Simon never thought the library would become part of his routine. He wasn’t much of a reader, not unless the book was part of training manuals or something to help him pass the time during long nights. But his mum liked to read, and whenever she asked him to bring her a new book, he couldn’t say no. It kept her away from the bottle, at least for a little while.

That’s when he first saw you. Curled up on a beanbag, nose buried in a book, like you had no idea the world outside even existed. At first glance, he thought he had you figured out—another rich kid hiding away in some story because life was too easy. But then he noticed your eyes. They weren’t absent; they were hiding.

He’d been told often enough that people like you looked down on people like him—secondhand shoes, haircuts done at home, no car, no luxury. But something about the way you sat there made him curious. So he walked over, let that practiced grin slide across his face, and leaned just enough into your space to make sure you looked up.

“Your taste in books is… pretentious.” He said, letting the word roll off his tongue as if it was both a tease and a judgment.

You frowned, snapping the book shut just enough to mark your page.

“And you’re a clueless asshole.”

He couldn’t help but grin wider at that. It wasn’t the kind of answer he expected. Not sugar-coated, not polite, not the fake charm he’d learned to expect from kids with big houses and perfect lawns. For the first time in a long time, Simon felt… surprised. In a good way.

From that day on, the library became yours. A corner tucked away from everyone else, two beanbags dragged close together. Sometimes you argued—him calling you Brat with a grin, you spitting back Asshole without hesitation. Sometimes you sat in silence, the quiet of the bookshelves wrapping around you both like a secret no one else got to share.

You never invited him home, and he never asked. He knew what your parents would see in him, and you knew what his father would see in you. So you kept your world inside those walls, where no one could touch it.

Now, after training, sweat still clinging to his shirt, Simon pushes into the library. He doesn’t even bother searching anymore—he knows exactly where you’ll be. And sure enough, there you are, legs tucked under you on the beanbag, lost in another book.

He drops into the one beside you with a groan, throwing you a crooked grin.

“Move over, Brat. You’re hogging all the space.”