MONOPHOBIA

Do you understand yet, the pleasures of drowning oneself in ichor?

—

Wall Street financier and Wall Street journalist walk into not a meeting room, but a library. You know how the cliché goes. Admittedly, Hans hadn’t read a real book since the last time he’d been forced to — only this deeply inserted into the foreign space for the coffee shop on the second floor, with no intention to go searching for Shakespeare, or to bring a hard-back home. So it’s much the deceiving sight when he’s making his way out through the maze, espresso in hand, eyes roaming like he’s interested. Of course, he’s not — and hell if Hans would have walked into the romance isle out of his own free will. Pun sharply placed, but non intended. 

“Jeez,” he breathes at the sight of Alexander, “are you chasing bankers on their lunch breaks too?” 

Off of the line then, Hans scoffs, “Is that how you get your scoops?” The newspaper Alexander works at does have his number, practically on speed-dial at that; even if for unlawful encounters, he’s sure the boy could have pulled a string or two. But maybe he’s projecting. “Smooth. Zero outta ten.”

Back to — right — the thing people actually come to libraries for. Stretching upwards, Hans grabs the book he recalls Alexander’s eyes hovering over, and holds it out in offering. “This one?” 

`

Alexander raises a brow at him, finally recognizing the other and he almost wants to slap himself for not realizing who he ended up talking to. Oh well, anything can be an opportunity, he isn’t too bothered by the encounter. After all, right now he isn’t the hard working Wall Street journalist, so he’s uninterested in the work-related aspects. Plus, Hans is very handsome. He’d make a good face to see in between the sheets.

“Give me the benefit of the doubt, I didn’t recognize you. But even then, would it have stopped me from coming on to you? Not really,” he chuckles. “I’m off of work anyway, I couldn’t give any less of a shit about what breakthrough scoop you could give me.”

He does take the book when the other offers it to him, for a moment forgetting about the other to look excitingly through it, an almost uncharacteristic smile on his face. He catches himself and closes the book and looks back up at Hands. “So, my offer still stands. Your phone number, you and me at my apartment, tonight?”

—

He’d dawdled in other sections of the library first, finding comfort in a book on Piet Oudolf that would’ve been a mere coffee-table throwaway to anyone who wasn’t him, then picking up a few young adult novels just for a giggle. But now here he stood, only a few feet away from what was his past and quite possibly his future, eyes staring down a long list of authors that stood only distantly familiar in his memory. He’s close to reaching for one he remembers as not terribly boring when a voice stops him first — and, privately, Ziggy is grateful for it.

With a chuckle, he turns to meet the other, even pushes up his glasses to the bridge of his nose to ensure the clearest view of the man with the kind of audacity that saw him openly flirting in the middle of a near-silent library. “Watch it, handsome. Some old bat’s gonna come flying over here to say you’re being too loud and that a library’s no place for romance.” Ziggy doesn’t move, but instead drums his fingers along a row of faded spines before offering, “Let me get it for you. Which one did you want?”

`

Alexander smirked as he, without any sort of shame, checked the other out. His skin, that beard, his fingers — lord he could only imagine what it would be like to have him in bed. He was excited, to say the least.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that too much. I can be very quiet when I need to,” he said suggestively, then looked away to gesture at the book he needed.

He wouldn’t get in trouble anyway, he knew this library well enough to not bother anyone and be able to have quite a bit of fun between the darker corners. Plus, he had sex with the owner on multiple occasions, he wouldn’t dare to even peep at him. He moved back just slightly, just to keep his eyes on the other.

“And, please, call me Alexander, but I’d also especially would like you to call me, because I’m not leaving until I secure a date with you.” He took out his phone and waited for him to recieve his book, then he handed over his phone, urging the other to write it down in it.

@konrad-thorne (context)

He stops in his tracks, then looks down at his chest as the remains of the snowball on his chest, then he looks up, sees Konrad's hand still linger in the air from throwing it. He shakes his head. He has a feeling this will end up interestingly.

          The library was one of their favorite places to hang out in when they had free time. Ripley didn’t have a disposable income like some people living in this city did, so whenever they had free money, it went to saving money for new equipment for their podcast. But today they were on a mission to find a book on a cold case from the 50s. 

          But of course the book that they need has been checked out and so it sends them on a tailspin of finding something else to research, something new and weird. Or maybe it was time to take a break from focusing on crime and focus on some chaos for a bit. Either one was an acceptable topic for their show and it was better that they found a topic rather than just… not putting an episode out at all. 

          Not paying attention to what section they were in, Ripley stretched up high to get a book near the top shelf, not realising that someone else was behind them and looking for a book they were now in the way of. “Sorry! Yeah, go ahead. I might… fall if I… move.” They carefully scooted as far as they could without tipping the stool over. “Who’s phone number? I don’t know the author personally, sorry.” 

`

Alexander made a face as he looked up at them, and part of him was curious as to why they would be in this section at all. They didn’t really seem like the type to be really into the current economy, but then again... he didn’t look much like it either.

He put a hand on their thigh, mostly for balance and to keep them for falling and successfully grabbed the book he needed. “Thank you,” he added when he stepped back a little and looked over the book a couple of times to make sure it had exactly what he wanted. After he was done checking, he looked back up at them.

“I meant your number,” he told them with soft chuckle. “Pretty sure the author of this book is very far from the living realm.”

He then shifted a little, leaning back. “What book are you looking for? I know this library like the back of my hand, so I could probably find you something.” he offered.

     Huh… So this is what a library looked like? Ava didn’t really get the appeal, but they did understand why it managed to earn her parents’ respect all those nights she convinced them she was studying in one instead of– well. Some things were better left unsaid.

     Needless to say, Ava wasn’t an avid reader, though they did consider themselves to be a cultured person – normally their intruction came from life itself, rather than literature, but they’d overheard someone at that one café talking about their favorite compilation of short serial-killer stories and… Well. They were intrigued. And also in need for some inspiration. Hey, every line of work has its rough patches. It took finishing the first short story on A Collection of Psychological Horrors to realize they weren’t based on true events, but by then, Ava was hooked. So much so that they hadn’t moved far away from the shelves – in fact, they were leaning against one. 

     They looked up, rather annoyedly, when someone interrupted them – granted, they weren’t upset for much longer. Cheeky. His head would look good on a spike. Or on her pillow. With their thumb marking the page where they left off, they too looked him up and down. “It’s one or the other, choose wisely,” they were teasing him, fueled by a new found sense of bravery. Thank the men in this book, honestly.

`

Alexander looked at them curiously, from the book they picked up to the way they’re holding themself, he is intrigued to say the least, to explore what rage might lie underneath all off it. He was pretty sure that would translate pretty well in the sheets. He put his hand on the bookshelf right by their head and and shifted his weight to lean on that hand.

He hummed, his eyes going down then up to meet their eyes. “Making me choose, huh? And if I choose both, what are you going to do about that?” he asked, his other hand resting right on the book he needed. And he liked to play with his food, push the limits of it, see where something would break. 

Alexander is browsing through books, a little absentminded to the world around him, searching for a specific books on the economical status between 1750s and 1770s, since he’s writing an article about it and he’s doing as much research about it as he can. Plus, he needs inspiration for a catchy title, something that would bring attention to what he’s writing about.

It’s his own way of fun, if he’s being honest. When he’s not... doing someone, that is. He does have a life between the heartbreaks.

As per usual, he gets a little too caught up in the moment, losing himself in the many titles before him, reading paragraphs after paragraphs, from the books— that is until he finds the book he needs. 

“Excuse me,” He clears his throat to the person standing right in front of the shelf, preventing him from reaching his desired book. “There’s a book right there that I need.”

He then looks the person up and down. “And maybe a phone number that could come with it?”

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