The scent of old paper clung to the present, too.
Damien blinked. The library light hummed softly overhead. He stood motionless before the shelf.
The book hadn't moved.
"You alright there?" a voice asked gently.
He startled slightly, turning to find the older librarian—thin glasses, card in hand—watching him with mild concern.
"Sorry," Damien muttered. "Was just… thinking."
She smiled kindly. "If you're looking for something and can't find it—"
"I got it," Damien interrupted, too fast. He reached out and finally, carefully, took the book. "Just checking if it was still here."
The librarian nodded and stepped away.
Damien exhaled slowly, his fingers brushing the cover.
Still the same. A little worn at the edges. The faint watercolor sun in the corner. Her style.
She painted this cover.
He remembered sitting beside her at the studio desk, watching as she painted the cover.
"Yellow or orange?" she'd asked.
He'd insisted on both, proud to explain, "Because the sun's always more than one thing."
She'd laugh, kiss his forehead, and paint it exactly that way.
He remembered the first time she held it up to him—fresh off the press, still smelling like ink and glue. She had grinned like a kid herself.
"Books are fun, right, doodlebug?" she whispered, tapping the cover. "Better than people. But you're my favorite."
The final cover became standard across all printings. But this one—this early copy—was one of the few she touched by hand.
He swallowed hard.
Of course, this book was here. Of course it had found him again.
Maybe it had been waiting. Just like he had.
He tucked it under his arm and headed for the desk.
The librarian looked up as Damien approached, book in hand. "Decided to check it out?" she asked.
He nodded, shifting the book slightly so the barcode faced her. "Yeah. Just… hadn't seen it in a while."
She scanned it without asking any questions. "It's yours for three weeks," she said, sliding the book back toward him.
Damien stepped forward. The bell beside the desk softly clanged as it brushed his shoulder.
"Thanks." He took the book, gave a small nod, and turned to leave.
The library lights still glowed gently behind him as he stepped out.
Outside, the evening had taken on that end-of-day glow.
The sky above was streaked with yellow, pink, and orange, fading into soft purples at the edges. Like someone had run a brush across the clouds without cleaning it first.
He glanced down at the book in his arms. He held it tighter and walked.
The walk to his apartment didn't take long.
He climbed the stairs to the third floor, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. The hallway light flicked on with a soft click.
His apartment wasn't big. Just a rented corner of a worn building, third floor, no elevator. But no one yelled at him for being late. No footsteps pacing. No threats.
Home. His own space. Small, a little messy, but his.
He took off his shoes, dropped his bag by the wall, and headed to his room.
Stacks of sketchbooks, art supplies spilling out of half-closed drawers. A soft throw blanket on the chair. Papers taped to the walls.
And on his desk, next to the mug with three brushes sticking out, sat a photo frame.
It was a picture of him and his mom.
He was maybe seven—grinning, hair messy, shirt stained with paint. She was crouched next to him in a grassy field, one arm around his shoulders, her painting stand in the background.
They looked happy.
He stared at the photo for a few seconds. Then carefully set the book down beside it.
Right there, next to her.
He hadn't slept much—his gaze kept drifting back to the book on his desk. At some point, his eyelids grew heavy, though he couldn't remember when. It was already morning when he opened his eyes.
On the way to school, just like always, he caught sight of Isabelle reaching the front gate.
Right as Joanna and Lilith came up from behind, turning the corner from the little store, snack bags rustling and soda cans clinking in their hands.
They were already chatting, voices overlapping.
"Morning," Isabelle said as she glanced up when he stepped beside her.
He smiled back—small and quick—and looked ahead again.
Something was off. Usually, Damien's silences had space in them, like he was just thinking before speaking. As if someone had turned his volume down.
She didn't ask. Instead, she waited until they reached the classroom and were pulling their books from their bags.
His hands froze for a beat, eyes flicking up to her in faint surprise. "How did you—" He cut himself off, and just as quickly, he looked away. "Yeah. Got it."
And that was all.
From across the row, Lilith glanced up from her notebook. "Oh? So you went to the library yesterday?" she asked, pen twirling between her fingers.
He shot her a flat look, like she'd just announced his deepest secret to the class.
"Maybe," he said.
Isabelle bit back a smile. He really didn't know how obvious he was.
Lilith raised her brows and just went back to sketching.
***
Later, the lunch bell rang outside, followed by the muffled shuffle of students leaving their classrooms.
"Something important!" Joanna called to someone beside her as she slipped out of the music room. Without waiting for an answer, she wandered down the corridor.
Her steps slowed when a low thud of a beat and the squeak of sneakers on polished floorboards reached her ears.
A crooked smile tugged at her lips as she caught sight of Samuel practicing—still moving like a ribbon flowing through the air, each movement precise and impossible to look away from. And, of course, as hot as ever.
Samuel spotted her almost immediately.
The rhythm faltered; he straightened up, running a hand through his hair as if that might buy him a moment to think. Then he crossed the floor with a careful, half-casual stride.
"Uh… spying on me now?" Samuel asked, stepping a little closer. He rubbed the back of his neck, his voice tightening.
His fingers drummed lightly against his thigh, eyes flicking away for a moment before settling back on Joanna.
Joanna raised a brow, smirking. "Maybe. Someone's gotta make sure you don't crash into the professor next time."
He shuffled awkwardly before blurting out, "I mean… you've been hanging around outside my dance class for a while now. Not that I'm complaining or anything—just… yeah. And, uh—about that lipstick stain last week… totally an accident. Promise."
As he said that, he let out a quick breath.
Joanna chuckled, folding her arms. "Wow, you sure do talk a lot when you're nervous."
Samuel scratched the back of his neck, cheeks warming.
"Yeah, well... guess I get a little… wordy when I'm nervous—I mean—I'm not really nervous though."
Joanna's smile twisted into something sharper, her eyes glinting with dry amusement. "Uh-huh. Not nervous. You're just really passionate about talking."
Samuel was about to reply when a voice called out from behind.
"Jo…?"
Samuel's eyes flicked toward the hallway, landing on Damien, Lilith, and Isabelle standing there, looking around.
Joanna's expression tightened for a brief moment—caught. She glanced between them and Samuel, her composed mask flickering for just a second. Her fingers curled briefly into a loose fist at her side.
Damien stepped forward, eyes narrowing playfully as he looked up at Samuel's tall, bulky frame.
"'Dancer boy with… ridiculous abs,' I see~," he said, voice dry and amused. "Guess that explains Joanna's MIA."
He was quick to catch on.
Joanna shot him a sharp look, her annoyance clear but controlled.
Damien just chuckled, but there was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes under Samuel's steady gaze.
Isabelle's eyes widened. "Ohh—her disappearing during lunch makes total sense now!"
Lilith tilted her head, trying to keep her tone casual.
"But… didn't you say it was about the professor and some project?"
Damien grinned, folding his arms.
"Classic Joanna—always up to something, and now we finally know what."
Samuel blinked, still processing the sudden attention and the inside jokes flying over his head. Slightly awkward, but he stood tall, calm, and quietly commanding in a way he didn't mean to.
He knew from experience how his size and "fight me" vibe made people keep their distance, even when all he wanted was to be approachable.
For a moment, the trio hesitated, their teasing faltering just slightly as they took in that unexpected quiet intensity.
Samuel shifted nervously, then gave a small, awkward nod. "Hi."
Damien, Lilith, and Isabelle exchanged a quick glance—just long enough to catch the hint of something off. Damien nodded towards Samuel, like he wasn't sure how to respond.
Isabell offered the softest smile, gentle and kind, then gave a quiet, "Hi."
Lilith's voice was barely above a whisper as she replied, "Hi."
Without another word, the trio kept their distance but not with any hostility, just a little unsure.
Joanna caught the shift in the atmosphere. Her eyes darted from Samuel to Damien and the others. She tensed briefly; her composed mask flickered for a second, the briefest hesitation tightening her jaw.
Not good. Samuel's not one to throw punches.