The Metaphysicist (Kill Your Darlings) | Featured

the sexual tension increases

All of us except for his manager, who emerges from the back room with a malevolent expression already throttling his reddening face, but Lucien checks the clock suspended upon the wall above the desk and, before his manager can complain about his lateness, announces, "I am one minute early, sir, and your institutional punishments will not thrive amidst the barriers of my well deserved impunity!"

It never ceases to amaze me how Lucien is always able to coordinate his time (excluding that one anecdote where he was stricken by the sleep deprivation induced by his constant writing sessions), how he can just narrowly escape the glare of his manager for being late, because he had only one minute to spare. It's fantastic, and it's stunningly typical of him as well.

Lucien glides towards the counter after that, protected by the astonishment freezing his manager's body, and he ushers me to him with no protest from the now paralyzed man, because honestly Lucien has done much worse than invite a guest behind the desk.

It is only when a library patron approaches the manager that he unfreezes himself from his petrified state and therefore leaves us to do whatever we please as long as we don't disrupt anyone, because the manager will not be spying on us with his circular glasses and rampant spite, though that's never stopped Lucien any other time, as he's a free spirit, someone I wish that I could be, but I'm not that person, so I only admire those who are from the sidelines.

He's pragmatic, too, with that determined expression coating the entirety of his visage and shoving itself over for no other emotion, only set on achieving the goal of selecting the correct numbers out of his catalogue to sort through the books and the labels and the confusion of being a nascent librarian, and it's difficult work, work that Lucien despises doing, so I inform him of my plan so that he can pretend to be helping a regular library patron while he basically just hangs out with his friend.

"I'm looking for a book." Lucien says nothing, only carries on with his convoluted job of sorting things that won't matter by tomorrow, so I repeat myself, "I said I'm looking for a book."

Lucien finally glances up, groaning as if I'm a child who cannot grasp any concept that he's trying to teach me. "Yes, I know what you said, but you never specified the title of the book, and this is a place full of them, so how am I supposed to find it for you when all you've given me is a general description of what everything else is in this godforsaken library?"

"There's isn't a title," I confess, more damaged than I should be for this situation. "I'm out of ideas for an article, and I was hoping that the rows of books could help me find something about which to write. I thought you would enjoy a break from the monotony of...cataloguing books."

Lucien is adamant for a moment, but then he rises from his position by the counter to aid me in my search for a book to use to research topics for an article, his manager taking no note of this, as he's occupied by a library patron and by the misconception that Lucien is only doing his job earnestly, which is less than true, and even if the manager is cognizant of this, he has had enough of Lucien's antics or rather dealing with them, so it's better just to leave him to his scheming.

"I happen to thoroughly enjoy cataloguing books," he pouts.

Lucien's fingers tumble over the fluctuations in the spines of the books furnishing the grandiose shelves stacked one by one in meticulous intervals of seven feet, and he's almost like a child in the way that the motion never ceases except to recoil slightly when there's a wider book next to a smaller one, as if he's been harmed by it. He imbibes the fragrance of fresh books, of old books, of books mistreated in a short period of time, of books treated well in a prolonged period of time, of books and their majesties, of books and their holiness, of books. And he's happy in this place, in the familiar machinery of intellect, and it would be pleasant to see him here forever, but he's gone all of the sudden, hidden by the towers of knowledge without so much as a sound besides the elation brimming in his extraordinary brain.

"Lucien?" I call, a tad louder than I should be speaking in a library, and I receive some infuriated hushes from the other library patrons from locations that I can't even see from behind the shelf. Alas, no one unsheathes themselves from the aisles to greet me again, certainly not Lucien, and I begin to worry about where he has gone, if this is a sick prank or if he's abandoned me to return to his work because I was too damn annoying for him to get anything done, but I have no idea where I should stop, and I don't ever, so peeling from the current aisle, I move on to the next one to find it as empty as the last.

Whipping around in a frenzy that is turning to hopelessness, I once again recognize that the aisle is vacant, and with the spaces in the shelves all full with books, it seems as though I am trapped within its walls, suffocating in my own paranoia and exaggeration.

I'm just about to give up on scouring the aisles for Lucien to instead return to the desk where he'll be at some point, when I spin around to face the person for whom I've been scavenging rapidly, so close that our breath strains longingly for each other. His ocean blue eyes are tipped towards me, teasing every fiber of strength that I may have retained, his mouth cracked just enough to capture a straw within it, and he's staring intently at me. That's all he does — just stares, sometimes trailing down to my lips then flicking his attention back up to my eyes, where panic dashes around madly in an attempt to sort through what the hell is happening and why it's so alluring in this state of pandemonium.

Lucien nears me in a gradual track, seemingly with the intention of a kiss, but, perpetuating his stare, he instead procures a book from behind his back and slants it towards me. "I found something you might like."

And with that, he's strolling down the aisle again, the fucking tease that he is, and goddamn do I need to catch my breath.  

~~~~~

A/N: lmao I fooled you all

cynicism: reserving a life that centres only on one's personal goals

~Dakotease