#samnishimura

I still think about the look on her face, all red and frozen and wide-eyed when I gave her that kiss. It makes me smile for some reason, remembering that, which is kind of weird but like, who cares? 

I honestly don’t think the laws of sexuality work the same way with people that look like her, anyway. I mean, like, wow. Even in the formal work getup, the shitty club lighting and the scary situation, she was a 10. An easy 10, and all I got a good look at was that heart-stopping face of hers and how slender she seemed. 

I know she comes here, sometimes. I’d seen her with a stack of dusty old dictionaries a few days ago that had to have come from a place like this. 

It takes a good hour (an actual hour; mentally it felt like three and a half years) to come across another person. 

"Hello?" I call out to the figure, trotting up to get closer. "Hey, um, I’m looking for someone."

The figure turns; it’s an old, crouched man with a walking cane and a pair of magnifying glasses that could probably see the distant corners of space. “Aren’t we all doing that?” he responds cryptically, adjusting the spectacles at a page of impossibly small text. 

I stare at him for a second, not sure how to respond. “Uhm, I don’t know if she’s here, but…She’s kinda tall, brown hair, really pretty. Her name’s Lara?”

He looks up at me immediately. “You’re looking for Miss Croft?” He squints, and licks his lips like old people do when they’re trying to figure something out. “What does someone dressed like you want with ‘er, then?”

I’m taken aback as he waves his finger at my exposed stomach. "Excuse me-"

"You that aunt ‘os been comin’ after her, lately? Selfish, stubborn bitch, the money in’t yer’s, ye hear?"

What. The fuck. Is even happening right now. “I’m a friend. Uh, from school? I just thought maybe she’d be here.”

"Oh." He gives me another squinty-eyed face and looks back into his dense tome. "She’s usually in the ‘Istorical section, Eastern Asian, I fink. Should be, at lees."

"Oookay," I skirt away quickly, not wanting to engage in another awkward rant, or whatever that was. "Thanks."

When I finally come across who I’m looking for, I’ve almost given up completely and turned back. Around the sixth bend sits a large wooden table, and at the table sits a girl, that girl, in a prayer circle of tomes and books and catalogues that were spread out across the surface and on the floor. She’s entranced by whatever it is she’s up to, and she doesn’t even respond to my approach until I’m right on top of her.

"I swear I couldn’t find that volume, Mister Von Croy." she says, maybe at me. "Thank you for look-" She pulls her gaze up to me and her face zaps with shock. "Oh! Oh, your not-" She waves her hand at me. "Sorry. I thought you were someone else."

"That old guy? Nah, sorry." I give her my best grin and her cheeks burn that brilliant pink I like so much. "I was looking for you, though."

"For me?" She seems flabbergasted by the notion. 

"Yeah, I thought I saw you come in once, so I figured this would be a good place to look. I went back to that club and you weren’t there." I rub the back of my neck. "Sorry, that probably seems creepy or something."

"No!" she responds instantly. "No, not creepy in the slightest. Just…not a lot of people ever coming looking for me, that’s all."

Okay, that was kind of heart-breaking, and I already want to kiss her again. Instead, I take the seat next to her. 

"That dude I talked to seemed to think you were pretty popular. Said some chick was following you, looking for money?"

She gives me a quizzical quirk of her brow before realization settles in her striking gray-brown eyes. “Ah, Florentina. My father’s sister. I’m…uhm…trying to work through some legal trouble with my family.” 

"With your family? That’s weird."

"Well, they aren’t…" she sighs and rubs her forehead tiredly. "They aren’t really my family. By blood, they are. It’s a long story." 

Absently, I take her hand in my own and inspect her fingertips. They’re lightly calloused and scarred, which surprises me; I run my digit from the base of her wrist to the top of her middle finger. It tenses anxiously under my touch. 

"I know I thanked you already but," I start, still studying the lines in her palm. "Seriously, thank you. For the other night, you know? I couldn’t stop thinking about what could have happened if you weren’t there."

Her cheek get even redder and she shakes her head in a charmingly awkward way. “You don’t have to thank me, I was doing my civil duty.”