chrollo listening to you yap about books.
A/N: this conversation is based on a conversation I had with my boyfriend like 2 hours before hand. I figured it would make a good fanfic for chrollo
Synopsis: you’ve been yapping about different books to your boyfriend chrollo.
Warnings: a whole lotta yapping, and bookworm reader
The library in Chrollo’s home was one of the few places where time seemed to lose meaning. Shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, filled with books collected over decades. Some were priceless first editions. Others were so old the leather bindings threatened to crumble beneath careful hands. It was one of the reasons you fell in love with him.
You were curled up on the sofa with your knees tucked beneath you while Chrollo sat across from you in an armchair, a book resting open in one hand. Every few minutes he’d turn a page with practiced care, You had been reading too. Until one sentence reminded you of another book, Then another, Then another.
“See, that’s why I think Dostoevsky understood guilt better than almost anyone.”
Chrollo looked up from his page. “Oh?”
You nodded enthusiastically. “Crime and Punishment isn’t even about whether Raskolnikov gets caught. Everyone knows he does eventually. It’s about how guilt eats him alive long before anyone arrests him. That’s what makes it so good.”
“You admire psychological conflict.”
“I love psychological conflict.”
He smiled faintly. “I noticed.” You leaned forward. “And then there’s White Nights.” Your voice softened. “I adore White Nights. It’s so quiet. It’s heartbreaking without anyone dying or anything dramatic happening. It’s about loneliness more than romance.” Chrollo listened without interrupting.
“You know what’s funny? People always recommend Crime and Punishment first, but White Nights made me cry harder.”
“And then The Brothers Karamazov.”
Your eyes lit up again. “Oh my God.” He closed his own book That alone told you he intended to listen. “It has everything. Family drama, philosophy, morality, religion, psychology. Every character feels like they’re arguing over how people should live.”
“It gets better every time.”
You rested your chin in your palm. “I think Dostoevsky writes people the way surgeons study anatomy.” Chrollo’s eyes lingered on you. “That’s an interesting comparison.”
“They’re dissected. Every ugly thought, every contradiction. Nobody’s purely good or evil.”
“You appreciate complexity.”
He nodded his head. “So do I.” You grinned.
The conversation drifted naturally. “Oh, and Frankenstein gets misunderstood all the time.”
“You believe the creature is the tragic figure.”
You pointed at him. “See? You get it.”
“It is Victor’s arrogance that begins the tragedy.”
You laughed. “Everyone calls the creature Frankenstein, and I’m like, ‘No, Victor Frankenstein made him.’” Chrollo chuckled quietly. “You’ve corrected people before.”
“So many times.” You sighed dramatically. “The creature wanted companionship more than revenge at first. People overlook that.”
“They often simplify complicated stories.”
Without waiting, you continued. “And Pride and Prejudice.”
You shrugged. “I love it anyway.”
You answered instantly. “Elizabeth and Darcy are both intelligent enough to wound each other without raising their voices.” His smile widened by the smallest amount.
“And Darcy isn’t some cold romantic hero.”
You shook your head. “He’s awkward. Proud. Socially clumsy. He learns.”
“She learns too. That’s why it works.” Silence settled for a second. Then your brain found another title.
“Oh!” Chrollo raised an eyebrow. “The Count of Monte Cristo.”
“You’ve remembered another.”
“I always remember another.”
He rested his chin on his hand. You ignored the teasing. “Edmond Dantès has one of the best revenge arcs ever written.”
You smiled sheepishly. “Absolutely.” His amusement deepened. “I suspected you might.”
“It’s not even the revenge itself. It’s how he changes. He starts with this clear goal, and by the end he’s asking whether revenge was worth everything he sacrificed.”
“Identity reshaped by obsession.”
You leaned closer. “I love books where the main character slowly becomes someone completely different.”
“I’ve noticed a pattern.”
You blinked. “There is one?”
“They all examine identity.”
You paused. “You’re right.”
“I’ve never thought about it.”
“You choose books that ask what a person becomes after suffering.”
You stared at him. “That’s annoyingly insightful.”
You laughed. “And then Dracula.”
You spread your hands. “The letters. The journal entries. The slow realization that something is terribly wrong.”
“It creates uncertainty.”
“And Dracula barely appears.”
You practically bounced where you sat. “Everyone remembers him because everyone else is terrified of him.” Chrollo watched you with quiet amusement. “You become animated whenever you discuss literature.”
“You’ve spoken for-“ He glanced toward the antique clock. “nearly two hours.” Your eyes widened. “Seriously?” He nodded. “And you’ve hardly taken a breath.” Heat rushed to your face.“Oh my God.” You buried your face in your hands.
“I’m sorry. I keep talking.”
“I never asked you to stop.”
“No.” You peeked through your fingers. “I enjoy listening.”
“You speak with conviction.”
He closed his own book and set it on the table. “I’ve spent years studying people.” His gaze rested on you. “Most speak because they want to be heard.” A small smile touched his lips. “You speak because you love what you’re discussing.”You smiled back.“So you don’t mind my yapping?”
His voice remained calm. “In fact.” He reached for the copy of Crime and Punishment lying beside you. “I believe it’s my turn to explain why I disagree with your interpretation of one chapter.”Your eyes lit up all over again. “You disagree?”
You scooted closer without hesitation. “Tell me.” For the next three hours, neither of you opened the books you had intended to read. Instead, the library filled with quiet debate, thoughtful questions, and laughter between shelves that had witnessed countless stories before yours.
The debate continued well into the evening. The fireplace had burned lower. Candles flickered against the towering bookshelves, casting warm light over the room and Neither of you noticed.
“I still think Ivan is the most fascinating brother,” Chrollo said, turning another page of The Brothers Karamazov. “Not because he’s correct, but because he forces everyone around him to confront uncomfortable questions.” You sat cross-legged on the rug, your notebook forgotten beside you. “But Alyosha balances him.”
“If the book only had Ivan, it would’ve been exhausting.”
Chrollo gave a small nod. “And if it only had Alyosha?”
“It would’ve been too idealistic.” A faint smile appeared on his face. “So they require one another.”
You pointed at him. “See? That’s why I love discussing books with you. You don’t reduce them to ‘good guy’ and ‘bad guy.’”
“Literature rarely allows such simple distinctions.”You leaned back against the sofa. “I hate when people ask, ‘Who’s your favorite character?’”
“Because it changes.” He looked at you with interest. “Sometimes I admire a character. Sometimes I pity them. Sometimes I hate them but still think they’re brilliantly written.”
“A sensible distinction.”
“Exactly!” You laughed. “I don’t have to like someone to think they’re a good character.”Chrollo closed the novel in his lap.“What book disappointed you?” You blinked.
“That’s a difficult question”
“You answer difficult questions often.”
You hummed thoughtfully. “There are books everyone loves that I couldn’t get into.”
You hesitated. “If I say it aloud, people get mad.”
You looked around dramatically before lowering your voice. “The Great Gatsby.” His eyebrow rose.
“I appreciated the symbolism.”
“I wasn’t emotionally invested.”
“I understand why it’s important.”
You shrugged apologetically. “It simply didn’t resonate with me.”
“I’ve had similar experiences.”
“Popularity isn’t synonymous with personal connection.”
You smiled. “Exactly.” You reached for another book from the stack beside you. “What about you?”
He thought for a moment. “It changes.” You burst into laughter. “No way.”
“I thought you’d have one definitive answer.”
“I’ve reread many books at different stages of life.”
“They speak differently each time.”
You tilted your head. “I like that.”
A comfortable silence settled between you. You absentmindedly flipped through the pages of Dracula. “I wish more people still wrote letters.”
“You enjoy correspondence?”
“I suppose it slows thought.”
“It makes people think before they write.”
You smiled to yourself. “I’d probably write letters even if the person lived five minutes away.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.”
You nodded. “I think that’s why I love older books.”
“You prefer their pacing.”
“You enjoy sentences that ask to be reread.”
Your eyes widened. “Wait.”
“How do you keep understanding exactly what I mean?” He looked at you over the rim of his teacup. “I listen.”
“So many people hear me.” His gaze softened almost imperceptibly. “They don’t listen.” You stared at him for a moment before smiling.
“That’s why talking to you feels easy.” A knock interrupted the quiet. Neither of you moved, Another knock And You looked toward the door.“Were we expecting someone?”
The door opened anyway and Shalnark poked his head inside. “There you two are.” His eyes wandered over the room. Books covered the coffee table. More books lay scattered across the floor. Open notebooks sat beside empty teacups.“Have you moved into the library?” You looked up innocently. “We were talking.” Shalnark looked at Chrollo.
“For-“ He checked his watch. “Six hours.” You blinked. “Has it been six hours?”
“It has.” You slowly turned toward Chrollo.
“You let me talk for six hours?”
Shalnark laughed. “I’ve never seen the boss willingly sit through six hours of conversation.”
Shalnark gestured toward you. “And yet she’s been talking nonstop.”
“I wasn’t making small talk.”
You crossed your arms. “We were discussing literature.”
“Oh.” He nodded dramatically.
“Forgive me.” You threw a bookmark at him. He caught it with a grin. “I’ll leave you two to your book club.”
The door clicked shut behind him and Silence returned. You looked at Chrollo. “Was it really six hours?”
“You must be tired of hearing my voice.”
He met your eyes. “I’ve spent entire days listening to negotiations, interrogations, and meaningless conversation.” He reached over and straightened the bookmark Shalnark had nearly bent.“Listening to someone speak passionately about something they love is considerably more enjoyable.” A smile spread across your face.
“So” You reached for another novel from the towering stack. “I bought a copy of Wuthering Heights last week.” Chrollo looked at the thick novel in your hands.
Your jaw dropped. “You haven’t?”
You gasped dramatically. “We’re fixing that.” His quiet laugh echoed through the library.
“I thought you might say that”
