#library au

The fact that I had broken the governor module that kept me from going rogue and killing everyone around me hadn't changed much, as it turned out. I might get around to my murderous rampage eventually, but first there was a lot of media to watch.

Currently I was contracted out to a group that operated beyond the Corporate Rim and was in a literal library that was so ancient it still had physically bound copies of some of its material.

I expected it to be boring. The biggest threats should have been losing my drones to the ankle-high piles of dust and maybe some of those little insects that eat paper, which would be more of an issue for the PresAux crew than me. I thought I'd have plenty of time to watch my media while my clients ran around collecting books, data cases, and the occasional artifact of supposedly historical importance.

Instead a giant bug had decided books weren't enough and tried to take a bite out of Dr. Bharadwaj. I punched it out of the way and kicked one of its legs, losing parts of my armor and significant pieces of my body in the process..

Dr. Bharadwaj was now behind me, curled around her injury, and Dr. Volescu was busy panicking. That left me to do the fighting. As usual.

I had to borrow a sword from PresAux's collection crate. I should have been using the energy weapons in my arms, but we had already learned the hard way (so many puncture wounds) that the librarians of Ashurban believed that lasers were a great trigger for their ridiculous boobytraps.

I had always dismissed Permanent Collection as being overly fanciful and dramatic, but now I wondered if one of the creators had visited Ashurban and lived to tell about it.

The sword was a slow, dull, and inefficient weapon, but I was still ready to decapitate the giant bookworm when I heard a click and felt a brush of fresh air in the otherwise closed hall. I dropped to the floor. The scythe that would have separated my head and shoulders from the rest of my body instead finished off the bookworm for me.

The bookworm's death throes were flinging fluids everywhere, including the gashes it had already put in me. I scooped up Dr. Bharadwaj to take back to the armored rover while Dr. Volescu continued to panic. Talking to him while carrying Dr. Bharadwaj and trying not to lose more chunks of myself was more of a strain than it should have been, especially since I also needed to watch for any other tripwires or pressure plates since Ashurban hated me.

I managed to get them both back to the crawler without further incident, although I had lost the sword at some point. I heard Dr. Ratthi offer to grab it, but the team's leader, Dr. Mensah, managed to stop him before he could get himself killed.

All I wanted to do was to go to my cubible and finish watching episode 397 of Rise and Fall of Sanctuary Moon while my repairs were made. I should have known it wouldn't be that easy.

-

Library of Ashurban- gets its name from the Library of Ashurbanipal, named after the last great king of the Assyrian Empire, roughly around the 7th century BCE.

Permanent Collection is my homage to Librarians, which is a gosh dang fun show in all its overblown glory.

The stairs to Sunghoon’s apartment groaned under their weight, a rhythmic warning that they were leaving the safety of the public world and entering something private. Sunghoon paused at the top, his hand hovering over the doorknob, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Behind him, you stood shivering in his oversized cardigan, clutching your canvas tote bag like it contained your entire life—which, he supposed, it did.

"It’s… not much," Sunghoon mumbled, pushing the door open. "I wasn't expecting company."

He stepped inside, flipping the switch. A warm, amber light flooded the small space. It was cluttered but cozy—stacks of books towered on the floor like stalagmites, a half-drunk mug of tea sat on the coffee table, and a few throw pillows were haphazardly scattered on the sofa. It smelled of sandalwood, old paper, and rain.

You followed him in, your eyes wide as you took in the sanctuary. "It’s perfect," you whispered, your voice echoing slightly. "It feels like the shop, but… safer."

Sunghoon locked the door behind you, the deadbolt sliding into place with a heavy thud. You flinched at the sound.

"The bathroom is there," he said quickly, pointing to a narrow door to his left to distract you. "Towels are on the shelf. Feel free to… use whatever. I’ll find you something to sleep in."

He retreated to his bedroom before you could thank him, rummaging through his dresser. His hands were shaking slightly. Pull yourself together, he thought. She’s just a girl who needs a bed.

He pulled out a pair of grey sweatpants and a t-shirt, then changed his mind, grabbing a white camisole he’d bought as a gift for his cousin years ago and never sent. It was cleaner. Softer.

He walked back out to the living room. You were standing by the window, looking out at the wet street, the cardigan slipping off one shoulder.

"Here," he said, holding out the clothes. "These should be warm enough."

You took them, your fingers brushing against his. "Thank you, Sunghoon. Really."

While you disappeared into the bathroom, Sunghoon moved around the kitchenette like a robot. He put the kettle on, grabbed two cups of instant ramen, and set them on the small dining table. He needed to do something with his hands. If he stopped moving, he’d start thinking about the fact that you were changing into his clothes ten feet away.

When the bathroom door opened again, Sunghoon nearly dropped his chopsticks.

You were wearing the grey sweatpants, the cuffs rolled up several times so they didn't drag on the floor. But it was the top that stole the air from his lungs. The white camisole was thin, the straps delicate against your skin. It hugged your torso, leaving your shoulders and collarbones bare. You looked soft, vulnerable, and devastatingly beautiful.

Your hair was down now, slightly damp from the rain, curling at the ends.

"They fit okay?" Sunghoon choked out.

You looked down at yourself, smoothing the fabric over your stomach. "Yeah. They're really comfortable. Thank you."

You sat down at the table, and Sunghoon joined you. For the first few minutes, the only sound was the quiet slurping of noodles and the rain tapping against the glass. But the silence felt different now—heavy with the things they hadn't said.

"You didn't ask me why I was on the street," you said suddenly, not looking up at your bowl.

Sunghoon paused, his cup halfway to his mouth. "I figured you'd tell me if you wanted to."

You took a deep breath, setting your chopsticks down. "My parents died in a car crash three years ago. I was twenty. Since then, it’s just been me. I lived with an aunt for a while, but… she made it clear I was a burden. So I saved everything I had and moved to Seoul on Monday."

You looked up at him, your eyes shining. "And the landlord scammed me. Sold the unit out from under me. So. Here I am."

Sunghoon felt a pang of guilt for ever thinking his life was difficult. "I'm sorry, Y/N. That sounds… incredibly lonely."

"It was," you admitted softly. Then, you looked at him, really looked at him. "What about you? You live in a bookstore, Sunghoon. You seem like you're hiding too."

Sunghoon looked down at his hands. "My dad died when I was a kid. My mom remarried and moved to Canada. I stayed here for the shop. We text and call, but… it's not the same. I'm just a chapter she closed a long time ago."

The table went quiet. Two orphans, sharing ramen in a yellow-lit room.

"You're not closed to me," you said softly.

Sunghoon looked up, meeting your gaze. The air between them felt electric, charged with a sudden, intense intimacy.

"Eat," he grumbled, standing up to clear the table to hide his flushing face. "We need to sleep."

You helped him clean up in silence, the domesticity of the moment feeling strangely natural. When the dishes were done, you both stood by the bed, looking at it like it was a piece of alien technology.

It was a double bed. Not huge, but big enough for two people who respected boundaries.

"I can take the couch," Sunghoon offered, even though the couch was lumpy and his back would scream in the morning.

"No," you said firmly. "You've already done too much. We're adults, Sunghoon. We can share. I promise I won't bite."

You shot him a weak, teasing smile, but your eyes were tired. Sunghoon sighed.

"Okay. Fine."

He turned off the main lamp, plunging the room into darkness, save for the orange glow of the streetlights outside. He climbed into the left side, keeping his back to you, his body stiff as a board. You slid in on the other side.

The mattress dipped under your weight. The scent of strawberries from your shampoo filled his nose, mixing with the smell of old books. It was intoxicating.

"Goodnight, Sunghoon," you whispered into the dark.

"Goodnight, Y/N."

Minutes passed. Sunghoon stared at the wall, counting the raindrops against the window. He couldn't relax. He was hyper-aware of every breath you took, every shift of the sheets.

Then, he heard it. A sniffle. Muffled by the pillow.

Sunghoon rolled over.

You were facing away from him, curled into a tight ball, your shoulders shaking silently.

"Y/N?"

He didn't wait for an answer. He reached out, wrapping an arm around your waist, and pulled you back against him. You froze for a second, your breath hitching, then melted into his chest.

The thin fabric of the camisole did little to separate your skin from his hand. His palm rested flat against your stomach, warm and grounding. He could feel the rapid beating of your heart against his forearm.

"You're safe here," he murmured into your hair, his voice low and rough. "I promise. No one is going to make you leave."

You turned over in his arms to face him. Even in the dim light, he could see the tear tracks glistening on your cheeks.

"Why are you so nice to me?" you whispered, your voice trembling. "You don't even know me."

Sunghoon looked at you. In this moment, with your guard down and your walls broken, he felt like he knew you better than anyone.

"Maybe I'm tired of being alone, too," he confessed.

He reached up, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek, wiping away a tear. You leaned into his touch, your eyes fluttering shut, your hand coming up to rest on top of his.

"Stay with me?" you whispered, so quietly he almost missed it.

"I'm right here," Sunghoon said. "I'm not going anywhere."

You snuggled closer, burying your face in the crook of his neck, your leg tangling with his under the covers. Sunghoon held you tight, his chin resting on top of your head. The silence of the apartment returned, but for the first time in years, it wasn't empty.

The rain had stopped hours ago, leaving the city outside draped in a heavy, wet silence. Inside the shop, the air had grown colder, the kind of damp chill that seeped into Sunghoon’s bones and settled there.

He checked his watch. 8:45 PM.

Closing time had technically been fifteen minutes ago. Usually, Sunghoon was rigid about this. He liked the ritual of locking the front door, turning the sign to "Closed," and walking into the night knowing he had fulfilled his duties for the day.

But tonight, he hesitated.

He looked through the gap in the shelves toward the poetry section. You were still there.

You hadn’t moved much. You had shifted from sitting cross-legged to having your legs stretched out in front of you, your back still resting against the shelf. The baby pink tank top looked hopelessly inadequate against the dropping temperature of the room. You were hugging yourself now, your teeth chattering quietly, a sound that seemed to echo in the vast emptiness of the shop.

Sunghoon frowned. He grabbed his cardigan from the hook behind the counter—thick, gray wool, nothing fashionable, but warm—and walked toward you.

His footsteps were purposeful, but you didn’t look up until his shadow fell over you. You startled, blinking rapidly, as if waking from a trance. Your eyes were red-rimmed, and your nose was pink from the cold.

"Hey," Sunghoon said softly, crouching down so he was eye level with you. "I'm closing up."

You scrambled to sit up, your movements frantic. "Oh! Oh, god, I’m sorry. I lost track of time. I’ll—I’ll go right now."

You shoved the paperback into your canvas bag and moved to stand, but your legs seemed to have fallen asleep. You stumbled, your knee knocking hard against the wooden shelf.

"Whoa, easy." Sunghoon reached out instinctively, his hand catching your elbow to steady you. Even through the fabric of your skin, he could feel you shivering.

"I'm sorry," you whispered again, your voice trembling. You pulled away from him, wrapping your arms around yourself tighter. "I didn't mean to overstay."

Sunghoon looked at you. Really looked at you.

Earlier, you had been a splash of color, a disruption. Now, you just looked small. The confidence you had wielded like a shield when talking about "history" and "stories" was gone. You looked like a leaf that had been blown into the shop and forgotten.

"You're shaking," Sunghoon observed. It wasn't a question.

"I'm fine," you lied, poorly.

Sunghoon debated just opening the door and watching you walk out. It was the safe option. The librarian option. But something about the way your eyes darted toward the dark window, then quickly back to him, made him pause. It wasn't just the cold making you tremble.

"Is someone picking you up?" he asked.

You hesitated. The pause was too long. "No. I… I'm walking."

"It’s late. And it’s damp."

"I know." You hugged your bag to your chest, looking down at your low-rise jeans and exposed skin with a sudden sense of vulnerability. "I’ll be okay."

Sunghoon sighed, the sound exasperated but mostly concerned. "Here."

He thrust the gray wool cardigan toward you. It was oversized, threadbare at the cuffs, and smelled like old books and his sandalwood soap.

"You don't have to—" you started.

"Take it," he said. "You’re turning blue. It clashes with the pink."

You looked up at him, startled, before a weak, watery smile graced your lips. You took the cardigan, pulling it on. It swallowed you whole, the hem hitting your mid-thigh, hiding the exposed skin of your waist. You buried your hands in the pockets, inhaling the scent deeply.

"Thank you," you whispered.

"Come on," Sunghoon said, turning toward the front. "I’ll walk you to the door."

You followed him slowly, your steps dragging. When you reached the front of the shop, Sunghoon unlocked the deadbolt and pushed the heavy wooden door open. The cool night air rushed in, smelling of wet pavement and car exhaust.

You stepped onto the sidewalk, but you didn't move forward. You just stood there, clutching his cardigan around you, looking up and down the empty street.

Sunghoon stood in the doorway, watching you. "Which way?"

You didn't answer. You just stood there, frozen.

"Miss?" he asked gently.

You flinched, turning to face him. The streetlights caught the tears welling in your eyes.

"I don't have anywhere to go," you choked out, your voice breaking. "I just moved here from Busan three days ago. I was supposed to start my lease on Monday, but the landlord… he backed out. Sold the unit to someone else."

Sunghoon stared at you, his stomach dropping. "And you have nowhere else?"

You shook your head miserably. "I don't have family. Not anymore. And all my friends are back south. I have a suitcase and this bag." You lifted the canvas tote slightly. "I came in here because it was raining and it looked warm, and I just wanted to pretend like I had a place to be for a few hours."

You wiped your eyes aggressively with the sleeve of Sunghoon’s cardigan. "I’ll just go to a jjimjilbang or something. I’m sorry. I didn't mean to dump this on you. I’ll go."

You turned to walk away, but your legs were shaking so badly you could barely take a step.

"Wait."

You stopped, sniffing, but didn't turn around.

Sunghoon felt a strange sensation in his chest—a cracking, a shifting. His life was the reference guide. It was predictable. It was safe. But standing in front of him was a girl in a pink top and his oversized cardigan, holding the weight of the world on her shoulders, and he couldn't just close the book on her.

"It’s… it’s not much," Sunghoon said, rubbing the back of his neck, his heart hammering against his ribs. "But there’s a couch upstairs. Above the shop. It pulls out."

You turned around slowly, your eyes wide and disbelieving. "What?"

"I live in the apartment upstairs," Sunghoon said, the words rushing out now. "It’s old. It’s drafty. The shower pressure is terrible. But it’s dry. And there's… there's instant ramen."

He didn't know what he was doing. He was an introvert who barely spoke to customers, and now he was inviting a stranger into his sanctuary. But looking at you, shivering in his clothes, he knew he couldn't let you walk away to sleep on a bench.

"You don't even know me," you whispered.

"I know you like the smell of old wood," Sunghoon said softly. "And I know you think a good story is worth getting dirty for."

You let out a wet, surprised laugh. "That's not a very rigorous background check."

Sunghoon managed a small, crooked smile. "It’ll have to do."

He looked at you, really seeing you for the first time not as an intrusion, but as a person. "I'm Sunghoon, by the way. Park Sunghoon."

You stared at him for a moment, the name hanging in the cold air between you. Then, you wiped your face one last time and straightened your spine, offering him a small, genuine smile despite the tears.

"I'm Y/N," you said softly. "Just… Y/N."

"Y/N," Sunghoon repeated, testing the weight of it on his tongue. It sounded better than the silence. "Well, Y/N, are you coming? Or are you going to sleep on the sidewalk?"

You looked at the open door, the warm light spilling out onto the wet pavement. "I'm coming."

Sunghoon unlocked the door again and held it open for you. You stepped inside, the warmth of the shop enveloping you instantly.

"Up those stairs," he pointed toward the back of the room, trying to sound casual while his heart raced. "I'll put the kettle on."