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larosepompon · 4 months ago

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The Midnight Library

You're not quite sure who owns the Night Library in town, and you didn't think you'd ever find out... Insomnia. Hardly anyone’s favourite thing. It had been something that you had battled with since starting to work late into the night, your body not knowing what to do with itself. You knew well that copious amounts of screen-time weren’t doing you any favours (and neither were the extra shots of espresso that you used to keep you awake) but what else was there to do besides read at home or risk taking an extended walk on the city streets between one and four am. It was one of these nights after your shift had finished around twelve, that lost in your thoughts you took a different route home. Past the brightly-lit bars thriving with a hum of patrons and a few restaurants coming to their close, the busy streets gave way to a gradual influx of small boutiques and houses. In one side road however, you stumbled across a quaint little Victorian townhouse with a storefront underneath – lit up by ornate spot lamps curled over the sign. “The Midnight Library”

You read aloud, breath hanging slightly in the air with the early Autumn chill. You were so weary and it looked ever-so inviting with it’s rounded bay window, dressed with a pretty little display of select titles one could find inside. As you breached the entryway, signalled by a tinkling bell, a mop of brown hair popped up behind the counter. A young man with owlish eyes and a pair of black-rimmed glasses regarded you for a few seconds before giving a quiet Hello. He almost looked surprised that you had come in. “Sorry, we barely get anyone in on a Wednesday – welcome to the night library. I haven’t seen your face here before; did you just find us?” His voice was soft and a little worn around the edges. “Yeah, I had no idea this was here – I’m glad there’s somewhere I can go to unwind to be honest.” A gummy smile broke out on his face as you spoke. “Well please, make yourself at home. There’s plenty of comfy seating. We only ask that you handle the books with care, as many of them are quite old.” With that, you traipse down the isles of shelves and find that there were two rooms to the cosy place – the room at the back was separated by an alcove, books lining every wall save for a door in the corner. It really gave off the feel of a converted home. Your fingers traced over spines of books both fact and fiction, eventually settling on an old edition of Alice Through the Looking Glass. The brown-haired boy was writing something at the counter as you passed him, choosing to sit on the maroon Oxford sofa near the window. Getting engrossed in a quiet world of your own, you had no grasp on how quickly the time had passed, jumping slightly when he called out to you gently.

“Sorry to disturb you but we need to lock up.” He held his hands in front of him, giving you a wry smile. “Did reading help?”

“Excuse me?”

“With helping you unwind – you seemed to be in need of it?” he cocked his head, gesturing to the sheer amount of chapters you had gotten through. You nearly balked seeing that you had somehow gotten through three-quarters of the book in a few hours. “Clearly.” You paused. “What time is it?” glancing around to see if there was a clock in sight. “its just gone four. Did you want me to save you the book for next time?” Nodding wearily, you got up and smoothed down your clothes before handing the old book over to him.

“I’m Jongho by the way.”

Jongho - as it turned out - merely looked after the library most nights, giving you a sharp laugh when you asked if he owned the place. Me? The owner?! God, no. I just work here he had rebuked, stating he hadn’t the time nor money to amass a collection as grand as this one. As you lay in bed that morning, you found that sleep came a little easier.

You ended up returning there the following night and then the next, the warm and cosy atmosphere along with malty scent of yellowing pages drawing you in time and time again. Often you’d make conversation with Jongho when it was just you both, nodding and giving polite smiles whenever other readers would pop in. One night, when the quiet side street was strewn with fallen orange leaves, you peered over at the reams of paper haphazardly littering the counter (and a laptop in its midst). Jongho’s hair was a tousled mess, his glasses pushed back up onto his head while he pinched the bridge of his nose. “You ok there?” He looked up at you with dark circles under his eyes, seemingly stressed to the max.

“My dissertation is due in two days.” Jongho ground out. His shoulders visibly sagged when he sighed, opting to sit down and try to re-arrange documents. “Ouch. No wonder you seem stressed out. What do you study?” you lean on the mahogany of the counter and sip on the mug of tea he gave you, watching him get himself in order. “Medieval Literature and Languages.” There’s a faint rosiness to his cheeks as he quietly tells you about it all. “I think you’re working in a great place for it – with all these books at your disposal, I’m sure a few of them could aid your studies.” You’re smiling at him over the rim of your mug and catch a small glint in his eye. “Actually, there’s more useful resources than you might think…”

There was one chair you were always drawn to. Its back high and slotted neatly into a corner. A cosy nook surrounded by extra piles of books that had yet to be put away and a gas fireplace that gifted you its warmth and extra light. The seat plush and comfy, it softly gave under your weight as you settled into its embrace – the reupholstered olive velvet felt wonderful wherever your skin touched. Resting a moment before starting the little romance tale, you studied its faded and woven cover, art and typography very reminiscent of the 1920s in all its Art Deco beauty. Perfect.

It was nights like these where you would get lost in the worn and savoury-scented pages of the old books that the Midnight Library had to offer. It was nights like these where, as your glistening eyes pored over texts from another time, your subtle changes in expression and the occasional wistful sigh were being curiously peeked at between gaps in the long bookcases. o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

You first spot his dark hair; locks of it obstructed by books on the shelves, soft waves being jostled as he moves to rearrange volumes. While you can’t quite see his face, you notice ghostly pale hands with elegant rings adorning a few fingers. Returning to your book for all but a moment, getting comfy in your favourite chair, by the time your eyes flit up to the same spot – the mystery person has vanished without a trace.

That’s...odd...

You decide not to take heed of it until it happens again a few times more in the coming week and a quiet eeriness unnerves you. With the building being so old, you don’t doubt the possibility of it having some ghostly activity however it isn’t anything that you have personally experienced before.

Should you ask Jongho? Or would he think you’re going a bit crazy?

The leather-bound novel snaps shut in your hands and you take a glance at the clock on the far wall. Quarter-past three it reads. With your concentration broken, your feet take you back on over to the front desk where a very tired and familiar boy sups on some coffee. He straightens as he sees you, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Y/n, how can I help? Need any recommendations?” he asks with his usual, friendly tone. Lacing your fingers together atop the book you lean on the counter, levelling your gaze with his. “Is this place...haunted?” Your voice tries not to waver, though it comes out not more than a whisper. Jongho’s lips quirk at the corners as he tries to bite back a laugh. He clears his throat in attempt to regain composure. “What makes you say that? Don’t tell me you saw a ghost.” His disbelief makes you start to peel away but he grabs your wrist lightly while he chuckles for you to stay. “Sorry, sorry – what did you see? I won’t laugh, I promise.” Letting you go, he settles back down as he looks to you sorting your thoughts.

“I’ve seen them a few times now – just glimpses, mind you. I think it’s the apparition of a man, with kinda-long, dark hair and they have super pale hands-.” This time Jongho does burst out laughing, cutting you off. A gummy grin on his face that’s quickly hidden by his hands. “Oh my God that’s the owner. It’s not a ghost at all, it’s my boss you’ve been seeing.” Your mouth hangs slightly open while you stand there, dumbfounded.

“He’s that much of a recluse? He hasn’t ever said hello, in fact I can’t really remember him making a sound other than organising books.” Your mind wanders back to the three or four times you’ve noticed him. The boy grimaces slightly before replying “he’s a bit eccentric, if you will, but he means no harm. His greatest treasure are his books, so he doesn’t bother many of our customers.” Nodding slowly, you take your book off the desk and hold it between both your hands. "What’s his name? In case I see him again.” Jongho is quick to reply. “Ah -he doesn’t like me giving out his name. Though I’m sure he’ll warm up to you soon enough!” At least he sounded positive about it.

It takes a further three weeks but sure enough, the mysterious library owner finally introduces himself. Unruly Autumn weather meant that you had gotten caught in a sudden downpour, rivulets of rainwater rolling off your hair and face as you stepped into the respite of The Midnight Library. Jongho looks at you with wide eyes and passes you a box of tissues to try and dry off what you can. “Jesus – forgot your umbrella?” you give him the best glare you can muster as you remove your soaked coat to pop on the rack. Mopping your strands with copious amounts of tissues, you heave a sigh.

“I’m going to sit by the fire, is anyone else in?” it was a little past 1am and with the cold rain outside you had expected the place to be busy. Jongho shook his head slowly, returning to his textbook. “Just the boss and me tonight.” Your lips parted in thought, taking the current book Jongho had saved for you, you quietly plod over to your favourite spot by the fire in attempts to dry off and warm up. You’re about 4 chapters in when a deep voice startles you out of your reverie.

“-I thought you could use some tea” you gasp and whip your head up towards the voice, not expecting anyone to be there. You end up face to face with one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen – scarily beautiful in fact. So poised and pristine, holding a bone china cup of tea in his very pale hands.

“Oh...thank you so much. That’s very kind.” He delicately hands it over to you with a small, close-lipped smile and you offer him a nod. “Are you the owner that Jongho keeps mentioning?” trying to make small talk to break the slight unease you feel, you take a sip –

Chamomile.

“Ah yes, sorry that was rude of me. I’m Yeosang, it’s lovely to meet you. Jongho tells me you’ve become somewhat of a regular?” His smile deepens and softens his statuesque beauty. You take a moment to really look at him; your eyes tracing his features from his sculpted brow, the gentle slope of his nose to his prominent yet delicate birthmark that only adds to his charm. All framed by a luscious head of hair. The one thing that you can’t get over are his dark eyes. The way his eyes seem to bore into your very soul, unblinking, like that of a marble statue.

Does this guy ever blink?

He blinks.

...It’s as though he just remembered he needs to.

“I guess I have” you answer airily. It’s difficult to break away from his eye contact. “It’s been just over two months I think, since I’ve started coming here. It’s so cosy.” Your voice gets a little quieter the more you speak and you watch Yeosang blink slowly in front of you. He looks away first, gesturing to the little room and you can’t help but feel a bit relieved. “Well, please feel free to ask for any book you like, I’ve collected them over many years. They’re my treasure.” He clasps his ring-laden hands in front of him. You can’t help but smile at that, he looks so fond of everything that he’s amassed. “I look forward to seeing more of you, Y/n. Goodnight.” After wishing him the same, you watch him elegantly glide off from whence he came.

It was only after he was gone that you realised you never gave him your name. Perhaps Jongho had told him. While Yeosang seemed kind and polite, there was this strange little warning in the back of your head, alerting him as a threat. Sure he was a little odd, and looked sickly-pale...

And didn’t really blink...

Oh.

You wondered if it’d be appropriate to ask Jongho about him. o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The second time you meet, he and Jongho are in a debate over the nuances of Shakespeare’s poetry, both hunched over a very old book, which they handle with white gloves. They’re both side by side as they talk animatedly and you can’t help but notice the slight inflection in Yeosang’s voice, a little softer and higher-pitched than what you remember. He and the student look like quite the pair; his slightly oversized, ivory shirt tucked into neat tailored trousers being the picture of elegance while the uni student sported a black hoodie with ripped jeans. You cleared your throat softly behind them, holding your handbag coyly behind your back.

The moment the owner turned to face you, you felt your heart skip a beat. As he greeted you, you were graced with a smile that was breathtaking. Pearly-whites on show and cheeks lifted, his eyes had a soft twinkle in them, spirits high from parting his book knowledge to a fellow scholar. The more you found yourself the focus of his gaze, the more a strange feeling settled over you. “Welcome back, y/n. It’s good to see you.” The playful lilt in his voice present even as he spoke to you. There’s a hello from Jongho in the background yet it seemed so distant and fuzzy in the presence of the owner in a way you can’t explain.

“Yeosang” you try out the syllables on your pink tongue, slower than you’d like. “-Jongho, too. Hi” it’s like a foggy stupor has settled across your brain, thoughts a little gooey like wading through treacle. Jongho casts a look of uncertainty towards his boss, an inkling into what might be happening. Time slows for you and your mind is full of cotton, as if the odd library owner has placed wads of it there piece by piece. You're far too gone to notice the pair fretting over your state for a while, neither of them knowing the best course of action…

The moment you feel yourself blink slowly awake, you’re being read to quietly - head in Yeosang’s lap with his elegant and tepid fingers gently stroking your hair. The rows of leather and cloth-bound books returning, albeit blurrily, to greet your vision. Your lungs take a deep inhale and your heartbeat quickens in confusion. Yeosang’s hand stops for a moment to tuck a few stray strands behind your ear.

“I think I owe you an apology” he murmurs softly. “It’s why I usually make myself so scarce, it’s…not always something I can control completely.” His voice you find so soothing and melodic, merely offering a hum of acknowledgement in return. You know in the depths of your brain that his cryptic confession should be something alarming, yet you can’t find it in you to be scared. He seemed so vulnerable when he spoke, seeking trust and confidence.

Instead, you take another deep breath and smile – he smells of dried petals and old, malted pages. Comforting.

“Yeosang? May you read to me some more? I’ll gladly accept your apology then...” His hand stilled amongst your tresses; mouth slightly ajar in surprise as he heard your reply. Every now and then in his long life did he come across those who were readily accepting of his nature and did so in stride; they were few and far between, however. The librarian’s gaze focused on your relaxed profile - the way your eyelashes fluttered against the top of your cheeks with every run of his fingers through your hair. A small smile came to his lips, before continuing to read.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o The third time you met him came as a surprise. It had been a good few weeks since he had read to you on the chaise and he seemed to have gone into hiding since. It was eleven pm on a bitterly cold Thursday, Jongho and yourself sitting by the fire with takeaway cups of coffee you managed to snag from a restaurant nearby. A few nights ago you had asked if Jongho could bring in his dissertation for you to read. One very shy and pouty “yes” later – he’d agreed somewhat reluctantly. Though he was initially hesitant, as you sat beside the warm fireplace the uni student was nothing but animated as he explained certain parts of his writing with enthusiasm. You both were going back and forth between the pages together when suddenly he pulled one of the sheets from your hands a bit too quickly, slicing your finger by accident.

You gasped softly, not only from the slight sting but from the owner appearing less than a foot away from you, unblinking eyes concentrated firmly on the deep red droplet swelling atop your finger. You felt your heart quicken - his presence came in as quickly and quietly as lightening and it made your mind confused.

“... Yeosang?...” the tightness in your lungs from your anxiety made his name come out no louder than a whisper.

Gaze still focused on your injury, Yeosang tilted his head in interest, indicating he had at least heard you. Snapping out of his trance with a sharp inhale and a subtle shake of his head, the owner offered a tight-lipped smile in your direction. “Gosh…we really must treat that for you. Let me go get those little plasters from the kitchen.” Even with an audible swallow, the sudden dryness of your throat persisted. Jongho remained silent, his eyes looking everywhere but your own. Definitely, he was party to Yeosang’s odd habits. You watched as the owner slinked off through the door in the corner, trying to glimpse him raiding through the cupboards for a first aid kit. By now the small pool of blood had begun to clot at the side of your finger – the plaster merely a distraction from the elephant in the room. “I’ll go help him find one…” Jongho trailed off. You couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for the student, having to deal with such an eccentric (and potentially dangerous) boss. With both men gone, you sank back in your usual armchair to collect your thoughts; none of which were coming that well together however. Yeosang had always shown you kindness, as had Jongho – and even though there may have been a moment or two which raised the hairs on the back of your neck – no harm had really come of it. Gnawing at your lip, you realised that the pair had been gone for several minutes by now and you started to worry. Mainly for Jongho’s sake but you had grown quite fond of the pair over the last few months. Your footsteps were quiet against the plush carpet in the little alcove room. Almost afraid to disturb the moment of peace when you were alone, your hand slowly found the brass doorhandle and opened it without any preamble. You had known this was bound to happen. Your eyes still widened at the scene, anyhow.

Sat on a wooden chair was Jongho, hoodie discarded and sleeve rolled up, cradling a shaky Yeosang into the crook of his arm who had all but collapsed onto the floor. You could hear the occasional whimper and slurping sound from the library owner being soothed by his student – who also showed the odd twinge of discomfort on his face. Jongho’s eyes flitted towards you and gestured for you to close the door behind you. “I told him not to leave it too long…” he nonchalantly trailed off, stroking back tendrils of Yeosang’s hair from his face while he fed on the boy. “ack…boss, Yeosang…that’s enough now, our lovely regular is here.” A guiding hand brought Yeosang’s head up and the sight pulled at your heartstrings. Tear-tracks ran down his beautiful face and a shaky pale hand moved to cover his blood-stained mouth. He was eerily beautiful but you couldn’t help but feel for him. He looked regretful before you, helpless to his own condition. Slowly, you knelt down beside him on the floor, reaching forth to cradle his ethereal face between your hands. You thumbed away the tears that were staining his cheeks, a reverent moment amidst an objectively horrific situation. “We’ve got you, Yeosang. It’s ok – we’re here.” Your words to comfort him rang true, whether man or vampire, he was a good person.

“I’m so sorry, y/n. It may not look like it but I would never hurt you” Yeosang sobbed out. You watched as he delicately licked away the last remnants of Jongho’s blood on his lips and smiled at him. “I know. I had a feeling for quite a while and I still came back, didn’t I?”

“You did” he laughed softly, looking up to Jongho with big eyes. “You both did, in fact”. The university student beamed at this, softly rubbing his shoulder as you moved to hold the vampire’s hands to draw him to his feet. “Come on you two – no-one is out front! We can’t have anybody stealing your treasure now, can we?”

“No, I suppose not.”

You didn’t think you’d ever find out who owned the Night Library, but it turned out to be someone beautiful with a wealth of knowledge that only came with time.

And his handsome assistant.

Fin

(Please also read here on my AO3 if you'd like! )

#ateez fic #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #yeosang #jongho #jongsang #comfort #warm and cozy #vampires #bookshop #books & libraries #atinyblr #atiny #vampire! yeosang #ateez #set in England somewhere #x post #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic

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