Ray x Reader One Shots

Sleepless Nights

This was requested by OldiePotato

And thank you, I won third place nationally. The nice thing is, that I won't even have to do academic decathlon again, so I'm no longer a failure.

Also, happy birthday to one of my close friends, jozzz21, and to Norman. (They share the same birthday, so I call them birthday twins. It's also the reason I made her a glass painting of him.)

And another happy birthday to peachyxchuuu. I remembered they commented on my author's note, that it was their birthday on March 21 too. 

So please wish these three a very happy birthday.

Now, onto the story. I used my fifth grade poetry assignment for this, so bear with me here

genre-high school au, slight angst

Ray's pov

I met her about six months ago. Actually, I first saw her a year ago. She would always come to the library during the night hours, and frequently glance at us, concealing behind bookshelves. Sometimes, I would think she was just my imagination, for she would always hide away from sight. 

She was always alone whenever I saw her, and every time our eyes met, she would creep into the dark shadows. I never heard her speak, or even make a sound. She was never surrounded by others as if she had no one to talk to. 

But one day, I took up the courage to actually interact with her. I saw her sitting quietly at a vacant library table, as the sky became a light purple color. 

"Good afternoon," I started quietly, glimpsing through an empty shelf. Her eyes noticed me and she stood up to walk away, but I was able to find her. "Wait!"

I grasped her bookbag, which made her stop in her tracks. She did not face me and looked indirectly down at her feet. "I've always seen you around here. What is your name?"

Her head slightly tilted to the side, as if she contemplated my question. She fully turned to me, and for the first time, I got a full look at her face. Pretty, I thought.

"It's (y/n)," she stated. "(y/n) (l/n)." 

I was about to respond, while I quickly looked at a window. But when I glanced back to (y/n), she was gone, like she was never in front of me, to begin with.

The next night, I saw her again and tried to strike a conversation. She actually stayed and listened, asking questions every so often. She spoke in a dreamy, ethereal way, and her answers were sometimes vague. But, unlikely, we became fast friends, over the course of many sleepless nights at the local library.

One time, I asked her where she came from, or if I could take her shopping. She shook her head, and answered, "I love the library very much."

(y/n) was a confusing person, and besides, her love of reading, I didn't know anything else about her. Well, I tried introducing her to instant coffee, but she took one sip and told me she hated the bitter taste. I laughed at how she reacted to my drink.

The months went on, as I spent entire days in the secluded empty bookshelves, where I always found her. Sometimes I found her sleeping, and I would wait patiently next to her to wake up.  

She also said to me that she loved poems. So when I told her I was taking a course in poetry for literature, her face broke into one of her rare happy grins.

"What are you studying for this section?" she asked curiously. She looked past my shoulder, and onto the poem, I chose to analyze. "Nothing Gold Can Stay. Oh, this is the one by Robert Frost!"