“Of all places for a clandestine meeting, you’ve outdone yourself, y/l/n.”
He speaks in hushed tones, the rasp of his voice barely hovering above a whisper. They’re alone, save for the man sat behind a seemingly oversized wooden desk, typing softly on his computer. The air feels cold; the high ceiling looming overhead and the rounded curves of the timber framing leave no room for warmth. Books are packed tightly into glass cases, saved from the damaging effects of exposure and time, and yet the room smells like dog-eared pages and temperate paper.
“I figured we wouldn’t be seen,” she shrugs, gazing intently at the brass bust of Shakespeare, her fingers itching to run themselves over the intricate carving of his ruffled collar.
“Sadly, the gossip forums don’t think I’m a reader,” Ethan hums, turning to acknowledge the bard.
“Yes, that is sad.”
He hasn’t seen her in almost three weeks, not that he’s been counting. It was as if she’d vanished off the surface of the earth the night she had left his apartment in Tribeca. After they had kissed. He knew better than to try and contact her afterwards, he tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach as he came to realise that maybe they would never cross paths again. Y/n had said that she would not let Howard Benson publish her first draft, the article that should have been printed if Ethan Dolan had not read it before it hit newsstands across the city. Y/n y/l/n is a determined woman. Consequently, the ties between them had been cut as quickly as they had been knotted. As their lips left one another’s she’d uttered something along the lines of an apology and hurried to the elevator, avoiding his eyes as the metal doors slid closed.
Ethan had received a text message from her this morning, as her name flashed across the screen of his phone his pulse had picked up its pace and his palms became damp. Y/n wanted to meet him in the library, in room 302 of the Stephen A. Schwarzman Building which he later found out was housing the Berg Collection of English and American Literature. He wants to laugh at how fitting their meeting place is, how well she’d thought this all out, but he’s occupied with the sheer wonder of being in her presence again.
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