Chapter Text
Fifth floor. That’s what the librarian had said. As Simon trudged slowly up the stairs, rucksack slung over one shoulder, scowling at the hastily scribbled note he clutched in his hand, he wondered why they’d made the decision to move all of the medical reference books to the top floor over the summer. He wouldn’t be as bothered if they’d also managed to fix the broken lift, but the “out of order” sign had been up since he started at the university two years ago, and it showed no signs of being worked on any time soon.
The stairwell was wide and empty, the shrieks of excited students and the buzz of the coffee machine echoing up from the café on the ground floor. With every floor he passed, the noise receded a little bit more, until he reached the relative quiet of the fifth floor. Simon preferred it up here anyway, away from the bright lights and the hustle and bustle of the students below. He studied up here a lot during his first year, finding it too difficult to focus in his cramped room in halls.
Resting one hand on the door, he paused momentarily to double-check his note—no point trekking to the other end of the floor if he was in the wrong place—then pushed it open and stepped into the hushed silence of the collection, closing the door gently behind him.
Directly in front of him, between him and the books, there was a small study area where several students sat at low desks, tapping away at laptops and frantically flipping through the pages of their textbooks. Simon could tell from the dark circles under most of their eyes that, like him, these weren’t first-year students. One person was fast asleep, using his notes as a pillow and drooling slightly onto the paper. Another had their forehead pressed to the window, gazing down on the frenetic London street below as if he could will himself into the path of the traffic, the rush and roar of which was silenced by the thick glass. A couple sat side-by-side, the girl apparently on the verge of tears as she ripped a pastel purple Post-it note off her laptop and crumpled it in her fist. Beside her was what Simon assumed to be her indifferent boyfriend, one of his feet resting on her chair, watching a video on his phone and intermittently tossing popcorn into the air so he could catch it in his mouth. He kept missing. Nobody noticed Simon slip inside.
Leaving the study area behind him, he started to make his way through the rows of shelves, pausing every few steps to glance at the signs that hung over the aisles, where numbers and letters marked each section. Philosophy, geometry…none of this was right. The medical books must be right at the back. Soon, he was surrounded on all sides by high shelves, the carpet underfoot dampening his footsteps as he searched. It was gloomy back here, the dim fluorescent lights making it harder to see the tiny lettering on the signs. Simon took a left turn down an aisle that looked promising, only to realize he was in the wrong section once again—and that’s when he heard it, a noise from the next aisle over—a sort of muffled grunt. He paused. More noises; another grunt, this time followed by the sound of fabric on fabric, and a stifled giggle.
Crouching a little to peer through the rows of books that separated him from the next aisle, Simon managed to catch a glimpse of movement, a mop of dark brown hair, and a pair of broad shoulders. He couldn’t see much else—the shelves were too close together and it was too gloomy back here—but he knew what was happening. At least someone’s enjoying themselves, Simon thought irritably. He needed that book, and a pair of idiots having a lunchtime fumble weren’t about to get in his way.
Stepping into the next aisle, Simon cleared his throat, and the two entangled figures on the floor sprung apart with a yelp of surprise.
“Jesus Christ, what’re you doing sneaking up on people like that?” said the owner of the mop of brown hair. He had a thick Scottish accent, his cheeks were flushed pink, and his t-shirt was rucked up over his muscular stomach, but he didn’t look particularly bothered by Simon’s presence. Beside him, another young man, this one with a shock of red hair, was hastily re-buttoning his shirt with one hand while the other grabbed frantically at the dozen or so textbooks that were strewn across the floor.
Simon scowled and pointed toward the shelf directly behind them. “You’re in the way.”
“I told you this was a bad idea,” the red-haired man hissed as he struggled upright with an air of deep embarrassment. He’d only managed to fasten one button, and he was pointedly refusing to meet Simon’s gaze.
“Don’t think I saw him complaining about the free peepshow,” the Scottish one said, springing to his feet with a grin and pushing his hair out of his mischievous blue eyes as he fixed them on Simon’s steady brown ones. “Although he arrived a little early for the main event.” Simon got the distinct impression that he was trying to charm his way out of the situation. It wasn’t working.
“Move,” he said with a tilt of his head.
“Fine, fine, I’m movin’,” the Scottish one said, his hands raised above his head as he stepped to one side.
Simon pushed between them and started scanning the spines of the books in front of him. The faster he could find what he needed and get out of there, the better.
“Medicine, eh? You must be really smart to study that.”
“Smarter than you,” muttered the red-haired man as he dropped another book.
“I’m John, by the way. MacTavish,” the Scottish voice said. Out of the corner of his eye, Simon could see him ruffling his hair again. “And this is Oliver.”
“Okay,” said Simon disinterestedly. He’d found the right book, and he pulled it quickly from the shelf and began flicking through the pages to find the chapter he needed.
“I’m going to get a coffee,” said the red-haired young man with a sigh. “Are you coming?”
“Nah. I’ve got reading to do, remember?” John said. Simon noted that he didn’t have a single book on him, or even a bag to carry them in.
“Fine,” Oliver replied. “I’ll see you tonight though, yeah?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there,” John replied with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“Don’t get distracted,” said Oliver, glancing at Simon. “If you come to class later without doing the reading again—well, I’m not saving you this time. If you get picked on you’ll have to come up with your own answer.”
“I said I’ll do it, Ol. Will you stop worrying?”
“I’ll stop worrying when you start reading.”
Simon gritted his teeth. He didn’t come to the library to be trapped between two bickering lovers. And he couldn’t find the chapter he needed with their incessant chat going on around him.
“Do you two mind?” he asked bitterly.
“Just go, okay?” John said to Oliver.
“Fine. Sorry about the, erm—” Oliver gestured at the floor.
“Don’t,” said Simon with a shake of his head. “It really doesn’t matter.”
“Okay,” the red-haired man replied nervously. “Umm…bye.” He hoisted his rucksack onto his shoulders and trotted hastily away. Simon didn’t look up, but in his peripheral vision, he could see John shuffling closer to him.
“So…you’re not going to tell me your name?”
Simon slammed the book closed with such force that John jumped back a little in surprise. Simon wheeled around to face him.
“Look mate, I get that you wish it was fresher’s week all year round, but some of us have actual studying to do. If you want to make new friends, try the student union bar.”
“C’mon, I’m just trying to be friendly—”
“Well, I’m not. And you should listen to your boyfriend and do the reading.”
“He’s not my boyfriend. At least, not yet, but there’s a party tonight at Turner House and I think it might be the perfect opportunity to—”
“Do you always talk this much?”
“Only when I’m nervous,” John replied with a wink.
Simon rolled his eyes. “Right. I’m leaving. This was…” he glanced at John, who was looking up at him with an eager expression in his eyes. “Fun,” Simon finished, sarcastically. John’s smile dropped. Simon turned on his heel and marched away without a backward glance.
First years were always irritating to Simon—even when he was a fresher himself. Away from the watchful eye of their parents for the first time, most of them capitalize on their newfound freedom by spending the first semester drunk or hungover, and the second semester drunk or hungover, but with a steadily growing mountain of essays to write. The cocky little shits won’t know what hit them when they get to third year, Simon thought, as he slammed his textbook down on the front desk.
“You found it?” asked the librarian, taking a sip of milky tea from a mug that read ‘I closed my book to be here’ and scanning Simon’s textbook and ID card.
“Yep.”
“Any trouble? I know it’s a right jumble up there at the moment.”
“Nope. Though you might want to invest in some security cameras.”
“Oh?” the librarian said curiously, popping his head up over the screen of his computer.
“Caught a couple of kids making out up there. Might be a good deterrent.”
The librarian laughed and took another sip of tea. “If there’s one thing I know about students, it’s that nothing’s going to stop them from hooking up in places they shouldn’t. Okay,” he said, handing the textbook back. “You’re good to go, Simon.”
“Cheers,” Simon said, turning and stuffing the book into his rucksack.
“So that's your name,” a voice piped up behind him. A Scottish voice.
Simon sighed and rubbed his forehead.
“Don’t wear it out.”