Just My Type [Daichi Sawamura x OC]

Chapter 9: Tale as Old as Time

A particularly large cloud of dust billowed lazily into the small back room as Jun accidentally dropped the stack of books a bit harder than intended, covering her with a layer thick enough to dull the yellow of her headscarf. Undeterred, Jun coughed quietly and continued sorting through piles with an absentminded efficiency.

It had been Tadaari's idea for her to take a break from the storefront to try and make sense of the chaotic inventory of the back room; he had noticed the rather odd drop in friendly service she had been providing lately, being far too preoccupied staring at blank walls to hear their exclamations. Yet it was when he'd caught her sitting quietly during her lunch break, a book open in front of her and it's stories entirely ignored while she stared glassy-eyed out the farthest window, that Tadaari really grew concerned. With a gentle smile and not-so-gentle push from the older gentleman, Jun had set aside her barely eaten rice bowl and shuffled off to the storeroom with a clipboard in hand.

Like much of the rest of the Hobbit Hole, the back storeroom wasn't much more than a small closet crammed floor to ceiling with stacks of dusty old books. At one point early in his career Tadaari had taken great care to keep a running record of all the materials in stock, which did not continue for very long. He and Jun both knew that "taking inventory" really only meant shuffling columns of books around and trying to remember if a title was already on the spreadsheet or not. It wasn't precise by any means, something Jun had complained about to her boss on numerous occasions, but it was still technically work that would also allow Jun time to think.

Several weeks had passed in which most of her free time was now spent outside the comfort of her usual routine. And in the company of someone who didn't make her feel anxious about it. While a majority of this time together was still spent in the familiarity of bookstores and the library, that was not always the case. They had (legally) gone for ice cream several times, not-so-legally snuck into concerts, and even once returned to the bar of that disastrous first date (minus the chattering roommates). Jun had been petrified with fear every time (and even more mortified when she figured out the 'tickets' he'd shown her for that k-pop concert had been fake, and they really did sneak in without paying). Yet every time he'd flash a smile equally mischievous and sweet, and brush his hand against hers, entwining them together with such care that Jun forgot everything else but trusting the young man smiling down at her.

Daichi.

It had happened so slowly, like a single candle burning softly until it's warm glow filled the room.

One moment, Jun was safe in her dorm, huddled under a fuzzy blanket and devouring five books in a single weekend, lucky if she spoke to anyone. Slowly, those evenings grew fewer and far between, as they were replaced with nights in a hazily lit bar, sipping ginger ale and nestled contently under Daichi's outstretched arm, feeling equally as safe. Her weekly schedule remained mostly the same, except now as the weekend drew closer, Jun would feel a new level of anticipation rising to the surface, and it had nothing to do with finding a new novel to binge, but entirely to do with the handsome man who would sit waiting outside her dorm.

Daichi.

Every time she'd spot him by her dorm, casually ignoring the 'no smoking' rule and flipping through the latest book she loaned him, Jun would feel an excited breathlessness that only grew worse when he'd finally greet her with that cocky lopsided grin he'd reserved just for her. After that it didn't matter so much if they were going out to a bar for drinks or lounging in his dorm with their own books; either way Jun followed along without question and without wishing for anything else.

Because despite her better judgement, Jun was falling in love.

She could feel it. It was growing every day she'd spend with him. Daichi had always been someone she thought was attractive (if not in an intimidating way), but it was the small things that truly stole her heart. The way he'd ask her opinion on a favorite author; how softly he'd speak when he could sense her anxiety rising; the subtle caress along her back for no other reason than to be near. That tiny spark of infatuation had quickly been nurtured into so much more.