more than words ﹒ miya twins !

02 ; ii. ━

The library was your refuge, a place where time seemed to slow down, and the world outside became a distant memory. 

You spent your free time here, helping the librarian with small tasks—reshelving books, organizing the archives, and occasionally recommending a novel to a curious student. It was your sanctuary, where the whispers of pages turning and the faint scent of old books brought you a quiet kind of peace.

As you organized a stack of newly returned books, a familiar thrill of eagerness rippled through you. The quiet of the library felt alive, almost electric, as you noticed him the moment he entered. 

Osamu Miya—his presence was as familiar as the worn spines on the shelves, and your heart skipped at the sight of him. You watched him wander through the aisles with a casual air, his dark hair shimmering in the light. 

As he moved, his fingers grazed the edges of the books, lingering for just a moment, as though he were testing their stories through touch, deciding which one might hold his interest today. But deep down, you knew he probably wasn't really looking for a book; he was here because of you.

He wasn't exactly a regular at the library, but lately, he seemed to find more reasons to be here—a fact that brought a soft smile to your lips. Each time he entered, a little spark ignited within you, a quiet excitement that turned mundane tasks into something special.

What is it about him that makes my heart race?

After a brief pause, he chose a book and settled into a chair a few rows away, positioning himself where he could still see you. 

You couldn't help but admire how he looked in this setting, the quiet library contrasting with his usual vibrant energy. Each step he took was deliberate, and you found yourself drawn to the way he occasionally glanced around, his eyes searching—perhaps looking for you, even if just for a moment. There was a warmth in knowing he was nearby, his presence adding a layer of comfort to your sanctuary.

As you finished organizing the books, you made your way over to the next aisle, finding yourself closer to where Osamu was sitting. 

As you moved, you noticed the way he turned a page, his eyes flickering up for just a moment before returning to the book in his hands. It was a fleeting glance, one that made your heart flutter in the most delicate way.

Without breaking the silence, you offered him a small smile, a gesture that felt like a secret shared between the two of you. 

Osamu didn't respond with a nod or a word as I expected; instead, his lips curled into a faint smile of his own, almost imperceptible but undeniably there.

The moment passed, and you went back to your task, the warmth of his presence lingering in the air around you. 

It wasn't much—just a quiet exchange in a quiet place—but it was enough to make the ordinary feel a little bit extraordinary.