#notes from a bookshop

[aziraphalecrowley-fell]

I wish everyone a wonderful Christmas.

[anthonyjcrowleyfell]

Today Aziraphale discovered a gay bar. I’ve not seen him so happy around “bebop”. Ever. He even sang along with songs he’s probably never heard before. I’m assuming miracles were involved.

I believe this is going to be how I spend my Wednesday nights for eternity.

As long as he’s happy.

[anthonyjcrowleyfell]

I have that with my angel.

“I crave a love so deep that the ocean would be jealous.”

— Tahere Mafi

[hauntswitch]

This Is How You Lose The Time War will always be so special and important to me as a book, I come back to it so often and always try to bring my highlighted, annotated, dog-eared copy with me whenever I go places. It really is beautiful, and is objectively one of my absolute favourites. Alas. It makes me feel sick in the head

[avonne-writes]

nerdy buck who loves libraries and math is so special to me

Libraries are so peaceful and quiet, and there are thousands of worlds at your fingertips, adventure and beauty and love... All of Gale's wishes in one place. 🩷

[philzokman]

ao3’s down so i have to resort to medieval forms of gay smut (dostoevsky)

[azfell-and-co-bookshop]

We have reopened. Our hours are posted on the door. Don’t bother stopping by if you don’t know how to properly handle books.

[heftmanrhamm]

Heeeeyyyyyyyyy @brezideje :) !!!! Thank you for tagging me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! :D <3 <3 💖<3

hardcover or paperback // bookstore or library // bookmark or receipt // stand alone or series // nonfiction or fiction // thriller or fantasy // under 300 pages or over 300 pages or the exact number of pages needed and no more or less // children's or ya // friends to lovers or enemies to lovers // read in bed or read on the couch or anywhere // read at night or in the morning or anytime // keep pristine or markup // cracked spine or dog ear

Tagging: (this is like, if you're wanting to do it. No pressure. Apologies if you've already been tagged or something :) ) @miniaturestarlightdelight @five-potatoes-high @iiep-wop @streetjack

[oldtvandcomics]

Happy Queer Media Monday!

Today: The Lights of Prague by Nicole Jarvis

Another highly personal one.

(My copy of The Lights of Prague, flanked by two of my bat plushies. Picture taken in Old Town Square, after dark.)

Prague, not long after the introduction of gaslights on the street. The guild of lamplighters doubles as elite monsterfighter squad, whose job is to keep the normal population safe from the numerous beings active at nighttime. Meanwhile, said monsters have their own hidden society. Both worlds get thrown in disarray by a series of experiments, that, if successful, would let the pijavice, vampire-like creatures, go out during the sunlight hours. Lamplighter Domek and pijavice Ora get sucked in the middle of the conflict, struggling to keep up with the conspiracies as well as their feelings for one another.

The reasons why this book is so special to me are personal more than anything else, but I still feel that it would serve as a good example for changes in the fantasy genre.

This was the first thing I bought when I arrived to Prague for my one year in film school. Then it took me almost two years to read it, because I was reading everything but this book. The thing is, this is the EXACT kind of story I would have LOVED as a teenager, but apparently, I grew out of it and kind of lost interest. The book itself is good, and I really regret not getting to it ten - fifteen years sooner. It is also, all in all, not really that special or different from the ones that I did read back then.

What did stand out for me was the casual queerness. I bought it because of the Prague connection, and was fully expecting it to be completely straight, like the books I used to read as a teenager. It wasn’t. Ora is bisexual, having had two major relationships with women, as well as multiple with men, and Domek’s friend Cord (as well as his mystery boyfriend) is gay. It is all treated very casually, but it is very visibly there.

As I said before, I know this exact kind of book. I used to devour them around 2009 - 2012 (ish). Back then, this kind of casual queerness just didn’t happen. It did not.

Following the progress of queer representation is often frustrating because of how slow it is. It feels like it should be so normalized by now, and yet we are still stagnating and waiting for crumbs to drop. However, the progress becomes very visible the moment you look at the bigger picture in history, and compare media we have today with the way things were even ten years ago. Once upon a time something comes along that hits you over the head with this progress, and I feel like it’s a good thing to stop for a second and appreciate it.

So yeah, that is what The Lights of Prague symbolises to me.

Here is Nicole Jarvis’ personal webpage. About the pijavice, I only found this entry on the Monster Wiki.

Queer Media Monday is an action I started to talk about some important and/or interesting parts of our queer heritage, that people, especially young people who are only just beginning to discover the wealth of stories out there, should be aware of. Please feel free to join in on the fun and make your own posts about things you personally find important!

[esote-rika]

the memory of your lips | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Category: Flangst. Summary: At the end of a great date, you have to deal with the realities of dating a BAU agent. Content: Mentions of alcohol, reader is tipsy and flirty and LOVESICK, Spencer is a gentleman, kisses, no use of y/n, reader is called angel. I had s3 or 4 Spencer in mind when I was writing, but it works for any season.  Word count: 1.4k A/N: Here’s the fic for the Lovesick by Laufey (listen to it right here, PLEASE I BEG!!!) poll I did a while back. I know I originally planned for it to have smut, but I opted out because it didn’t feel right with the tone??? Anyways, this was just really fun to write, and I hope you enjoy! 

Three dates are an embarrassingly short amount of time to have fallen in love with someone, but in your defense, you have not encountered anyone quite like Spencer Reid in all your years of dating. 

Never have you met a man so intensely focused and attentive, so intelligent without any hint of pretense. His arrogance is founded, but he never used his genius to make you feel less; instead, he’s committed everything you’ve told him to memory, from your favorite book to the throwaway comment you made about liking a specific shade of lipstick. Two dates and he’s already memorized you like a poem. It’s exhilarating. 

This third date had been the one to seal the deal. 

Sure, the anxiety is still there, and it might have caused you to have one too many glasses of wine over dinner, but still. Everything had gone so beautifully. A stroll around the art gallery where Spencer had eagerly shared the history behind the paintings. When you’d paused at a particular hallway, he stood right by a window and was hit just so by the golden afternoon sun that his eyes turned to the color of moss, you could have sworn you’ve forgotten the ability to breathe. You’re convinced you were the walking equivalent to the heart eyes emoji at that point, staring up at him with a starry gaze, all throughout the following dinner at an intimate restaurant, where you allowed yourself to indulge in some wine. 

Not that you needed it. At that point, you felt so relaxed and at ease with him that you were afraid you might float away. The alcohol only served to heighten the giddiness, casting the world in soft hues of sparkling gold. Like Spencer’s eyes. Which reminds you—

“You’ve the prettiest eyes,” You’re giggling as he walks you to your door, a lean arm firmly wrapped around your waist  to steady you. Head angled up, all of your attention is on him while you walk up the stairs, which isn’t helping your stumbling gait in the slightest. 

Despite his attempts to fight it, a small smile pulls at his lips. He’s obviously trying to seem stern, but his eyes look upon you with fondness. “I should have cut you off sooner.”

“Mhm, no, I wouldn’t have let you.”

“You’re gonna feel this tomorrow,” he warns as he stops at your doorstep, “Keys.”

You fumble through your purse, quickly locating them and pressing the keys into his palm. He slots it easily into the lock, and turns. 

He hesitates. Your hands shake as you wait.

“Can I trust you to make it to your bed in one piece?” he murmurs, fingers brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

“Probably not. You might need to help me out,” you whisper, even though you’re not really that drunk. It’s a (very thinly veiled) attempt to get him inside your apartment, in your bed. You’re not sure where you got the confidence.

But it’s Spencer, the sweet man who frequents the same bookshop in which you also spend a lot of time. The same man who’d been so shy about making a move that he decided to buy you a book and slip his number into the pages. 

So there’s no pressure, he had scrawled in messy, rushed letters. Embarrassingly, the note is in your wallet, kept as a memento.

It’s him, and the entire date has been a series of signs that simply validated the small (massive) crush you’ve had on him. You don’t want it to end yet. Or ever, really. If he’d let you keep him forever. 

Ever the gentleman, he nods and guides you inside. You stumble onto your couch with a low groan, an arm flung over your eyes as the harsh overhead light flickers open. Quick, shuffling footsteps, and then the couch dips beside you.

“Here, have some water.”

You accept the glass with a lopsided smile. The way his eyes linger on you would be enough to make you melt when you’re sober, but right now, with alcohol coursing through your veins, it’s downright cruel. “Your eyes are so pretty.”

“You’ve mentioned that already,” he says, urging you to drink, “Thank you. You have very beautiful eyes too.”

Once the glass is empty, he sets it on your coffee table and kneels down. With gentle hands, he eases the heels off of your feet, fingers pressing into the ankles carefully. 

“Come on,” he helps you to your feet, and you all but become deadweight in his arms as he walks with you to your bedroom. 

Spurned mainly by alcohol, you lift yourself to your tiptoes for a kiss. His surprise makes him pause, but he kisses you back gently, hands coming up to cup your cheeks. It makes you sigh, this tender way he likes to kiss, cradling your face as though it’s the most important thing he’s ever held. When your tongue sweeps across his lower lip, he pulls back.

“What—”

“You’re drunk,” his lips move to your forehead, “You need to sleep.”

“But Spence…” it’s childish to whine when he denies you, but it’s the only thing your dejected, alcohol-addled brain is capable of doing.

He chuckles, slowly walking you backwards onto your bed. “No, angel, it wouldn’t sit right with me.”

“I’m giving you all my consent right now.” you pout as he hands you a disposable towel from your bedside table. With a huff, you set on wiping away your makeup as he rummages through your drawers for pajamas. He finds some shorts and an old tshirt, and helps you out of your dress, shaking his head as you try (and fail) to seduce him into sleeping with you.

“Shouldn’t have had that last glass if this was how you wanted the night to end.” he says,  a teasing smile on his lips.

“You’re never gonna let me live that down, huh?”

He kisses your temple as a response, and gently pushes you to lay down. Chuckling, he sits on the edge of your bed, a hand on your knee. “I just don’t want you to be inebriated if we’re going to be physically intimate. Especially not the first time.”

You pout, “Boo, you’re too sweet for your own good.” It earns you a laugh from him, and it’s enough to wipe the pout off your lips, “Will you at least sleep over?”

He seems to consider it, running his hand up and down your thigh. However, it is as though the universe is conspiring against you, and his phone rings. You watch as his brows furrowed in concern as he checks whatever message he’s received. “I have to go in, we have a case.”

Your heart drops. The pout returns, “It’s Friday night.”

“I know, angel.” he leans forward and kisses your forehead again, almost in apology, “I’m sorry, I did tell you I don’t work traditional hours.”

Your hands close around his shirt and you pull him down. He surrenders to your eagerness this time, kissing you deeply, hands tangled in your hair, before he stops, breathing ragged. “I’ll make it up to you when I return, I promise.” he kisses you again, languidly, savoring the last few moments before he has to leave. 

You don’t have his eidetic memory, but you memorize the feeling of his lips all the same. “Stay safe,” you whisper when he finally pulls back, feeling oddly sobered up now that the reality of him leaving you is more present, “Text me when you can.”

“I will, angel.” he gives you one last kiss on your forehead before he stands up, “Drink lots of water tomorrow, okay? I’ll see you soon.”

You nod, and stare at his retreating back with a sad smile, blinking away the tears when you hear your apartment door click into place, signaling his departure. You try to tell yourself you’re being silly. It’s been three dates and you’re already acting so clingy. You chalk it up to the alcohol, twisting your feelings. Earlier, it had made the world seem effervescent, but now that he’s left, it only exacerbates your loneliness.

Is this how it’s going to be when you date him? He’d laid it out quite clearly during your conversations, that sometimes they get pressing cases that require them to drop everything else.  You aren’t sure you’re prepared to have dates be interrupted with one phone call. Morning afters without him beside you. With a sigh, you sink into bed, eyes closed, and only the memory of his lips to tide you through the night.

[aziraphalecrowley-fell]

When Crowley woke from his nap (it really wasn’t my fault), we went to the park to feed the ducks.

It seems that some of the regulars have decided to opt for frozen peas instead of bread, and I definitely didn’t see Crowley smiling when he noticed.

[anthonyjcrowleyfell]

Angel! Let everyone know about our arrangement so you can’t conveniently forget about it when you think I’m being ridiculous.

[ineffableaddiction]

I interpret the coffee shop scene in S2 Ep 1 a bit differently than what I’ve read.

I don’t see jealousy at all.

This seems like a surprised reaction from Crowley. (Astonishment maybe?) Aziraphale got called out by Nina, and is clearly uncomfortable. Crowley could tell.

So later in their conversation, he teases Aziraphale, questioning why they aren’t in the bookshop.

But Crowley only wants to help Aziraphale. He knows the “something’s wrong” voice, is concerned and wants to find out what has upset Aziraphale.

When they go back to the bookshop, they’re in “us” mode, and Crowley casually holds the plate of eccles cakes while Aziraphale unlocks the shop. No signs of jealousy.

Once they enter the shop, Crowley tells Aziraphale that something a bit weird is going on with his old lot. No mention of a naked man. Our favorite demon is confused when Aziraphale says he might have an idea of what’s going in and calls for Jim.

Side note: How adorable is this? ❤️

I don’t think jealousy is even on the agenda. Aziraphale and Crowley know each other. They trust each other. It doesn’t even seem like it would cross either of their minds that anyone could interfere with the bond they have. Everyone else is in the periphery. It’s always just them. The group of the two of them.

[jo-speaks]

TESTING THE WATERS

✶ right place, right time masterlist ✶

overview: quinn's pre-game ritual with you takes a bit of a turn.

warnings: suggestive content, no smut but it's still spicy, hand worshiping (kinda?), itty bitty oral fixation, etc.

wc: 1.1k

note: yeah I got a little carried away. but i have to express my newly found love for his hands.

Are you coming over soon?” You spoke into the phone, sitting down at the island of your kitchen, leaning over to rest your chin on your forearms. “There’s a plate of pasta waiting for you.”

“Yeah, I’m pulling into your street now.”  Your phone was sitting down on the countertop, his voice making your phone shake a bit. “I’ll be up soon.”

When he hung up, your stomach filled with butterflies at his words. It wasn’t the first time he was coming over. Hell, he probably knew your apartment better than you did at this point. Yet, that initial excitement didn’t die down no matter the amount of times he came into your space.

The relationship between the two of you was still progressing slowly. A few coffee and bookshop dates here and there, you attending the occasional game wearing a hoodie that no one knew was his. But there was no label on it. No other label than friends. And you both were fine with that.

It wasn’t until you heard that familiar knocking pattern on your door that you snapped out of your thoughts. It was a pattern you both had come up with when you were going over to his after a night out at the bar. Four knocks, a pause, then three. You stood up, trying to calm your smile as you twisted the lock, revealing Quinn in his suit. 

His game tonight had completely slipped your mind as if it wasn’t the whole reason he was coming over in the first place. 

“Where’s my food?” 

You huffed, “Not a hi? How are you?”

Quinn laughed, walking past you as you exchanged smiles. As you closed the door, you could hear the familiar sound of paws hitting the wooden floors. 

“Hey, Chilli dog! How are you, sweet girl?” He cooed, leaning down to pet Chilli, messing her fur all over as she licked at his hands. 

You crossed your arms, “Seriously?” He turned around to see your straight face, a toothy grin coming up onto his face as he stood back up and made his way over to you. His arms wrapped around you as reciprocated it, basking in his clean scent. 

He pulled back, keeping his arms gently on your waist. Your breath hitched at the prolonged contact, your eyes looking up to meet his not doing anything to help. Thankfully, before it could get awkward, Chilli came in the space between you guys. You shared a laugh, pulling away from each other.

Walking to your stove, you scooped the pasta on the small plate you had already set out, wanting it to be warm by the time he arrived. Instead of sitting down, Quinn walked over to you, leaning over the counter next to you. You chuckled, grabbing a fork before setting it in front of him. 

“Are you not eating?” He questioned, not even looking at the plate. 

You shook your head softly, “I had some before you got here. Why?”

He shrugged his shoulders, picking up his fork and toying with his food. “I don’t like eating without you. Especially in front of you.” 

Now him FaceTiming you every time he ate made sense. 

“I mean, I can grab some yoghurt if it makes you feel more comfortable?” You offered, already making your way to your fridge to grab a yoghurt cup. 

Quinn turned to look at you, shaking his head rapidly, “No, no. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” It was the partial truth, he didn’t want to force you to do anything. But, he wouldn’t lie and say that his stomach didn’t flutter at your offer.

Grabbing a spoon, you lifted yourself up to sit on the countertop, the back of your thighs getting hit with a cold sensation as your shorts didn’t cover the skin. You peeled back the lid, digging into the vanilla flavoured treat. Quinn stabbed at his food, finally feeling like he could eat comfortably. You couldn’t help but notice the way his fingers gripped the fork, controlling it to get his serving, small pokes of his veins and bones peeking through his pale skin. You basked in each other's silence, the sound of chewing and swallowing filling the space of your kitchen. 

It wasn’t until you spilled a little bit of your yoghurt on your shirt that laughter broke the silence. 

“Did you forget how to eat?” Quinn teased, setting down his fork as he laughed.

You rolled your eyes playfully, your finger coming down to scoop it up and licking it off. Quinn’s mouth fell agape at the sight, shifting on his heels as he tried to control himself. He was getting worked up over the way your tongue casually came out to lick your fingertips, suckling gently to get it all off. 

Amidst his trance, he noticed that some of it still lingered on your face. You hadn’t seemed to notice, which caused his gaze to linger on your lips. When you felt his stare, you looked up, instinctively licking around to try and find what you had missed. “Is there something on my face?”

He nodded, “Yeah,” and before he could think, he was stopping your hand as it came up to wipe at your face. His grip was loose, but tight enough to keep it down. Bringing his right hand up, he slowly wiped his thumb across your lower cheek, gathering the remaining yoghurt. His gaze was focused on your lips, but yours was on his eyes, the way they were set focused on your mouth. Your mouth felt dry as your lips parted slightly, your breath hitching. 

Quinn looked at you, his green eyes now on you. No words were exchanged, only the soft sounds of your breath mixing together. His brain switched off, the consequences being the least of his worries. Neither of you could stop it, the way his thumb came up to your lips, splitting them further open before slipping into the warmth of your mouth. 

Instinctively, your tongue immediately swirled around the digit, sucking softly the way you had your own a few moments ago. The eye contact was never broken, the actions going straight to your core. 

He went to push further, wanting to watch you take his finger deeper. However, his plans were foiled when his phone began to ring, snapping you both out of your daze. Quinn pulled his finger back slowly, bringing that same hand to reach for his phone that rested in his back pocket. 

He simply held it, let it ring, as he kept looking at you. Surprisingly, it wasn’t a look of lust, but rather one of enlightenment. Like he just discovered a brand new side of you. 

And he had, but he wouldn’t find out just yet.

[sectumsempraaa]

Send Him My Regards

Pairing: fem!reader x idk they’re all in love with you LOL, but Draco's down bad

Summary: You aren’t one to provoke the aggressive nature of your closest friend group (a bunch of reckless Slytherin boys) but when the new hire at your favorite bookstore makes you uncomfortable, you’re forced to ask for their… “help.”

Word Count: 2.5k

Featuring: The whole damn crew. Draco, Theo, Mattheo, Pansy, Blaise, Lorenzo

TW: Implied non-consensual touching/comments, implied violence, panic/mental distress, cursing, disgustingly fluffy

Notes: This is based on something I recently experienced, as many of you have, too. I tried my best to convey my very real thoughts on this matter. Avoiding threatening men is a constant, everyday struggle. If you can relate, this is for you.

“Love, you already own every book in the world.” Draco proclaims, staggering behind you with his pack of Slytherin watch dogs.

Whenever you go anywhere as a group, they always let you lead so they can keep an eye on your surroundings. You think it’s silly, but it’s their thing, and you secretly appreciate the protection, so you let them be. It makes them feel important, and you find it endearing.

“I most certainly do not! Only like… two hundred.” You respond, muttering the number under your breath.

“Then I’ll buy you every book in the world. Must we come here every weekend?” he groans. Of course, Mattheo interrupts, shooting Draco a furrowed brow.

“Mate, for the love of god, either stop coming on these trips, or use some of that fancy cash you love to go on about to take us elsewhere. Pick one.” Mattheo sneers. Naturally, he’s carrying your bag and coat, making sure you never lift a finger. His response earns a smirk from you.

You’re not really listening though, more so taking in the beauty of Hogsmeade. You love escaping the castle for the little town on perfect, brisk days like this one, hitting everyone’s favorite shops and downing a couple of butterbeers.

The boys continue arguing in the background as you make your way down the cobblestone street, your hair blowing softly in the chill of the November breeze. Blaise and Theo share an eye roll with each other before coming to your side, leaving the two to bicker as they trail behind. Theo steps in, heaving a dramatic sigh and throwing an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to him. His words drip with that rich Italian accent.

“Ignore them, bella. We’ll wait for you outside.” You smile at him and he gives you a wink. A man of few words, but oozing with charm. He will occasionally act as a grounding force when the others get rowdy. You hear Draco drag on about how he “earned” his money or whatever.

“Oh wow, a real rags to riches story!” Mattheo shouts, lunging at Draco. You shake your head laughing with Blaise, sending you a look that reads as “I’ll take care of them.” You enter the bookshop, making the bell ring as the door opens.

The first thing you notice is the shiny new display of fantasy books you’ve been dying to get your hands on. You make your way towards it, not being able to contain the thrill on your face. You’ve been waiting for this series to restock and here they are, all of them, ready to be yours. You touch the smooth covers, tracing your fingers over the author’s name on each one.

The second thing you notice is… him. Your heart drops as your sheer excitement instantly morphs into dread.

Please, not again. 

The new hire at this bookstore has ruined the last couple of trips for you. You were hoping he would stop working weekends but… there he is. And he eyes you right away, like you’re on his radar.

The first time you came in, it was the comments. Calling you pet names, pointing out his favorite features on you, and it was relentless. You somehow got through it and attempted to shake it off, praying he would quit or just get fired before your next trip.

The second time, it was the touching. Brushing against your back when trying to “get through”, his hand grabbing your arm too tightly while he led you down an aisle. You tripped on your way out while trying to make a swift escape, and of course he was there to “catch you”, only giving him an excuse to grip both hands around your waist, hesitant to release you.

Your eyes go between the book display and his movements as he starts creeping his way out from behind the counter. You have to make a split-second decision to either stay and endure, or leave safely and empty handed. It pains you but your nerves heighten as he gets closer. Panic sets in as colors blur and sounds become muffled. Your brain and your body and your heart scream together in unison: “danger.”

You burst through the door back outside with a speed and force that could only be conjured by your anxiety. Facing the door, you stumble backwards and let out a gasp when you land in someone’s familiar arms. You recognize the brown suede material of Theo’s jacket as you attempt to catch your breath. It seems no amount of oxygen could suffice at the moment.

“Bella, bella, what’s wrong?” He asks urgently, hoisting you back up to your feet. The others notice the incident and immediately stride their way over. Draco, always leading the pack, puts his hands on your shoulders and lowers his eyes to your level.

“Hey, look at me,” he coos, forcing you out of your episode. He speaks with a tenderness that is almost heartbreaking. “What happened, love? Are you quite alright?”

There’s too many thoughts and feelings swimming around in your head to give an honest answer. Everything is moving in slow motion and you need time to regroup. Swallowing your fear, you decide to lie, at least for now. The last thing you want to do is impulsively encourage their hostility.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you respond, avoiding his gaze. He looks at you, deciding whether to believe you. “Really, I am.” You add. He glances down to your empty hands.

“You left without a book. You always buy a book.” He says, speaking with suspicion in his voice. The others stay back, knowing when to give Draco his space. They all adore you, but Draco would do things you’d rather not think about in order to keep you happy and safe. And he has. It’s been like this since you can remember. 

“Just didn’t have what I wanted, is all.” You explained. The doubt on his face is evident. He speaks just above a whisper.

“Y/N, you know we would take care of anyone that so much as breathes near you wrong, yeah? It’s important to me that you know this.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Mattheo ditching his cigarette and cracking his knuckles. You give a small nod and a shrug, releasing yourself from his hands and walking back in the direction of the castle. Your head is still reeling, but not enough to block out the boys’ debriefing behind you.

First, Mattheo. “She rarely ever gets like that.”

Then Theo. “Only when she panics.” And Blaise. “Her face was almost as pale as Malfoy’s.”

And Draco, but with a tinge of hurt in his voice. “She barely looked at me.” He glances in your direction, contemplating. “Give her time. We’ll look after her tonight. Someone tell Pansy.”

The rest you don’t hear, feeling embarrassment creeping in. You wish they’d just let it go and forget about it, cowering from the attention it’s bringing to you. Your pace quickens as the heat spreads across your cheeks, eager to be alone in your hideout at the castle.

Too focused on your path, you slam into someone’s chest as they’re coming out of the bakery you’re passing.

“Ugh, Lorenzo, I’m so sorry,” you say frantically, smoothing out his jacket and moving past him, never meeting his gaze. His face contorts with confusion and concern. He watches you take off then turns back to the group.

“Something off with that one...” The boys give him a knowing look.

“No shit, Berkshire.” Mattheo sneers.

—

After what felt like an eternity, you had reached the castle and darted to your hideout: a corner balcony high up in one of the towers facing the pitch. Leaning your elbows on the edge of the balcony, you watch the sun slowly descend into its eventual bed of twilight. Then, the spiraling begins.

Thinking back, you’ve never really dealt with something like this because of who your friends were. No one dared to even step too close to you, aware of what the consequences would be. But you weren’t on school grounds this time. You felt… unprepared. Lost. Violated. Guilty.

Does running away make me weak?

Why can’t I stand up for myself?

How did he gain control so quickly?

Did I ask for it? Did I do something wrong?

This is too much. It feels ridiculous and quite frankly enraging that you considered this being your fault. The stress is exhausting.

You let yourself relax, laying down on a stone bench and staring up at the black night sky. You start to mentally identify the stars in view, something Draco taught you to do when you’d get anxious. It always worked, as evident by the many hours you fell asleep. Upon awakening, you gasp as your watch reads 1AM.

You hear footsteps rustling around nearby, and echoing voices calling your name. Shit. They’re looking for me.

Sneaking around corners, you tiptoe around, trying not to get yourself noticed. Maybe, just maybe you can get back to the dungeons without getting caught. Until you hear the voice of your best friend, who admittedly, you could really use right now.

“Pans?” You whisper, catching a glimpse of her shadow down the corridor. Her head whips around before running to you urgently.

“Where the hell have you been?! The boys are going mad looking for-” She stops abruptly when you force yourself into her arms, hugging her tight and burying your face in her shoulder. Her tone softens to that of an older sister. “Oh, Y/N,” She rubs your back while your eyes well up.

“Fuck, Pans, I don’t know what to do.” You say through subtle sobs, holding back as much as you can for her sake. She looks at you with a questioning look before your words stumble out, caked in distress.

“There’s a boy at the bookstore, MY bookstore, and-and, and he’s there all the time now, following me around, and…”

“Y/N, calm down. You’re okay. It’s just me, sweetie.” She says, running a hand through your hair as her eyes shift to someone behind you; their voice deep, slow, and filled with angst.

“There’s… a… what?” He asks, the voice you recognize as Draco’s ringing off the walls. Mattheo, Theo, and Blaise walk into frame behind him when they realize he found you. The sight of them strikes you; your fiercely loyal group of friends that would go to the ends of the earth for you. To your surprise, you are relieved to see them.

But their anger is palpable. Draco’s jaws clenched tight. Theo’s heavy eyes claiming the darkness. Blaise’s hands rolled into fists. Lorenzo steps forward, eyes soft, holding out a gentle hand. 

“Let’s get you to the common room, and you can tell us-” he turns to the other boys before emphasizing his next words, “-what you’re comfortable with, if you want to talk at all.”

You nod in agreement, taking his hand while Pansy takes your other one. In your head, you’re thanking whatever higher power put Lorenzo on this planet. The voice of reason amidst all chaos.

—

It’s nearly 2AM now. You’re sat on the common room couch in front of the blazing fireplace under a mess of blankets, warming up after your frigid nap. Theo on your left, Lorenzo on your right holding your tea, Draco and Mattheo sitting on the coffee table facing you, with Blaise and Pansy on the floor. All with mixed looks of curiosity, empathy, and sheer rage.

After thinking it over, you decided to prioritize yourself for once. A lot of people don’t realize how hard a decision that can be. This is a risky favor to ask for. But there’s only a couple truly precious things in the world you can’t live without, and this is one of them. You want your fucking bookstore back.

So, you tell them. Everything.

As you recall the events of the last few weeks, you feel the air become tense. Blaise looks like he’s about to combust. Theo reaches for your hand, letting you fiddle with the bracelet on his wrist. You hear Pansy call this boy every name in the book under her breath, your favorite being “bastardly filth”. Draco and Mattheo listen, periodically looking at each other with knowing stares, having their own wordless conversation. You know those looks. Plotting looks.

When you finish, you’re briefly met with silence, temporarily paralyzing you. Do they believe me?

You break the stillness. “I suppose I’m making a big deal out of something quite trivial.” You say to them, diminishing your story, and for what?

Mattheo stands up, ushering Blaise and Pansy out of the way as he kneels in front of you. He rests a comforting hand on your knee, his eyes glowing with brutal honesty.

“It’s really very simple, little dove. You’re in danger, we take down the threat. I can assure you we all agree that your safety is anything but trivial.” He states. He gives your knee a squeeze. “Gonna be honest though, Y/N. It’s going to be ugly for him when he meets us.”

You look up to Draco, who’s been oddly quiet since you all got back. You hold his gaze as you respond.

“Good. Send him my regards.” You reply, earning a wicked grin from him, his eyes suddenly crinkled and brimming with pride. Everyone shifts a bit in their seats, wrapping up the late night discussion.

Draco strides over to you, taking the teacup from your hands and setting it down on a side table. He looks so handsome like this, facing you on the couch with his hair disheveled and the top of his shirt buttons undone. The glow from the fire accenting his features, so sharp yet yearning for sleep. He takes your face in his warm hands.

“I need you to hear me right now. Listening?” he asks. You give an unconvincing nod as his thumb caresses your cheek. Yes, but damn you make it hard to.

His stare intensifies, pulling you from your trance and forcing you to dial in to his statement.

“Never feel bad for wanting them to pay for the pain and discomfort they inflict on you. Their reasons were senseless, yours are justified.”

For the first time tonight, just for a moment, you feel sure of yourself. You wrap your arms around him, pulling yourself closer, his body becoming your safe haven. His hands nestle you to his chest as you feel him place a kiss on the top of your head.

He loves you and you know it. He’ll wait for this to pass, for things to be right. He’ll wait for you to feel whole and secure again. And he’ll do whatever it takes to help you get you there, even if that means giving you space.

As Pansy sees the two of you off to bed, you repeat his sentiment to her. “My god, that bloody boy is down bad, and I mean bad, for you Y/N.”

Ascending the staircase to your dorm, you faintly hear Draco informing the boys of the plan.

“Tomorrow. Noon.” He demands. The boys nod. He pauses before adding another instruction.

“Oh, and we’re gonna need a bag. We’ve got books to bring home.”

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

[hockey-for-hotties]

book club ⎜ q.hughes

pairings: quinn hughes x afab!midsized reader ⎜ genre: fluff ⎜hurt/comfort ⎜mental illness rep ⎜ warnings: depictions of a panic attack ⎜ nothing much tbh ⎜ synopsis: you never expected to see the captain of the Vancouver Canucks in your small bookshop - and you definitely didn't expect him to keep coming back. word count: 5.8k authors note:  this is a re-edit of an old work! I hope everyone enjoys it. (UNEDITED)

“Is there anything I can help you with today or are you just browsing?” You question, your head barely raising from the paperback book sitting in your lap - your fingers already gripping the corner of the page preparing to turn it - as the soft chime of the store, front door opening and closing distracts you. 

The man standing in the doorway looks entirely out of place, his wet hair pushed back and underneath the pulled-up hood of his jumper, the oversized hoodie swallowing up his frame, not at all helped by his baggy jeans and thick-soled sneakers. He blinks for a moment, your book forgotten as you stare up at him from your stool with a raised brow, his hands making quick work of pushing the hood off his head and clearing his throat - the slight curl to the ends of his dark brown hair, bouncing as he takes a few steps forwards, his blue-green eyes taking in your store. 

“Uh, just browsing.” He says with a sheepish grin, his voice is quiet but deep, a scratchy baritone as you nod in response. 

“Okay, well let me know if you’re looking for anything in particular.” You mumble but he’s already moved off down one of the aisles, the scent of the rain on his clothes mixing with the cinnamon apple pie candle you have burning on the window sill. Your book sits still in your lap as you watch the man wander around the store, his fingers grazing the spines of books, glancing over the back and front before sliding it back onto the shelf. You shake yourself out of your daze, returning to your book but you can’t help the way your eyes wander, searching him out as he stares particularly long at one of the classics. 

“Do you happen to have any recommendations? Something that I’m not going to embarrass myself by trying to read?” He shifts his gaze to meet yours, sliding the heavy classic back onto the shelf with a soft thump, a soft tinge of pink to his cheeks as you place your paperback on the counter, sliding off the stool making your way over to him, your shirt sashaying at your feet. 

“I’ve got a few ideas, are looking for something fictional or non-fiction?” You respond, waiting for his soft response of ‘fiction’ before tiptoeing down the aisles, the man slowly follows behind you watching as you stop a few times as you pass a particular book that catches your eye, before shaking your head and continuing further down. “Do you want something more contemporary or fantasy-esque?” You ask again, your feet stopping suddenly, the man almost having to jump out of the way to avoid running into your back. 

“Contemporary?” He questions quietly, “I’m still pretty new to reading, I’m not really sure what that means.” 

“Contemporary is more like fiction but set in modern society - you know like fiction but still in normal life.” You explain softly, tilting your head as your explanation confuses even yourself. “You know what, never mind, would you like me to pick something random or do you have an idea of what you’re looking for?” 

“Random - I need a nice break from reality.” He says with a soft chuckle at the end, his hand raising to rub awkwardly at the base of his neck, his wet curls bouncing before he pulls his hand away, tucking it into the pocket of his hoodie. “Just whatever you think is good.” He corrects himself. 

“Look I get it,” You say shooting him a smile before hurrying off in another direction, the man taking long steps to keep up with you, “We all need a break sometimes.” You add as you stop suddenly again, browsing the shelf quickly before grinning and pulling the tall paperback off the shelf, turning to hand it to him. 

“This is usually a good one to start with, Freida McFadden is easy to read, you’ll be flying through it.” You say quickly, passing the book over as he looks over the cover, his eyebrows raising at the synopsis on the back, “I hope you don’t get spooked easily.” You grimaced a little, maybe a thriller wasn’t a good place to start. 

“Sounds…” He pauses for a moment, “Interesting.” He brings the books closer, almost tucking it against his chest as he nods with gratitude, following you over to the front counter, only allowing you to take the book to scan it before he quickly tucks it back against his chest. 

He slides his card out of his wallet as you boot up your machine, the name on the edge of the plastic catching your attention, your heart dropping into your stomach as you read it three times over. 

Quinn Hughes. 

Like Quinn Hughes, captain of the Vancouver Canucks, Quinn Hughes. 

It clicks, the images strewn across the sides of the Rodgers arena flashing through your head as you take in the quiet, unassuming guy standing in front of you, waiting to purchase your book recommendation, from your little bookstore. 

The god of the city is literally standing two meters away from you. 

“Would you like a bag for that, or are you just going to carry it?” You manage to get out through the lump stuck in the back of your throat - you’re speaking to Vancouver royalty right now and you can’t even make eye contact with him. 

“Uh, I’ll just carry it.” He says, glancing down at the book safely tucked against his chest before shooting you a timid smile, “What are your opening hours?” He asks quickly, his eyes finally leaving your face as he glances around the shop, a soft smile on his face. 

“Oh, uh usually between ten am and ten pm, give or take.” You say quietly, trying to avoid making direct eye contact with him as you try to keep your body language neutral, “It’s just me here, so the hours can vary sometimes.” You explain further, Quinn nodding quickly in understanding, before mumbling a quiet goodbye, tucking his new book under his hoodie before braving the slowly worsening thunderstorm outside. 

You watch as he hurries away, the thought slapping you across the face as you let out a low groan, “Fuck, I should’ve gotten his autograph.” 

+

+

The next few days pass agonisingly slow, every time the small chime of the door opening rings through the shop, your head shoots up, hoping to catch a glimpse of the disheveled but handsome hockey captain again - much to your disappointment, but you don’t see him, only catching glimpses of him on the small screen of your laptop as you watch the latest hockey match and making small talk with some passing fans who purchase books. 

“I wish I got his autograph.” You grumble to yourself as you watch your twelfth customer for the day leave, her boyfriend trudging behind her with a bag full of the newest romance novels - You take a long sip of the overly hot, hot chocolate you had bought on your lunch break, the chocolaty goodness soothing any third degree burns the drink inflicts as you re-open your newest book on the counter, preparing your sticky tabs and highlighter before skimming the pages, your mind already drifting off to your missed opportunity. 

You never assumed - when opening your bookstore - that it would do as well as it had recently, your shelves always demanding to be restocked, books flying from your shelves on release days, your laptop burning up from constantly having to play the latest book reviews so you can keep up to date with recommendations. You most recent read, a recommendation from a friend - the romance featuring a stranded girl on a new planet and an oversized blue man who finds her. 

The words finally seem to capture your interest as the bell above the door chimes as it swings open, a soft shuffle of shoes alerting you to a new customer, your focus barely fleeting to them as you ask your normal catchphrase. “Is there anything I can help you with today or are you just browsing?” The words come out from instinct as you flick to the next page in your book. 

“I was kind of hoping for another recommendation?” The soft, baritone voice seeps into your bones as your head shoots up, your book already long forgotten as you wobble on the stool, Quinn taking a step forward his hands out as if reaching to steady you as you grip the counter for dear life shooting him a composed smile, or at least you hope it’s composed. 

“All good.” You reassure him as you swipe at the skirt over your legs, hoping the burning of your cheeks isn’t as obvious as you think it is. “Welcome back, did you hate it or love it?” You ask, slowly closing your book before catching sight of the cover and wishing you could throw it across the room and into the trash - you keep your eyes on him as you slowly slide it under the counter, clearing your throat once more as your cheeks burn hotter. 

“It was unexpectedly good - I’ve never read a thriller before.” He says quickly, his eyes catching on the highlighter and sticky tabs on your counter, before moving back up to your face - though you can tell his attention is still on your annotating supplies on the counter. 

“Well, there’s plenty more where that came from, so are looking for something similar today or something different?” You say, slowly sliding off your stool to prepare yourself to hunt for a new book, your eyebrows raising when he doesn’t respond, his gaze fixated on your rainbow sticky notes. 

“Oh, um, maybe something different, sorry I just— what are those?” He stumbles to get out, a soft laugh leaving you as you point to the sticky tabs his head nodding in confirmation. 

“They’re just for when I annotate or make notes in a book - you place the different colour tab next to whatever you’re noting, I colour code mine for different things.” You say, his head nodding along but he still looks lost as you slide them across the counter so he can get a closer look. “They’re like post-it notes, but I use them to mark a line or paragraph in a book that stands out to me, whether it be sad or funny or just well written.” 

“Like for things you want to remember?” He asks, and you nod. 

“Exactly like that, everyone uses them differently though, you should give it a try next time.” He places the sticky tabs back on the counter before refocusing his gaze on you, seemingly content with your explanation of the object. “So you want something different this time? What kind of different?”  You ask, easily steering the conversation back in the direction you want, hoping to god he doesn’t ask what book you’re currently using almost all of your different blue tabs for. 

“I don’t really know, I liked the thriller but want something less - realistic?” 

“Okay, like the hungers games fantasy or more like lord of the rings fantasy?” You question - not having the energy to explain the difference between dystopian, and sci-fi, and fantasy right now, but judging by Quinn’s current confusion your probably made the right call. 

“I’m going to be completely honest, I haven’t read either.” He says, your mouth falling open a little as you ask, 

“You’ve watched the movies though right?” He shakes his head quickly, the same nervous smile you saw a few days ago spreading across his face - his blue-green eyes glinting as your mouth falls further open, you barely wait for him to follow behind you as you race through the stacks of books, seeking out the small paperback in the young adult section, the black cover easy to spot as you pull it off the shelf, standing and spinning quickly, the flash of royal blue hoodie catching you by surprise. 

“Oh, sorry.” You apologise quickly, as Quinn grabs hold of your arm to steady you as you stumble backward a little. “So I assume you’ve heard the premise of the Hunger Games?” You ask quickly offering the book out to him to take. He nods slowly, an amused smile on his face. 

“Kids killing each other for entertainment?” He says, more of a question than an answer. 

“Pretty much the main selling point, but I like to think it’s more about how the everyday person can change the world.” Quinn’s eyes widen at your explanation, taking a second glance down at the book in his hands, skimming over the synopsis on the back. 

“Well, consider me sold.” He says, following you back to the counter, the deja vu hitting hard as you turn to face him, his protectiveness over his newest acquisition brings back fond memories of how he had protected his last purchase from the torrential downpour last time he was in - he slide the book over to you so you can scan it before pulling it back towards him. 

“Is there any way I can put a hold on the next one? Just in case I love it and need to come by on short notice?” Quinn asks as you ring him up, tapping his card absentmindedly as he watches you move behind the counter, gathering up his receipt as you type quickly on your computer. 

“We do have the whole series in stock and I don’t normally do holds…” You start, watching as his face falls slightly,  “But for my newest Hunger Games book club member I just might be able to keep a copy behind the counter?” You say quickly, “Besides you will definitely need to drop by on short notice.” You send him a quick wink, immediately wishing you’d done no such thing as he lets out a gruff chuckle, nodding with anticipation. 

“I hope I do.” He says quickly, bidding you a quick goodbye before shuffling back out of the store, already flicking through the pages of the book as he walks past the shop windows, and down the street. 

You realised then that you still didn’t get his autograph. 

+

+

Four days passed by quickly, the store constantly busting with customers most leaving with a book or two or sharing one of their own recommendations, or a quick chat about their latest read and how they were so glad the shop had been thriving in the neighbourhood. As the city settled into winter, the cold air burning against people's cheeks as they walked past the store, your small shop felt cosier than ever, often welcoming people who wanted to escape the chill of winter. But even as you chatted with regulars and recommended your favourite books to curious new visitors, you found yourself glancing toward the door more often than you’d like to admit - he still hadn’t come back for the second book, the one you had kept tucked under your till on the off chance he would return for it - to be honest you had shoved the whole series under there just in case. 

It wasn’t until a week later that the bell rang, and your head shot up to find him standing in the doorway again. Quinn was wearing another hoodie, this one deep navy, with a beanie pulled over his dark hair. His cheeks were tinged pink from the cold, and he held a steaming coffee cup in one hand.

“Oh fancy seeing you back here.” You coo as he wipes his feet off on your new entrance matt by the door, the snow starting to fall leading to muddy boots all over your clean hardwood floors. “Finally come back to compliment me on my impeccable taste?” You continue to tease, your heart stuttering a Quinn shoots you a lazy smile, his eyes rolling as he steps towards the counter sliding the coffee cup across to you. 

“I was just passing through and thought I should bring you a gift, extra hot, hot chocolate - the guy down at the coffee shop said this was your favourite.” Quinn says, watching as your eyes widen a little, before looking down at the writing along the side of the cup, it was, in fact, an extra hot, hot chocolate just like you liked it. “I wanted to say thanks, for the last two recommendations, I’ve never been this excited to read before.” Your cheeks warmed at the gratitude, and you busied yourself tidying the counter to hide your reaction.

“Well as promised, book two is ready to go.” You say as you clear your throat, sliding catching fire out from its hiding spot and sliding it across the counter from you, but Quinn’s gaze is already focused on your latest read, tucked away next to the till. 

“That looks interesting.” He says as he reaches for it, pulling it off the counter before you get a chance to be embarrassed, “Is it a romance?” He questions flicking over the synopsis before turning to glance at the cover, the illustrated image of a hockey player raising Quinn’s brows - you can almost see the panic flicker through his eyes, the same panic that rushes into your stomach as you reach to pull the book from his grasp. 

“So the guy is a hockey player?” Quinn questions as he places his coffee on the counter, flicking through the pages. “Do you um… do you watch hockey?”

“Kind of?” You respond, your shoulders sagging as you watch his face fall slightly, “I mean we’re in Vancouver so it’s kind of hard to avoid sometimes, the games literally play on almost every TV in the city most nights.” You let out a soft laugh before placing your next book for him on the counter. 

“So you know who I am?” Quinn’s question sends a pang to your chest, his earlier friendliness seeming to fall away. 

“It’s kind of hard not to when the Rodgers arena is across the water and your face is literally plastered to the side of it.” You cringe, the words coming out before you can stop them, “I’m sorry I didn’t mention it sooner, I just thought you weren’t making it clear who you were so you clearly didn’t want to be bothered about it.” You try to explain your way but can’t help the way your face scrunches as the words settle between the two of you - maybe you should’ve been honest from the get-go, but maybe that would mean he never would’ve come back. 

“Is there any chance we can start this over?” You ask quietly, Quinn's eyes meeting yours as he nods. “Okay, wait give me a second.” You say quickly, turning to face the back wall, and taking a deep breath before turning around to face him again. 

“Oh my god!” You squeal a little, clasping your hands together in feigned excitement, “Are you the Quinn Hughes, captain of the Vancouver Canucks and winner of the Norris trophy?” You exclaim, fanning at your face as a smile blooms on his face. “I never thought that there would be a celebrity in my little corner of the world.” You continue, laughing a little as Quinn shakes his head at your antics. 

“Okay, Okay I get what you’re trying to do.” He says through a soft laugh, his hands reaching out to pull your hands back down to the counter, his skin warm against yours, his hands lingering for just a moment longer then necessary before he pulls away. 

“You looked like you needed some peace, and this store always gives me a little sense of calm so I thought it might be for you too.” You say softly, nudging the book closer towards him as you send him an apologetic smile, “Consider this one on the house, as an apology for not being honest.” You say quickly, watching as Quinn’s jaw tightens a little a bit of his disappointment seeming to fade as he picks up the book and tucks it into his coat, tapping it to make sure it’s safely hidden away before he locks his gaze with yours. 

“I wasn’t just passing through today...” Quinn says, his voice barely above a whisper as he shoves his hands into his pocket, hesitating for a moment before saying, “I was planning on coming to see you.” 

“Oh, well I’m glad you did - even if things got a bit awkward.” You say, your sentence trailing off a little towards the end, the back of your neck heating up. 

“Yeah, I’m glad I came too…” He starts, glancing around the store before adding, “Even if things got a bit awkward.” He follows it with a soft chuckle, the gentle sound lifting the weight from your chest. He glances up at the clock behind you, frowning a little before saying, “I should probably head off, we have a game tonight.” The obvious mention of Hockey flutters the butterflies in your stomach, he was making it clear it didn’t bother him that you knew. 

“I’ll see you around?” He asks softly as he makes his way to the door, the book tucked safely in his coat, the offering of hot chocolate still steaming in front of you. 

“Of course—” You breathe out, “You know where to find me.” You mention, and Quinn just nods, letting out another laugh with a soft shake of his head before he leaves the store, shuffling his way down the street as you let out a long sigh — the shop is instantly quieter than before, the soft hum of your heater the only thing keeping your company, as you glance over at the book besides the till with a glare — but your hand still tingles from where he touched you, the way he had looked at you like you were more than just someone he passes by in his day to day life. 

+

+

The following week unfolds in much the same way—quiet mornings, steady afternoons, and the comforting routine of recommending books to customers. But every time the bell above the door rings, a small part of you hopes it’s him again. On a slow Thursday evening, as the rain drums steadily against the windows, the bell chimes, and there he is — Quinn — looking like a drowned rat and undeniably shaken. 

“You’re becoming a regular,” you tease but the smile fades from your face as you take in his expression. His eyes are wide and darting, his chest rising and falling with quick, uneven breaths. Quinn looks like he’s barely holding himself together.

“Quinn?” you ask softly, concern replacing the lighthearted tone in your voice. You step out from behind the counter, keeping your movements slow and unthreatening, giving him time to retreat if that’s what he decides. 

“Hey, Quinn, are you okay?” He doesn’t answer you straight away, his body frozen as he glances around the store one more time, his hand running through his dripping hair before settling on you, your steps paused as you wait for him to respond, “I— I just…” He trails off, pressing a hand to his chest as if trying to physically hold himself together. “I needed to be somewhere…safe.” The weight of his words hits you, and your heart clenches. 

You scan the store, your last customer had been hours ago, and the later in the night it had gotten you had given up on pretending to be open - the lights were dimmed to a soft orange glow, the warm air seeping from the heater, your candle burning on the counter top. If he thinks of this place as safe, then you’ll do everything you can to keep it that way.

“Okay, that okay.” You say gently, trying not to sound condescending but not wanting to spook him, “you’re safe here Quinn.” You reiterate, glancing over at the large arm chair in the corner by the counter, drawing Quinn’s attention to it before asking, “Do you want to sit down, you’re looking a little pale?” He nods, but his movements are stiff and jerky, like his body isn’t quite obeying him.

 “I don’t know if I can.” He says softly. 

You nod, taking a few more steps forward, gently reaching your hands out to take hold of his - your palms slipping together as you start to walk backward, “I’ve got you, Quinn.” You guide him to the little seating nook by the fiction section, the one with the oversized armchair and the weighted knit throw you brought in a few days ago, after ending up stuck in the store with a lack of heater and freezing temperatures outside. “Here,” you say, draping the blanket over him once he sinks into the chair. His hands clutch the edges of the armrests, knuckles white. “Just breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth. You don’t have to talk right now if you don’t want to.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, his breaths still coming too fast and shallow. Then, after what feels like an eternity, he manages a shaky inhale, following it with a slow, uneven exhale, his shoulders slumping forward as his eyes meet yours, and there’s a flicker of gratitude in them. “I’m sorry.” His voice is raw when he speaks, unable to push the words past his throat with the effort needed, his body slumping further into the chair, “I didn’t mean to barge in like this.” 

“Please don’t apologise, Quinn,” you say firmly, pulling up a stool so you’re sitting at his level, your hands gently placed on his knees in reassurance. “Everyone needs a place to land sometimes.” Quinn nods slightly, and his breathing starts to even out, though his hands are still trembling. 

“You want some tea?” you offer, keeping your tone light and warm. “Or maybe something stronger, if you’re in the mood for the questionable bottle of wine I keep in the back for emergencies.” That earns you a faint, fleeting smile. 

“Tea sounds good,” he says, his voice steadier now. You stand slowly, tugging the blanket further up his lap before shuffling to the back of the store and through the closed door that leads to your small break room, making quick work of the tea as you let out a long sigh, whatever had Quinn in such a panic, you were glad it lead him here. 

Because for now, he’s here, and he’s safe. And that’s enough. 

You return with a steaming cup of chamomile tea, the kind you save for late nights when the world feels too heavy. He takes it with a murmured “thanks,” his fingers still a little unsteady as they curl around the mug. You sit back down, scooting your stool a little further away from the armchair, close enough to offer reassurance but far enough to give him space.

For a while, neither of you speaks. The rain fills the silence, a soft, rhythmic backdrop. Quinn takes small sips of the tea, the warmth of the drink seeming to help him settle. His shoulders relax a fraction more, though the haunted look in his eyes hasn’t entirely faded. Quinn moves quickly, quicker than you thought he could as he grabs hold of the leg of your stool, dragging it until it hits the side of the armchair, your arm pressed against his as he settles back into drinking his tea, seemingly pleased with the small amount of contact he now has. 

Finally, after draining his mug, he breaks the silence. “I… I don’t usually get like this,” he says, his voice low and hesitant. He stares into the tea like it might hold the answers he’s searching for. “It’s just been… a lot lately.” You nod, not pushing him to say more. 

“Sometimes it builds up,” you say softly. “And then it feels like there’s no room left to hold it all.” He looks at you, his gaze piercing despite the exhaustion in it. 

“Exactly,” he says, almost surprised that you get it.

You shrug, offering a small, understanding smile. “I think everyone’s been there in one way or another. It doesn’t make it any less hard, though.”

Quinn exhales shakily and leans back in the chair, the mug cradled in his hands. “I didn’t know where else to go,” he admits. “I was just… walking, and then I thought of this place.” The vulnerability in his words tugs at something deep inside you. 

“I’m glad you came, Quinn,” you say honestly. “You don’t have to explain and whatever’s going on, you’re welcome here...anytime.” For the first time since he walked in, the tension in his jaw eases. He nods, his lips pressing into a faint, almost smile. Quinn sits for a while, a long while, watching as you leave him momentarily to help a late-night customer before you close up the store, flipping the small open sign and locking the front door before returning to his side, pleased to see a little more colour in his face. 

The rain eventually softens to a light sprinkle, and the evening deepens into night, he looks at you again to find you already staring at him from your spot in front of the bookshelves, “I should probably head out,” he says, though he doesn’t seem entirely ready to leave.

“Only if you’re feeling up to it,” you reply. “There’s no rush.”

He hesitates, then nods. “I’ll be okay. Thanks for… everything. For not making it weird.”

“Nothing about it is weird, Quinn — it’s a normal human reaction to being overwhelmed.”  Quinn’s smile this time is real, small but genuine. He sets the mug down and pulls his jacket tighter around himself. Before he steps out into the damp night, he pauses.

“Seriously, though, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you say “you know where to find me if you need some company,” you add, and with that, he slips out into the night, the bell above the door chiming softly behind him. You watch him go, watching him walk down the street until he slips into a black car at the end, nothing moving for a while, the world seeming locked in place until the headlight of his car turn on and he pulls out and down the street. 

+

+

Your head shoots up at the familiar chime of the bell, your catch phrase ready on your tongue but it all disappears at the sight of Quinn standing in the entryway with an oversized bouquet of flowers, his cheeks a bright pink as he glances towards you nervously. 

“Well, Well, Well, look at what the cat dragged in.” You coo at him as he stalks towards the counter, you close your book dropping it on the wood surface before shooting him a bright smile, “if it isn’t my new favourite regular.” 

“New favourite?” He asks questioningly, a frown on his face for a moment as he asks, “Was your old favourite the barista from down the road? He did seem to have a bit of a crush on you.” You roll your eyes at his comment, hoping he was only joking as you motion towards the bouquet. 

“What are those?” 

“Oh, they’re for you.” He says softly, handing over the sunflowers wrapped in craft paper with twine holding it all together, his hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck as you take the flowers from him. “They reminded me of you, and felt like a good way to thank you for everything.” He explains, clearing his throat as you reach out a finger to gently stroke the soft yellow petals. 

“They’re beautiful, Quinn.” You say, whisking the flowers over to the counter and dropping into a squat to look for the white vase you keep here in case your shipments of new releases come with decorations. “Thank you for this but you didn’t have to.” You say softly, placing the vase on the counter and reaching for your scissors to release the bundle. 

“There was also one more thing I wanted to talk to you about…” He begins, his hands trembling a little as he moves to tuck them into his coat pockets, his tongue dipping out to wet his lips as you rearrange the flowers in the vase patiently waiting for him to continue, “My team is having this skating event in a few weeks and I was wondering whether you might want to come?” His cheeks burn red as he watches your mouth fall open in surprise. 

“Like just as friends or—” 

“Like as a date?” Quinn interrupts, cursing himself in his head for being so rude, his eyes meeting yours as they light up with the smile blooming on your face. “Maybe we’re not at that stage yet, but I think you’re really cool and kind and like really pret— anyway I just thought there is no harm in asking.” He cuts off his rambling with a soft shrug, but his eyes dart over your face, measuring every small flicker of emotion he can. 

“I’d love to, Quinn.” You say quickly, stopping his shame spiral, “But I do have to warn you that I’m a pretty good skater, so don’t think you can impress me without any effort.” You chuckle, a smile finally lifting Quinn’s lips as he nods. 

“I’m sure I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve to woo you.” He murmurs. 

“Good,” you tease, leaning slightly closer, your voice soft. “I can’t wait to see them.” Quinn swallows hard, his cheeks still pink as he nods again, his confidence growing with your encouragement.

“You might regret saying that,” he says with a small smirk. “I’ve been skating since I could walk, you know. People say I’m one of the best in the NHL”

“Oh, is that bragging I hear?” You snark back, setting the flowers on the window sill as you turn towards him with your arms crossed over your chest, “Is that a challenge, Quinn?” you ask, arching an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” he replies, his smirk turning into a full grin now. “Guess you’ll have to show up to find out.”

“Oh, trust me I’ll be there,” you assure him, the excitement bubbling in your chest evident in your tone. “And don’t think I’ll go easy on you just because you’re supposed to be a ‘professional.’”

Quinn chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck as his nerves fade into pure anticipation. “Deal. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when you’re struggling to keep up.”

“Those are fighting words, Hughes,” you fire back playfully. “I’ll see you on the ice.”

As you part ways, you can’t help but feel a rush of giddy energy. The thought of skating with him, of sharing a slice of his world, fills you with both nerves and excitement.