A Fictional Love Story

Lia: Closer... and closer.

It was getting late, the dim glow of the bookstore's lights casting long shadows over the rows of novels. I had been leafing through a new fantasy book, but my mind was elsewhere. The store was about to close, and Red was there again, as he often was—quiet, absorbed in something, the same distant, cool demeanor I had come to expect.

I was used to this routine by now: we both stayed until closing time, then parted ways silently. But tonight felt different. I hadn't eaten since lunch, and the gnawing hunger made me bold in ways I wouldn't normally dare to be.

As the lights dimmed, Red glanced up from his book, catching me staring. I blinked, realizing I'd been spacing out.

"You're still here?" he asked, his tone neutral as always.

I shrugged, closing my book. "Yeah, I guess so."

An awkward silence settled between us. I wasn't sure why I spoke next, but I did.

"Hey... You want to grab something to eat? There's a convenience store around the corner. I haven't had dinner yet."

Red's brow furrowed slightly, as if weighing the offer. For a moment, I thought he would refuse, as he usually did, but then he nodded, surprising me.

"Sure."

We walked in silence to the convenience store, the streets quieter than usual, save for the distant hum of traffic. Inside, the harsh fluorescent lights contrasted with the dim atmosphere of the bookstore, making everything feel too bright, too real. I grabbed a quick meal—a cup of instant noodles—and so did Red. We sat at a small table by the window, the kind of place people usually used just to wait or check their phones.

"You come here often?" I asked, breaking the silence as I stirred the noodles. My voice sounded louder than it should've in the stillness of the night.

"Sometimes," Red replied, looking down at his food. His answers were always so short, so closed off. It was like talking to a wall, and yet, here we were, sharing a meal.

I tried again. "Do you always read philosophy? Or do you ever dabble in fiction?"

Red glanced at me, his eyes flickering with something I couldn't quite place. "I read what interests me. Fiction's not really my thing."

I bit back a comment about how much he looked like a fictional character—Ten, to be exact. The similarities were still unsettling, but every time I tried to compare the two, I was met with the same cold, indifferent wall that separated Red from the passionate, brooding Ten.

The silence between us stretched once more. I was growing frustrated with the lack of conversation, but more so with my own inability to break through whatever barrier Red had built around himself. I didn't want to push him too hard, but something inside me wanted to see if he'd ever open up, even just a little.

I took a deep breath and leaned back in my chair. "You're nothing like Ten, you know."

The words slipped out before I could stop them, and I immediately regretted it. Red paused, his chopsticks halfway to his mouth, eyes narrowing slightly.

"What?" His tone was sharp, colder than usual.

I felt the heat rise to my cheeks. "It's... it's nothing. Just, uh, a stupid comparison. You wouldn't get it."

He put his chopsticks down, his expression unreadable. "Ten?"

I swallowed, mentally cursing myself for bringing it up. "He's... a character from a book I've been reading. A fictional one."

Red didn't say anything, just stared at me, his gaze making me feel more uncomfortable by the second. I wished I hadn't said anything. Ten was passionate, emotional, complex in ways that made you want to unravel him. Red was a closed book, one I could barely read the cover of.