Hi! Can I request a 2jae fic where Youngjae is a clumsy librarian, and JB literally just borrows random books in the library just to see Youngjae? What's worse is YJ assumes JB is some sort of well-read, highly educated person whose thirst for knowledge knows no bounds (that's why he borrows really difficult books of varying topics) which makes YJ slightly intimidated/nervous around JB (which in turn confuses JB a whole lot more). If anyone picked this prompt I'll be eternally grateful!
warnings: none except my usual nonbeta-ed mistakes.
author: sally
word count: 3.2K
a/n: I really didn’t expect this to take so long..I don’t even know if it makes sense anymore given that I wrote this with so many interludes
The first time that Youngjae takes note of Jaebum, he’s sitting on the tiled floors amongst the back shelves surrounded by scattered books with yellowed pages and dusty covers. He’s in the middle of reorganizing the archives when a figure blocks off his light. He looks up abruptly, pushing his glasses back up to see clearly.
“Did you need help?” He asks still seated on the floor. The other male clears his throat awkwardly, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “A-ah yes,” he stutters. “I…needed that book.” The raven haired male points towards the book in Youngjae’s hand. He follows the other’s motion, eyes landing on the book title. The Sanctity of Life and Criminal Law lays engraved on the leather cover in golden letters. “Oh,” he lets out, “that brick of a book.” Though it’s right after that he catches himself thinking aloud, “wait no—I mean, sure.” Youngjae holds out the book as his brain begins to process in the early morning. A warm shade of red tingles the tips of his ears as he lets out an embarrassed laugh, “This book’s on reserve, you can’t check it out.” He explains.
“I can’t check it out?”
“But you can read it here,“ Youngjae replies with a nod, “you just have to sign the logbook.” He fumbles towards the librarian counter, stepping precariously out of the maze of books on the floor. Jaebum watches amusedly as the caramel haired boy disappears behind the wooden desk, a hand waving up an old battered notebook a few minutes later as he lets out a triumphant cry. ”Found it!”
“Do you have your student card with you?” He asks, opening the book to a fresh page, copying down the decimal code on the spine. His glasses fall forward to gravity, oversized frames weighing down on his nose bridge. Wire frames catching the glint of the fluorescent lights above, softly reflecting the light rays. The particular sight lingers in Jaebum’s mind as he nods, walking slowly towards the sweater clad youth as the other looks up into his eyes with smile. It’s then and there that Jaebum feels something small settling within his chest, a subtle warmth that begins to nest itself in his thoughts.
It’s memories nested within the corners of his mind, sepia tinted like the faded pages of a book printed too long ago. Youngjae can’t exactly determine whether this piece of memory seemed blurry or not–shifting in and out of focus in his mind at the oddest moments. And the more he recalls upon first meetings, he finds that the more it’s altered out of reality.
The old clock in the room ticks loudly, gears turning strenuously as time flows on. Youngjae pushes his glasses up his nose bridge, finally looking away from the computer as he finishes with his paperwork of the day. He glances over to the entrance, counting down by seconds in time with the clock.
Jaebum’s a punctual person, he deems after the older male steps foot into the library for the fourth week in a row at the same time. It’s a contrast from his own lifestyle, preferring to forgo the construct of time and lay within the recluse of his blankets until he musters enough energy to bear through the day. But then again, Youngjae reckons that a routinely event in his life gives him just enough anticipation to pass the days with enough positivity.
He hints at this in subtle ways though he thinks it’s probably too subtle for the other to notice. The slight momentous joy in his irises shielded by the lenses of his glasses. Jaebum walks in when the clock hand hits the thirty minute mark, and Youngjae rubs his clammy palms against the fabric of his jeans. The older male throws him a smile—a greeting—to which he returns politely.
He watches quietly as Jaebum sits in his usual seat, world slowing down as the other drowns within another story, another world. It’s not academia today, Youngjae notes, as he spins around in his swivel chair, searching for his own novel to parallel the others’. It’s his own personal enjoyment, reading something that would relate even the slightest to whatever the other was reading. Though he reckons that the level he reads on only skims the surface in comparison. He sighs mentally, shoulders weighing down as he exhales.
Youngjae doesn’t know where exactly this desire for approval stems from, especially when he’s always been one to live within his own bubble. Yugyeom had described him once to be someone without a care for how the world revolves so long as it doesn’t disrupt his own pace. And those around him had only been passengers, mixing within the background as he courses his way through everyday life. It’s not like him to this self-conscious; though, he thinks it’s partly because the other seemed too intimidating. He thinks back to the various books the other has checked out during this time, reading pace and scope at a level that far surpasses his own.
There’s slight self-abasement that tints his own motives as Youngjae turns the page of his book. He considers it an investment, hoping for moments where he’s able to communicate of common topics without feeling like he’s standing on soft grounds. Youngjae selectively neglects the fact that he could count the number of times they’ve had proper dialogue with one hand.
“That’s not important,” he thinks to himself. “I’m just missing the right moment,” he reassures, throwing his locus of control up in the air for the deities to catch.
Time continues to flow, as the soft sound of page flipping fill their auditory senses in odd beats. Fate hangs above amongst the storm clouds in broken pieces, slowly accumulating until it’s ready to descend upon the earth. Jaebum’s lost within stories of abandoned friends and unopened roads, Youngjae’s following through past adventures guided by faded footprints.
They’re always stuck in half-conversations, where Youngjae rehearses too many dialogues within his mind yet never manages to go along with his pre-written script There’s always a string that tugs him back—though he isn’t sure whether it’s the way Jaebum’s eyes seem to be laced with ice or it’s the way that the warmth scaling up his throat feels like fire. He wonders if it’s obvious that he’s filled with unspoken words, always threatening to overspill yet somehow maintaining enough viscosity to not do so.
Youngjae thumbs the corner of the page, paper rolling in from the moisture of his hands. Clammy hands, he thinks to himself. Youngjae’s always jumping between stagnant calmness to flustered anxiety. It’s as if his soul if either not present, or at too many places at once. He sighs softly, he’s over too conscious whenever Jaebum’s in his sight.
Despicable, he mutters, turning his gaze back to the book when Jaebum turns towards his direction. He spends the rest of the afternoon peering back and forth between the text printed on the pages and the silhouette in the corner of his eye. Time continues to pass amidst the subtle sounds in the room, and Youngjae’s thoughts continue to run amidst the whispers in his chest.
It’s not like Youngjae doesn’t want to initiate conversation. It’s more that he doesn’t know how, with small talk always leaving them in silence and polite smiles. And if they were to move on to other topics, Youngjae always feels as though he wouldn’t be able to catch up. He gives a small sigh, sliding down in his chair and resting his head on his arms. Youngjae settles the book on the side, drumming his fingers upon the wooden desk. He looks vaguely at Jaebum, waiting for momentaneous courage to leap into his life.
It doesn’t come.
They’re taking small steps, he reassures himself when he looks up from his phone to find Jaebum in front of him. The night wind billows softly while Youngjae tugs his bag a bit tighter in his hold. He lets out a soft smile before gesturing Jaebum to take the seat next to him. “Going home?” The older male asks.
“Yeah,” Youngjae says with a nod. “You?”
“Going back to the dorms,” Jaebum answers. There’s a slight pause in auditory senses as Youngjae only nods his head in return. It’s Jaebum who breaks this temporary silence, backpack rustling softly as he shifts slightly. “I never see you around though,” he comments.
“I don’t usually get off until later,” the younger of the two says and Jaebum hums in reply.
And the two of the falter in and out of silence, the mindless noise of the neighbourhood filling in empty sentences. Youngjae pulls at a loose thread at his sleeve, watching as the fabric unravels with his tug. He wonders vaguely what exactly laid on the other end of his string of fate—just exactly what this new road would lead to. He catches Jaebum in his peripheral vision, an unprecedented calmness overtaking him. And for once, just this once, Youngjae finds that he’s not searching aimlessly for words. The corners of his lips upturn lightly into a carefree smile and he leans back in his seat, listening to the rhythm of their breaths overlap.
Inhale, exhale.
The world oscillates around them, time ticking on as the bus hisses to a stop in front of them. Youngjae looks at Jaebum in front him, suddenly conscious that this is the closest he’s ever been to the other. The doors swing close with a thud as they make their way to the back, footsteps sounding ever so slightly against the humming of the motor engine.
Thud, thud, as he follows behind Jaebum.
Thud, thud, sounds his heart.
Youngjae finds the calmness from earlier slipping through his fingers and he slides into the seat next to Jaebum. He leans in ever so slightly so that his shoulder rests against the other, as if the two of them were supporting one another. The sunlight filters through the glass windows, and Youngjae watches on as their shadows fade in and out with the moving light.
Jaebum reads silently adjacent to him as Youngjae leans his head against the window, closing his eyes and counting his breath while he pretends to rest. He makes out words here and there through half-closed eyes though he eventually stops trying, focusing on sight of the other instead.
Youngjae feels as if he’s searching for something; yet, he doesn’t know exactly what. Where all the words that come to mind are hopelessly lacking. He wants to tell the other something—but what was it? And what was it that he wanted to hear in reply? Something heavy sits upon the answer, stopping him from finding it.
Too conscious, he tells himself softly. I’m too conscious of him. It’s something that both excites him and intimidates him all at once—desiring approval and attention as he looks up at Jaebum from below. There’s a distance between them that seems to transcend different planes. Youngjae wonders if this obscure fondness stems from this distance. Whether or not it’s this very demeanor—seemingly too idealistic— surrounding Jaebum that pulls him in. Youngjae reckons it is.
Nobody’s perfect, he reminds himself, even though such a statement does nothing to stop him from regarding the other as so.
Nobody’s perfect; Jaebum isn’t perfect. And even so, Youngjae feels himself seem too ordinary in presence. He huffs under his breath dejectedly. He kicks around at the boulder sitting atop his ego, wanting to uncover hidden desires. It doesn’t budge and nothing surfaces from the subconscious. He lets out another sigh, finally averting his gaze away from the subject of his inner turmoil.
The humming of the bus engine continues in the background, and Jaebum flips another page of his novel. He looks at the black and white of the page, attempting to focus on the words printed on the page and not the warmth of the younger male’s body leaning against his side.
Focus, Jaebum reminds himself as he rereads the line for the fourth time.Focus, Jaebum reminds himself as he doesn’t think of the way Youngjae’s cologne mixes with his own.
The road ahead twist and turns with the text in front of him and Jaebum struggles to string together its meaning as he stares on at the inked letters. The bus makes its way down the asphalt roads; the sun settles lazily into the caress of the horizon. Jaebum glances at their shadows sit together side by side, spiralling into his own thoughts.
Youngjae reckons it’s improvement—slowly moving from courteous nods to small exchanges and dialogue. Though he still needs to give himself a mental boost of confidence before every conversation coupled with the reminder that he isn’t (and shouldn’t) be looking to impress the other male. It’s only a normal interaction between the two, he tells himself, trying to diminish the disappointment that stems from Jaebum’s lack of expression.
He’s reading too much into it, he knows. But when has logic ever been the victor? Hasn’t the heart always conquered in such battles? Youngjae thinks he’s fighting lost battles—walking up against the river current until his legs tire out and he finds himself being thrown to the stream below. And if by then the water would’ve filled his lungs, adding onto the weight that he already feels on his chest.
He lets out a deep breath, looking up at Jaebum’s figure in front of him. The setting sun showers them in golden rays, and for a near moment, Youngjae finds that Jaebum looks all too ethereal—as if a golden halo settles softly onto the other male.
And a small—miniscule—fear stirs up in him. As if Jaebum would slowly disintegrate into a dream if Youngjae reaches out to him.
The clouds stir on ahead while Youngjae listens to the sound of their footsteps on the cement grounds, listens to the soft buzz of music ringing from Jaebum’s headphones, listens to the thousands of thoughts that infiltrate his consciousness. Youngjae fixes his vision onto the older male, wondering if the other could also listen to the silent screams within his head.
There’s something between them—an opposing force that Youngjae is all too preoccupied about. Where he feels that all the minute progress he’s been marching forward suddenly comes to a stop at a force he can only feel but cannot see. He tries to recall if every relationship has to reach a point of no progression—left in stagnant positions where even if he reaches out he can only graze the tips of his finger off of Jaebum.
He takes a look up at the other across the room, sitting silently as his gaze stays fixated on the pages in front of him. Youngjae wonders if Jaebum can feel his gaze—whether the other is oblivious or only pretending to be so. He gives a soft sigh, shaking his head slightly, refusing to venture into such thoughts. Youngjae takes off his glasses, rubbing the lenses with the fabric of his hoodie.
It’s an unrehearsed play onstage, exits and enters all in the wrong timing. He wonders if this was evidence that fate doesn’t lie between the two of them. A small frown settles on his face at the thought, and remnants of it linger throughout the day. One-sided infatuation tires him out, as he runs on endlessly without a goal.
Where is the end? He wonders. Is there an end awaiting him?
“I never know what you’re thinking,” Jaebum tells him one day as they walk side by side underneath Autumn leaves. There’s a tinge of sadness underlying his voice in ways that Youngjae doesn’t grasp. “I never know what you’re thinking either,” he mutters, voice low enough that only the two of them can hear.
Jaebum pushes back his fringe, giving a soft sigh. “It’s like I don’t know what type of person you are.”
Youngjae shrugs, “I mean, I don’t really know what type of person I am either.” Jaebum gives him a short glance, stopping momentarily before walking forward again.
It’s always like this, he thinks. He wonders if they’re really just not two meant for meaningful conversations. Or is it just him who isn’t meant for conversations at all—fumbling over words and lost meaning. Youngjae tugs at the sleeves of his hoodie, pulling them over his hands. Jaebum continues as they walk slowly underneath the setting sun. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s because you don’t want to listen to what I have to say.It’s as if you’re always ready to avert away.”
Youngjae stops midstep, autumn leaves lying underneath his figure—wilted and broken. He turns abruptly to face Jaebum, wanting to refute but losing the right words to do so. “I’m not averting,” he stammers. “I’m never trying to avert anything.” Jaebum only looks back at him, letting out a frustrated sigh before running his hand through his hair. “Youngjae,” He starts. “I don’t deem myself someone that has the utmost patience; nor do I see myself as someone that’s overtly passive. But I also don’t see myself as someone that’s striving to cling onto something impossible.”
“So?” Youngjae whispers in reply, listening to the ticking of the bomb ready to detonate within his thoughts.
“So,” Jaebum says, the kohl in his eyes resembling embers, “It feels that I’m the one engaged in soliloquies, and every time I think I take another step forward, I see you take one backwards. And I can never tell, Youngjae, what you think of me.”
“What I think of you?” Trepidation seeps underneath his veins, travelling along his bloodstream in ways that almost feel like toxin. “I think,” He searches for the right words, “highly—too highly of you.” He settles on this thought, trying to avoid the weight of Jaebum’s gaze on him.
“Highly?”
It’s Youngjae who sighs this time, shoulders giving out from too many thoughts and burdens. “I don’t think I’m me whenever I’m in front of you. Where I’m always too quiet—too anxious, and too conscious of every little thing.” There’s a tinge of fire that sparks in the air, igniting everything that’s accumulated over too much time.Youngjae feels the timer tick down to zero, the world imploding into fireworks—to ashes. “You never know what I’m thinking,” his voice wavers, though he continues with unfound courage, “But I never know what you’re thinking either.”
The world slows to a halt after calamity, and Youngjae only holds his breath as silence finds its way between them again. It clings onto their skin, melding into the nooks and crevices of every atom.
“I thought I made it obvious,” Jaebum gives an unconfident laugh, “That I’m always here to see you.”
“I thought you were here to read,” Youngjae mumbles, scuffing the tip of his sneakers onto the fallen leaves. A trickle of warmth finds its way to his ears, tinting it with the same shade of red as the leaves on the ground.
“There didn’t seem to be another excuse to keep returning,” Jaebum says, tugging awkwardly at the loose thread of his sweater.
“Oh,” Youngjae says.
“Oh,” Jaebum mocks.
“So you really aren’t that smart, right?”
“Incorrect, I’m truly that smart.”
