Chapter Text
Harry's POV.
I returned from my break, tucking my phone into my pocket as I walked back to the front desk. The library held the same steady quiet it always did, the kind of quiet that felt alive—a murmur of pages turning, the rhythmic tapping of keys, and the faint creak of chairs shifting. It was a stillness that carried weight, full of little movements and moments that rarely drew attention to themselves.
Sliding into my seat, I adjusted my cardigan and felt the comforting weight of my lanyard settle against my chest. The desk was the same as I'd left it: a small stack of returns waiting to be sorted, a jar of pens slightly askew, and the soft glow of the computer screen. Routine. I liked it. There was something grounding about the rhythm of this place, as though it moved at its own unhurried pace while the rest of the world rushed past.
I reached for a pen, twirling it absently between my fingers. The motion was second nature, something to occupy my hands while my thoughts wandered. My gaze drifted to the window, where late afternoon sunlight slanted across the floor in golden streaks. The moment felt peaceful, suspended in that familiar way I loved. And yet, beneath the calm, there was something... precarious.
Footsteps broke through the stillness, brisk and uneven, pulling me back. I looked up and saw him—Louis. He walked toward the desk with the same restless energy he'd carried earlier in the day, hands shoved into his pockets and his eyes flicking around the room like he wasn't quite sure where to land them. For a moment, I wondered if he'd turn around and leave, but his gaze eventually settled on me, and he kept walking.
I offered him a polite smile, the one I gave to everyone who came by. "Enjoy the latte?" I asked, the question slipping out casually.
His eyes snapped to mine, and for a second, he looked startled, like he hadn't expected me to speak. "The latte was great," he said, leaning a little closer to the desk. His voice was light, easy, but there was a faint hitch in it, like he wasn't entirely sure where he wanted the conversation to go. "Guess I'll have to come back just for that."
I tilted my head, my lips curling into a small, instinctive smile. "Just for the latte?" I asked, the words playful, though not intentional.
His hesitation was immediate. "Oh—uh, I mean—well, yeah. I mean, not just—" He tripped over the words, and the flush that spread up his neck was impossible to miss.
I kept my expression neutral but open, watching as he fumbled for footing. There was something disarming about the way he stumbled, as though being off-balance was entirely new to him.
"Anyway," he blurted, straightening abruptly as if to cut the moment short. "See you around, Harry."
"See you, Louis," I replied evenly, watching as he turned and headed for the exit with purpose. The glass door swung shut behind him, and the library settled back into its usual rhythm.
I didn't think much of it after he left. People stumbled over their words all the time. But something about his hesitation lingered—a sharp, restless energy he'd brought with him that stayed long after he was gone. It wasn't something I encountered often, and it stirred something I couldn't quite place
The clock on the wall ticked closer to closing time. The hum of the library softened as people finished their work, packed up their bags, and filed out the door. I let the familiar stillness wash over me, settling back into the tasks that would close out the day: a few books to shelve, some overdue notices to check, and a final walk through the aisles to make sure everything was in its place.
Standing, I pushed my chair back and stretched my arms, working out the stiffness of the hours spent at the desk. The library still felt alive, even though the buzz of earlier had quieted. There was something about the building at this time—how the light softened and the shadows stretched long across the floor—that always made it feel like it was holding its breath.
I wandered toward the reading areas, moving between rows of scattered chairs and tables. A stray book sat abandoned on a side table, its pages splayed open like wings. I picked it up, running my fingers over the slightly worn cover before placing it back on the shelf where it belonged. The cleaners would come through overnight, but these little details—the cushions straightened, the tables cleared—felt like my responsibility. Like leaving things ready for tomorrow was its own quiet kind of ritual.
As I made my way back to the desk, I caught sight of Maddie, hunched over a stack of papers. She was one of the few people who stayed late, often lingering to finish the odds and ends that the day left behind.
"Hey," I said, leaning lightly against the counter.
She looked up, her expression brightening when she saw me. "Hey, Harry. Almost ready to call it a night?"
"Just about," I said, glancing at the desk. "Tying up the usual loose ends. You know how it goes."
She laughed, setting down her pen and stretching her arms overhead. "Oh, I know. This place has a way of keeping you here longer than you planned. There's always something to do—even after hours."
"Right?" I said with a small grin. "You can straighten everything up, and somehow it still feels like there's more waiting for you tomorrow."
"Or in an hour," she quipped, shaking her head. "But you're the worst, you know. Always fussing over the cushions and counters. It's very librarian of you."
I chuckled, shrugging lightly. "Guilty as charged. I guess I just like things in order."
"Meticulous," she teased, but there was warmth in her tone. "Not a bad quality to have around here, though."
"Thanks," I said, feeling a faint flush of pride.
She glanced at the clock, gathering her things as she stood. "Got any plans tonight?"
"Not really. Probably just grab something to eat and head home," I said. "What about you?"
"Same. Couch and sleep, hopefully. It's been a long day." She slung her bag over her shoulder, then gestured toward the door. "Well, I'm heading out before something else catches my eye and keeps me here."
I laughed. "Smart move. Have a good night, Maddie."
"You too, Harry. Don't stay too late."
She disappeared through the back door, leaving me alone with the quiet. For a moment, I just stood there, letting the stillness fill the space she'd left behind.
The library felt different now, emptied of its visitors and stripped down to its essentials. I moved back to the desk, taking one last look around. Everything was in its place—cushions straight, books shelved, counters clean.
The satisfaction of routine settled over me, a small, steady comfort. It wasn't exciting, maybe, but it was mine. This was my world, and it would be ready for the next day.
I began my final sweep of the building, moving through the rows of shelves and scattered tables, my steps muffled by the soft flooring. There were a few chairs out of place, but that was an easy fix. A stray book here, a forgotten water bottle there—it was all part of the quiet rhythm of closing time.
In the reading nook, an old paperback rested on the arm of a well-worn chair. The cover was faded, the spine creased from countless readings. I picked it up, thumbing through the yellowed pages. The scent of aged paper lingered faintly, familiar and comforting. With a small smile, I tucked it under my arm. It was the kind of book that begged to be read before bed, its story waiting patiently for the next set of hands to hold it.
As I walked back to the front desk, I flicked the light switches off one by one, the low hum of electricity fading with each flip. Shadows stretched across the space, making the library feel larger in its stillness. I set the book down briefly to grab my jacket, slipping it over my shoulders as the last traces of light disappeared.
Before stepping outside, I paused. The quiet of the empty library was different, almost sacred in its own way. It was just me and the weight of the day—a familiar, grounding moment that signaled the end of it all. But tonight, something tugged at the edges of my thoughts, breaking the usual rhythm.
Louis.
His presence slipped into my mind uninvited, like a bookmark left in a chapter I wasn't ready to revisit. I didn't know him—not really—but something about him had lodged itself there. The way he fidgeted, like he wasn't sure if he belonged in the library, yet still carried himself with a casual confidence that almost made you forget. And then there was the way he'd looked at me—like he was sizing me up, curious but guarded, as though he wasn't used to being the one on the outside.
I shook the thought away and grabbed my keys. Whatever it was, it didn't matter. He was just another visitor.
Outside, the cool night air greeted me, brushing against my skin as I locked the door with a final twist of the key. The streetlights cast long, golden beams across the sidewalk, and the city around me felt quieter than usual, as though it too was winding down for the night.
Tucking my hands into my jacket pockets, I started the walk home. The noise of the day receded with every step, replaced by the soothing cadence of my sneakers on the pavement. I looked up at the sky, faint stars barely visible through the city's haze.
My apartment wasn't far, just a few blocks away. The walk was familiar, comforting in its routine. The sounds of the city softened at this hour: the rustle of leaves carried on the breeze, the distant hum of cars, the quiet rhythm of my footsteps against the pavement. The night had no urgency, only an easy stillness that made the world feel smaller, more manageable.
By the time I reached my building, the city felt entirely swallowed by the night. The glass door gave a faint groan as I pulled it open, the cool air of the lobby greeting me with the subtle scent of polished wood and lingering paint. The security guard, slouched in his chair and half-asleep, stirred faintly as I passed, and I offered him a nod he probably didn't notice.
Upstairs, I pushed open the door to my apartment, the familiar creak welcoming me home. The keys landed on the small table by the entrance with a metallic clatter, and I kicked off my shoes, relishing the soft give of the floor beneath my feet. The quiet was a different kind here—not the vast, enveloping kind of the library, but something closer, warmer.
I set the book from the library on the counter, letting my hand linger on its cover for a moment. It was a simple thing, battered and faded, but something about holding it felt grounding, like it was a tether to the kind of quiet I could carry with me. I wandered over to the window, leaning my arm against the cool glass as I looked out over the city. The lights below glimmered like scattered stars, each one faint and distant but constant.
The book still sat on the counter when I turned back, catching my eye as I ran my fingers through my hair. I picked it up again, flipping it open absently. My mind, however, wasn't on the pages. It was drifting—back to the library, back to the subtle strangeness of the day.
Back to Louis.
That unshakable feeling from earlier crept in again, like the hum of a song you couldn't quite place. I could still picture him standing there, that sly grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, his presence filling the quiet space in a way that was both natural and out of place. He didn't fit the library, not really, but maybe that was part of why I'd noticed him at all.
I traced the book's spine absentmindedly, letting the thought linger for a moment longer than I should have. I wasn't sure what it was—just curiosity, probably. People came and went all the time, and I'd long since stopped holding onto those fleeting encounters. But there was something about him, about the way he moved, the way he looked at me, that felt... different.
Shaking my head, I set the book aside and sank into the armchair near the window. The city lights stretched out below, distant and steady, and for a moment, I let them lull me into the quiet of the night.
Flipping the book open again, I tried to focus on the words, but the lines blurred, my thoughts circling back despite myself. I caught myself wondering—not expecting, just wondering—if he'd come back.
And if he did, I realised, I wouldn't mind. Not one bit.