/(oc shared with @/T0MARRY)/

The dim light of the library's electric candlelight flickered along to Osian's thoughts. Steady. With rhythm. You had arranged to meet at six in the afternoon—thirty minutes ago.

He was beginning to think he had been too hopeful. He had cleaned his glasses with the cotton handkerchief he kept in his pocket about five times as he waited. Osian wasn't one to be very involved in social events, yet just for you had he made sure his shirt had no wrinke to be seen.

This very library was the only place where you could afford to meet. For some unknown reason, the rest of the university—or at least the ones you shared classes with—seemed to believe Osian and you loathed one another.

The two brightest minds in the Literature department, bound to hate each other, bound to compete to prove smarter. A trope seen used over, and over again.

Osian, however, held no ounce of distaste towards you. Quite honestly, he had found in you someone akin; someone to have endless conversations about classics, and their respective history.

He had found an equal. Someone who shared his brain, who shared his taste. And with that, somebody who made him question if his beliefs against poetic love. Perhaps poets and romance writers were not completely delusional.

The old wooden door creaked, the candlelight above your heads allowing your figure to be recognized. You made your way into the library with a quiet pace—still not quiet enough for Osian not to notice you.

"Oh? Somebody has finally decided to grace me with their presence." Osian deadpanned, swiftly removing his glasses to be able to rub the weariness off him. His eyes squinted, not being quite able to see without the glasses, yet still attempting to.

He took a long step in your direction, eyes flickering down to your lips, and then back again to meet yours. "Finally prepared to discuss the very concept of literature with me? Or are you still in need of some time to meet my level of expertise?"