✨kiki✨

The rain is absolutely drumming against the glass of the bookshop downtown, a tiny, slightly chaotic nook tucked between a café and a bakery.

Inside, Oscar is balancing on a shaky wooden library ladder, a stack of heavy paperbacks cradled in his left arm, wearing an oversized sweater with frayed cuffs, and currently locked in with organization as if it were his sport. Outside, the world is too loud. She had just walked off the set three blocks away, her chest tight and her mind spinning. They had been shooting a heavy, emotional sequence for six hours straight under blinding lights, surrounded by shouting directors, buzzing crew members, and the constant, suffocating weight of being watched. She just needed to breathe. She needed to escape the cameras, the expectations, and the crushing reality of her own fame. She just wanted to be normal for once. So, she ran. She slipped past her security team, turned a corner, and let the pouring rain blur the rest of the city away.

The brass bell above the bookstore door chimes loudly as she practically stumbles inside. She instantly pulls down the brim of her dark green baseball cap. She’s wearing a trench coat that looks a little too big for her, and sunglasses despite the gloomy weather. She takes off the sunglasses with a trembling hand, blinking to let her eyes adjust to the soft glow of the shop. Breathing in the scent of old paper, lavender, and dust, she lets out a long, visible breath of relief. Her shoulders drop. Oscar doesn’t notice her frantic entrance or her hidden face. He just notices that his only customer looks like she’s freezing. "Afternoon," he calls down from the ladder, shifting his weight. "Teas and coffees are self-serve in the back corner if you need to thaw out. Fiction is to your left, poetry is to your right, and the history section is currently a disaster zone because I dropped a box this morning."

She looks up, surprised to hear a voice. She smiles, a quick, brilliant flash of warmth that she immediately tones down. "Thanks." Her accent is elegant, a little worldly, and entirely out of place in his dusty neighborhood shop. Slowly, the tension leaves her body. She wanders down the fiction aisle, her fingers trailing along the spines of the books, soaking in the beautiful, ordinary quiet. She stops in front of the classic literature section, her eyes scanning the titles. Finally, her gaze locks onto a specific, beautifully bound vintage edition of a classic romance novel sitting on the highest reachable shelf.

At the exact same moment, Oscar steps off his ladder and walks over to the same section, holding a duplicate copy of that exact same book to restock it. She reaches her hand up. He extends his arm forward. Their fingers brush against the exact same linen spine, surprising them both.

"Oh! Sorry," Oscar says quickly, offering an apologetic, easygoing smile. He pulls his hand back a fraction of an inch. "But, good taste." She shifts her gaze from the book, looking up to meet his eyes. There’s a quiet curiosity in her expression, her dark green baseball cap tilting up just enough for him to catch the warmth in her stare. She doesn't pull her hand away from the shelf, just watches him with a soft, expectant half-smile, waiting to see what this bookstore boy does next.

Oscar doesn't skip a beat. Leaning lightly against the adjacent shelf, his smile turns effortlessly playful. "Guess we’re on the same page." She stares at him for a beat. The line is so unashamedly cheesy, so profoundly dorky, that it completely breaks the lingering stress of her day. She completely loses her composure and bursts out into a genuine, musical laugh, the kind of laugh that crinkles the corners of her eyes and makes her forget to look over her shoulder to see if anyone is watching. "Did you seriously just use a book pun on me?" she asks, shaking her head, a brilliant smile taking over her face. "Hey, it was right there! I had to take the shot," Oscar defends himself, laughing too. He takes the book off the shelf and gently presses it into her hands.

She holds it to her chest, waiting for the inevitable shift in his expression, the sudden widening of the eyes, the gasp, the 'Oh my god, aren't you—?' that she gets everywhere, but Oscar just looks at her like she’s a cool girl who appreciates a terrible joke. He gives her a friendly, casual nod. "On the house," he says easily, tapping the cover of the book. Before she can even protest or reach for her wallet, Oscar turns around and walks back toward his messy history section, leaving her standing in the aisle, completely anonymous, completely charmed, and feeling entirely normal for the first time in a very long time.

She couldn't help but bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling, both at how absurd it was to be standing here with a free book given by the undeniably cute bookkeeper or perhaps bookshop owner? She didn't know, but really, she didn't care. Without another word, she walked out into the cool air, heading back to her hotel as slowly as she possibly could, her mind entirely stuck on that ten-minute chance encounter.

.☘︎ ݁˖

Oscar had inherited the bookstore from his great-uncle, who had passed away some time ago. Truthfully, it was never in his wildest imagination to be twenty-five and running a dusty bookshop, but here he was. When he wasn't restocking shelves, dusting old covers, or brewing absolutely terrible coffee, he’d be tucked behind the counter, completely immersing himself in whatever story he could find. She, on the other hand, was an actress. Having started out as a child star, she was now twenty-three and constantly caught up in the hustle and bustle of the industry, currently in London filming her hit television show. She loved what she did, but sometimes the sheer scale of it became entirely overwhelming. When she met someone who didn’t even bat an eye at her, it was hook, line, and sinker.

She came back about three days later. They had a few days off in between filming; her best friend and co-star had insisted they go out to parties. She had declined, claiming she'd rather stay in and review her script for the next week. A total lie. She gave it about an hour to ensure the coast was clear before she started getting ready. Pulling on a jacket and a giant pair of sunglasses, even though it was pouring rain outside, she made her way back to the shop. Peering through the glass window, she saw Oscar leaning against a seat behind the counter with a book in hand, and an immediate smile spread across her face. She pushed the door open. The bell rang, and like clockwork, Oscar greeted her.

"Evening," he called out without looking up, shifting his weight. "Teas and coffees are self-serve in the back—oh hey, it's you!"

Oh, shit. Did he finally notice? Did he just pretend before? Did he—

"Girl, I'm on the same page with, yeah?" His smile was captivating. He had these slightly bunny-like teeth, and his smile always reached his eyes. His voice was quiet, calm, and perfect for a bookstore, really. It felt like he was born to be a librarian or something. "Guy, I'm on the same page with," she said awkwardly, pointing back at him, making him chuckle.

"Need a new book? We have brand new things in stock," he rambled quickly, already walking back toward the shelves. She was smiling again. "Ah, no. I just needed a place to deflate, I guess." That stopped Oscar in his tracks. "Deflate?" he asked, crossing his arms and leaning against a shelf with a curious smile.

"Yeah. Well, work's tiring. We've been under the lights for hours," she sighed, walking over and leaning her forehead against the cool wooden edge of the front counter. "My boss literally controls what I wear, micro-manages my hair, and makes me stand in one place for twelve hours a day. I have to put on a smile and present this perfect image to millions of people every single day. I just feel like I can’t do it anymore."

Oscar winced, looking up from a stack of poetry books he was sorting. He shook his head in pure sympathy. "Yikes. PR and Marketing? Man, that industry is brutal," he said, his voice full of genuine indignation. "They treat people like props for a brand campaign. Spreading yourself thin like that for a mass audience is exhausting. You seriously deserve a better creative director."

She froze for a second, her mind spinning as she realized he thought she was working a grueling corporate promotional campaign for some giant company down the street. It was hilarious because her boss was an Oscar-winning director, her image was a fictional character, and the millions of people were the global audience watching her on television, but his description of the exhaustion was so close to the truth, she couldn't help but lean into it. A laugh bubbled up in her throat, but she caught it, letting out a soft, amused hum instead. It was so utterly refreshing not to have to explain a director’s vision, continuity errors, or call sheets.

"Yeah," she said softly, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she played along. "It’s... a lot of putting yourself out there for the masses, but at least the project wraps in a month." Oscar let out a breath, a wave of visible relief washing over his face. "Well, thank god for that. A month means you have an expiration date on the misery." He gestured with his chin toward the dim, amber-lit hallway at the back of the shop. "Come on. Follow me." He led the way past towering stacks of biographies and poetry, talking continuously as she followed close behind. "The store is technically closing in twenty minutes, but seeing as you're my official co-reader, you get after-hours clearance. I’ve got tea, and I just brewed a fresh pot of coffee." At the very back of the store, tucked away in a cozy corner beneath a low-hanging brass lamp, sat a couple of oversized, incredibly worn-out bean bag chairs. She sank into one of them, the fabric swallowing her up as she finally let her posture slump, the heavy weight of her day melting into the floorboards.

Oscar turned to the little counter, carefully pouring a dark, steaming stream of coffee into a mismatched ceramic mug before turning around and handing it over. She accepted it, the warmth instantly seeping into her cold fingers. She lifted the mug to her lips and took a confident sip. Instantly, her face scrunched up. Her eyebrows knit together, and her mouth twisted in absolute shock.

"Oh, wow..." she said, her voice dripping with pure, unadulterated sarcasm. She stared down at the dark liquid as if it were toxic. "Yeah, well, it’s an acquired taste, really," Oscar said quickly, clearing his throat. He shifted his weight, looking anywhere but at her. "Some special coffee beans from Bolivia or something. My sister brought them over and said they were artisanal." To prove his point, Oscar took a brave, massive gulp from his own mug, instantly looking away toward a shelf of old encyclopedias to hide the violent grimace that overtook his face.

She didn't miss it. She caught the slight twitch of his jaw and the way his eyes watered. A quiet, breathless giggle bubbled up from her chest, her shoulders shaking as she watched him try so desperately to defend his terrible coffee. "Artisanal," she repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Is that what they call charcoal these days?"

"Hey, it builds character," Oscar shot back, finally looking at her with a self-deprecating grin.

As the rain continued to lash against the roof, they fell into a soft, quiet, rhythmic conversation. The teasing melted into something incredibly easy as she brought up the book he had given her three days ago. She admitted she had read the entire thing in a span of a single day, omitting the part where she had stayed up until 3:00AM under her hotel bedsheets just because she wanted a desperate excuse to come back and talk to him again. Oscar’s eyes lit up the moment she started discussing the characters. They traded theories, argued over the ending, and completely lost track of time. He told her stories about his great-uncle's eccentric habit of hiding notes in random pages for buyers to find, and she listened, completely captivated by the calm, steady cadence of his voice.

Soon enough, the clock in the corner chimed heavy and deep. It was 10:00PM. Two hours past closing time. The store was pitch-black except for their little corner, and the small room was filled with the echoing sound of them laughing together, the distance between them shrinking with every passing minute. The laughter slowly died down into a warm, lingering silence. She looked down at her empty mug, suddenly realizing how late it was and how deeply she didn’t want to leave. "I should probably go," she said softly, her voice carrying a rare note of reluctance. "Before my manager thinks I've been kidnapped by a rogue bookkeeper."

"Owner," Oscar corrected automatically, a gentle, teasing smile on his lips as he stood up from his bean bag. "And we prefer the term 'literary curators.' It sounds less like we live in the walls and don't take showers." She laughed, pushing herself up from the floor. The chill of the London night seemed to bleed back into the room the moment she stepped away from the cozy corner. She pulled her jacket tight around her chest, slipping her giant sunglasses back onto her face even though the city outside was dark. It was time to put the armor back on.

Oscar walked her to the front of the shop, the old floorboards groaning quietly beneath their feet. He unlocked the front door, the brass bell giving a soft, melancholic chime as the cool air rushed in. "Thank you for the... artisanal coffee," she said, looking up at him from beneath the brim of her cap.

"Anytime. I'll try to find a blend that doesn't taste like charcoal next time," Oscar replied, his hand resting on the doorframe. She offered a small nod, turning to step out into the rain, but before her foot could hit the pavement, she felt a gentle pressure around her wrist. Oscar's hand was warm against her skin, his grip light but intentional as he pulled her back just an inch. She turned around, her breath catching in her throat.

Oscar was looking down at her, his face overflowing with something raw, earnest, and completely unguarded. His eyes searched hers, desperate to anchor her to this spot for just a little longer. "When can I see you again?" he asked quietly.

The question hung in the air, heavy and loud against the steady patter of the rain. She looked up into his eyes, her heart doing a frantic, unpredictable dance in her chest. For a moment, she completely forgot how to speak. She was unsure of how or what to say. How could she tell him that her schedule wasn't her own? That tomorrow morning at 5:00AM, a black car would pick her up, and she would belong to the directors, the publicists, and the cameras again? How could she tell him that she wanted to see him every single day for the rest of her month here, without letting slip the terrifying reality of who she actually was?

She stared at him, caught entirely between the overwhelming rush of her real life and the beautiful, quiet safety of his. She swallowed hard, her eyes darting down to where his fingers still loosely encircled her wrist before looking back up into his earnest face. "I... it’s complicated," she murmured, a soft, helpless trace of a laugh escaping her. "My hours are completely insane. Sometimes I don't even know what city I'm supposed to be in until my phone rings."

Oscar didn’t let go. He just smiled, that calm, steady expression returning to his eyes, completely unfazed by her chaotic corporate-marketing narrative. "Hey. The bookstore opens at nine and closes whenever I decide. I'm not going anywhere. Whenever you have an hour to deflate, the door is unlocked." A wave of profound relief washed over her, so intense it made her dizzy. He wasn't asking for her schedule, or her contact info, or a formal date. He was just offering her a harbor.

"Seven o'clock," she whispered; the decision made itself before she could overthink it. "Next Tuesday. I'll bring the hot chocolate." Oscar’s smile widened. "Deal, but only if it's the cheap stuff from the diner. I have a reputation to uphold." With a reluctant, lingering squeeze of his hand, she finally pulled away, stepping out into the chilly London drizzle.

.☘︎ ݁˖

The next Tuesday, the brass bell chimed at exactly 7:10PM. Oscar looked up from the counter, tapping a mock-furious finger against his wrist. "You're late. Thought you’d found a brand-new bookstore down the street and abandoned me for a prettier layout." She gasped, feigning deep offense. "Oh, Oscar, have a little faith in me! I’m very loyal, thank you very much." Walking over, she proudly set a steaming paper cup down on the counter. "As promised. One hot cocoa, and extra whipped cream." Oscar’s face instantly softened into that captivating, warm smile. "Alright, you’re forgiven."

Just like that, they fell right back into their perfect rhythm.

.☘︎ ݁˖

Over the next few weeks, the boundaries of their little universe expanded. Whenever she had a rare day off from filming, she didn't stay locked in her hotel room anymore. She spent her afternoons at the bookstore, trading her fast-paced, high-stakes life for something slow, comfortable, sure. Happily helping Oscar restock shelves and organize disorganized sections.

Until one rainy Thursday afternoon.

She was tucked away in the fiction aisle, carefully arranging a stack of new arrivals. Oscar was at the front register when the front door flew open and his sister, Hattie, burst in, shaking her wet umbrella. "How's my favourite brother?" Her voice echoed all over the room, making Oscar snicker, brows knitting close together as he placed his book face down. "What are you doing here, Hats?" Oscar asked, feigning annoyance but pulling her into a soft side hug. "What? I can't visit you anymore?" Before Oscar could banter, Hattie absentmindedly glanced over at the fiction aisle and froze dead in her tracks.

Her eyes went wide. Her jaw practically hit the floorboards. "Oh. My. God," Hattie breathed. Oscar looked up, totally misinterpreting her shock. He puffed his chest out proudly, gesturing to the display table right in front of the fiction aisle. "Right? We got the brand-new Uketsu and Satoshi Yagisawa books in first! Take that, Mr. Shay!" he gloated, referring to the rival shop owner down the block. Hattie slowly turned her head to look at him, her expression a mix of absolute confusion and sheer disbelief. "Satoshi—The fuck are you talking about, Oscar? I’m talking about her." She pointed a trembling finger directly toward the aisle, where she was completely in the zone, focused and quietly humming to herself as she slid a book into place. "Oh yeah," Oscar said, completely nonchalant. "She’s my new friend."

Hattie looked like her brain had just short-circuited. She was dumbfounded to the bone. "Oscar, be serious. She’s like a fucking superstar!" Now it was Oscar’s turn to look dumbfounded. "Superstar? What? No, she works in high-end corporate marketing." Hattie let out a strangled, breathless laugh. She whipped out her phone, her fingers flying across the screen before thrusting it directly into Oscar's face. Google images, movie trailers, and red carpet photos filled the screen. "You seriously didn't know?! Do you live in a cave or something? Oscar, you take the train every single day! Her face is literally all over the posters in the station!" Oscar stared at the screen, his brain frantically trying to connect the glamorous, untouchable woman in the couture gowns to the girl currently wearing his oversized cardigan in his aisle. "I don't look at the posters! I'm always reading on the train, probably!"

Before Hattie could reply, a soft rolling sound echoed. She walked back out into the main shop, pushing an empty wooden book cart to the side. She dusted off her hands, a bright, triumphant smile on her face. "I'm done! Alphabetically, and by color, just how you like it." Oscar was completely silent, his chest rising and falling. He stared at her for a long moment until he finally croaked, "You're an actress?" The smile vanished from her face. She was instantly taken aback, her eyes darting from Oscar’s shell-shocked expression to Hattie, who was standing there looking equally astounded. "I... uh..." she stammered, rubbing the back of her neck nervously. She offered a weak, sheepish smile.

Oscar’s eyes were wide. He started pacing, losing his mind a little as he walked toward the back counter. "You said you were in marketing!"

"Hey! No, no!" she argued defensively, following a step behind him. "You said I was in marketing! I just didn’t deny it!" Oscar groaned loudly, running a hand through his hair. "Same thing!" Panicking, he went to the back of the store, grabbed a random mug of coffee from the counter, took a massive sip, and instantly gagged. "God, Hattie, never buy these beans again!" he spewed, coughing. Seeing him choke on his own terrible coffee broke the tension completely. She couldn't help but let out a quiet, bubbly giggle.

"Oscar, I'm sorry," she said softly, stepping closer to him, her voice turning earnest. "I just... I didn't correct you because it was the first time in years I’ve met someone who didn’t know who I was. It was such a relief. You made me feel like a total nobody for once... and I loved it. I really loved it." Hearing that, the frantic panic melted right out of Oscar. His shoulders dropped, and his gaze softened completely as he sank back into a nearby bean bag chair. "Wow. I can't believe I didn't know," he muttered, shaking his head.

She chuckled softly, stepping into his space. "I'm glad you didn't, because then it would’ve been so hard to come back here. Which would be bad, because then I wouldn't have been able to see the cute bookshop—I mean, literary curator again." She gave him a brilliant, teasing smile.

Oscar looked up from the bean bag, a sudden, wicked twinkle in his eyes. "You have a crush on me too?"

She froze, her cheeks instantly turning bright crimson. "'Too'?" she gasped, shocked.

"I mean—!" Oscar stuttered. The blush was swallowing his skin, making him tint red. "No take-backs!" She laughed, quickly running away from him. "Hey, get back here!" Oscar called out, a massive grin on his face as he chased after her.

Behind the front cash register, Hattie watched the two of them disappear into the rows of books, a soft, knowing smile spreading across her face. Down the poetry aisle, Oscar finally caught up, his long stride bridging the gap. He reached out, his hands finding her waist as he gently spun her around and pulled her into a warm, tight hug. He buried his face into the crook of her neck, holding her like she was the most precious thing in the world.

In that moment, it felt as if time stopped. All she felt in that moment was Oscar's eyes on her, his warmth wrapping around her, and his presence just grounding her even without knowing she was about to float away. His fingers slowly lifted to her face, brushing the stray strands of hair behind her ear. "I'm really glad I didn't know you," he whispered into her hair, his voice thick with emotion. She wrapped her arms securely around his neck, sinking into his warmth. "I'm glad you didn't know me, too."

For a while, they were in their own world. That was until Oscar noticed Hattie staring at them with her chin in the palm of her hands, a bright, knowing, and teasing smile plastered on her face. He pointed an accusatory finger at her. "Hattie, you have a conference to attend across town, don't you? Why are you still here?"

Hattie laughed, putting her hands up in mock surrender as she grabbed her umbrella. "Alright, alright! I can take a hint. I'm leaving you two lovebirds alone. Oh, and just so you know, I fly back to Melbourne next week. I expect a dinner with both of you." With a wink, she slipped out the front door, the brass bell chiming behind her.

Now completely alone in the shop, Oscar turned his attention back to her. She was laughing and breathless, lifting her hands to cover her face in mock shame.

.☘︎ ݁˖

That night, she didn't go back to the hotel. Instead, she stayed with Oscar, a decision that caused her manager to leave fifteen increasingly frantic missed calls on her phone until she finally decided to just flip the switch to Do Not Disturb. His apartment, located just above the bookshop, was quaint but remarkably organized. When she pointed it out, running a finger along a dust-free shelf, Oscar just laughed. "Trust me, I used to be so messy. Until Mum came over for a surprise visit and threatened to take me back home to Australia if I didn't learn how to use a vacuum."

Sitting on his worn-in couch, she told him about everything, the absolute truth this time. They talked about life, the grueling realities of the industry, and everything in between. For a while, she just stared at Oscar as he spoke. She was smiling, a profound, rare sense of happiness settling into her chest. For a long time, men had only ever used her, treating her like a prize or an accessory, breaking her trust over and over again, but Oscar didn't care about any of it. He could have taken a photo, posted it on Instagram, and used it to promote his bookstore, but he didn't. He didn't even ask for her number, or anything other men would use to greet her with. He was different; he was gentle, genuine, kind.

In the sudden, overwhelming spur of the moment, she leaned into Oscar and kissed him. She pulled back almost instantly, her heart hammering against her ribs, completely surprised by her own boldness. Oscar’s eyes were wide, blinking at her in shock. "Oh shit, sorry!" she stammers, her hands flying up. "I don't know why I did that, shit, sorry Oscar, I—"

Before she could finish the apology, Oscar leaned forward and kissed her. Then he kissed her again, and again, and again. The frantic apologies melted away into the quiet room as they sank into each other, the soft cushions of the sofa engulfing both of them as they found themselves completely tangled in each other's arms, falling into a world of peace, like nothing else mattered, like no one else existed.

.☘︎ ݁˖

She woke up the next morning beside him, covered in nothing but a heavy, comfortable blanket Oscar had wrapped securely around both of them. His arm was thrown over her waist, anchoring her tightly into the soft mattress. In the dim morning light, she just stared at Oscar’s sleeping face. She traced the pattern of his freckles and moles with her eyes, studying the sweep of his long lashes and his supple skin. Everything about him was perfect, and it was almost crazy to think that someone could look this good just waking up.

"Take a picture; it'll last longer," Oscar mumbled, his eyes still completely closed, a sleepy, lazy smirk tugging at his lips. She smiled, her fingers finding their way to his face, gently tracing his jawline. "It's 5:30 AM. Go back to sleep." She leaned up and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. "Then you go back to sleep too," Oscar whispered, his grip tightening on her waist as he pulled her closer into his warmth. "I wish I could," she sighed, a heavy blanket of reality settling back onto her shoulders. "But I have to be on set in two hours. I have in for hair and makeup, and my manager is currently losing her mind not knowing where I am."

Oscar let out a low groan, burying his face in her neck for a second before blinking his eyes half-open. "Let me take you?" She looked at him, touched but hesitant. "I can't ask that of you. That's too much, Osc. It's way too early." But he didn't reply. He simply leaned up, pressed a sweet, lingering kiss to her lips, and stood up from the bed. He stumbled slightly in his half-asleep state, pulling on his briefs and pants, grabbing his car keys off the nightstand in one fluid, groggy motion. He stopped at the bedroom door, turning back with a sleepy, breathtaking grin. "You coming, superstar?" She couldn't help but smile to herself as she slipped out from under the covers.

.☘︎ ݁˖

On the drive back to her hotel, the city was quiet, draped in an early morning fog. Oscar's left hand was tightly entwined with hers over the center console the entire time. She kept glancing at his profile, her chest aching with a heavy secret. "Just say it," Oscar finally said gently, his eyes fixed on the road. She blinked, wondering how he always managed to read her so flawlessly. Letting out a long, quiet sigh, she looked out the passenger window at the passing streets. "I'll leave in two weeks," she said softly. The silence that followed was thick and heavy, punctuated only by the low hum of the car engine.

"Then we'll spend it wisely," Oscar said, breaking the quiet. She looked back at him, her expression deeply saddened. "Oscar..."

"I'll be wherever you are, you'll be wherever I am," he assured her, his voice steady and calm. He lifted her hand, pressing a tender kiss to the back of her knuckles before returning his hand to the wheel. "Any time we can get in those two weeks, we take it." It was endlessly endearing and so incredibly kind. It should have been enough, but in her heart, she didn't want two weeks. She didn't want two months. She selfishly wanted two years; or two thousand lifetimes, even two million forevers, and as crazy as it felt to admit it to herself after only a month, she just knew.

Oscar was it for her.

.☘︎ ݁˖

The next two weeks felt like a countdown on a bomb that neither of them knew how to defuse. They lived in a state of beautiful, exhausting desperation. Every spare second was bartered for, stolen, and fiercely protected. If she had a thirty-minute break between setups, she was ducking into the back seat of a tinted car, texting Oscar frantic updates. If she wrapped at midnight, she didn't care about the grueling 5:00AM call time the next morning; she went straight to the bookstore.

Oscar became a man possessed by a single goal: making her forget the ticking clock. He stayed up late into the ungodly hours of the night, keeping the bookstore open just for her. He bought a different brand of coffee beans, which still tasted slightly like burnt wood, but she drank it like it was fine wine anyway. When she arrived completely drained, her eyes stinging from filming a heavy crying scene, Oscar didn't ask her to talk. He just pulled her onto the velvet lover's seat, opened a book, and read to her until her breathing synced with his.

One evening, with just five days left, the reality of her world finally breached their sanctuary. They were sitting on the floor of the travel section, sharing a takeout container of cold noodles, when a group of teenagers stopped outside the shop window. They peered through the glass, pointing at her, frantically whispering and pulling out their phones. She froze, the noodles suddenly tasting like ash in her mouth. The armor went up instantly; her posture stiffened, and her eyes darted for the nearest exit. It was the instinctual reflex of a girl who had been hunted by cameras since she was twelve.

Oscar didn't panic. He stood up calmly, walked over to the front door, and gently flipped the sign from Open to Closed. Then, with a casual flick of his wrist, he unlatched the heavy velvet drapes her great-uncle had installed decades ago, letting them fall shut and blocking out the street entirely. The shop was plunged into a deep, secluded amber glow. Oscar walked back to her, sinking to his knees on the floor. He didn't look annoyed, or starstruck, or overwhelmed. He just took the takeout container from her trembling hands, setting it aside, and took her hands in his.

"Hey," he whispered, his thumb soothing over her knuckles. "They're gone. It's just us." She looked at him, her chest tight. "It’s always going to be like that, Osc. Everywhere I go. It doesn't stop."

"Good thing I like velvet curtains," he said, giving her that bunny-toothed, infectious smile that always reached his eyes. "We can buy thicker ones if we need to. Maybe a deadbolt or five on every door."

A watery laugh escaped her, and she leaned forward, burying her forehead against his shoulder. He held her tight, his hand cradling the back of her head. In that moment, she realized the terrifying truth: the world outside was massive, loud, and demanding, but Oscar had built a fortress out of old paper and dust, and she never wanted to step outside of it.

.☘︎ ݁˖

On the final night, they stayed up in his apartment, the bookstore below dark and closed for the day. Her suitcases were already packed and waiting by the door of her hotel room across town. Tomorrow morning, a plane would take her back to Los Angeles, back to the red carpets, the press junkets, and the endless noise. They lay in his bed, the sheets tangled around their legs, the steady London rain playing a melancholic rhythm against the windowpane. They were reading the same book, comfortable to be engulfed in the white noise that echoed around his home. For a moment, she paused. She gently closed her book and prompted Oscar to do the same, setting it on the nightstand.

Oscar blinked, looking down at her. "You okay?" he asked softly, planting a tender kiss on her clothed shoulder. She stared out the window, watching the rain blur the distant city lights. "Would it be too much to ask... if I said I wanted to stay here longer?" A quiet moment passed, the weight of tomorrow hanging heavily over the bed. Then, Oscar’s grip tightened around her, his embrace turning fierce and protective. "Then stay. Stay forever." She swallowed past the lump in her throat, leaning back into his chest. She knew it was just said to appease her thoughts, a beautiful impossibility whispered in the dark, but she wished so deeply for it to be real. She wished it were possible to just give it all up, to stay here.

Later that night, she lay awake beside him. His arm was resting over her stomach, his breathing leveled into a deep, steady rhythm. She watched him sleep, memorizing the slope of his nose, the curve of his jaw, and the cadence of his breath like it was her own heartbeat. She was going to miss him so much it already felt like a physical ache. The next morning, Oscar woke up because of the sharp morning sunlight leaking through the blinds. He stretched his arms out sleepily, expecting to pull her into his side, but he was greeted only by emptiness.

His eyes shot open. The sheets beside him were cold. He called out for her, his voice hoarse from sleep. No response. Panic seized him. He hurriedly threw on his clothes that were scattered on the floor, pulling on his shirt inside out. He bolted into the small living room. "Are you in here?" Again, nothing but silence. Before he could call out her name a third time, his eyes caught something on the kitchen table. A book and an envelope. He walked over, his heart hammering against his ribs. It was the vintage book they had both grabbed simultaneously on the very first day they met. Resting on top of it was a neatly folded note. With trembling fingers, he opened it.

Oscar, I couldn't bring myself to say goodbye to your face because I knew that if I looked into your eyes one last time, I never would've gotten on that plane. Thank you for the past month. Thank you for giving me something I didn't even know I'd been craving, for letting me be a complete nobody for a little while. You have no idea what a gift that was. With you, I was just a girl standing in front of a boy who saw her exactly as she was. The girl who willingly drank your awful coffee, who somehow ended up falling in love with books she'd never have picked up if it weren't for their annoyingly charming literary curator. Somewhere between quiet mornings and all the ordinary moments that never felt ordinary with you, I fell in love with the little world you built, and somewhere along the way, I fell in love with you. So maybe, when the universe finally decides it's done keeping us apart, we'll find each other again, and hopefully we'll still be on the same page. :)

Oscar snapped at that. He didn't care about logic, or distance, or the reality of her life. He checked the clock on the wall: 9:15. Her flight wasn't until 11:00. So he ran. He grabbed whatever coat there was on the rack and flew down the stairs, unlocked the shop, and burst out into the freezing air. He ran through the light flurries of snow dusting the pavement, his breath coming in ragged, white gasps. He practically threw himself through the barriers at the train station, his foot tapping a frantic, maddening rhythm against the floorboards for every agonizing minute the train was in motion. The second the doors slid open at Heathrow Airport, he was sprinting again. He wove violently through the bustling crowds of Terminal 5, pushing past travelers, his eyes scanning every security line, every check-in desk, completely frantic. He felt like a maniac. He started calling out her name, loud and desperate, earning sharp, startled looks from security guards and passengers alike. Fuck them, he thought. He didn't care if a cop tackled him to the ground right now. He just needed her to hear him.

He screamed one last time, his voice cracking with pure desperation. A hundred yards away, right at the front of the security queue, a girl in an oversized jacket and a baseball cap stiffened. She turned around. Their eyes met across the crowded, chaotic terminal. The noise of the airport seemed to drop away entirely. It was just like the books. Just like the fairytales he read after hours. Tears instantly sprang to her eyes. Without a second thought, she stepped right out of the line, ignoring her manager’s frantic shout behind her, and started sprinting straight toward him.

Oscar met her halfway, catching her in his arms. He was panting, his chest heaving, his hands immediately coming up to cup either side of her face, tilting her head up so he could look directly into her eyes. "Oscar..." she whispered softly. "I meant it," he choked out, his voice trembling. She blinked back tears, her hands gripping his wrists. "What?"

"I meant what I said last night. Stay forever," he said, a tear finally escaping his own eye as his thumbs brushed across her cheeks. Oscar's gaze burned into hers with a sudden, overwhelming certainty. "Stay forever in my life. It doesn’t matter where Paris, London, Tokyo, LA—but stay. With the quiet. With the books. With the bad coffee. With me. I don’t care about anything else. I just want you."

She looked at him, the tears overflowing and spilling down her cheeks, a breathless, sobbing laugh escaping her lips. The girl who belonged to millions of people finally felt like she belonged completely to just one.

"I thought the coffee was just artisanal?" she whispered, jokingly, her voice thick with emotion. Oscar laughs. "I was just trying to impress the pretty girl and get her to stay." His voice dropped to that soft, perfect cadence she's memorized and grown to love. She smiled, burying her face into his chest for a split second before looking back up, her eyes shining. He finally leaned down, kissing her right there in the middle of the crowded airport, cementing a promise that no distance could ever break.

©️𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒔

🪻@cosmonauticaaa @freddiefromthefandoms @hannahbananababybanana @mclaeronautics @yumarkie