[ V I V I A N ]
You curl up by the window with a book in your hands. You've gone and run off to the library again, your refuge in the cosy alcove at the back. It's hidden by the endless shelves hoarding thick, dusty tomes that no one ever reads. And you're fine with that; less people come by then to disturb you.
The library is one of your favourite places; it's an inviting place with comfortable little niches for reading and countless large, panelled windows with gilded frames that allow light to filter through softly, partly covered by heavy drapes. It's also rather beautiful; one of the few places in the school that haven't been completely refurbished, instead a collaboration of huge Roman style rooms set in a building full of renovated classrooms and other function rooms.
The recess you've dubbed as your haven in the spacious back end of the library is lovely. The librarian adores you, and appreciates you as a regular visitor, so she's let you make it comfortable since hardly anyone goes back there anyways. A few tasselled cushions are arranged in a homely fashion and a conveniently placed window make it perfect.
As per usual, you sit on the extended sill and tuck your legs under you. It's so quiet here, and so serene. Outside, you see the birds are flying from branch to branch and butterflies are flitting about in the autumn air. A wind sweeps the leaves on the sidewalk below away and the few students that stand there are left to draw their coats together closer.
Thankfully, it's nice and warm in here. The heater, one of the few savvy technologies in the old place and gratefully so, is turned on to a comfortable temperature. The fireplaces remain stone cold in their grates, but you still pretend they burn.
[ S U H O ]
I wander through the innumerable shelves, looking for a textbook to help me study for the next test. The librarian, told me they're located at the end of the shelves and now I'm searching for them.
I pass the M books and keep walking, waiting for the P label to appear. But I walk in on something better. Sitting quietly in a shower of golden sunlight is Vivian, immersed in a novel. I've liked her since when she first came to the school; she's kind, pretty and smart. And she likes books- my ideal type. I groan inwardly, suddenly remembering the interview about ideal types and scenes. Let's just hope she didn't watch that.
I'm so tempted to go up and tuck that strand of long, silky hair behind her ear but I opt for a greeting first.
"Good afternoon Vivian."
She startles and looks up, eyes wide. "Oh hi," she replies, smiling softly.
I join her by the sill. "What are you reading?" I can't resist it anymore; I move that strand away gently.
She blushes cherry red. "Jane Eyre," she replies quietly, eyes carefully averted.
"Charlotte Bronte?"
Vivian nods, cheeks rosy with a persistent colour. "So... what are you doing? Where are them?" She looks behind me, as if waiting for a rowdy bunch of guys to storm in.
"I don't know," I answer truthfully. "Are you nearly done reading?"
"Yes."
"Has Jane returned to her dashing Mr Rochester?"
"Spoilers!" she whines.
"Okay, okay. But has she found him yet?"
"Suho!"
I put my hands up in surrender. "Sorry!"
A devilish grin unsuited to her pretty face appears. "Wait, so you've read it?"
"My mother recommended I read all the famous classics," I mutter flatly.
She nods knowingly. "Good on your eomma, Suho."
"Where's your Mr Rochester?"
"What's that supposed to be?" she asks, pouting. "A newer version of Romeo?"
"Or a knight in shining armour."
She huffs. "Mr Rochester doesn't play saviour in the story, though. And," she adds haughtily, "I don't need a hero; I'm no damsel in distress."
"Same thing. You know, this is kind of my ideal scene," I say without noticing, until the words are out.
"Is it?" Oh, so she hasn't watched it. I sigh in relief. "You mean as in like you said in that interview of ideal types? Really?"
No time like the present to change the topic. "I've always wanted to tuck a girl's hair behind her ear."
"So you've decided to do try it on me?" Vivian stands, frowning. "Sure, I'm not popular and I love books, but you don't have to play your charisma card on me. You don't need to-" Vivian stops abruptly, glaring in hurt. She hurls the novel at me with a little agitated stomp.
I catch it before it makes a spectacular meeting with the floor and grab her arm. "Vivian."
"What?" she answers snappily.
"You're my ideal type for the god's sake, and I like you... not just because it's my ideal scene and you happened to be in the right place at the right time."
Her expression turns into a mix of guilt and sheepishness. "Oh. So you like me?"
"Yeah."
"I do too."
I've never described my ideal first kiss, because that's for girls and I'm manly. But I have to say that if I was to name one, a kiss behind all the shelves under the light glow of the afternoon sun streaming in would be perfect.
