying to play it cool.
The other man looked up at the sound of his name. “Uh, yeah...?”
“How’s Brontë?”
“What?”
Lance motioned to the book “Charlotte Brontë? Your book.”
“You know Charlotte Brontë?”
“Uh, duh. Why wouldn’t I?” Lance ignored the voice in his head telling him that he’d never even heard of her a week ago.
Keith gave him a once-over, slowly dragging his eyes along Lance’s long frame. Their eyes met.
“You don’t seem like the type,” he shrugged, parroting the phrase from fifteen (he wasn't counting) days ago. His face remained neutral, but his eyes were playful.
“Well, what type do I seem like?”
“The required-reading type,” Keith replied, without missing a beat.
Lance let his mouth fall open. Before he could even scoff, they were interrupted by a friendly ‘Here you are,’ as Romelle slid over two paper cups.
“To answer your question, it’s good.” Keith lifted his cup to his mouth to take a sip, Adam’s apple slightly bobbing as he swallowed. Lance definitely did not stare.
“Um,” he uttered, looking for something to say. “Mrs. Reed is such a bitch, right?” Well... That certainly was something.
Keith snorted, barely smiling (but a smile nonetheless!). “That’s one way to put it, yeah.” He turned away. “See you later.”
“Yeah! Uh, see ya,” Lance waved after him. His face felt warm. There was a ‘pfft’ behind him, and he turned around to see Romelle, a hand covering her entertained smile.
“What,” Lance hissed. His face felt warmer.
“Nothing! Just take your latte, Lance,” she smiled, pushing the cup closer.
This went on for several more weeks. Any time Keith placed a hold, Lance would snag an extra copy for himself.
Wuthering Heights, Lady Chatterley's Lover, A Room With a View.
He read each novel diligently because each book brought a new conversation with Keith. At first, Lance could barely get more than a few sentences out of him.
Great Expectations, Madame Bovary, Gone With the Wind.
Gradually, Keith started to open up, and their conversations strayed away from classic literature to casual conversation and lighthearted banter.
Sense and Sensibility, Emma, Persuasion.
Lance agreed with Keith. Jane Austen was now definitely one of his favorite authors, too.
“Hey, guys.” Keith walked up to the circulation desk.
Lance smiled. “Keithcliff, my man!”
“Keithcliff...?” Hunk side-eyed his friend.
“Y’know, Wuthering Heights? The main guy, Heathcliff? Dark, mysterious, brooding—”
“I don’t brood,” Keith interrupted, brows furrowed.
“You’re brooding right now!”
“... That’s just my face.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s stuck like that permanently. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you laugh, dude.”
“I don’t think you’ve ever said anything funny,” Keith retorted quickly, but there was absolutely no malice in his tone.
Lance opened his mouth to reply but Hunk, ever the pacifist, interjected before he could get a single syllable out. “You picking up a hold, Keith?”
“Oh, uh, yeah. Anna Karenina. By Tolstoy.”
“Sure, I’ll go and grab that for you, pal,” Hunk smiled. Lance tried to think back but he couldn’t remember filling that request. Someone else must've gotten to it before him. He made a mental note to check the catalog for another copy later.
They heard a low, impressed whistle come from the back room before Hunk reemerged with an absolute behemoth of a novel. It was a hardcovered, cloth-bound book, at least four inches thick. Lance eyed the massive tome while typing in Keith’s student ID number (he was a regular! It would be weirder if Lance didn’t know it by now, okay?).
“Dude, there’s no way I’m reading that thing. That’s, like, physically impossible.”
“Huh? Wait, what do you mean,” Keith asked. Lance picked up the book, scanned the barcode, and began flipping through the pages.
“I’m just saying, it’s got, like, a million chapters! I’ve got textbooks smaller than this thing.”
“But... You aren’t reading it. I’m checking it out right now.” Lance froze.
“R-right. Well, uh, yeah.” Lance chuckled nervously. He closed the book and slid it over to Keith. “I just said I wasn’t going to be reading it, didn’t I?”
He glanced back and forth between the two men, both of whom looked extremely unconvinced. They were waiting for him to say something. Busted.
“Okay, I... May have, sorta, kinda, borrowed extra copies of the books you’ve been reading,” Lance murmured, “Maybe.”
They continued to stare at him. Lance wiped his clammy hands on his jeans. His face flushed brightly. This was the longest five seconds of his life. Hunk was the first to break the silence.
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” he groaned in response, throwing up his hands. “I guess, I wanted to, like, prove I knew about classic literature?” He looked at Keith. “And when you got a second romance novel, I knew it would...” God, is it hot in here?
“It would... What...?” Keith leaned in just the slightest bit closer.
“...It would give me an excuse to talk to you again.”
It was Keith’s turn to flush. “Oh.”
“Yeah...”
“I, uh—”
“It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything—”
“I kept requesting different books just to talk to you again.” Keith was looking away, eyes fixated on the ground. Oh. Oh.
“And it’s so ridiculous,” he started, “Because I never got your name. And I figured if I got another book, you’d tell me, but you never did... And now, I’ve known you for a couple of months, and it was just too late for me to ask, and I—”
“Lance.”
Keith snapped his eyes back up. “What?”
“The name’s Lance.”
“Oh. Lance,” Keith said as if he were testing it out. He nodded curtly and cleared his throat. “Uh, it suits you.”
Lance smiled, face still undoubtedly red. “I didn’t peg you as a rambler. I think that’s the most I’ve heard you say in one breath."
One side of Keith’s mouth quirked up and he grinned sheepishly. Lance felt his own smile deepen at the sight. Oh my god, Lance thought, he actually smiled. The awkward tension abated immediately.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me yet.”
“Yet?” Lance lifted an eyebrow playfully and leaned over the counter. “What are you suggesting?”
“Maybe you could... Find out over lunch sometime,” he said softly.
“Are you asking, or telling,” Lance teased.
“Hoping?” God, this guy was going to be the death of him.
Lance grabbed a pen and scribbled his number (and his name! Just in case!) on a nearby sticky note. He plucked it off the pad and smoothed it out over the front cover of Anna Karenina.
“Just text me a time and place, Keithcliff.”
“Only if you stop calling me that.”
“Deal.”
Keith grabbed the massive book and ran his thumb along the sticky note where Lance signed his name. He flashed another (another!) crooked smile.
“Okay. Then I’ll see you later, Lance.”
“Yes, you will.”
Keith turned away and walked out of the library. Lance unabashedly stared after him, a dopey smile gracing his lips.
“Oh my god.”
Lance whirled around so fast he almost fell out of his chair. He totally forgot Hunk was there.
“Did that just happen? That totally just happened! Dude!” Hunk had his hands clasped together in front of his chest. He was practically beaming.
Lance’s face grew warm for what felt like the hundredth time that day. His phone buzzed on the table in front of them, the screen lighting up with a new notification.
“Oh my gosh, is that him? Oh, I’m so excited, I can’t believe that just happened! Right in front of me!” Hunk continued chattering as Lance picked up his phone. It was a message from an unsaved number. He was dizzy with excitement.
Hey, Romeo. It’s Keith.