Synopsis: If the kid next to Josh in third grade hadn't pinged that girl's training bra, Chris never would have been moved next to Josh. And if he hadn't been moved next to Josh, they would never have become best friends. And if they hadn't been best friends, Chris would never have been put into detention. And if he hadn't been put into detention, he never would have gone to the library. And if he hadn't gone to the library, he never would have met her.

Genre: Friendship, Romance, Humour

Ending: Pre-Game

Rating: K+

A/N: This was slightly inspired by captain_murica's Chrashley oneshot collection 'Timeline' over at AO3. Credit goes to them.

Sidenote: this is not a chaptered story. It is a oneshot collection that depicts moments in Chris and Ashley's relationship chronologically from the moment they met up until post-game. Therefore updates will not be frequent (but I'll try to update when I can, when I'm inspired).

The Library

The Day We Met

Chris' backpack scuffs across the library floor. His hands drag it around his feet - kicking it once or twice in the process - as he unenthusiastically lugs himself towards the Librarian's desk.

It is completely and utterly not his fault why he's here. It started with Josh - as most of these things do. And then it was Josh and a sheet of paper. Then it was Josh and a sheet of paper and that scheming look on his face.

Needless to say, Chris was screwed. If anyone has known Josh long enough, they'll know he's not easily persuaded out of his ideas. Whether realistic or outrageous. Usually outrageous. If anyone has known Chris long enough, they'll know it's particularly hard for him to say no to said ideas. Damn you, Josh.

So picture the scene. Josh has equipped himself with a DIY, recyclable snowball - aka, a scrunched up piece of paper - and has shoved another in Chris' fist. He says it'll be funny. He says to aim for the rubbish bin. He says it'll be like one of those trick shots. He says it'll be awesome. He says they'll throw it together.

He says Chris has to pay him five dollars if he doesn't do it.

And so, complete with glares in Josh's direction, Chris clambers atop his chair, equipped with his weapon of choice (paper snowball as previously referenced). Josh cheers, followed by a ripple of wolf whistles throughout the room. So much for throwing them together. With an inhale of breath, Chris rolls his shoulder, zoning in on the bin situated right at the front of the classroom, right beside the teacher's desk. He rolls his arm like he's doing shot put. And the students around him thump they're hands on their desks in a drum roll.

And Chris lobs the paper snowball. Just as the door opens. Just as the teacher strolls in. Just as the room suddenly quietens. Just as Chris stares in widening alarm as the paper snowball collides straight into the teacher's face.

Which, for the record, was nowhere near the bin.

Who ever thought it was a good idea to get the guy who is clearly as blind as a figurative bat (because real bats actually have really good eyesight)? Chris couldn't hit a target a metre from his face.

The teacher's head swivels around like an owl and he fixes his laser beam stare right at Chris. Maybe it would have looked better for him if he hadn't been standing on his chair. Maybe he would have had time to slam back into his seat and feign ignorance. Maybe he could pretend it never happened. But instead, like the shocked deer he is, he just chuckles nervously, shrugs slowly and tries to pass it all under a grin.

"Christopher Hartley," the teacher snarls, his nose wrinkling not unlike the paper snowball that had just hit his face. Chris shrinks away, wincing at the use of his full name. And, at this point, he would very much like to have glared at Josh. Though that would definitely earn him a cheeky, smug grin in return.

And then his teacher jabs his finger decidedly in the direction of the door. "Detention. Now!"

"Uh," Chris shoves his hands into his jean pockets, dropping his backpack on the ground at his feet. The librarian is staring exclusively at her computer screen. Which is pretty rude. She could at least acknowledge his existence.

"S'cuse me?" He tries again. No response. Just the click click clicking of her fingers on the keys. Maybe this is one of those 'ring bell for assistance' moments. He glances around the desk, eyes scouring for a bell that evidently doesn't exist. He could resort to just rapping his knuckles on the wooden desk counter. Or he could start threatening to borrow a book and refuse to bring it back until it's four weeks overdue. Or maybe he should just grab a nearby book and start ripping out the pages one by one. That would get her attention.

Then her eyes snap up. And suddenly he regrets even wishing she'd look at him. Because she's glaring at him with the most unimpressed, seething expression.

He almost stumbles back.

"Can I help you?" she asks slowly and bitterly, raising two very thin, very scrawny eyebrows. Seriously, you'd think the school would hire someone a bit more enthusiastic than this.

"Uh, yeah," Chris knocks himself out of his trance, attempting a smile and gesturing casually at himself. "I'm the, uh, detention guy." The Detention Guy. Like he has been prophesied in the ancient scriptures of legend. And endless generations upon generations of Librarians have been eagerly, impatiently awaiting his arrival. 'Your coming was foretold in the ancient scrolls, oh Detention One!'

"Right..." the snippy voice of the librarian yanks Chris out of his own, wild day dreams. She huffs through her nose, disconnecting her judging eyes from his. Wait. What? Shouldn't she be more shocked? This - This is not the face of a person who gets into detention very often. This is the face of innocence! She seriously doesn't think he looks like a detention kind of guy... does she?

By the time he's almost ready to cradle his face, terrified that he suddenly looks like mobster, the librarian pulls herself out of her wheelie chair - which, for the record, is definitely the best part of being a librarian - and grumbles as she disappears under the desk.

Okay. Seriously, she should have at least told him that she kept a portal to Narnia stashed under there. If she really wanted to get away from him that badly, she honestly could have just told him to go away. She didn't need to go to that drastic a measure.

But then she pops her head back up - which almost makes him stumble back in fright - and shoves two items into his hands.

Chris stares down in horror at the two weapons she's bestowed upon him. A half used spray can of polish and a duster. Great.

"Go," the librarian drawls, stabbing wildly into the air with her pointy finger, "Dust those shelves over there." Or something.

Reluctantly, Chris swivels his head round to stare upon an endless bay of high reaching wooden shelves, fully stocked with rows and rows of very non-enthralling books. Chris let's put a reluctant sigh. He's pretty sure the shelves stretch all the way to the end of the elongated room and beyond. They probably do end somewhere in Narnia.

"You got it," Chris attempts to hide his lack of enthusiasm under a grin, clicking his tongue and, in his handful of duster, points a finger gun in her direction.

Which he immediately regrets. Because he's pretty sure she just murdered him with her eyes.

"I'll, uh, go then," Chris jabs his thumb in the direction of his newly designated shelves, inching away slowly. She gives him a look that says, 'Yeah, you do that.'

And so, here he is, shoved into the unloved part of the library. Resorted to destroying the dust that these so malnourished books thrive off of. How can the librarian live with herself, knowing she's letting him bulldoze such precious habitats? He snorts. He has created a system; pick up books, make it look like he's dusting the shelves underneath, put books back, move on, repeat.

In the time he has been here, he has read Great Expectations, War and Peace and the complete works of Shakespeare. Okay, maybe just the titles. But that counts, right?

Chris is halfway through the books of Charles Dickens when he hears a little voice beside him; "Excuse me."

Chris turns. He has to look down to see the figure there, red hair striding down her shoulders, a pile of books perched in her arms. A girl.

Chris can hear the little devil version of Josh perched on his shoulder, wolf whistling into Chris' ear. Chris swats him away with his hand.

"Thanks," she smiles as Chris steps aside. And he watches - totally not like a stalker - as she perches onto her tip toes, book in hand, trying to squeeze it into a space on the top shelf.

"Wait," Chris finally kicks himself forward, reaching forward. "I got it," he smiles (and prays it doesn't look goofy), plucking the book out of her hand and easily slotting it into place on the top shelf. Being tall has its perks.

"Oh," the girl responds, looking as surprised as Chris feels. "Thanks," she repeats, before swivelling around and pacing away.

"So," Chris calls out. He suddenly doesn't want her to leave. She's certainly better company than Mrs. Grumpy-Librarian over there, and she's a lot more talkative than his new book friends.

She glances back at him, her little, green eyes blinking. Looking expectant. Waiting on him to speak. To say something worthwhile.

Chris cringes inwardly - he was never one to talk to the ladies - before scrambling some words together. "You in for detention too?"

She narrows her eyes, like suddenly she recognises his type. Which is totally not his type. As previously stated. Not the type to get into detention.

A quietly teasing smirk hovers on Chris' lips as he raises a single eyebrow; "What you do? Shout out in class? Break a table? Run around naked across the soccer field?"

She certainly doesn't look the type. Not that Chris would know anything.

Her eyes squeeze even narrower. "No," she says slowly, her expression not even twitching. Deadpan. "I volunteer here."

What?

"Wait," Chris gawks at her, holding his hand up in the air as if to stop time so he can process this. "You're telling me," he says slowly like he's trying to compute what she's just said, "that you do this willingly?"

"Yes," she says bluntly, her eyebrows wrinkling as if to say, 'Is there a problem with that?'

Chris' face crumbles in mock-despair. He throws his head back, shaking his fists in the air; "What is this world coming to?"

She stares at him for a few seconds. And then she snorts, covering her laugh with her hand.

Chris grins smugly back. It's generally the same face he makes any time he makes someone laugh. Except this time, it's wider.

"What did you do?" the girl hooks her pile of books at her hip – she looks quite the expert at it – and raises her eyebrows at him. Her lips quirk with the tiniest of teasing smiles. And Chris knows she's expecting some elaborate, impressive story. Which throwing a paper ball at a bin and missing – while hitting the teacher in the process – definitely wasn't.

So he was going to have to come up with something a bit better than that.

But all he could think of was that he was an international spy and they'd figured it out. Which definitely wouldn't pass.

"Um," he coughs awkwardly, his lips twitching. He scrambles his brain for something, spitting out the first thing that comes to mind – which sounds suspiciously like something Josh would say. "I stole your heart?"

She sputters, a laugh shooting out of her mouth. She almost loses grip of her books. Which is basically like book sacrilege. "Don't ever say that line again," she grins widely, her eyes creasing heartily at the corners. And, despite the obvious rejection, Chris can't help but grin back.

He swipes his fingers across his lips. "Zipped," he assures her, nodding.

"I'll hold you to that," she keeps smiling at him. Even as the Librarian snips at them to shut it. Even as the girl keeps watching him as she steps away. Even as she stumbles back on the leg of a table, her books tumbling in a mess on the ground. Even as Chris jumps forward to help her pick them up – totally not mentioning the book sacrilege thing. Even as she insists she's fine, her cheeks flared up bright red. Even as she scrambles to pick them up, scurrying away.

Even as he catches a glimpse of her glancing at him before she disappears into another isle.

He grins uncontrollably as he turns back to his shelves. And suddenly the books don't look all that boring any more. Even as he picks them up, pretends to dust the shelves, puts them back, moves on, repeats and-

Wait.

He freezes.

He forgot to ask her name.