Bibliophile Chapter 1, a loveless fanfic

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Bibliophile

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Chapter One

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Virginia Wolfe: a critical memoir … Tsar Mao: bibliography by Cedric Wills—

"…hey, isn't that him?"

"…who are you talking about? You mean 'Love-Less' over there? What about him?"

Anton Chekhov…. Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach… Wisława Szymborska—

"….is it true what they say about him around school? He really doesn't leave the library?"

T.S. Eliot—

"…I heard he loves books, like really loves them. I heard from a senior that he caught him…you know… doing… THINGS… to one…"

Ando…Hiroshige—

Wine-colored eyes glued to the tanned dog-ear page of his paperback thinned as his eyelids lowered. He couldn't suppress the mild shudder of irritation as one of the girls from the cluster of high school students by the exit doors expressed her disgust with a high-strung shriek at the top of her lungs.

"…EWWWW! Shioiri-kun! That's SOOO GROSS!"

Thinly bandaged fingers identical to pale of the skin on the back of his hand slid tensing over the glossy cover of his book.

"You do realize that this is a public library, right? If you are going to be deliberately loud, it would seem more appropriate to continue it by going outside where you can't distract other people who are studying for exams," the teenage boy scooped a short clump of his dark hair behind his ear, still softly addressing his now shell-shocked classmates, "It would be the polite thing to do. Don't you have parents to teach you these values?"

As the others braced themselves to make a quick retreat, indefinitely terrified that their normally dead silent classmate had directed a full sentence— let alone several— to them, the girl who had shrieked now stared at him, tugging earnestly on a floss pink pigtail gathered at the side of her head.

"U-uh…what's your name?"

The impression of the anxiety for her social standing— and that noble risk of talking to him— it trickled over him like a honeyed, impalpable waterfall. Silly-minded curiosity — a bit of sexual attraction too— those expressions from the opposite sex were nothing new to him (despite his unpopularity, occasionally a brave young woman would scan their ambitious gaze over his face, drawn to the silk texture of his black hair and the rare color of his eyes).

Keeping his paperback open to the same crinkled page he had been blindly staring at since the gossip near the exit doors caught his range of hearing, the teenage boy glanced to where she lingered for an answer, fitting an artificially wide grin on his lips.

"Love-Less."

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It's considered impossible for a living person to 'fall in love' with an inanimate object such as a book…even the ones with questionable sanity…if even such a stupid thing as 'romantic love' exists anyway…

Remaining in the same standing position, facing the shelves Ritsuka had been in since arriving— the sixteen-year-old flipped into another book, sinking more and more comfortably into numbness of his surroundings. From a shelf high above him, a periwinkle-colored leatherbound textbook shifted precariously as the teen's elbow thudded against the heavy wood of the 160 stack.

…if they truly believe that…then I feel sorry for them.

A sudden, intruding shadow collapsed over his reading light. Cocking an eyebrow at the darkened words on the page, he slowly turned around.

One of the newer librarians— must have been, he had never seen someone so young working here, or for that matter so blond— smirked down on him wordlessly. He safely clasped the purplish-blue textbook embroidered in reddish, satin string in one hand, a few inches from Ritsuka's head.

FATE.

With his steady hand, the tall, blond foreigner stretched up to insert the book back into its empty space, and then buttoned the loosened flaps of his green shirt sleeve. One of the silver-like cuff links winked against the light from a nearby window. Ritsuka narrowed his eyes at the strange shape they were.

"You should be careful next time, Ritsuka."

Not sure if he was annoyed at the fact that the librarian was three inches too close to his personal bubble, or the total disregard for honorifics (thus proving his suspicions that the man couldn't be familiar with Japanese customs), the younger student actually became aware of his face contorting into an outraged frown.

"That's a scary look," the blond man said cheerfully, letting out a low, amused breath.

What the hell?

Ritsuka was almost persuaded to sneer pointedly at him but instead attempted to lessen the emotion in his frown without caving in on his displeasure. "How do you know my name?"

Almond shaped eyes— the color for the irises easily mistaken for the exact copy of the leather textbook— crinkled at him behind stylishly crooked glasses. He hooked his long fingers into his ash-blond high ponytail. Ritsuka thought for a moment that it had looked too feminine for someone with a masculine figure. "Ritsuka comes here often. It's extremely difficult to miss you on a school day."

That didn't answer my question…

"It's rude to hover over someone when they are trying to read," Ritsuka snapped.

"What did those kids call you, Ritsuka? A nickname?" The librarian asked seriously, leaning down closer and gripping the shelf above Ritsuka's head. The teenager did not approve of this current situation or with the fact that his back was beginning to ache from steeling back so firmly on the ridges of the stack behind him just so he could avoid any human contact.

"Listen— I didn't give you permission to call me by my first name— I don't even know you. Secondly," purple eyes flashed heatedly as Ritsuka's voice cracked once from its usually monotonic quality, "what does it matter to you what they call me? I don't believe in fighting back over stupid things or calling anyone else names. It's pointless."

"It still hurts your feelings."

Ritsuka countered that statement, the secure emptiness of a facial expression and the blockade of his emotions drifting sweetly into place, "I'm considerately adequate at not feeling anything at all."

"If that is what makes you happy, Ritsuka."

The blond librarian finally removed himself at the deadpan look. "If you need anything, I'll be downstairs." Managing that handsome smirk.

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Once Ritsuka was alone, he slapped his paperback shut before lifting himself up by the tiptoes of his sneakers to reach for the periwinkle-colored book.

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TBC...

WELCOME TO MY BRAND NEW ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE, EVERYONE! NO CAT EARS! (Or will there be...?) EVERYONE IS STRANGERS! (Or are they...?)

You will just have to continue reading on to find out. ;D Loveless and all of its characters belong to the infamous Yun Kouga who I will hunt down and persuade to draw dirty, dirty pictures involving Ritsuka and Soubi. And the Zero Girls. Because they are made of love and yuri and win.

And you can blame/thank Yet Another Yaoi Fan Girl for pushing me to start this. She's been a real trooper waiting on my ass so you get the dedication, sweetheart. I think most of the Loveless characters are featured here. This originally was suppose to be a smutty standalone about library sex but my muse wanted sex AND plot. Greedy, isn't she? No sex yet. Aw. I know. Sad day. Give it time. Wait until the fourth chapter. Or so. I have lots and lots of mystery to be built up for this here story. And just so everyone knows: all book titles and authors are MADE UP. I'm not stealing anyone's work. Everyone has their respected rights intact. Any type of comments or suggestions/criticism is welcomed here.