Bookshop in Spring

Chapter 1

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A diminutive chime echoed as a wood-brown door opened, signalling a potential customer. Upon entrance, shards of light poured inside the quaint store of books, highlighting the dust floating in the air. The first step over the threshold was much like stepping into the plane of another world. Overcome with peace and serenity, if you closed your eyes, it really felt no different from sitting amid an open meadow; the smell of the sun filling your lungs and lush, green grass tickling your feet. Sometimes it was hard to imagine that book stores were even real. Just like well-orientated words on a page, bookshops were the gateway to another existence. A dreamlike existence.

Though Sting was having none of it. He wasn't a character to appreciate the beauty of antiquated structures filled to the brim with storytelling's. No, he was more of a "take me a to a stadium or bar and then maybe we can be friends," kind of lad. His companion, on the other hand, respected both such tranquil and stimulating experiences. Which is how the blonde, a scowl etched onto his face, found himself inside the small space of an overstuffed bookshop.

"You said food and then home."

"I said errands and then home."

"You said we wouldn't take too long,"

"And we won't. Ten minutes, tops."

"Ten-?! Why do you need ten minutes to find a damn book?"

From behind a mahogany desk, a female observed the minor dispute between the two strangers. The one clad in various shades of black shrugged his friend off with the wave of a hand, opting with searching for a book instead of dragging out an aimless conversation. The other, now disregarded and alone felt purposeless. His eyes wandered the towering shelves that housed numerous volumes of hardcovers and paperbacks, just seeking a temporary objective to keep him occupied until his friend was done. His hand was reaching for his back pocket where his phone often sat, until his eyes fell upon the store clerk. Chocolate melted into cerulean, a subtle flutter of her eyelashes seemed to make time slow. Not to a halt, just slow, considerably. If Sting was never one for story clichés, then he certainly wasn't going to start now.

She offered a business smile, a hint of authenticity present in the way smile lines creased at the corner of her eyes.

"Hello," she said simply, snapping the male out of his minor trance.

"H-hello." Right, yes, people other than him spoke too. Sting seems to have forgotten for a second there.

"Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Uhm, no. I'm just- just waiting for my friend," he gestured in the direction in which he assumed his partner was at. "He's looking for a book. In a book store. Yep," he concluded, dumbly. He usually had more swagger than this. A flick of the brow and a tug at the lips is usually no problem, but perhaps it was because he wasn't expecting to see such a young person at the counter.

The store assistant held a dainty hand to her mouth, attempting to hide the grin that was quickly forming at his slight awkwardness. The action didn't go unnoticed by Sting, he could see her cheeks apple from behind her small hand. Feeling somewhat self-conscious, he strode over to a small table of display books that sat right at the front of the shop, a giant window placed behind it for viewing purposes. He took a book into hand, somehow skimming past the rather comically large head of a cat on the cover.

"'Breakfast with Mr. Tinkles'?" Ah yes, his favourite past-time was children's fiction. Specifically, for three and up.

"You know, if pictures are more your thing, I would suggest the comics section. Third row on the right."

"Woah, you have comics here?" Sting queried in surprise, a kid's narrative still in hand.

"Yes, and it's for a more mature audience," she teased, her eyes gesturing at the book in his palm.

"Har, har. I didn't think a place like this would sell comics."

"What do you mean 'a place like this'?"

"Just that books are books and comics are comics," he said with a shrug.

"Comics still counts as proper literature. It's still reading. It tells a story just like every other book, only with a visual element," the assistant lectured.

Sting nodded, contemplating her answer. "I see. Nice, guess that makes me an avid reader."

She pondered over his comment. "How often do you read comics?"

He thought about replying truthfully, but decided not to. "Let's just leave it at 'an avid reader.'"

A spurt of laughter erupted from her lips faster than it could be contained, gradually she tried to stifle it into a giggle. As he watched her attempt to supress her amusement (in vain, no less), he felt his own lips curling into a smile, a slight tickle bubbling at the base of his throat. Her mirth was contagious and a small chuckle rang in harmony along with hers. Two books piled onto the surface of the desk with a quiet thump, pulling both Sting and the clerk out of the buzz of their glee.

"Getting acquainted, are we?" Came the voice looking between the two.

Still catching her breath, the book assistant gave Sting's companion a grin in greeting. "Hey, Rogue."

"Hey Lucy, just these two today," he returned the pleasantry.

"Ooh, nice pick. I read this one recently, I assure you this will not disappoint if your taste is anything like mine," Lucy made idle chit-chat as she bagged his purchases and placed his ready items back onto the counter in front of Rogue.

"And we both know it is. I guess I'll be reading this first," he replied, a wallet in hand, preparing notes and coinage.

"Please do! I really need someone to discuss it with. That'll be twenty dollars."

"Here you are," he said as he handed the precise amount over, chuckling. "I'll be quick then," he added as he swept the handle of the plastic bag between his fingers. "Alright then, I must go. This one has been vying to get home. If I'm any longer I might not have a head."

"I'm not that desperate," Sting cut in.

"Sure, sure."

Lucy snickered at their contrasting personalities, tucking a stray lock of hair behind an ear. It gave access to a clearer view of her features and Sting found himself following her movements. From her fingers caressing the shell of her ear to the lock of hair cascading into place on her shoulder.

"Wait, home?"

"Yeah, we're roommates."

"Oh wow. It's nice to finally meet your partner in crime."

"Heh, so now you know. Anyways, I'll be seeing you again when I finish these." Rogue lifted the bag and offered a little shake, gesturing to the books inside.

"Can't wait. Until then."

Rogue started off by himself, waving a hand of farewell over his shoulder without looking back. With the same hand, he opened up the front door with ease, the evening sunlight blanketing the floorboards. Sting followed his trail, looking back at the shop assistant, back at Lucy. He didn't seem to know what to do with himself after witnessing the casual display of conversation between his companion and the store clerk. His body, acting on its own, had his hand do a stiff wave crossed with the smallest of bows before he was on his way.

"It was nice meeting you, roommate," Lucy called out as Sting walked out the door. Once he crossed the entrance, his ears tuned in to the hubbub of city life, bringing him back to reality. The magic of the bookshop had quickly left once the door was opened. Sting had felt its effects growing on him throughout his conversation with the shopkeeper and he couldn't help feeling a little disappointed at its loss.

"You too, Blondie," he left with a grin. Closing the door behind him, he was gone.

"So," Sting began as he set two plates across from each other on a table, cutlery soon finding its place on the dining surface as well. "You and that girl seemed awfully chummy today."

"Lucy?" Rogue questioned, not looking up from his task. He deftly dealt with whole vegetables, sliced and diced into fine, mouth-sized pieces in a split second.

"Yeah."

"I wouldn't say, uh, chummy per se. We just have a common interest."

Sting hummed at his friend's response, mulling over how he could get what he wanted to hear out of him without being overly obvious. "It sounds like you're a regular though."

"I am, it's the only bookshop I go to."

The interrogator's eyes darted to his companion's back, willing him to turn around as he squinted. He didn't turn around. "The only bookshop? Sounds suspicious if you ask me."

"And why is that?" Rogue continued, unfazed and unaware of the holes boring into his back. The knock of stainless steel against a wooden chopping board was strangely soothing.

"Because we live in a damn city? There's dozens of bookshops and that's the only one you go to? What's that about?"

"Nothing really," he finished, sliding the chopped produce into boiling water.

"'Nothing really' my ass," Sting whispered in mocking doubt. You could argue that Sting was childish at times, but if you had to ask Rogue, he would say that Sting was a child all of the time.

"I heard that."

Sting huffed, defeated, but not for long. He sat himself down in front of a plate and awaited dinner. The smell of roast beef teased his stomach. In a feeble attempt to distract his mind from food, he drew lazy circles on the table. Needless to say that it didn't really work, beef was simply just much more exciting. It felt like he had died and gone to heaven by the time Rogue had finally placed the juicy slab of meat in the centre of the table. Sting dove straight for it but was promptly thwacked on the hand with a pair of tongs.

"Can you not? I'm hungry here," the recipient started rubbing over the wound, trying to cool the burn that started to flare from contact of metal to skin.

"So am I but I've barely put the thing down," Rogue chided as he turned to gather the remaining side dishes accommodating the main meal. "And you will wait until I'm seated."

"Goddammit hurry up already," Sting growled with much impatience.

"Yes, yes. I'm sitting." An assortment of vegetables was served alongside the roast. Honeyed carrots and corn with baked potato. Roast beef with baked potato and honeyed carrots and corn might sound like a lot for two men, but if Rogue learned anything from living with Sting, it was that his appetite rivalled his own. Sadly, for their wallets especially, that meant an increase in groceries which required money. Good food was quickly becoming a luxury. Sting visibly cringed, thinking his discomfort was more discreet than not. Sting was the exact antonym of the word discreet. Rogue's eyebrow quirked at his flatmate. "Eat it."

He frowned at the dark-haired chef but didn't have the heart to complain, his stomach speaking volumes already. Not a moment after did Sting hesitate in plating his food as soon as he saw that Rogue was comfortable. He piled slices of meat upon piles of meat and just. Kept. Piling. During the process, he would shove the occasional bite in his gob as he heaped staple onto his plate, unable and unwilling to wait. His dining partner sitting across from Sting served himself in a similar fashion, mounting his serving dish though with much added grace. Never did he stop for a bite as he piled, either. He was patient to an extent. For a time, they ate in silence. Unless you count the chewing of food, breaking it down into mush between their teeth for easier digestion as silence. It was the only sound that filled the kitchen, as well as the clinking of metal on ceramic as they picked up and shovelled food into their ravenous caverns and deep breaths that resembled snorts because they forgot to breathe in the midst of eating.

They finished their hearty meal with satisfied stomachs and a contented sigh emanated from both individuals. Rogue was the first to rise from his seat, picking up the plate that once held a slab beef now had nothing more than scraps on it.

"I'll just give this to Frosch and Lector. Can you put the dishes in the sink?"

"Yessir," Sting saluted. Now that he was satisfied, he felt he could live with complying with a few simple requests. He stood up with great effort from his seat, feeling the weight of his food already shifting south. He took his time collecting the plates, avoiding leftover muck and grime. As much as he loved eating, he couldn't stand the feel of cold food on his hands or touching the very dirty plates that once held their supper. Ambling to the kitchen sink to drop off his supply of dishes, Sting eyed the two books Rogue had purchased earlier sitting at the edge of their kitchen bar. The top book had a navy-blue paperback and gold rimming. Fancy lettering covered the page in large font, the material somewhat three dimensional.

"Coffee and Retribution? What the hell kind of title is that?"

"An eye-catching one," Rogue said from behind causing the nosy man to jump, ceramic rattling against each other.

"Right- Just what sort of plot would this book have anyway? Something stupid I bet," Sting, having given his unnecessary opinion placed the dishes in the sink, freeing up his hands to pick up the book and give it a decent observation. He flipped it over to read the blurb before it was snatched from his hands.

"Hey, I was gonna read that."

"Your hands are greasy."

"They are not. I avoided the filth on the plates so they're clean."

Rogue didn't believe him for a second, sending him an inquisitive look through a curtain of black hair. "The book is about vengeance, as the title implies. It's written through the eyes of a woman who has become isolated due to the actions of her new partner."

"Called it."

Rogue rolled his eyes at Sting, giving up trying to entertain him. "Say what you will. Lucy said it was a good read, and I trust her opinion."

"Hm," Sting eyed the other.

"Let's just wash the dishes, shall we?" Rogue suggested as he put the book down. He rolled up his sleeves and filled the sink with hot water, squirting washing detergent over the dishes. Steam and bubbles rose and Rogue stuck his hands in, getting right down to business. No later did Sting pick up a cloth to dry off the tableware and place them into their according cabinets and drawers. When the pair had moved in together, Rogue thought it best to establish some ground rules before his roommate could weasel his way into a free-pass. One was to evenly split the chores. Rogue washed while Sting dried and put them away. Rogue mopped while Sting vacuumed. Rogue cleaned the toilet and sinks while Sting cleaned the shower and bathtub. Two was that one was to buy the groceries for the week while the other paid the rent and alternate roles weekly. For a small, decently sized apartment, it was rather cheap. Though Rogue suspected it be because it was always noisy and susceptible to intruders. So they made sure to always buy food that amounted approximately to the same price as the rent, just to be fair, and they always had to keep the receipt to show the other.

"Speaking of Lucy,"

"We weren't though-"

"She said that it was 'finally nice to meet your partner in crime'?"

"You've been quite the curious one today."

"How can I not be? My best friend might have a potential girl up his sleeve and never even bothered to mention it. Plus, you spoke about me."

"I never said I spoke about you."

"But you did."

"Perhaps."

"Aha! Wait, don't just brush off my last remark-"

"Alright, I'm done. I'm gonna go shower first," Rogue casually eluded Sting and his probing questions, flicking the dish water from his hands and then proceeded to towel dry them. With that, he left Sting to finish on his own. He completed his duties, but not without a disgruntled attitude until the end.

Rogue took what he thought was a quick fifteen minutes. Sting thought he was just thorough but didn't want to admit it. Though at last, it was his turn and he couldn't wait to wash off the stink of today, refreshed and ready for bed. Being the pot calling the kettle black, it was Sting's nightly ritual to scrub, rinse and repeat at least twice. Cleaning every nook and cranny to truly feel renewed. Hair was every two days, and tonight was not one of those nights, which meant that his shower was going to take less time. Unless he decided to just stand under the shower and lavish himself in warm water that never failed to bring about satisfying sensations to both his skin and soul. Which, he did. It wasn't until another five minutes that Sting finally willed himself to leave the shower and towel himself off. The slight chill in the air nipped at him against flushed skin.

He wrapped the towel around his hips and made his way to his room. His room was beyond Rogue's, so it couldn't really be helped that he glanced inside as he strode past to his own. His companion's room was dark with the exception of a faint light illuminating the walls. Retracing his steps, careful not to be heard, Sting peeked in.

To those who hung around Sting and Rogue, they knew the two men were practically joined at the hip, and that they both had very contrasting personalities. It was also common knowledge that Rogue was the composed one who never freaking smiled unless it was at Frosch. So, when Sting saw his dark-haired friend – matching his equally dark personality – Sting was more than just a little surprised to see that the light was coming from his cell phone, and Rogue was smiling right at it. A real, genuine smile. He could've sworn he giggled too and it set alight a peculiar feeling within Sting. Sting frowned, running a hand through his hair, slicking back the wet locks. Water transferred onto his hand in heavy droplets that when he hung his hand back by his side, the water formed trails down his fingers and fell from their tips. Cool air settled into the moist trail.

Not wanting to further invade on his roommate's privacy (who was he kidding, he lived for bugging Rogue), Sting quickly shuffled to his long-awaited sanctuary. He didn't bother with getting dressed and simply flopped onto the bed, his towel loosening as he made contact with the downy comforter. The male took an astoundingly deep breath and exhaled, practically deflating. He didn't care that his hair was saturating his sheets, though he imagined he might once he actually settled in for the night. No, his bones just ached with a longing of ease. His mind didn't really drift too much, he did think about Rogue and what the 'smiling at a phone screen' scenario might have been about. Sting knew it shouldn't have been anything unusual, but his gut sensed it as something odd. Not a bad odd either. He couldn't quite place his finger on it, but god was he fuckin' curious. At this point it's whatever, Sting would just tease him about it tomorrow and coerce the info out of him.

He prepped for bed, mentally and physically exhausted from a long day, his thoughts shot back to the young bookshop keeper from today. Not for any particular reason he felt, just that she was kinda cute and that they had a pretty nice conversation. Her and Rogue having a friendly connection though still piqued his interest and even had him wondering if that meant he'd get to see her again. His mind dozed off to the image of her smiling and other insignificant things in his everyday life.

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At some awkward time in the morning, Sting felt himself being lulled out of his slumber. He was still hovering between dream state and reality, you know that really weird sensation when you're awake but not quite, and you're very physically aware of it but your body has yet to wake up with your mind. It's purely instinctual senses feeding information to your brain, and it feels like everything but sight is heightened. His ears attune to light footsteps sneaking around outside of his bedroom door and then a distant click of the entrance. Rogue has gone out again tonight.

Hey, this is a two year old piece I wrote, I only added a tiny bit in and barely touched it up. I found it and read it after it had been tucked away. I had good feelings from it so I'm hoping this will be something I can work on during the pandemic. I haven't written in a really long time but I've really missed it.

Don't hesitate to share with me your thoughts, I hope you all enjoyed the first chapter!