#johnathan moore

"Can I help you, sweetheart?" The man, whose brown eyes swam the second story of the library hesitantly moved to you; A professor, English. You heard ample things about him, the frequenters of your level reporting their assigned findings in quiet whispers. You smiled softly, leaning your shoulders onto the desk and tilting your head off to the side, eyebrow cocking. The dark-eyed man wet his lips, opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. A beat, then a brisk laugh from your nostrils, nodding to the book snug to his side. "You better not be stealing for your personal collection, professor."

Fuck, you're good, and you know it. It doesn't take me long to realize the lingering floral smell of this floor is from you, not as I stiffly approach the desk while demeaning myself silently. Idiot, stop moving your feet. Professor, the word sounds obscene on your lips in a way I don't think I'll ever be able to properly conduct. Taking a breath solves nothing, but I know you can see my nervous tremors as I lift David to reveal the cover, trying for a smile. I can tell it looks as jagged as I feel, but still, you put out your hand, and I manage to force my throat to squeeze the comment out.

"No, no; I'm sorry, I didn't know I could check out here. I figured you were exclusively a study guide," 'Mr.Moore' spits lies like a seconod language.

"Ohh, I see... I'm a study guide with a useless book scanner then," You speak like it's a revealtion, hoping to ease this mans nervous demenor with a light wiggle of your fingers forward. "Copperfield, huh?" Joe's jaw clenches as your recognition, chuckling hoarsly as he forked it over, laying it into your palm. His cold hand grazed your soft warm one through the transaction, the placement of his grasp noticeably unessecary - Was he flirting? Even he couldn't tell, but the banter felt good, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

"Not like that - I mean, you're always busy with students, I didn't want to clog up your line," He juts a thumb over his shoulder, the empty space behind him not settling into him until after he spoke. Was he always this nervous? Another thing he couldn't tell, not even now.

This was an introduction I wanted to plan, If I'm really honest I needed more time. But if the universe wanted to throw me into your warm arms, would it be so wrong to follow it's guiding plan? The first day I saw you, weeks ago. Books against your chest, pants snug fit to your doughy thighs, hair a tousled mess as you walked from your car; You aren't on too many social medias, but you are focused and driven on pushing yourself for more, a bigger life, something to explore and peel open. You didn't get dished the bright opportunity all these spoiled kids did, you worked to get where you are and you aren't finished. That spark was so electric, didn't you feel it too? I crossed the street, directly going for your path as you took a hard glance to your phone, managing to juggle it from your back pocket. Your shoulder clashed with mine, and the books went a tumble between us onto the cement. It made me wince, but it was worth hearing that voice. "Oh lovely, I'm so sorry!" You're considerate. You put your hand onto the flat of mine, doe eyes finding me. The moment was brief, but it took the breath from my lungs being so close, the floral smell, the soft squeeze you gave me before going to collect the littered books. I wanted to live in that moment forever, swallow the feeling of you calling me lovely. I want more, to hear more.

"No, I'm sorry - I don't really look where I'm going when I'm on my phone too," It's a little rude, I can see your cheeks flush, eyeing me slightly. But it's worth it when you smile, nose scrunched as you stood, allowing me the grace of picking up the rest of the books.

"Alright honey, watch it, not a student." I can feel my knees starting to buckle when you stand up, a few heads shorter than me. I already knew, of course, but it was fun to watch you flounder. And before I could tack down even your name, you were gone. "But I do have things to do, sorry again!" It was more than enough to get high off of. You're a kind girl, aren't you? A sweet one, one who sees me past the details.

It was so easy to swipe your copy of David Copperfield during that little collision, but I think you know that, and I don't think you care. Not even as you scan it, eyebrows shifting as you recognize the strings frayed on the spine. I swallow, wondering if you recognize me the same way, from weeks ago. A small collision I carefully planned, all for you. I can feel my heart jamming into my chest when you hand it off back to me, trying to not be visibly disappointed at the lack of contact. I never realize how truly silent everything feels when you aren't talking, but being a lurker of the library since our encounter has filled my head with you. The books you love, your favorite students, the ones you pretend to love and grumble about when you think you're out of earshot. You aren't ever out of earshot from me.

"Have you been following me?"

Fuck.

"No?" Yes.

"Just - Sorry, I feel like I've seen you and I'm pretty sure I lost my Copperfield, like a month ago?" Your eyes move to the mystery man, his graying curls falling forward as he cocked his head, examining the book in his hands. Feigning recognition, and then;

"Ah! Miss not looking where she's going? I got this one from the un-shelved cart," It's a brisk lie, one that will be good for us. Copperfield, it's our thing now, something we can tell our kids. Genuine recognition looks gorgeous on you, a couple blinks and that eye creased smile, your real smile. Being close to you feels even better than I remember, a high I've been chasing for so long. My eyes, stiffly controlled, remain on yours; But a smart man can appreciate a delicious peripheral.

"Oh god, yeah! Mister clumsy, Professor...Moore?" Even the fake name I wear sends spikes through my blood, crystalizing the cells and shattering every other definition of want and love I thought I knew before. I give a nod, putting the book to my side. "That's what I figured! Thanks for the help that time, sweet thing." My heart can't take your nicknames, but you knew that since the moment we met. I want to know about you, I've already memorized your recent reading list, and taken my time imagining you with a book and nothing else. The sparking images dries my mouth, giving another hoarse chuckle. Your shape, something I can't pull myself from marveling at, something I crave to grope, to mold to my own body and hold entirely. Your curves, the perfect waves for my hands to rest and drown in -