"Hm… I think this is the book..." Ayaka murmured to herself as she reached for an old mystery novel tucked between two dusty encyclopedias on the highest shelf.
The library's warm, amber lighting casts long shadows across the wooden floor, and the faint smell of aged paper hung in the air—a comforting scent to any writer.
She carefully pulled the book down, brushing off the thin veil of dust that clung to the cover.
She had come here alone to do some quiet research for her next novel, hoping the solitude of the library would spark ideas.
But just as she turned to find a place to read, a loud *THUD* echoed from the adjacent wing.
Startled, Ayaka instinctively flinched. Her curiosity got the better of her, and she peeked around the corner to investigate.
"What on earth...?" To her surprise, there—amid a pile of toppled books—stood a familiar figure, kneeling on the floor as he tried to gather thick, heavy volumes into his arms.
"Miura?" Ayaka blinked in confusion.
Makoto looked up, brushing a hand through his blonde hair, which gleamed under the library's overhead lights.
His striking green eyes met hers with a sheepish glint, and a crooked grin played on his lips.
His looks was almost unfair—like someone stepped straight out of a shoujo manga.
"Oh—I didn't notice you were there." he chuckled, his voice warm and low.
Ayaka rushed over and knelt beside him. "Are you planning to read all these thick books in just one day?" She teased while helping him stack the massive tomes.
"How did you know?" Makoto shot her a grin.
Ayaka blinked. "Wait, what? I was joking!" she laughed nervously, glancing at the mountain of books in disbelief.
Just then, the librarian passed by, her sharp eyes narrowing. "Be quiet!" she hissed.
The two quickly straightened and gave her guilty smiles, lips clamped shut.
They moved toward an empty corner table tucked near the window, far from the librarian's judging eyes.
Sunlight streamed in, casting soft golden rays across the polished surface.
They sat down, Makoto settling beside Ayaka with the casual elegance of someone who didn't realize just how effortlessly attractive they were.
He cracked open a thick book without a word, eyes scanning the pages with deep concentration.
Ayaka tried to focus on her own reading, but she kept glancing at him from the corner of her eye.
The way the sunlight made his blonde strands glow like molten gold, how his long lashes cast faint shadows under his intense green eyes, and the way his brow furrowed when he read—it was distracting, to say the least.
But something else caught her attention.
He looked… distant. Not just focused. His usual playfulness was subdued, replaced by a kind of quiet weight that settled around him like fog.
Ayaka closed her book softly and turned to him.
"Are you alright?" she asked gently.
Makoto paused. Slowly, he closed his book, fingers still resting on the cover. His gaze lingered on the pages for a second before shifting to her.
"Actually..." he said, his voice was lower than before.
Then, he looked straight into her eyes, a crooked, vulnerable smile curving on his lips. "Can I tell you a secret?"
Ayaka blinked, surprised by the shift in mood. "A secret?"
Makoto leaned back in his chair, green eyes gazing at the ceiling for a moment, then drifting back to her. "The other reason why I don't go out in public is because of my mom."
"Your mother? Why?" she asked.
Makoto hesitated.
His fingers gently traced the edges of the hardcover book in front of him, his once teasing demeanor dimming into something far more vulnerable.
Then, he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice as though what he was about to say was a secret too heavy for the quiet library air.
"My dad was a writer." he began softly, his green eyes not quite meeting hers. "A good one, actually. Famous even. But he… he cheated on my mom with his co-writer."
Ayaka's eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by how personal the confession was.
Makoto gave a small, bitter laugh. "My mom found out during one of their book tours. She was devastated. Completely crushed. Ever since then… she's hated everything that had to do with writing. Books. Stories. The industry. Even the sound of a typewriter used to set her off."
He paused, jaw tightening, a storm flickering behind his otherwise composed expression.
"She knew I was going to follow in his footsteps. I think she always did. I loved writing even as a kid… but when I told her I wanted to become an author, she flipped."
His voice dropped further. "From that day on, she forbade me from writing. Said she'd rather see me do anything else—anything but this."
A silence fell between them for a moment, heavy and unspoken. Ayaka didn't dare interrupt.
"I tried to hide it from her." he continued, a small, wry smile playing at the corner of his lips. "But after the interview aired on TV, she found out. And since then..." He looked away, eyes dimming. "She hasn't spoken to me. Not a word."
Ayaka felt her chest tighten. "Miura…"
He brushed a hand through his messy blonde hair again, trying to play it off with an awkward chuckle. "I know, I know. It sounds dramatic, right? But she's serious. I tried calling her. I even went to her house. She didn't open the door."
Ayaka's gaze softened as she studied his face—so usually bright and cheeky—now clouded with pain and disappointment. He was trying so hard to keep it together.
"I'm actually nervous around crowds." Makoto added after a pause, scratching the back of his neck. "I know it doesn't look like it… but I hate being in front of people. That's why I never did book signings, or public readings. I just write and vanish."
"You hide behind your stories." Ayaka said softly, understanding immediately.
He smiled weakly. "Exactly."
Then, he let out a breath, a voice tinged with nerves. "But since the interview went viral, I don't have a choice anymore. I didn't want to be tied down to any publishing house so I asked Mr. Takahashi for advice... he was nice enough and offered to help me. Your publishing house has really good people..."
"Yeah... They're great." Ayaka smiled.
"Anyway.... The signing event is tomorrow…" He chuckled nervously, avoiding her eyes again. "And to be honest, I'm kind of freaking out plus there's another interview after it."
Ayaka didn't hesitate.
"Then… I'll go."
Makoto blinked. "Wh-What?"
"I said I'll go." She gave him a warm, reassuring smile.
"You've always come to my book signings. Every single one, without fail. You've supported me quietly all this time, even before we really got to know each other. Let me return the favor... Let me support you as well."
Makoto stared at her, stunned into silence.
His green eyes searched hers for a long second, almost as if trying to confirm she wasn't just saying it to be polite.
When it finally sank in, his expression softened.
He dropped his arms onto the table and rested his chin on them, his face inches from hers.
"You're really something, Ms. Midnight." he murmured, the corners of his lips lifting into a gentle smile. "You keep surprising me."
Ayaka leaned slightly closer, unable to hide the curiosity that burned behind her own eyes. Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"May I ask, though…" she began cautiously, eyes flicking toward his. "Is your father—?"
Makoto sighed, but his grin returned, this time a bit more mischievous. "Mr. Spectacles."
Her eyes lit up. "I knew it!" she gasped, nearly bouncing in her seat.
"I always had a feeling! The writing style, the tone—it's similar! You even have some of the same narrative habits! And he is the only known writer in the industry who married a writer! So that means, his wife now is the mistre-"
"Shhh!" came a sharp voice behind them.
The librarian glared at them from behind the circulation desk, eyes narrowed dangerously. "Last warning."
Makoto and Ayaka both froze like scolded schoolchildren, then looked at each other and burst into silent laughter, shoulders shaking as they clamped their hands over their mouths.
It was only when the librarian finally turned away that they relaxed.
Makoto leaned back again, looking at her with that warm, admiring gaze that made her heart feel lighter than she expected.
"You're the first person I've told about this." he said, more quietly now. "About my dad. About my mom. About all of it."
Ayaka looked at him in surprise. "Why me?"
He shrugged, his expression soft but unreadable.
"Because I knew you'd understand. You get what it's like to carry pain in silence… to keep moving forward even when it hurts." He tilted his head.
"You don't show it much, but I know it's there. That kind of strength is rare."
For a moment, Ayaka didn't know what to say.
Her throat tightened.
Part of her wanted to argue—wanted to say she wasn't as strong as he thought.
That she was still lost, still searching, still haunted by the ghost of someone who had vanished without a trace.
But instead, she offered him a small smile. "You're not alone, you know."
Makoto's eyes widened, just for a moment.
Then he nodded, the hint of something unspoken glimmering behind his gaze.
The two of them returned to their books, the moment hanging between them like a fragile thread.
And while neither of them said anything else out loud that something had changed.
Not in a dramatic, life-altering way—but quietly, gently.
In the silence of the library, surrounded by stories and forgotten voices, two hearts—wounded in different ways—had found a strange kind of comfort.