Beside

48 - bookstore

"What if the sun is just a giant lightbulb, and one day it burns out?"

"Then someone better find a ladder and change it."

"You're so sarcastic! I'm serious—"

"Don't hit me! Hey!"

"Fox! This is a big problem! Where do we get a lightbulb that big?"

"I don't know. Probably from Space Walmart—STOP HITTING ME!"

ｃｈｒｉｓ

The bookstore smells like cinnamon dust, old paper, and some kind of wood polish.

"Ah ha!" Fox lifts a big book like he's found treasure, the title bold across the cover.

"Oh, Fox. I think you should try reading something a bit more magical than Medical Anomalies and Theories."

"What? This is magic, Chris!"

I roll my eyes but smile anyway.

He sighs, glancing at the ceiling like it's betrayed him. It's dimly lit, with those Edison bulbs casting shadows and wooden shelves leaning inward. "I don't want to read another romantasy book."

"But there's dragons."

"Yeah, right." Fox flips open a heavy book on medical physics, brows knitted in focus.

I grin. There's no changing his mind. And I like that.

A book on a high shelf shakes and levitates, sinking down into my hands, opening to page 167, the first line I read being, The sword slashed through his neck, the head falling clean to—

I snap the book shut. Nope.

I trail my fingers over a row of well-worn autobiographies, pausing every few seconds to glance at him. More like gaze—god, he's so handsome. His profile is treacherous. His face is still a map of bruises and tenderness, hints of purple and green along his cheekbone. The bookstore's low lights deepen the colours like he's something painted.

He doesn't even notice when a group of girls pass, each giving him a heavy, curious look, as if they're seeing someone too dangerous to approach. To them, he's mysterious, edgy, and doesn't belong here, browsing books.

Yet he's so himself, Fox. He's so absorbed in his physics he doesn't see their staring.

But he looks up at me. "You excited for Noah's big speech? You bringing Whitney?"

"Yes. She's excited for it." I bite back a smile at the way he reacts, a half-hum in his throat.

He doesn't even have to say it before I know what's next.

"Is she bringing that guy?"

"You mean her boyfriend."

"Sure."

I give him a nudge, pretending to frown. "Fox."

"I like Whitney, okay? Do I have to like him, too?"

"Yes, actually. We're supportive."

"I support Whitney," he deadpans.

I press my lips together to stifle a smile. "Well, fine. And, no, Walker's not coming."

He flashes a grin, cheeky, victorious. "That's a shame."

I laugh, weakly shoving him, and he reaches out just enough to catch my hand to take me deeper into the rows.