A quiet corner (open!)

At the far back corner of the library, Reed sat comfortably in a low set, but well cushioned couch with two matching chairs on either side. He pushed a stack of random magazines and books strewn on the coffee table to one side, placing his bag in their place. Clipped on the strap of the bag was a button with a round ferret face. There was just enough sunlight spilling through the tall, arched window that he’d picked this spot to settle down rather than any number of spots with a simple chair and a lamp. He’d never admit that he’d fast walked (more like booked it) to the library after class to get this spot before some nimrod decided to sleep on the couch like some lazy caveman.

Reed shoved his bangs roughly up with his hand, pushing it out of his face. Laid open on his lap was a thin, mustard yellow book dulled in color from extended exposure to sunlight. The corner of the pages were clearly worn and dog-eared, while the spine of the book was riddled with vertical lines. The title was no better, having been rubbed off through years of extensive use.

There was just one big problem, however.

The book was open, but Reed was thinking of everything else but the words on the page. After several more attempts to get his brain to concentrate on the book, he eventually snapped it shut and grumbled under his breath. There really wasn’t any big reason why his mind was so scattered, other than being one of those days. Well, there was that winter formal thing going on, and he didn’t have any intentions on going(being with people. Gross.). Reed had excellent plans that day. Stay in his dorm and sleep under a mountain of pillows and blankets. He sighed, resting the back of his head on the cushioned couch. Reed considered giving in and sleeping, just like those lazy cavemen students did. He blew his breath out, watching when a sudden cloud of sparkles billowed upwards, then gently fell back down in a veil of blue and white twinkling stardust.

He was so sick and tired of his room. The walls were closing in on him, and alone he had nothing to think of, except what he didn't want to think about. So, naturally, he had to get out - before he died of a mixture of boredom and dread.

The academy's library, as much as he disliked admitting it, was impressive, as much as it was littered with people he didn't care for. They only served to make him feel claustrophobic, thus not really improving on his earlier state. Arthur paid them no mind, instead busying himself with winding a path through the numerous shelves, picking up books as he went, trying to find a distant place, away from the general crowd. When he was finally done, he had acquired about five volumes, of varying sizes and level of wearing - mostly poetry. Walking had served to bringing him to a secluded corner, stiffly comfortable, like a guest room who hadn't known many inhabitants over the years.

Well, except this one did have an inhabitant. The books were excessively heavy in his arms, his nerves still in shock from a couple of days earlier, much like his brain, so, without much acknowledgement of the stranger, he pushed what he presumed was the other's bag to the side of the table, and put them there instead, only keeping one, cream-colored volume. "Is this what is done in here?" Arthur snorted flatly, unamused, and mostly just remarking for himself, examining with a figment of interest the sparkling letting around the stranger's face.

He’d only closed his eyes for a few minutes, basking in the warm sunlight similar to a cat stretching out in it’s warm rays. A sound of something heavy being pushed across the coffee table, then the soft thud of books being placed on the worn wood surface pulled him back to the library. The cloud of stardust forgotten, he lifted his head up, opened his eyes and shifted his attention to the other.  A frown quickly appeared, the corners of his brows creasing. Reed’s fingers idly tapped on the cover of his book. A habit that popped up whenever he was thrust into an uncomfortable situation. This was the one spot he enjoyed due to how far back it was. It was like an island; far enough away that only a handful of people knew this spot existed. A perfect little paradise. The once bright cloud of stardust quickly peetered out, mirroring his quickly changing mood.

“You’re welcome to go elsewhere.” A sharp smile replaced his frown, his tone taking on a cold edge. Seriously, Reed preferred it if this fellow found himself a different place to read his books. Speaking of, he turned his focus from him to the stack of books that had been plopped onto the table, then to the single book in hand. He was curious enough that he’d taken a quick glance at the cover, but not enough to want to ask when he couldn’t quite make out the title. “If you’re going to stay, go sit somewhere else.” He gestured to one of the two smaller chairs, refusing to budge from the couch he’d stacked claims on.

The arrogance on this one was palpable - Arthur found the words grating, the air of superiority suffocating, but it all reached him far too dimly to be felt properly. He straightened himself, studied the other in silence for a while, letting his words flutter past his hearing ear like they were nothing. There was no reason to worry that the Spring would try to join the other on the couch, and it stretched beyond the boundaries of the personal bubble that would be somewhat breached. When you almost encounter death, humans start to become a lot more like animated blood bags and less like beings. Wordlessly, but with a hint of passive-aggressiveness, the boy snatched the book from the other's hands, and with his free hand, he instinctively cupped the right side of his head, around his ear.

Protectively, but ever so gently. The skin felt rugged, like delicately-woven lace, but the only sensation that his face picked up was a prickling. Arthur swallowed away his uneasiness and chose the chair that only showed the left side of his face to the stranger, only then letting his hand fall shyly, undecided, into his lap. Fingers roamed the cover, drawing strange and absent pattern before they settled to open the book. "Would you like me to bring you a book, too?" the Spring offered helpfully under his breath, without taking his eyes off the book. "Perhaps... one on manners?" he continued. Not something that was supposed to be hear, if it weren't for his poor judgement of volume.

Reed dropped his hands to his lap when the book was pulled from his grasp. He didn’t feel particularly stung by the other student yanking the book back. He’d been curious enough to take it and have a quick look see, but it soon turned away to linger on the boy’s very visible scar. His fingers smoothed over the cover of his own book then tapped against it. Reed wasn’t one to pry into another person’s business, and he didn’t know the other well enough to even mention it. This didn’t stop him from wondering even when the other sat in a way to hide it.  

The silence between them swirled with an uneasiness that even Reed felt uncomfortable in. It didn’t last long, thankfully, but it had certainly felt like it. Lifting his right hand up and resting his elbow on the arm of the couch, Reed hooked his finger on the cover of his own book and flicked it open, a subtle indication that he already had a book in hand. He’d never been one to offer his services to another person, and having someone do such to him seemed a bit...surprising.  Ah, so that was it. Both corners of his lips shot back up at the snarky question that came next. “Oh, I think you need it more than me.” Out of spite, he blew a thick stream of sparkling dust towards the other’s face, watching the swirl of gold and blue between them. It wasn’t harmful, but no one really liked having something resembling glitter thrown at their face. At least, Reed assumed so.

He noticed the stare - it made him tremble, nervously and almost with a hint of shame. Like eyes judging a poem he was not particularly proud of. Shrunken back into the comfortable seat, Arthur allowed himself to drift away instead, settling his attention on the book and away from the unpleasant stranger. There was a part of him that simply did not want to leave out of sheer defiance. His mother had always called him surprisingly hot-headed, for such a gentle-looking soul, but he didn't want to agree with her. Not even now. A page he flicked to carried a poem about a ghost, whose spirit still wandered, lonely. Arthur turned it quick and moved on.

Perhaps he should learn to better understand just how loud he spoke. It was hard. When he spoke in his usual tone, he could not quite hear himself as he used to - he'd speak louder out of instinct, and he couldn't keep his mouth shut, either. His gaze went from the book in his lap straight ahead, eyes fluttering open and shut rapidly as he gathered his words. Impolite of him, yes. "Don't get that stuff on the book." the Winter snapped, quietly, tilting his head ever-so-slightly to the other and frowning. Dust got onto his face, in his eyes and in his terribly sensitive nose, and the boy paused to sneeze, covering his face with his sleeve.

"So then, that's your thing? Coughing glitter." Arthur spoke flatly, once he had blinked away said glitter from his eyes. At least it wasn't cat hairs - that would've been a bigger problem. And the other seemed like a big enough problem already.