Since I had no classes in the third period, I could rest more. I headed to the library in search of Winter, but he caught my eye the moment I stepped in since he was in the same spot he was standing the last time I saw him. Except, he was crouching down, placing the textbooks on the lower shelf.
Winter whipped his head around, and his dark eyes instantly lit up.
He smiled. "You're back?"
"Yes. Have you been doing this since I left?"
"I got tired. Then took a break. For an hour."
"...Ah, alright. Have you met the librarian?"
"Yes, she already placed most of the books back on the shelves," he said and pointed to the trolley behind him.
All I could do was let out a quiet laugh. "Have you eaten yet?"
"Yes, a while ago."
"You ate in the library?"
"Yes."
"And the librarian let you?"
"Yes?"
My brows raised in slight disbelief. The librarian would always yell at the students for chewing gum, bringing in water bottles or food inside the library, let alone eating within the library. Yet not only did she do Winter's share of the work, but she also let him eat in here.
I picked up the two books inside the trolley and slipped them onto the top shelf. Winter continued searching for the sections on the shelf.
"Are you still upset? Yesterday..."
"Ah..." My face flushed with intense heat. "Yes, I'm alright now."
I had completely forgotten about that, but now he just reminded me how embarrassing that afternoon was. Before I knew it, Winter was standing right beside me.
"What about you? Is your hand ok?"
"Mn, it was just a scratch."
I smiled, and Winter's pair of eyes landed on me. They bore a cheerful, and yet one would say, a pint of sadness overflowing with sentiment. At the very sight of his slender face and refined manner, all idea of vulgarity was forgotten.
After a moment, he reached his hand out and touched the tip of my hair that hung above my forehead.
"Winter...?"
"...Ah, sorry... Your hair is quite long. Have you thought about cutting it?" he asked with a smile.
I touched the ends of my hair. "I haven't found the time to yet. Has it really grown that long? Now that I think about it, it does keep getting in the way."
"You look good with long hair, but short hair suited you too," he said before pushing the trolley back into the library's office.
The scene of watching his back slowly fade into the distance stirred a dread in my chest. Something was strange about his words. Short hair suited me? He clearly used the word 'suited', but how did he know what I looked like with shorter hair?
Thinking back to that moment when my attention fell into his lulling gaze, his eyes offered impressions of an intense amount of intelligence but also the least notion of social awareness.
"Ah!" Winter dashed back to me and handed me his phone.
"Can you take a photo for me? I haven't posted an update in two hours. My fans might think I'm dead," Winter worried.
No words left my mouth. With haste, I took a few photos while he was posing in at least ten different poses in the span of thirty seconds.
He would correct my angles before posing in some other area, and this probably went on for around ten minutes.
"Maybe hold one of the books and put your hand here," I directed to which he followed my words exactly. "A bit higher. Tilt your head a bit higher... yes..."
After taking a few more photos, I walked closer and guided his head to a slight angle with my hand. "Turn your head this way."
"Will it make my nose look big?"
"No, your nose has a nice shape. And if you don't like it, you can always edit it."
And it was only after ten more minutes that I realised... what was I doing? I had taken around 200 photos, and most of them looked exactly the same.
Before spending any more time being his personal photographer, I handed back Winter's phone. He scrolled through his gallery, humming in glee.
That melody he was humming sounded strangely familiar, but I didn't think much of it.
I cleared my throat. "Let's head back to the office. I have some more things for you to do."
⋆✬❍◐⬤◑❍✬⋆
Only a few teachers remained in the office since most of them were taking on classes. We sat at my desk for some time, me on the same old sled base chair provided by the school, Winter on a revolving black chair that I never knew existed.
Winter kept stealing glances at me though not in an ill-mannered way. Every time I spoke to him, he ensured he looked at me, never averting his eyes.
It wasn't exactly the wild eyes of a madman that people said it to be, but maybe because I was always looking at something other than him that I received no impression of such terror.
I ate my sandwich while Winter was writing a caption for his post. The teachers in the office stole glances at him as endless tides of anxiousness drowned their bodies with sweat and trepidation.
When they locked eyes with me, their worry wasn't their concern for me but for themselves. They were warning me that if something was to happen to them, the first person they would point their finger at was me.
"Should I add two red hearts? Or one purple and one red?" Winter asked.
It wasn't like he was holding a gun and pointing it at everybody's head, but that was what it felt like. It was clear that Winter was aware of how people looked at him despite their friendly attitude when they spoke to him.
The poverty-stricken people, or the ordinary folk, treat those who belong within the selective golden circle with respect and dignity because they fear being swept out of society by a broom and into the ocean of outcasts.
This was the logic of the world; in it lay the foretaste of something incalculably powerful.
Its mechanism was incomprehensible, and there were two types of people regarding those who were thrown outside into the sea of the estranged.
Those who defied their position as social outcasts kept swimming past the growing thorns in the polluted seas until the bristles pierced through their tails and fins, and presently they drowned. And there were those who simply accepted it; they did not sink further in, but they did not rise either, yet these people were the ones who suffered the most. They were not only estranged from society but also from themselves.
"I'll add both," Winter said.
A senior literature teacher, Mr. Graham, walked to my desk. "Sir Lawrence, we're going to be having a dinner tonight at the LB. It would be great if you could come."
Winter ignored Mr. Graham and showed me his post on his phone.
"Do you think this photo looks alright?"
There were three photos, and despite having taken more than 200 photos, he was undeniably photogenic, so he looked good in all of them.
"You look great," I said, smiling slightly.
His alluring, almost doll-like appearance sent people the wrong signal—at his core, he had a strong sense of himself and his own unshakable way of doing things. Though once he had drawn a straight line between someone, there was no way in bending past it. And this imaginary line was evident between him and Mr. Graham.
Mr. Graham's lips distorted, but he ensured he kept his calm composure. "Sir Lawrence, we are having a dinner next Friday around 6pm. It would be great to have you join us."
Still no response. Winter continued scrolling through his feed, ensuring it matched his aesthetic. Soon, Mr. Graham's face fumed into shades of red, and his jaw clenched.
Mr. Graham's silence of intense frustration echoed to the few within the office, but there was nothing he could do. He ended up walking away back to his seat, aggressively typing on his keyboard.