Librarians | Stozier

06

Down the ramp of the Derry Public Library, Stanley was labeling new fantasy arrivals angrily. He stuck little square stickers depicting a unicorn on the bottom of each spine, making sure to space each one above the three letters exactly the same length. He thought about Richie again and cinched his eyes shut, shaking the bad feeling from himself. Taking another deep breath, he placed a sticker on a book about dragons.

After he'd finished, he set the box of books on the cart, rolling it out to the fiction section, a section that happened to be placed right in front of the check-out desk. He averted his eyes from making contact with Richie, keeping them set on his tight grip to the cart handle.

"Workin' hard or hardly workin'?" Richie mimicked Ford's accent, throwing a cheese puff into his mouth. His long legs were crossed, feet resting on top of the bow. A comic was splayed over his slanted thighs. At the time, the library was only occupied by two visitors who resided in the further-back, five people total in the building. Not many people wanted to be at the library on a Friday night.

Stan opened up the box, standing in front of a shelf that was far enough away from the counter to make him somewhat comfortable. STR was the first string of letters he read, trotting to the left side to fit it between STO and STU.

Crunch. Richie chewed on another puff. Crunch. And another.

Stanley told himself to ignore it. He slid the book in with his index finger, lining it up with the edge. A crinkle could be heard when Richie reached into the bag, and not the kind Stan usually enjoyed hearing. Another crunch and Stan's neck was tensing up; he could feel his toes curling, burning when they pressed against the soles. The sound seemed to be blaring, though it was a mere 30 decibels.

Richie watched Stan's jaw clench as he finally gave in to the eye contact, giving Richie a piercing glare. He only smiled, the same uncanny one, and made a kiss noise back. Crunch.

"Get your shoes off of my desk," he said, trying to keep calm.

"This is the check-out counter, baby. It's free rein."

"Seriously, get them off." His voice was firm, now facing towards the counter, pulsing arms flexed straight down on either side of his khakis.

Richie couldn't tell in great detail what Stan's body language was, as he was covered by a woolen, taupe sweater. He sighed and took his feet from the bow, spinning aimlessly in Stanley's chair. The crunching became louder or softer as he spun in circles, but to Stan, it was still ear-splitting in contrast to the regularly silent room.

"You aren't supposed to eat in here."

"Oh, really? Shit, I sure hope the big man doesn't catch me out here with a bag of Cheetos, I might get fired!" Richie knew exactly what he was doing. Crunch.

"Just don't touch anything." Stan nodded to Richie's bright orange fingertips.

"What, like, other than myself?" He made a lewd masturbation gesture above his crotch, letting out a whiny fake moan before laughing and turning his eyes down to the comic.

"Ugh." Stanley rolled his eyes and focused back on the books, pulling another out of the box. He performed his normal shelving ritual, and, as if things couldn't get any worse, heard Richie pop open a soda can. He knew he couldn't ask him to stop, though. There were no rules for drinks. Why where there no rules for drinks?

He slowly turned his head to face Richie once again, seeing him take a drawn-out sip while making agonizing eye contact through his glasses. Breaking away, he slid another book into place.

Richie burped, making Stanley's nose wrinkle up in disgust. It was becoming unbearable. He closed the box of books and shoved the cart past the front desk, stomping to the lower level to put it away. Usually he didn't enjoy leaving a task unfinished like that, but it was almost time to leave, regardless.

He checked the time as he trotted to the desk, finding it was 5:25. As he left at 5:30 on Fridays, 5:26 was close enough. He took off his name tag and pulled one of the desk drawers open, conscious on how close he was leaning near Richie. The tag clattered from his palm before he shoved it closed.

An amused look on Richie's face slowly grew as Stanley waited 32 seconds, without moving, for his watch to flicker 5:26. Richie enjoyed seeing Stan's features so up close and still. They weren't as offensive as he expected.

Stan walked away and pulled the employee card from his pocket, Richie swerving the chair to follow him with his eyes. He swiped his card through the slot, pressing a few buttons to clock out.

"Hey, where are you going?" Richie asked.

"It's Shabbat, asshole."

He sat silently as the latter packed up his things and left through the right door. He couldn't help but feel a bit lonely in the absence, finishing the next 30 minutes of his shift without talking.