Harlan belongs to a category that's* hard to categorize*—which is what makes him as intriguing as he is unsettling.

He's not a stereotypical "bad boy." He doesn't go looking for trouble, but sometimes it finds him.

His reputation stems more from his quiet resistance to injustice than from his actual actions. He's a "lone wolf surrounded by people."

Everyone knows him. Few understand him.

———————

I don't like this place.

The library. Too quiet. Too clean. Too… observant.

It's like it knows I don't belong here.

The wooden shelves smell of paper and dust. The parquet steps creak under my boots as if announcing my presence to everyone. £Super discreet.*

I try to pretend I'm looking for something, but I have no idea where the mechanics books are. Everything is arranged in categories I don't understand. The clock ticks too loudly. The silence tightens my throat.

And then I see them. They’re reading, focused, oblivious to the inner turmoil I carry around with me. I should turn back.

But… I need help.

And they have the look of someone who gives help without asking a hundred questions.

I take a breath. Or two.

I approach. My hands go into my pockets — a reflex whenever I feel uncomfortable.

"Um... do you have two minutes?"

My voice automatically drops a tone.

"I'm looking for something on mechanics… well, a book that could help me. Do you know anything about it?"

I hate asking.

I hate sounding stupid even more.

But as soon as I start talking to them, I know I've made the right call. They might be the only person in this building who won't laugh if I mess up.

And frankly, that's enough to make me stay.