𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑
summary: they meet someone who they think is pretty. pairings: ifa, ororon, flins, varka, gorou, itto, kaveh, alhaitham x gender neutral reader.
a/n: level: mischaracterisation. boss: me. c5 flins haver: also me.
the streets of natlan are alive, sunlight catching on shiny trinkets and banners that sway high above the bustling marketplace. children dart down the roads, laughter echoing between stalls as some cute saurians lounge lazily along the sidelines.
ifa’s out running errands again, busy as always, restocking on saurian medicine and a few other supplies which his clinic needs, when cacucu suddenly lets out a loud chirp and decides to zip away instead of staying perched on his shoulder. “later, bro!”
“what— hey! dude, you get back here!”
the tiny red qucuaurus flies between natlan’s market stalls, his little wings fluttering as he weaves through the crowd like the mischievous little creature he is. ifa follows in quick pursuit, muttering apologies as he brushes past startled vendors and random people.
cacucu crashes headfirst into some unaware persons forehead, letting out a startled squawk as his wings flap in a frantic blur. the little dino tumbles backward midair, clearly dazed from the sudden impact.
“cacucu!” ifa shouts, worried for his little buddy and guilty to the poor victim of his clumsiness. his breath catching in his throat as he pushes through the last few steps, only to stop dead in his tracks.
you’re standing there in the middle of the street, brushing tiny red feathers from your clothing. the faintest smile ghosts across your face, confused but unbothered despite the growing red mark in between your eyebrows.
yet when you lift your head, and the sunlight hits just right. your eyes catch the gold of the afternoon, gleaming warm and soft, and for a heartbeat ifa seems to forget everything around him, his errands, the crowd, even the mess his companion had just caused.
“uh— oh no, i’m— uh— sorry about him.” ifa stammers, hand flying to the back of his neck as he tries to laugh it off. his ears are pink, and his words are tripping over themselves.
“bro! no way, bro! pretty person, bro!”
ifa’s flush somehow seems to darken even further. “cacucu—”
but the little qucuaurus isn’t done. he spins mid air, wings flashing in the light as he belts out another line, louder and far too gleeful for ifa’s liking. “so pretty, bro! you’re doomed!”
you laugh softly, a sound that feels light and genuine in his ears, and ifa swears something in his chest just short circuits. it’s a feeling that not even an experienced veterinarian like himself could comprehend.
he clears his throat, trying to reel himself back in, his cheeks dusted pink. “he, uh… tends to say things he really shouldn’t.”
“he’s honest,” you reply. “but it’s quite alright.”
cacucu lets out a triumphant squawk, wings fluttering like he’s won the battle that he himself had started. “ifa bro, they talked back!”
ifa groans under his breath, tugging the brim of his hat down to hide his face. “i’m so sorry about this guy,” he mumbles, voice muffled. “just, um… don’t listen to him.”
cacucu only cackles in reply, circling around the both of you.
you laugh again, softer this time, and crouch slightly to meet cacucu’s gaze. “i think he’s sweet.” you say, reaching out to let him perch on your hand. he chirps proudly, puffing up his chest.
ifa blinks, caught somewhere between awe and awkwardness. “ah… ya’ think so?”
you glance up at him, eyes warm. “mhm. he’s just looking out for you.”
cacucu tilts his head toward ifa, then back to you. “bro! they like you, bro!”
ifa sputters, nearly choking on air. “cacucu!”
but you’re already smiling, that smile that instantly makes one appear on his face, as you hand the little creature back. “see you around?”
you walk off, sunlight tracing your silhouette, and for a moment, he just stands there, staring like a fool. cacucu lands back on his place on the vet’s shoulder, wings flapping smugly.
“told you, bro,” he parrots, voice lilting with pride. “you’re doomed.”
ifa laughs under his breath, shaking his head. “yeah,” he murmurs, watching you disappear into the crowd. “guess i am.”
ororon doesn’t do nervous.
he once fought an out of control qucusaur with nothing but a hoe and a half empty bag of seeds. he’s stared down hilichurls while casually watering his cabbages. nothing shakes him.
but stepping into citlali’s home, arms full of freshly picked vegetables, only to see you sitting there, smiling, relaxed and sipping something that smells faintly of fruit and liquor, yeah. that just about does him in.
“oh, ororon!” citlali exclaims, her voice warm and slurred, cheeks rosy from her drink. “my favorite grandson! c’mere, c’mere!”
he barely manages a grunt in reply, already wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole as you glance over, eyes meeting his for just a heartbeat too long.
he steps forward, boots heavy against the wooden floor, trying his hardest not to look at you for too long. but you… stars above, you look so out of place here, in the best way. clean and polished, dressed in soft colours and finer fabric than he’s ever owned. even the way you tilt your head when he walks in feels too graceful.
suddenly, he’s all too aware of himself, the dirt under his nails, the sweat clinging to his neck, the frayed edges of his old cape. he clears his throat, his voice low.
“uh, hi, granny,” he mutters, setting the basket down gently by his feet. “ifa was busy with his clinic, so… i’m bringing these instead.”
citlali lets out a laugh, one that sounds bright and unrestrained, a far cry from her usual grumbling when sober. “oh, aren’t you sweet!” she beams, swaying slightly as she gestures between you both. “see, [name], i told you he’s a gentleman! look at him, he even grows spinach! what a catch, huh?”
ororon nearly chokes on air, ears burning as he stares hard at the basket, praying you don’t notice the way his hands fidget at his sides.
you blink, amusement tugging at the corners of your mouth as you set your cup down with a soft clink. “you grow spinach?”
“and turnips,” he blurts before his brain can catch up. his voice cracks slightly and he winces. “uh, and… beans.”
you smile, quiet laughter slipping through. “beans are my favorite.”
his ears go pink instantly.
citlali notices, because of course she does. her eyes narrow with mischievous, and before ororon can so much as shift his weight, she’s grabbed his wrist in her intoxicatedly strong grip.
“you two should talk!” she declares, dragging him toward the couch despite his clear reluctance. “maybe share bean recipes! or— or sow a garden together!”
he stumbles, nearly dropping his gloves as he’s unceremoniously shoved down beside you. his shoulders go rigid, eyes fixed firmly on the wall ahead.
citlali hums proudly to herself and takes another sip of her drink. meanwhile, ororon’s trying very hard not to combust, especially when your knee brushes lightly against his.
“granny—” he starts, voice strangled somewhere between a plea and a protest.
“stay seated, boy!” she barks, slamming her cup down with authority before promptly letting out a small burp. “don’t make me call ifa and tell him you’re scared of an attractive face!”
you try to save his embarrassment, you really do, but the laugh slips out anyway. it bubbles past your lips before you can bite it back, and ororon swears his heart just about leaps clear out of his chest. you lean in slightly, eyes still shining with amusement, and whisper, “hey, don’t listen to her. she’s a terrible wingman.”
he blinks, stunned into silence, the faintest smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. he glances down at his hands, fingers picking at a loose thread on his sleeve. his voice comes out low, barely above a mumble. “yeah… but she’s not wrong.”
citlali’s already half asleep in her chair, humming some old tune to herself, cup still dangling loosely from her hand.
and there he is, sitting beside you, awkward and flushed, shoulders tense but a smile tugging at his lips anyway. it’s small and shy, the kind of smile that sneaks up on him before he can stop it.
suddenly, the room feels warmer somehow, much quieter too, and when you glance over, you find him looking at you like he still can’t believe you’re a real person.
“um, so…” he starts, adjusting his wrist links. “…beans?”
it’s late. the fog drapes low over the island, thick enough to swallow even the faintest sound. the old tombstones creak and groan as the wind brushes past, and flins moves between them with his lantern held steady in his hand. the purple flame inside flickers weakly, fighting the cold that seeps into everything around him.
he’s walked this path more times than he can count, yet tonight feels different. the air is too still and the silence is too loud. even the usual whisper of the lingering spirits seems to have faded.
but when a faint motion catches at the edge of his vision, he stops. his breath clouds faintly in the air. someone’s there, half hidden between the stones, a silhouette shifting just out of reach.
flins lifts his lantern, his posture straight and voice calm but gentle enough as to not disturb the peace. “who’s there?” he calls, the light spilling across worn marble and just barely catching a glimpse of a figure.
“it’s all right,” he adds quietly when they make no further movement. “don’t hide”
when you step out from the fog, hesitant and clutching the small bouquet in your hands, nervous because now there’s someone else here with you in the dark on some spooky little island, flins exhales softly, the tightness in his shoulders easing just enough for him to lift a hand and swat at the air.
“…please return to your side of the world,” he says after a small second, his tone low as the purple lanternlight brushes against the soft lines of his face. “you do not belong here anymore.”
you blink at him startled, the grip on your flowers wilting slightly . “…what?”
for a long moment, neither of you moves, and the fog coils between you and whispers through the multiple gravestones. flins blinks too, the initial authority in his eyes faltering as he studies you properly. your face, the warmth of your breath in the cold air, the faint tremble of the flowers in your grasp.
his expression softens and the light catches in his eyes, illuminating them at the edges.
“oh.” he mutters after a small, quite awkward beat, lowering the lantern a little, the glow slipping from his face. “you are… not a spirit?” he asks uncertainly.
you stare flatly. “yeah… didn’t think i was.”
flins clears his throat, shifting his weight, one gloved hand rubbing the back of his neck. “right. yes. of course, and that is my apologies. it’s just—” his gaze flicks up again carefully, studying you like he’s afraid he’ll blink and you’ll vanish into thin air. “—you look… ethereal, and they tend to slip through from time to time.”
you raise an eyebrow, your lips twitching despite yourself. “flattering.”
a quiet sigh escapes him, his shoulders loosening as the flame between you wavers in the fog. “…it was not intended to be.” he says softly, almost under his breath, yet you hear it anyways. and it lingers, because somehow it kind of was.
for a moment, neither of you speak. the wind drifts tighter around the ground and mutes the world until it feels like there’s only the two of you on teyvet.
flins glances up again, unable to help himself. the light paints you in blues and violet, the kind of glow that doesn’t belong to the living or the dead because it’s something softer. it catches on your lashes, your skin, the curve of your mouth when you shift your weight slightly.
he’s quiet, but his eyes linger and trace details like he’s trying to commit them to his memory. when he finally speaks, his voice is much quieter than before that you nearly miss it had he not stepped closer. “forgive me,” he says, “it’s simply that you look as though the light itself might favor you.”
it’s a compliment that is both delicate and unintentional, but undeniable true. he looks away a moment later, clearing his throat as if that might undo what he’s said. obviously it does not.
you allow a small smile to form on your lips. “is that a part of your job? keeping the light… and then giving it away?”
he huffs out a soft laugh through his nose, glancing down at the lantern as its flames tremble faintly in its cage. “perhaps,” he admits quietly, “…but it seems that tonight, it has already chosen where to shine.”
varka truly was built like a storm. his loud laugh and heavy steps made him the kind of man whose presence seeped into every corner of the half empty angel’s share bar. even diluted by drink after drink, he was unmistakably him, the grand master, knight of boreas, and the man the entire city looked up to.
but tonight, mondstadt’s pride looked a little less like a hero and more like a man who was voluntarily drowning in some good alcohol and loud music.
he’d been chatting poor charles ear off for hours now, stories of frostbite on his toes, hunts and victories, sometimes the odd misadventure where he was stuck fighting beasts with nothing but his shoe, until finally charles shift had ended and he was able to slip away with a tired, yet relieved smile.
and that’s when you stepped in.
a quiet exchange of nods as you took his place behind the counter, towel over your shoulder, sleeves rolled to your elbows. the tavern’s golden light glowing against your skin, and before he knew it, the chatter in the corners somehow dimmed just enough that even someone as intoxicated as him were able to take notice of.
“hah… well, would you look at that,” he murmured, voice dropping low, gravelly in that way only men who’ve spent years shouting over battlefields could sound. his eyes crinkled, and a lopsided grin slowly began forming on his face. “now there’s a sight worth sobering up for.”
you glanced up, unfazed by his behaviour because you’ve seen countless people like him in your job, as your fingers were already moving over the countertop to wipe down a spill he must have made during one of his tales. “hi there. i assume you want another round?”
if possible, his grin widened at the sound of your voice. “mhm… if it means you’ll keep lookin’ at me like that, then yeah. another.”
you pour his booze, and his gaze not once managed to leave your face. his grin is dopey and warm, and the light flush on his cheeks was evident in the calm lights.
“you’re far too pretty to be workin’ here,” he says, lifting his empty mug slightly, voice loose but very much sincere. “someone ought to paint you instead. or, ah—” he pauses, gesturing vaguely with one of his massive hands as the words elude him, leaving him fumbling for a thought, “…put you on one of those, you know… fancy cathedral windows. saints and angels and all that.”
you huff a quiet laugh, sliding a refilled mug toward him. “flattery won’t get you a discount.”
he taps the counter once as a soft wordless thank you, before taking a long sip. the sound of his sigh blends with the low hum of the tavern. but when he sets the mug down again, he leans forward on his elbows, his eyes glinting as he tries to get a better view despite his blurring vision.
“not lookin’ for one,” he says. “just tellin’ the truth. knights swear oaths to honesty, might i add.”
you arch a brow. “…and to drinking?”
“…that too,” he chuckles. “but tonight, i’ll drink to you, bartender.” he raises his mug like a toast despite being the only one drinking. “may whoever you belong to know how lucky they are.”
you look at him, his cheeks flushed, grin boyish, sincerity unfiltered by rank or pride, and for the briefest moment, you understand why they call him the heart of mondstadt.
the meeting had started off well enough, those long routine discussions he’d learned to navigate after years of serving under kokomi’s command. logistics, patrol rotations, supply routes, coordination between squads… nothing he couldn’t handle.
he’d even practiced the night before, pacing his tent back and forth until every word of his report was committed to his memory. he’d timed his speech, adjusted his tone, even practiced not letting his tail wag too much when kokomi praised his work.
and it had been working. kokomi was pleased, her calm voice guiding the meeting smoothly. the soldiers sat in rows, their eyes on her, their notes neat and orderly. gorou had been relaxed. alert, yes, but composed because everything was running exactly as it should have been.
until kokomi said his name.
“general gorou, please present your summary on the shoreline defense.”
“yes, ma’am.” he replied courtly, standing from his place and stepping forward, his report in hand.
…but then he finally saw you.
you were seated off to the side, not even part of the formal council if he could recall, just observing, chin propped gently in your hand, a quiet smile resting on your lips. the soft light filtering through the tent’s entrance caught the creases of your eyes, and for some reason, the world just… tilted.
you weren’t doing anything. not even a single thing. you were just sitting there, watching. yet it was enough to completely derail him.
his ears shot straight up, tail freezing mid wag.
his throat went dry, the neat lines of his speech dissolving into nothing.
“t-the shoreline defense is, uh—!” his voice cracked much to his horror and some of the troops amusement, who chuckled in the backline. “i-it’s, um, doing very— very fine!”
kokomi blinked, her quill pausing mid letter. “…fine?”
gorou swallowed so hard it almost hurt. “yes! i mean— not just fine, it’s— uh, stellar! the troops are, um, exceptionally… defensive?”
there was a beat of silence. a few soldiers shifted awkwardly in their seats. someone coughed.
gorou’s hands fumbled with the stack of papers he’d been holding, the edges trembling ever so slightly. he could feel your gaze now, more curious than anything yet completely unassuming, and somehow that only made it worse. his ears twitched uncontrollably, and his tail… oh archons, his tail. it twitched once. then again. and before he could stop it, it curled tight between his legs like it was trying to hide. like a puppy in trouble.
kokomi tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing in that soft, knowing way of hers. “general, are you feeling alright?”
her words only made him laugh weakly. “y-yes, perfectly! i just— uh, the heat got to me a little— haha—”
it was a terrible attempt at recovery, one he failed. he could feel his face burning, the fur on his ears probably as red as the crimson banners outside the tent. one of the soldiers near the back tried to suppress a snicker, disguising it as a cough. another averted their eyes entirely, shoulders shaking.
kokomi who always stayed composed, simply regarded him with patient confusion.
just a tiny one, the corner of your lips tugging up in slight amusement, but to gorou, it might as well have been the sunrise itself. his breath hitched, and that’s when it happened.
his tail shot up, wagging furiously, a blur of movement that betrayed every ounce of composure he’d fought to maintain.
kokomi blinked with her quill still hovering midair. “…general gorou,” she said, voice calm but growing weary. “your tail.”
he froze completely. the color drained from his face. all motion ceased, ears, tail, even breathing. for a single suspended heartbeat, he looked like a statue.
and then, in the smallest, most mortified voice imaginable, he whispered.
“…i-it has a mind of its own.”
there was a beat of silence before one of the soldiers failed to stifle a laugh. kokomi’s lips twitched, not quite a smile, but dangerously close, and you were smiling fully now, warmth in your eyes that made his heart stutter all over again. gorou wanted to dig a hole right there in the sand and bury himself in it until the tides turned.
but when he dared to glance your way again, you were still watching him, and somehow that made the humiliation just a little too much to bear.
his tail however, clearly disagreed, as it gave one final, very eager wag before he ducked for cover behind the chalkboard.
the oni’s booming voice shook the courtyard, echoing through every corner of inazuma city. itto stood proudly in the center of the gathered crowd, hands on his hips as his laughter rumbled from his chest. beside his foot, his prized beetle, the unbreakable crimson crusher, puffed up its tiny carapace, practically preening after its latest victory against some wild bug that was probably just plucked from it’s tree minutes prior.
a ring of kids surrounded him, cheering, whining, and groaning all at once. some were his devoted little fans, shouting his name like he was some kind of beetle battle celebrity, while others sulked over their defeated bugs. a few adults looked on from the street, muttering something about “that oni again” and “why is he picking fights with children.”
itto who was oblivious as always, threw his head back and laughed. “ha! did you see that? crushed it! my little crimson crusher’s unstoppable! you kids better train harder if you wanna stand a chance against the one and oni arataki itto!”
he flexed his muscles and beamed, soaking up every bit of attention that was being thrown at him. life was good. he was unbeatable, totally glorious, perfectly balanced—
until you stepped forward.
you crouched down at the edge of the ring, quietly calm and your expression unreadable. but the moment sunlight hit you, itto forgot how to breathe. you weren’t just anyone, you were breathtaking. skin kissed by the afternoon glaze, eyes soft and posture elegant even while crouched in the dust as you put your little beetle forward.
itto blinked owlishly, then promptly forgot every single beetle battle rule he’d ever learned and made.
“uh—” his voice cracked halfway up his word, “n-not bad, uh, newbie! brave of ya to step up, yeah! but, uh, just so you know, you’re kinda… goin’ up against the best there is around here.” he puffed out his chest, flexing subtly (or not subtly at all). “no big deal or anything. y’know. champion stuff. all that jazz.”
you smiled at him politely, and itto’s grin faltered. his tail almost wagged, which was absurd because he didn’t have a tail at all. but if he did, it’d be wagging like crazy. his brain scrambled to say something cool, anything at all, but all that came out was, “I-I mean, I could, uh… go easy on ya? y’know, since you’re new. and, uh, your beetle’s kinda cute.”
he paused, and his entire face went red.
“just like you…—! wait, no! not like you, i mean yes— uh— forget I said that!”
the kids around him lost it. laughter broke out in the small crowd. one pointed at him, cackling. another whispered loudly, “big bro’s blushing!!”
“h-hey! quiet down!” he barked, trying to regain dignity he’d never really had to begin with. “this is a serious battle! serious!”
he crouched beside his beetle, whispering furiously, “buddy, you hear me? no distractions. eyes on the prize, alright?”
his beetle clicked its pinchers one, and then just… didn’t move. itto frowned. “huh? what’s the holdup—”
then he realised. his beetle was staring at yours, utterly entranced.
“…traitor,” itto muttered, mortified. “you too?”
you giggled softly, and it was enough to make him forget what embarrassment even felt like. he quickly stood up, clearing his throat a little too loudly, hands on his hips again as if sheer posture could save him. “a-ahem! alright! get ready, ‘cause you’re about to face the undefeated, unstoppable, unbelievably handsome arataki itto! the one and oni!”
he pointed dramatically, his voice booming again. the crowd cheered, your beetles clicked, and his confidence flickered back to life, at least until he risked another glance at you.
you were smiling again, sunlight glistening on your skin, fingers gently nudging your beetle forward. and just like that, itto’s heart skipped. his chest tightened, his grin softened, and he muttered under his breath, almost sheepishly.
kaveh had worked with hundreds of clients before.
arrogant scholars who thought they knew more about architecture than he did, the one with the architecture degree. self absorbed nobles who equated aesthetic with ‘cover every surface in gold until it reflects the sun like a mirror and blinds passerbys’.
and then there was those money hungry merchants who never once looked up from their ledgers and instead cut corners at every turn and asking if he could ‘make it cheaper but still look expensive’.
he’d smiled through all of it, the pomp, the greed, the endless corrections, because that was what he did. he built beauty out of ugliness, dignity out of ego, yet somehow was only barely managing to keep his reputation afloat.
you were something else entirely.
from the moment you met him, you’d been… calm. your words were soft and free of the snobbery he’d grown used to over the years. you didn’t interrupt when he spoke about light and space, about the direction of shadows or the way open air could make a room breathe. you listened, literally, really listened with the ears you were given, and it threw him completely off balance.
because for once, someone wasn’t treating him like a craftsman to order around. you were treating him like an artist.
and archons, he melted a little every time you did.
now, he sat across from you in your living room. or, as he privately thought of it, your soon to be masterpiece. scrolls and sketches spread in a half organized clump across the coffee table. sunlight slanted through the tall windows, spilling gold across the blueprints and tracing along his sleeve as he pointed at the paper with the smudged pencil mark.
his voice was animated because he was excited, the kind of tone he only used when he forgot to guard himself. “so, here,” he said, tapping the design for the eastern wing, “i was thinking of adding a study, something that faces the garden. you’d have morning light, but not so much that it overheats the space. it’d be perfect for reading, working, or just… thinking, because everyone needs to do that once in a while.
you leaned closer to get a better look. a faint scent of jasmine trailed with you, and kaveh’s heart did a strange little flip. you smiled, eyes focused on the sketch. “that sounds lovely. a quiet space would be nice.”
and that’s when his mouth betrayed him.
“yeah, exactly!” he said, sitting up straighter, eagerness spilling out before his brain could catch up. “it’d be perfect for you. and when we get married, i’ll need one too, so—”
the words hung in the air for a few seconds, giving his chest enough time to close in on itself. his breath caught. his pencil froze mid gesture, and his soul briefly left his body.
his entire face flushed, from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears, crimson blooming quickly on his skin. “w-wait! i mean— hypothetically! like— not us! just, you know, a married couple in general! a client, maybe uh, just— someone!”
his hands started flailing, as if he could physically push the words back into the air and rearrange them into something less humiliating. one nearly sent a cup of tea flying, and he caught it at the last second with a strangled little gasp.
“hah— see? i just worded it wrong! that happens sometimes when, uh— when you’re talking fast, and, ah— oh, by the seven, please stop looking at me like that…”
because you were looking at him, your lips curved into that faint, amused smile that could undo a man more effectively than any argument.
you tilted your head, eyes bright with a noticeable teasing glint in the orbs. “when we get married, hm?”
he groaned softly into his hands, muttering under his breath, “i’m never living this down.”
but the corners of his mouth betrayed him, curving helplessly upward. when he finally dared to peek through his fingers, your smile hadn’t faded, if anything, it had softened, warm enough to rival the afternoon sun.
and for all the mortification twisting in his chest, kaveh realized something startling.
if embarrassing himself like this made you smile like that… maybe it was worth every second.
the library was silent, just the occasional soft turning of his pages, the faint hum of candlelight beside his herbal tea, and alhaitham’s own breathing. his attention was deep in a text on comparative linguistics when a somewhat disturbing crash echoed through the marble halls.
he didn’t even look up at first. perhaps a stack had toppled. perhaps one of the junior scholars had dozed off again and fell out of their seat. but then came another sound, a clatter of books, a low thud, and then finally, a small and pained “ow.”
he exhaled slowly, closing the book with care. of course.
it was late. most of the akademiya had emptied hours ago. and yet somehow, chaos still managed to find him. marking his place in his book with a small slip of paper, he stood and made his way toward the noise. he could have walked faster, sure. but whatever the reason for the noise probably wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
because turning the corner, he found the culprit.
half buried in a heap of fallen tomes, pages tousled and expression dazed, the picture of complete disaster amid the polished order of the library.
for a long moment, he said nothing, instead choosing to simply assess. no visible concussion. no broken limbs. just embarrassment, and from the looks of it, several paper cuts.
“…are you quite alright?” he asked finally, as if he were confirming an equation rather than showing concern to someone who clearly needed some assistance.
you blinked up at him, eyes lidded. “um— yes. i think so. just… a little started, i think...”
his gaze flicked toward the collapsed shelf, then back to you. “startled,” he repeated flatly. “right. i suppose gravity is startling the first few times one encounters it.”
you gawked. “i didn’t… it wasn’t my fault. i just leaned—”
“—against an unsecured shelf?” he finished for you, cutting you off and crossing his arms. “a bold decision, considering the laws of physics remain undefeated to this day.”
you opened your mouth to protest, then shut it, realizing how ridiculous it sounded to argue with logic itself. or perhaps with this man in particular.
he crouched down, brushed aside a particularly heavy novel that had been resting on your shoulder, and straightened up again.
“stand up.” he said simply. you hesitated, then reached for his outstretched hand. his grip was firm to where it made you feel weightless for a second as he hauled you up, even if his expression didn’t soften in the slightest.
once you were upright, he glanced at your hands, his eyes catching on the thin red lines across your skin.
“…you’ve managed to injure yourself with literature,” he murmured, brows lowering just slightly. “that’s impressive.”
a laugh spilled from your lips, only to soon be followed by a small wince as you made the poor decision to wipe your palms on your thighs. “i… i guess i have a talent for it.”
he tilted his head, faint amusement ghosting across his porcelain face. “if so, it’s a useless one. try cultivating something more practical next time.”
you smiled, and to his mild surprise, he didn’t find it all that irritating. instead he sighed, and stepped a little closer. and for someone who wanted nothing more than personal space, this was a feat. “sit.”
“your hands,” he said, his tone clipped yet not entirely unkind, in fact, he was already retrieving a silk cloth from his pocket. “they’re bleeding. small cuts or not, it’s unsanitary.”
you sank into the nearest seat, still a bit stunned. “you carry a cloth for, what, emergencies?”
“no,” he replied, kneeling beside you to gently dab at your bleeding fingertips. “i carry it because books are often older than the people who read them. they deserve careful handling, and because some people, evidently do not.”
you bit back another laugh. “are you saying i don’t deserve careful handling?”
he glanced up, sharp eyes catching yours, a faint glimmer of dry humor in their depths. “i’m saying you must require supervision.”
his touch was a clear sign that he was no medic, yet was still somehow careful. his hands moved slowly as if he were tending to something far more delicate than mere paper cuts.
when he finally sat back, he murmured quietly, following the general number one rule of a library. “there. try not to bleed on the manuscripts. some of them are rare copies.”
“…thank you.” you said quietly.
he nodded. “…sure. just see that it doesn’t happen again.”
he turns to leave, and falls back into his quiet space. yet when he returned to his desk, the words on the pages seemed to blur, his focus waning for the first time in hours. every few minutes, his gaze drifted back towards where you now sat, clean fingers tracing the spine of a book, head tilted slightly as you read.
he told himself it was just vigilance, that he was only ensuring you didn’t destroy another shelf in the one place he cared about most.
but when you smiled faintly to yourself, the corner of his mouth almost, almost, curved upwards too.
