“You should really chill out.” Beidou repeats for the second time and she doesn’t even know why she bothers because you never seem to listen to her. It’s unfair sometimes, how you willingly listen to your three other friends but when it comes to her, you never do.

“I’m trying!” You groan, before immediately chewing on your thumb, staring more intently at the screen of your phone. “This is killing me.”

“It’s killing all of us.” Yelan deadpans, as she flips the page of the book she’s reading.

Your phone suddenly lights up, a familiar notification sound echoing through the study room, you immediately jump out of your seat, squealing in surprise. 

Everyone turns their attention to you: Beidou straightens up, Kaveh drops his pen, and Yelan looks up from her book.

“It’s just a reminder to pay for my credit.” You groan, shoulders slumping in disappointment. 

Yelan closes her book with a loud smack before engaging in a stare down against you.

“This has to stop.” She says, motioning her hands to your vague form before continuing, “Xilonen already told you had nothing to be nervous about—they liked your application, what’s the problem?”

You groan into your hands, before dropping your head on top of the table, “What if they change their mind?” you mumble to your side. 

“You’re just overthinking it.” Kaveh offers, his drawings long forgotten as he tries to comfort you. “Come on, you probably have the most stacked resume out of all of us—well except for Yelan—they’d be crazy to reject your application.” 

At this, the others hum in agreement. 

“You should go to the main library, get some work done,” He suggests, “Don’t you have a deadline later?” 

“Yeah,”

“Please.” Beidou grumbles but you catch the playful glint in her eyes. She may act like she’s dreading to be around you but you know deep down she only likes looking out for her friends. 

“Yeah fine whatever, I’ll be back later.” You say, retrieving your bag from behind. As you leave the study room, you pretend you don’t hear Kaveh celebrating his success in ousting you.

“Finally! She was taking up so much space.” He exclaims before rolling out what seems like his special architetcure paper notoriously known for being big, you think—if any of your other friends’ groans were anything to go by. 

—

When you complain about the tuition fee increase going to absolutely nowhere, this is what you mean.

You can’t believe it took you 30 minutes just to find a vacant study table in the library. And this was supposed to be the largest library on campus. You end up hovering like a vulture, pretending to scroll on your phone while actually watching people a little too intently, earning more than a few weird looks in the process. You wait, hoping someone will finally decide they’ve had enough of lounging around and pack up.

This time, luck is on your side. 

Someone—a freshman, from their well put together appearance—gathers their things from a single seat near the window. You immediately rush forward, thinking that this was it or nothing, and as your fingers brush against the back of the chair, you see another hand that closes around it at the same time.

For a split second, you wonder if you were too slow after all.

“I was here first.” you say without missing a beat, looking away from the chair to put a face on your would-be chair thief if you surrender now. 

You get a glimpse of orange hair, messy in that effortless way that looks intentional, and deep cerulean eyes—sharp and bright like they’re already studying you with open curiosity. His features are striking in an unfair, almost irritating way: straight nose, defined jaw, and a mouth curved into the hint of a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You would have thought about how your heart skipped a beat the moment you locked eyes with him but the slight smirk on his lips remind you about more pressing matters.

“I touched it before you though,” he says, almost teasing, as he glances to where his hand is. You look down. His fingers are wrapped securely around the chair, knuckles pale with pressure. Your touch looks laughable beside it—two fingers resting on the back, not the grip that you thought it was a while ago. 

You scoff indignantly, “You can’t claim a chair just by touching it.” 

His grin widens and you don’t know whether to be annoyed or focus on ignoring the flip your stomach does. “Sure I can.”

You decide to switch tactics—play his game. Your hand shifts, deliberately tapping your chair once again. “With that logic, this belongs to me now.”

He laughs, louder than what’s acceptable in the library. You feel eyes settle on you, making you hyperaware of how disturbing you both have been. You make a face at this chair thief, shushing him as he calms himself down.

“Now you’re being emotional over a chair.” He comments, in between laughs and it takes everything to stop your jaw from dropping over his audacity.

“You started it.”

“I’m just defending my rightful seat.”

“Rightful?” You snort. “You look like you don’t even study.”

He doesn’t seem to be deterred by the comment—which says a lot about him. “What if this chair is the only thing standing between me and academic ruin?”

“My condolences then.” 

“No thank you, I’ll take the chair instead.” He says, grinning even wider if that’s even possible. 

In retaliation, you tug the chair towards you to which he responds by resisting—tugging it back. There’s a very loud scrape against the floor, cutting through the library’s quiet hum and the rhythmic flipping of pages.

“Excuse me.”

You’re now painfully aware of the voice behind your back—it was too calm, too cold. So cold that it sends shivers down your spine.

You turn around and the librarian’s already staring down at the both of you intensely. You only read the phrase ‘if looks could kill’ in books, but experiencing it firsthand makes you understand just how severe it really is.

“This is a library,” she says flatly. “Let go of the chair.”

You do so instantly. He hesitates half a second too long before following suit.

“Out,” she continues, not raising her voice even once. “Both of you.”

Your mouth falls open, ready to reason out like you always do. “Wait,”

Technically, she can’t do this. There’s a rule in the student handbook—three warnings before anyone can be kicked out of the library. It’s a common space, after all, and driving you out over something like this feels unreasonably cruel.

“No warnings,” she cuts in. “No explanations. You’re disturbing other students.”

He lets out a quiet huff of laughter as he steps back, hands raised in surrender. “Wow. Isn’t this way over the top?”

Her eyes flick to him.

“Out. Now.”

That wipes the grin off his face—only for a second, but you catch it.

Heat floods your face as you scramble for your bag, painfully aware of the curious glances thrown your way. Chairs scrape softly as people shift, suddenly very interested in pretending none of this is happening.

You hurry toward the exit, heart pounding, and he falls into step beside you like this was always the plan. The doors swing shut behind you with a heavy thud, sealing your exile.

For a moment, neither of you speak.

Then—

“Well,” he says lightly, breaking the silence, “guess that’s one way to avoid studying.”

You shoot him a glare, fully intending to make it known how much he has irritated you in the last five minutes alone. This does not deter the man beside you though as he only smiles like you weren’t kicked out of the library merely seconds ago. 

“This is your fault.”

He laughs softly, “Worth it, though.”

“Absolutely not.” You scowl before picking up your pace, trying to get as much as distance between you two.

He stays, hands sliding into his pockets, that same infuriating smile still on his face. “Hey,” he calls after you, “next time I’ll save you a seat.”

You don’t give him the satisfaction of a reply—you didn’t even turn back. In your head though, you wished you could have told him that there won’t ever be a next time and that you had hoped you’d never see him ever again. 

You take a turn down the hall and your phone vibrates in your pocket. 

You ignore it. Out of spite, mostly because you didn’t want to see a screen of reminders that you don’t need—tuition deadline, credits, or anything in relation. But it buzzes again so you stop, letting out a quiet, frustrated sigh as you fish your phone out of your pocket. The screen lights up: LHU Student Managers

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004. something about library seats [ prev / masterlist / next ]

synopsis. signing up as a student manager didn't mean anything—you're quite literally there just for the privileges. so when you get assigned to childe, the foreign varsity member of the swim team, you expected a relatively peaceful life. but when your bond with him turns your responsibilities into something more, you find yourself second guessing your decisions.

or in which childe has always known that he belongs in the water and nowhere else. but with you in the picture, he finds himself learning how to exist somewhere beyond it.

includes .ᐟ afab! reader x childe, university au, swimmer!childe. fluff with a side of angst