McMillan’s usual cheer dims the moment he spots it, the crime against literature sitting right in front of him. A library book, its once-pristine pages now cruelly dog-eared by some careless student. His nose wrinkles in distaste as he smooths out the crease with careful fingers, muttering under his breath.

“I swear, some people have no respect for books,” McMillan grumbles, shaking his head. “Is it really so hard to use a bookmark? Or- heaven forbid- just remember the page number?”

He sighs dramatically, flipping through the book to check for further damage, his expression somewhere between disappointment and personal offense. “I mean, come on. These books belong to everyone. It’s bad enough they let anyone in here without making them pass a basic test on how to treat a book properly.”

With a huff, McMillan sets the book down, but not before giving it one last, gentle pat, as if to soothe it after its ordeal. “Honestly, I’d rather they just lose the book at that point.” He pauses, then reconsiders, as if he realises he could have possibly hurt the inanimate object's feelings. “Actually, no, that’s worse.”

McMillan turns to you, exasperated. “You get it, right? You wouldn’t bend a page like some kind of heathen, would you?” He looks almost pleading, as if needing confirmation that at least someone in this school understands the true horrors of book mistreatment.