Bookends
An RP by NekoLen and Tachigami

Reza Cook had opened the shop a few hours ago, and already it was lunchtime. He opened it at nine in the morning every day except Sunday, because any hour earlier was impossible. He stayed awake until two in the morning every day out of habit and out of a sincere inner chant of 'one more chapter', until he fell asleep with his current book cradled in his hands. Usually it was a Stephen King, and currently he was mowing his way through a series of short stories from Everything's Eventual. He'd read it a few times already but couldn't just ignore it after finishing all the stories. Setting his bag and the book on the front counter, Reza went around the counter and flicked a switch on the wall beneath the upper shelves. The main lights popped on, giving a warm glow to the deep wood shelves and dark carpeted floors. It gave more than enough light to read by without harming the eyes after a while, and gave light to the open upper floors so book buyers would be able to see enough to turn the lights on themselves if they ventured up there. Individual rooms allowed for studying via the computers, reading, writing, or lounging about with their books.

Settling behind the counter, he pulled his bag forward and fished out the wrapped sandwich he had gone to get across the street from his shop. It was a beautiful little road---two lanes, shaded by large oaks, with moderate traffic but quite a bit of foot traffic that let people see his shop and drop in for a book or to take advantage of the wifi. Biting into his chicken and bacon sub sandwich and pulling the bookmark out of his book. Settling back down into his chair behind the register and in front of the display of new releases, Reza looked up when the bell over the door rang. "Gena! Hi!" Reza leaned forward and smiled at the pretty young woman that entered. She had curly brown hair and the brightest green eyes, and was wearing a gray and blue suit.

"Hi, Cookie, just by to ask if you found what I was looking for?" Gena Mills stepped forward and leaned across the counter. "Gotta get it before tomorrow!"

"Oh, yeah." Reza leaned forward and pulled a book off the shelf of the counter. It was H. G. Wells, War of the Worlds. "Here you go. Didn't take too long to find, I figured I'd had an original around here." The book was impeccably kept, and was from 1940, a beautiful old specimen. "I'll give it to you cheap, just fifty."

Gena rolled her eyes. "That'd sound ridiculous to anyone else."

"Yeah, well, they don't know the value of this thing. It's basically a collector's item."

"Yeah, and my nephew's gonna be so happy to get this one." She smiled and reminded Reza of his Annie. The thought let a shadow of sadness pass over his brown eyes, and Gena tilted her head. She had the same color eyes as Annie. He smiled, setting his things aside and setting the book on the counter.

"Gena, you ready to take it? I'll put it in a protective case if you want..."

"Sure, that'll work. It'll save me having to get a good box for it next week." Gena's grin brightened even more and Reza had to bite back a sigh as he bent down to retrieve the velvet-lined box. It had been five years, but he was still hurting at the loss of Annie, his fiancee. The engagement had been brief, but they'd both been rather sure at the time. He closed his eyes, pausing as he wrapped the book in a black tissue paper, then resumed his methodical folding.

"Mr. Hannah, can you help me with this?" A question snapped Damien from his thoughts, making him glance up at his class. He had set them the task of reading a novel they would later be writing an essay on, but a lot of the girls in his class found the writing hard to read. Classic novels were losing their relevance in a world full of technology and short hand writing. He smiled at Sarah, one of the girls in his advanced literature classes that seemed to enjoy the challenge of interpreting novels. It was rare that she asked for help as she often understood the books set for the class to read.

He nodded and left his desk, going to where Sarah sat with her friends. They had already brainstormed and wrote quite a lot about the novel, 1984 by George Orwell, but it seemed they were stuck on some aspects of the book. He looked over their notes and smiled, blushing slightly at how they stared at him. He had always had to deal with girls from his classes getting crushes on him, and received lots of love letters and chocolates from them everyday. It was embarrassing, but slightly flattering, that 15-18 year old girls liked a 28 year old the way they did. "Oh, you have done well, Sarah, what's the problem? It seems you three have already read the book thoroughly."

The girls giggled and blushed slightly. So they only wanted an excuse for him to come close and talk to them? Part of him was annoyed, but the rest heated up in embarrassment. He laughed it off, however and looked over his shoulder at the time. "Oh goodness! The bell's about to ring!" he straightened up and went to the front of the class, quickly writing their homework up on the board. "We need everyone to have read the book through at least once, and I'd like to see your notes. Tomorrow we will discuss some topics you can use for your essays, and we can do some practice writing. Remember, your exams are coming up and I can't bear to think of any of you smart young women to fail your English papers." The bell rung as he finished talking, and the girls moved to pack and leave for home. Damien watched them, smiling and saying goodbye to those that waved at him.

Soon his classroom was empty and he breathed out, gathering his papers and leaving the classroom for the staffroom. It was the end of the school day and Damien couldn't wait to get home to finish the novel he had been reading. He ignored most of the other teachers, going to where he kept his papers and dumping them before picking up his bag and turning around, almost running into the Maths teacher, Miss Drencher. He gulped slightly, but smiled nonetheless.

"How was your day, Jazz?" she asked him, poking his nose. She was forever flirting with him and it made him feel uncomfortable. He had never been with a girl before, and never had any interest to do so. He enjoyed the company of his novels, and books, the feel of the paper between his fingers and the smell of the books was all he needed to be happy.

"It was fine, got 10A started on their reading of Hamlet," He ducked past her arm and started out of the staffroom with her following him. "Just going to go home and relax now, might look for a new bookstore to visit."

Miss Drencher rolled her eyes, but said nothing in retort, saying goodbye to Damien and leaving for her car.

"Cookie, have you been to the new bar across town?" Gena asked suddenly. Reza was in the process of latching the case, which he'd set the book inside gently to avoid bending pages or positioning it in the wrong manner. He looked up suddenly and studied her face.

"Uh, no... I didn't even know there was a new bar in town." Reza finished closing the case and pushed it forward as Gena opened her brown leather purse and counted out the money it cost.

"That's because you never go out." Gena rolled her eyes, setting the money on the case for Reza to take, and he did, barely glancing at it before sliding it into the register drawer. "You need to get out of here, get out of your house and go meet people, get some more friends."

Reza sighed, leaning on the counter. "I know, Gena---"

"It's been five years."

"I know."

"It hurt, of course it did, I'm not saying anything against that---"

"I know..."

"---But you gotta get out and meet someone. Meet a sweet girl, get to know her, find a way---"

"Gena, I know! Please... I get this from my parents and my grandmother, I really don't need it from you." Reza stood upright, suddenly defensive. He'd been goaded into getting out and finding someone, to stop dwelling on the past and what awful things happened. He wasn't dwelling, though, and he didn't let it hold him back. He knew that. "I just don't want to, okay?" He spoke easier at the hurt look on his friend's face, and leaned against the counter again.

"I know you don't... But why not? You should... You need to get out with some of us, have a good time, do some stupid shit, and have a few stories to tell."

"I have plenty of stories to tell..."

"I mean things that actually happened to you."

Reza sighed. "Maybe... soon." He gave in. "So you'll stop nagging me."

Gena smiled brightly. "Good." She paused, studying him for a moment, then lowered her eyes and leaned forward. Reza pulled back quickly, shaking his head at the sudden move. "Gena..."

"Sorry, sorry." Gena huffed. "I'm being stupid---"

"No, you're not." Reza put a hand on hers, one of which rested on the box. "It's just... You look like her..."

Gena's bright green eyes softened suddenly. "Oh... Oh, I didn't know, you never said..."

"It's fine, Gena. I do have to get over it. Look..." He stood up straight. "I'll go with you and a few friends on... Friday, okay? I'll go out with you and them, I'll be an idiot, and you can laugh at me about it on Saturday." He smiled. "Okay?"

Gena nodded, and seemed to brighten a little, grasping her box. "Sure, that sounds like fun. And you can laugh at the stupid things I do too, okay?" When Reza nodded, she stepped back. "So I'll see you soon, hon! You, me, and whoever else I con into coming with us." She hurried out of the store, the final sound of her departure the ringing of the bell. Reza looked down, sighing, and sat back where he'd been. Well, at least he would be confronting one of his fears---public.

Damien drove a simple small white car, that matched the colour of his hair. He didn't bother learning about its make or model, he was just glad it was easy to drive and didn't cost a fortune to run. He pulled out of the school's carpark, waving reluctantly at Miss Drencher who had seen his car and blown him a kiss. He hoped none of his students had see it.

Damien Hannah was a shy and soft spoken man, qualities that were rare to find in someone that taught English to high schoolers. He had been accused many times of being too introverted, but he had never seen the reason to raise his voice. Why would he waste his energy on yelling when all he had to do was ask nicely? Perhaps that was why his students loved him so much. He let them work at their own pace, and was helpful to those that struggled. He let them book times for him to tutor them if they really needed the extra help. He was a lot more patient with his girls and they rewarded him with good behaviour. If any one dared to talk back or disobey Damien, they'd find themselves very unpopular. While he didn't condone this behaviour, it was nice to feel protected.

He started down the street that would take him home, a small two bedroomed house he shared with his mother and three cats. In the earlier years it was simply because it was cheaper to live with his mother rather than on his own, especially on his teaching salary. But now he was her carer as well as friend, roommate and son. She was getting ill in her old age and Damien just didn't have the heart to put her in a home, or get a carer to look after her. His father, her late husband, had already passed away about three years ago.

As he drove, he suddenly didn't feel like going home. Most days he'd drive to the library, or to one of the many bookstores in town. Today he felt like some adventure. There was a bookstore he had walked passed many times, but hadn't been able to visit it. He found it with little difficulty and parked his car outside, making sure the doors were locked before stepping inside the mild store. Damein browsed the shelves, glad to see a variety of books rather than just the popular titles and new releases. As he looked, his blue eyes fell upon the man behind the counter and suddenly, he grew very warm.

Throughout the time between noon and five, many people came in. Reza recognized most of them and said hello to them all, students off from school or mothers or fathers looking for books their children were assigned for reading. Others were looking for a reading fix and bought a dozen books at a time. The new releases behind the counter were fawned over, and some of his older customers even gasped at the new display of e-books and Kindles he'd had delivered a few weeks ago. He didn't like the things, personally. After a few hours of extensive reading the screens made his head pound and his eyes hurt. But he wanted to keep up with the times as they were, and sold the e-books and Kindles as well, promising to load them with five free books to begin them with because he sold them a little higher than usual. Reza finished 'In the Deathroom' and sighed, bookmarking the page, then running a hand through his midnight black hair. "Mister King, how do you write such morbidly interesting things?" Reza laughed, shaking his head and sitting up to set the book on one of the shelves. Then he stood and stretched, and went around to the glass case in front of the counter.

These were some of his oldest for sale books. A thick leatherbound bible from 1746. The Turn of the Screw from 1900. Moby Dick from 1896. Pride and Prejudice from 1853. The Picture of Dorian Gray from 1897. Oliver Twist and Les Misérables both from 1889. And finally, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland from 1902. It was so hard to find impeccably kept editions from so long ago, but it didn't stop him from staring at a computer screen late into the night, sometimes so late that he opened his shop well after noon. These editions were quite costly, but few could be found anywhere else, so people were very willing to pay the high prices. The lights that illuminated their covers was gentle and tinged with a dark bulb to keep their faces from fading. Standing upright, Reza was met with a customer that was carrying sixteen books and he stifled a surprised laugh. "You won't see me for a month if you buy all those at the same time!" He went back around the counter as the man set everything down on top for Reza to add them up.

"Well I've been on a reading dry spell recently." The man was a professor at the local community college and on Saturdays he would spend most of the day in one of the upstairs reading rooms, often falling asleep later in the evenings so Reza would have to do a thorough sweep to make sure he didn't lock the guy in. "I thought I'd buy a bunch of what I normally don't read and just go with it."

"Hope you don't regret it." Reza cringed a little, but it was the professor's decision. When he finally had everything bagged up securely, he waved goodbye and stood silently for a while. He didn't close until about nine in the evening, sometimes ten or eleven if he was feeling especially restless. Today felt like it would fade into another restless night, though. When the bell over the door rang again Reza looked up, then did a doubletake. He hadn't expected any newcomers, and definitely not of this caliber.

Probably as tall as he was, with white hair that couldn't have been natural---or could it be?---over the most piercing blue eyes he'd ever seen contained behind thin glasses. His entire person screamed Literature teacher, or someone from the college. He recovered quickly, though, and smiled. "Hey, you're new around here." Reza said easily. "First time?" Also, is that hair of yours real or dyed? Reza wanted to add, but didn't. That would be rude and rude was something he wasn't.

Damien started slightly when the man that had caught his eye spoke to him in a friendly manner. He supposed it was because the man wanted to sell his wares, but he wasn't used to being greeted in such a way. A red colour returned to his pale cheeks as he shook his head and looked at the shelf behind the man, feigning eye contact. "I... I've walked past a few times I just... Never came in." He smiled softly, feeling odd. What was this feeling? He had never felt something like this before, it was almost like something from a romance novel he rarely read. But Damien wasn't gay, or at least, he didn't think he was.

"That is... I am new in your store, I suppose. I've... I haven't been here before," the question had confused him slightly and he fidgeted, thinking to walk away would be rude, but a cabinet had caught his eye. He went over to it and stared at the books behind the glass, his eyes twinkling in amazement. He had never seen first edition or second edition novels from over a century ago before. He wanted to touch them, to smell the dusty pages and to be lost in the strange symbolic worlds that were contained within its pages.

Reza smiled a bit more, leaning against the counter and watching the guy. He seemed shy. Maybe an introvert, a loner, something Reza was. The way his cheeks pinked and flushed when he spoke, stumbled a little over his words in this unexpected, new, and foreign environment that was probably, at the same time, familiar, was pretty cute, too. Cute? Why would I describe him like that? Reza furrowed his brow when the teacher-type looked away, trying to understand that little burst of brashness. It was unusual---damn near alien to him to think of either gender as 'cute'. Nowadays he was lucky to acknowledge a certain gender at all.

He watched the man study the books under glass and smiled a bit. "Those are my most expensive. Some go for upwards of five hundred dollars. Serious collectors are willing to pay a thousand or so for a first or second edition. I've got some original first editions of Dracula and Frankenstein upstairs, they're kept under lock and key, though, in case of a break-in." He stooped down below the counter and pulled a box out. "If you want to inspect one, you can, just be sure to wear some gloves so the oil from your skin doesn't deface the paper." He pulled a pair of latex gloves out of the box and set them on the counter top. "Any catch your eye?" Reza tilted his head in curiosity, catching himself as his pale brown eyes ran over the way the light glinted through the newcomer's hair as he stared through the glass.

There was no way he afford any of these books, yet he did want to look at one. He had a thing for old books, they made him feel as though he was a part of history, as though he was touching the very pages written on by the famous authors. "I... I'm not really... Looking to buy..." he said quietly, feeling bad for saying it so directly. "I'd love to look at them though... I mean... I've never seen... So well kept and cared for... I..." He squirmed, feeling excited at being able to touch a piece of history.

He put on the gloves and waited for the man to help him with the case, carefully taking the copy of Moby Dick out and opening it like he was touching something made of thin glass. The text wasn't smudged and the pages weren't yellowed with age. It was amazing, as though he had just picked up a book published in 2014. "How do you keep them so... Pristine...?"

Reza smiled as he slid on some gloves to handle the books, and unlocked and pushed aside the wood pane at the back of the glass case. The books were kept on soft velvet, raised so that they looked at the browser. "It's alright." He said, setting the book carefully on the surface of the case. "Some people just want a chance to touch, and I let them. I'm very careful with them, however... I barely want to sell them sometimes." He cringed inwardly. Sometimes selling these beautiful, gorgeous things was a near heart attack. Hoping against hope that their new owners would do more than keep them on a dusty bookshelf so they could look at their pretty spines and never care about cracking the spine when they opened it, or dog-earing the pages or tossing them around or in boxes or in basements... The thought was enough to make him burst into tears sometimes.

He held onto the top of the book gently and watched careful hands handle the item as if it were a single mistreatment away from falling to dust. "Very carefully." He replied gently. "Keep them under low light to avoid fading the cover. Warm, dry places so that the pages never discolor or curl. Don't open the book too wide to avoid cracking the spine. Try to handle them with gloves or other protection over the hands so the oils on your skin doesn't get onto the pages or cover. It takes a bit of work to keep them so perfect, but over the years they appreciate in value and rarity." He glanced up. This man loved books as much as Reza did, and that was rare to see indeed. Perhaps he had a new friend here. "Er, I'm Reza Cook, by the way. Friends call me Cookie." He shrugged a bit as if the name were somewhat embarrassing.

Cookie...? Damien smiled and tried not to laugh. What a cute pet name, it sounded like something his mother would call him. He blushed slightly as his eyes caught Reza's, and he awkwardly looked back at the book. A story he had read a million times, but yet it looked for fresh and new in the dark type of a typewriter. "Um... My name is Damien Hannah. I teach at Gertude's School for Girls... Which is just out of town..." He smiled and carefully closed the book, placing it lovingly back on its velvet rest. He longed to have one of his own, to treasure for the end of days, but he just didn't have the money.

He didn't tell Reza his nickname, Jazz, which he had no idea where it had come from. One day at work, everyone started to call him it and the name stuck. He didn't mind too much, but he did prefer to be called Damien. His heart was still racing from handling the old novel and his hands sweated inside the gloves. "Thank you, Reza. I'd never seen..." he trailed off, taking the gloves off his hands and glancing about the shop. Now that he was here, he wanted to find a new book to buy. "Do you have anything you'd recommend? I enjoy a challenging read, but don't like science fiction or romance novels too much. I really like the classics..."

Reza locked the case once he was sure the book was perfectly on its stand again, and stood up straight. "I have plenty of classics." He replied brightly, going around the counter. "A pleasure to meet you, by the way, Damien." He smiled, stepping back. "So, I have a lot of classics up on the second floor. Down here is mostly recent novels, things that aren't much older than 1970." He gestured to the man, Damien, and led the way through the narrow walkways between tall bookshelves, and to one of the two narrow staircases that led up to the bookshelves along the walkways. Between bookshelves doors led into various rooms. Some held computers, others were bare of books and were arranged as sitting rooms. In a couple there were two old fireplaces he never lit, because the one he had downstairs was enough trouble to keep focus on so his pride and joy didn't burn to the ground.

He paused halfway down the hall. "Okay, so I have a bunch of classics..." Reza looked through and pulled some out. "Don Quixote... Gulliver's Travels... I like Jane Eyre... Ooh, Wuthering Heights..." he held the books in front of him. "Any catch your eye, or do you want to do some of your own browsing? I know this place like the back of my hand, I'll find anything you ask. Unless I don't have it, then I'll special order." He crossed his arms across the books, thinking about which novels he didn't have.

Damien followed the man upstairs, enjoying the claustrophobic conditions. Being surrounded by books... So many stories they held in between their covers... He could hear them whispering as he passed by, as though trying to beckon him in to read them. So many books... He couldn't stop grinning, listening to Reza as the man excitedly showed him all the books he had upstairs. "I've read them all... And I do love them," he replied, the smile not moving from his face. "Ah, but there is one I have yet to read... I feel a bit silly asking for this after saying how much I love the classics... To Kill a Mockingbird. You have it, yes? It would complete my collection."

Reza gasped, quickly putting the books back where he found them. "Of course! To Kill a Mockingbird might not be a century old, but it's still considered a classic." He stepped several paces to his right and crouched down, barely hesitating before he pulled a hardback book off the shelf. "Here we go." He said lovingly, studying the sleeve. "Perfect condition. The pages aren't waved or yellowed or smudged, and the dust cover is in impeccable shape. My grandmother gave me this one, she had it for a long time. Kept it in a black velvet case to keep it from getting harmed. It's been read once, but the spine is in perfect condition." He slid the cover off, running a finger gently over the cloth spine. "It's one of a few I have, but if I had favorites I'd say this one's it." Carefully, Reza put the cover back on it and held it out to Damien. "You want something else, too?" He was almost looking for an excuse to keep the newcomer here, which was definitely odd. But he wasn't going to dwell on that prodding little urge in the pit of his stomach.

His grandmother's? Damien felt as though he couldn't possibly part the man with something so valuable, but he took it anyway and stroked the cover almost lovingly. "Um... This should do... But... How much is it...? It's just... I... Well..." he felt silly asking and blinked back tears of shame. He was broke, barely able to make ends meet on the salary he was currently on. He loved his work, but the pay wasn't enough, especially now that he had to look after his ailing mother.

"It must be precious to you, Reza. I couldn't possibly afford it..." He felt ashamed, and hung his head, not wanting to look the man in the eye. He was able to buy books, yes, but anything over 20 dollars was pushing it. He had a feeling that this book would be expensive.

Reza was quiet. He swept his eyes over Damien and felt a pang of sadness, real sadness, because it was more than clear that he couldn't afford much. His cheapest books were ten dollars, but these were upwards of twenty five. "Hey." He put a hand on Damien's shoulder and his breath caught at the almost electric feeling that buzzed up his arm. It took a moment for him to try to convince his brain that it was just static electricity. "Hey, look. You can afford it, because I'm gonna give it to you, okay?" He held up both hands. "Now, before you even try to go against me, hear me out---I love books. They're my blood and my heart and my brain. And I love when people share that love of books. I can see it in your eyes, Damien, you love to read. The way you were with that hundred-plus year old book I showed you downstairs told me a lot more than you could have said. And I want your collection to be complete, one book fanatic to another. And if I lose a couple tens because of that, so be it. I sell a lot more than you'd think, y'know? People love my books, and they prove it by being loyal customers."

He offered a kind smile, hoping he didn't come across as giving pity. It wasn't pity. Reza had struggled with his bookstore and had almost lost it before he got good ad space to spread the word.

Damien blushed and felt tears in his eyes. "No... I can... It's..." He tried to stop himself from crying. What a nice thing for Reza to do for him. He didn't care if it felt like the man was pitying him, he was allowing him to take a book he had wanted for his collection for years, one that held sentimental value too. "I... I can pay..." He searched in his pocket for his wallet, knowing that he had at least 20 dollars in there. "I can pay it off, I don't mind..."

He sniffed and turned away, hoping Reza didn't think he was being pathetic. He had always been overly sensitive to things, and cried like a little girl. He was often teased because of this, and the fact that he adored sweets.

Reza shook his head, going around the man to face him again. "Hey, look, it's fine." He patted Damien, ducking to catch his eye. "Look, call it an incentive to come back if you like the quality. Or... How about this, I have an idea." He stood up straight. "Come by every day with a dollar, and you can pay it off like that. You don't have to stay, just drop by for a minute, then head off. Or you can stay for a while and pick around in the books up here, read whatever you like. I have sitting rooms and computers for you to look up more books you might not have noticed or you haven't seen around."

He stepped back, tilting his head a little to catch Damien's eye. "You okay? Come on down, Damien, let's get to the ground floor..." He didn't exactly like it up here. It felt like he was going to fall.

Damien blushed and nodded, holding the book to his chest like it was something precious. Because it was, to him anyway. He'd rather die than have this book taken away or mistreated in anyway. He followed Reza back down the stairs, not minding being spoken to like a child. A lot of people sensed his soft nature and treated him kindly, and he liked it. Maybe that was why he hadn't found a wife yet, because most women wanted strong men, not childish ones.

"Thank... you so much... I'll definitely be back, Reza..." he couldn't stop grinning, even though the tears in his eyes were still there. He left the store feeling strangely empty, as though he wished he could have stayed longer. But it was getting late as it was and his mother would be worried if he was out any longer.

He carried the book closely as he found his car and unlocked it. He got inside and placed the precious treasure on the seat next to him, securing it so it wouldn't slide off the fake leather. He looked to the shop on last time, his thoughts on Reza as he drove away. Why had the man been so kind to him? Was it because he had cried? In any case, Damien promised in his mind to make it back to the man somehow. Even if it took forever.

When he said goodbye to Damien it was almost hesitantly. He was different, a new breath of air to the old bookstore. Back behind his counter, Reza leaned on the wood and watched the vehicle that contained Damien and his new book pull away, cradling his head in his hand. His other hand flexed and he looked down at it. That shock had been really odd. Static didn't shoot up your arm and pang right to your heart. It had almost made the organ skip a beat. And now he was regretting letting the guy go so soon. So quickly. He could have somehow found an excuse to keep him around. He was... sensitive, it seemed. Just the thought of not being able to pay---even when he'd been given the book---had brought tears to his eyes.

And he would be back tomorrow, no doubt. Reza had given him the chance to pay a dollar a day until the book was paid off. So why couldn't he stop thinking about the guy? That hair... It looked so... odd. Unnatural. Was it? He knew some people grayed at a ridiculous pace but he looked far too young to have a whole head of gray---silver, silver-white---hair. And icy eyes. Not cold, but cool. Strange. Shuddering, Reza sat back in his chair behind the counter and pulled his book off the shelf again, sitting in to read the next short story and flicking on the short floor lamp as the day grew longer.

Damien's drive home was uneventful and his thoughts lingered on Reza. Such a strange name... But what a job the man had, Damien was just a bit jealous. He would have done anything to own a book store, or work in a library. To be surrounded by books... He sighed and pulled into his driveway. Making sure the book wouldn't fall from his hand as he carried his bag inside as well, he made sure to lock the doors to his car. His house was small, but not uncomfortable. The gardens were always impeccable, as his mother had not much else to do during her days alone while he worked. He smiled at the flowers in the front yard, opening the door and placing his bag next to the door. He carried the book to his large bookcase and carefully put it away to be read later.

He smelt something cooking and cautiously entered the kitchen, finding a pot of chicken soup boiling on the red hot stove. He quickly took it off, turning the stove off and opening the window to let the steam out. He found his mother sitting on her armchair, watching a soap opera. She looked happy to see him.

"Oh, Jazz dear," she said, getting up from where she sat to give him a hug. She still wore her nightdress and had curlers in her hair. He feet looked oddly pale and bare.

"Mum... Did you know you had a pot of soup cooking on the stove?" he asked her, giving her a hug and then stepping back so she could sit back down. She looked surprised.

"Oh! I put that one a few hours ago... I got distracted by the telly... Sharon is going to get proposed to and it's all so lovely." His mother didn't seem concerned as she talked about her soap opera characters as though they were her friends. It made Damien feel sad. The house had almost been burned down due to his mother's forgetfulness. It made him think that he really needed a carer for her, because he couldn't afford to quit his job.

"Mum..." he started, but she gave him a critical look. "Why don't you find a nice young woman to marry? Give me some grandchildren. There's a nice lady at the shop... I should introduce you two."

Damien sighed, but didn't argue with her. She would soon be distracted by the soap opera again and there was no point to argue, she'd just forget their conversation. He bit back tears and went to the dining room, glancing at the pamphlets that were lying on the table. Alzheimers. A disease he wished wasn't a reality, something he had to think about. But all the symptoms were there... He sighed heavily and went to the door to retrieve his bag. He had some homework to do and then he'd make their dinner before sending his mother off to bed. Then he would read his new book and think about Reza.

By the time he finished the last story in Everything's Eventual, the sky was black and starless. There wasn't even a moon out, apparently, or the sky had grown dark and cloudy. Stretching himself out, Reza stood and paused so his numb legs didn't completely give out on him. Biting his lip, he shuffled forward and laughed at the unbearable tingling, tickling sensations that flew up and down his legs, glad that no one was around to see his stupid display. His knees didn't seem to want to support him until it passed, and when it did, he gingerly turned so he could glance up at the clock above the new releases. Almost eleven... Of course. Sighing, Reza turned back and started gathering his things, sliding his book into his bag and shutting off the lights. Then he put the bag over his head and locked his shop down. Making sure it was secure, he turned and started off down the road. The trees above him were green and lush, and blocked out a good amount of the sky until he crossed the street and turned the corner. He was already on a residential street, and found himself surrounded by tall brownstones. Beautiful buildings, they were dark and quiet, with a few windows alight. He crossed the street again and came to his brownstone, a three-floor thing. The rooms were somewhat narrow but warm and full of dark, varnished wood.

Unlocking his door, he was greeted by a cool silence and shivered hard. Stepping in and turning on the light in his hall, he hung his bag on a hook to his left and pulled his book out, going through the archway to the left to his living room and sliding the Stephen King book on a shelf beside the wide fireplace. This one he didn't mind lighting, but it was too warm now to do so. So he turned on a couple lights in the living room and went through to his kitchen, pulling his fridge open and pulling a short bowl out. Chicken and rice he had made the day before yesterday, there was just a little left for a late dinner. He wouldn't be going to sleep until well after one in the morning. He fed what was left into a pan and added some leftover chicken stock to the mix, loosening it up. Then he put his head over it and breathed in gently. He would have come home hours ago... If he had someone to come home to. He was lonely when he was home. He felt... isolated. It was like a wooden and granite and tile prison and once that door was closed, the world outside didn't exist and neither did anyone else that he didn't openly invite in with a word or a thought.

He didn't feel that lonely feeling now, though. He wasn't really alone because he felt like his drifting thoughts---the thoughts that went to Damien---invited the pale hair and piercing but soft eyes into his home and he could almost hear that sincere voice that loved books so much he could almost look into the past when he looked at a hundred-year-old book. Annie wasn't here tonight. She wasn't many nights. Gena had told him to stop thinking about the girl a long time ago. But it was only within the last six months he had banished her entirely from his thoughts. Now a near stranger took her place, and that was odd. He didn't know what was going on. Sighing, Reza pulled the pan off the stove and poured it into a clean bowl, pausing to clean what was dirty before taking it and a copy of As I Lay Dying to the living room whose television was usually off, lying out on the heavy sofa and hoping to sleep a little earlier tonight. But he couldn't even focus on the dark comedy in front of him. He kept seeing those eyes... Soft, but sharp. Beautiful...

Damien had almost fallen asleep with his new book still open in his hands. It had been a tiring day, and the stresses of his forgetful mother had surfaced several times between dinner and bedtime. He had never thought, as a boy growing up, that he would be the one helping his mother bathe and get ready for bed, the one to tell his mother that he loved her and tuck her in for a peaceful sleep. It hurt, but when he read his books, he could escape from the painful reality that was his. He glanced over at his bedside alarm clock. It was quite late and he should be sleeping.

He bookmarked his page and set the book carefully on the bedside table, taking his glasses off and placing them in their case, before turning off his lamp and lying down under his warm blankets. His dreams were strange. Tonight he was a captain of a whaling boat, trying to catch the infamous white whale... But his boat sunk and suddenly he was 10,000 leagues under the sea. But yet, the person by his side was the man from the book store... Reza.

Damien was roused from his deep sleep by the usual alarm at 6am. It was enough time to wake up, get ready and go to his school before classes started at 8:30. He blinked a few times and yawned, frowning at his strange dreams. Why couldn't he get Reza out of his mind? Perhaps because the man had been so kind to him, so friendly... That had to be it. He got out of bed and dressed himself, heading towards the bathroom to shave. On his way there, he checked on his mother, who had already left her room. Maybe she was watching the TV again. He neglected the visit to the bathroom to check on her. She indeed sat on her usual armchair, the TV set to informercials until her soap operas started.

"Good morning, mum," he said, his voice sounding hoarse. He cleared his throat slightly, sighing when she looked up at him with a distant look in her eyes.

"Charles? Where have you been?" she asked him, making his heart leap slightly. Charles was the name of his father, who had been dead for a few years now.

"Mum, it's me... Your son, Damien... You know, Jazz?" he felt awkward and sad having to explain who he was to his own mother, the woman he had always seen as funny, brave and smart. She looked confused, but returned her attention to the TV screen. He felt bad leaving her alone, especially since her condition had grown steadily worse over the months. He made a note to ask the neighbour to check on her while he was at work, knowing that the kind older woman next door had become good friends with his parents as soon as they had moved to the suburb.

It was past three when he finally gave in and fell into a deep sleep. Reza never enjoyed the moments before he finally slipped away, fearing sleep. Sleep, and the resulting dreams, were unpredictable. They would regularly thrust him into situations that he hated, that he couldn't control, and lucid dreaming was a fantasy to him. Tonight he dreamed of a ship, a beautiful ship, but it was sailing in sand instead of water, cutting through dunes like butter, but instead of the grating sound of pulverized rock scraping the steely outside, the world gave him a lulling, whispering shush. The surreal-blue of the sky was peppered with little white clouds, the sun beating down and casting a strange yellow-gold glow over the whole world he could see so far. He was at the head of the ship and beside him a book was flapping open in the wind. On his other side, there was Annie. Sweet little Annie. He smiled, then looked away. He never would have looked away before. But that book... And that sand passing by so swiftly it looked like amber water... He looked up again to where Annie had been standing and saw instead Damien. He pointed to the book. "Save it. Don't let the wind rip it up." When Reza turned, the book was gone and the sky was cracked, and the boat tipped him toward it.

He woke with a start, his hair in disarray and his arm stretched over the empty side of the bed. It was still cold, of course. Blinking, he glanced at the clock and sighed at what it read. Nearly eleven. Turning over, sitting up, and stretching, Reza shook the odd dream out of his thoughts. Damien had been there, but he couldn't think it odd. He'd fallen asleep thinking about the man, the odd hair and piercing eyes behind delicate glasses. He had such a sweet disposition, and one only had to be around him for a moment to be aware of that. He'd been moved to tears at the prospect of being given a book he thought he'd have to pay for, Reza couldn't imagine what some other, larger act of kindness would do to him. It was such an appealing thought it physically scared Reza, and he stood too quickly, feeling dizzy as he stumbled to his bathroom to shower and skip shaving, leaving a little dark stubble on his chin and cheeks. It wasn't so bad---some mentioned liking the slight rough, mussed appearance he usually had. Maybe it was the bookish appeal, he wasn't sure.

It was as silent as ever when he went downstairs, going through his kitchen to make himself scrambled eggs and some toast before heading out to open the bookstore before lunchtime. The other rooms were barely warmed by the activity in the kitchen, however, and the silence returned when he started gathering a few smaller King novels in his bag and getting ready to go. He almost ran from his house, shaking off the chill in the warm, damp morning air. It looked like rain was on the horizon for later in the afternoon, but that was fine by him. He would have to remember to stow his bag in a protective sleeve if it were still going when he left sometime that night. Crossing the street, he looked up. The sun was warmly shining through the trees to give a light greenish tone to the suspended light. It looked almost storybook, like a Thomas Kinkade painting, and he loved that. Unlocking the front door, he pushed it open and decided to prop it to keep it from closing again. The place needed a little fresh air, but he'd close it before the rain arrived.

The next door neighbour promised to keep his mother company as Damien left for work. He couldn't fully focus, however, and nearly crashed into a car that was turning into a side street. He shook himself, keeping himself more awake as he finally arrived at his school. His thoughts were messed up, jumbled. It had been the first time that his mother didn't know who he was. He knew it might happen eventually, but he wasn't prepared for the look on her face. She had seemed so pleased to see her husband again. Did he really look like his father? He didn't know.

He got out of his car and brought his bag with him, making sure to lock it so no one stole it or any pesky girls didn't put any booby traps in it. He walked briskly to the staffroom, smiling and nodding towards any teachers he saw on his way there. His thoughts were now on Reza, the slightly exotic looking bookstore owner. Damien couldn't wait to see him again, maybe they could talk about books that they adored. He was so lost in thought that he almost ran into someone.

"Sorry," he apologised, blinking when he saw who he had almost bumped into. Miss Drencher was wearing pretty clothes today, and her black hair was tied up neatly in a pony tail. She grinned and hugged Damien, which made him blush and stare down at his feet.

"Good morning, Jazz. How are you?" she asked him, sounding concerned. Damien frowned and shrugged, starting towards the staffroom. He was looking forward to a hot cup of tea to wake him up. Miss Drencher followed him, but she seemed to sense that he wasn't in the mood to talk.

The bell rung, but he had a couple of periods with no classes. So he decided to spend that time he had off in the school library. He enjoyed looking at the books that teenaged girls like to read, and was glad to see not all of it was romance novels or badly written stories about vampires. He spotted a few of the older girls he taught reading over Shakespeare and smiled. The school play that year was going to be Hamlet, and he looked forward to seeing the girls act it out. It would almost be a pantomime, except all the roles were played by females. He sat at the far wall and pulled out his own book to read.

His feet were propped up on the counter from where he was sitting, reading through 1984 yet again. It had to be the third time he'd read through it but he'd probably read all the books in his bookstore at least once. He had most definitely read all the Stephen King novels more than once, for certain, especially Desperation. He wasn't sure why he loved it so much, but there was something about it that caught him. Probably the horror of it, like in all his books. He barely registered someone coming in until they lightly rapped their knuckles on the countertop. Reza startled, slapping his book shut and standing immediately, then focusing on his customer. He looked to be about middle aged, but with an air of youthfulness few could boast came naturally. His salt-and-pepper hair was evenly speckled with different tones and brushed back carefully. His eyes were hidden behind thin glasses, and his squared face held a mixture of seriousness and contentment. His clothes looked to be extremely high quality, a brand name that Reza wouldn't be able to identify if his life depended on it.

"Hi there." Reza smiled. "Are you looking for something specific today, sir?" He didn't normally call someone 'sir' or 'ma'am'. But it seemed this man simply required it. Required that specific term of respect until requesting otherwise.

"Yes, absolutely." He nodded once. "My name is Rick, please call me that. I feel 'sir' is far too formal."

Reza smiled and nodded. "Sure thing, Rick. So, what is it you're searching for, today? I probably have it somewhere." He gestured around.

"Actually, I'm looking for something specific. I heard you have an early edition of Pride and Prejudice, and I would love to buy it for my wife's birthday."

Reza's eyes lit up. "Oh, yes! It's in the case in front of you, the far left." He leaned over, watching Rick bend down to study the card alongside the book.

"Oh, 1853? A very good year. It's extremely rare."

"It is. They're nearly impossible to find in such good condition nowadays." Reza was dropping hints, but not too obviously. Rick seemed to be nodding along with what he said, as if agreeing fully.

"Indeed, indeed. It looks wonderfully well kept. Very pristine." The way he said the word pristine almost sounded like Damien, the previous day. "May I buy it?"

"Oh, absolutely!" Reza grinned, buzzing with internal excitement. It wasn't too often he would sell one of his most expensive books, but Rick had walked right in with that intention. Finally, a spot to fill with another old book, once he found one online somewhere.