Chapter Text
Levi swipes his fingers across the top of the shelf. Frowns with distaste when they return chalky with dust. He is having a positively horrendous day. Or should he say, a negatively horrendous day. Yes. That seems more fitting. Nothing is positive about today.
All the kindergarten tour groups were flowing through the library last week. Sticky, grubby fingers smearing across glass surfaces, uncovered sneezes splattering into delicate pages, snots and tears from wailing children staining the fine carpets. The whole week was a nightmare.
He’s been thrown completely out of sorts. Even though the custodians insisted they could take care of such messes, Levi continued to fret. He doesn’t trust them for a second. With the whole of the library to cover, they’re almost certainly cutting corners. Hell, they’re probably only cleaning the glass with clockwise motions. What about counterclockwise ? What if they’re skipping out on counterclockwise? The thought, alone, makes him shiver.
He grimaces the thought away and flicks out his handkerchief to wipe away the dust. He knows he should be focusing on sorting the books. That is his job, after all. And after he spent all of last week stressing over the messes, he has so much to catch up on.
The encyclopedias are all out of order, editions and versions intermixed in such a way that the spines spell out ‘BUTT’ and ‘POO’. The manga is tucked in with the history of Mesopotamia. Kamasutra guidebooks rest atop a row of Magic Tree House adventures. Everything is so horribly, horribly out of place. There’s so much to do. He should not be taking detours to clean.
But Levi can’t help himself. Even old men like him should get to enjoy treats like this, shouldn’t they? The clean white cloth of his handkerchief sweeps across the dusty top of the bookshelf, leaving a dark, rich wooden surface in its wake. Yes. That’s much better. Feeling relieved, Levi neatly folds the dust into the handkerchief to keep its contents contained. He’ll wash that later.
He climbs gingerly down from his ladder, cursing his bum knee -- it never quite recovered after the car crash. He’ll have to soak it in a warm bath when he gets back. The thought of a warm bath revives him somewhat. Oh, to melt into the silky water, surrounded by sweet-smelling bars of soap. He can almost feel it right now.
“Excuse me.” A voice sounds right behind him.
Levi startles from his daydream, and his foot slips. He falls backwards, failing. Panicked, he tries to catch himself on the rail, but two of the fingers on his right hand don’t bend all the way after that cursed car crash. His grip breaks before it ever even started, and he’s falling, wishing pitifully that it didn’t have to end like this. Not before he gets his bath.
But then he collides with a body, and strong arms sling under his armpits, catching him before he can tumble to the floor.
“Oi, watch it!” Levi exclaims grumpily, as the stranger struggles to get him back onto his feet. He’s not sure why he says it. This mysterious stranger just saved his life. But then again, it was also the stranger’s fault that he fell in the first place. An admonishment is fitting in this occasion, is it not? Levi decides that it quite simply does not matter. He nearly died. He can react however he’d like.
“I’m so sorry! Are you okay? Are you hurt?” the stranger asks.
Levi looks up to put a face to this morally ambiguous character, and mentally curses when he finds a tragically handsome face.
Bright blue eyes that seem to glitter even in the clinical fluorescent lights. Strong cheekbones and brows that perfectly frame that sort of nose that only seems to show up on Greek gods. Full lips and a strong jaw that seem accustomed to laughter. He’s touched with age, his neat golden hair streaked with gray, but ever so gracefully so, the lines in his face more of an accumulation of life than a tally towards death.
Levi instantly hates him with every inch of his body.
“What do you think you’re doing, going around, scaring people on ladders?” Levi grumbles, readjusting his cravat, dusting off the invisible particles of this stranger from his clothes. Can’t be bringing any of that into his home.
“I’m so sorry,” the stranger apologizes, straightening his own jacket and collared shirt that accentuate his broad chest way too well. Disgusting. “I really thought you’d heard me coming.”
“Obviously not,” Levi says. He frowns and waits. The stranger fidgets under the frigid glare, certain he’s expected to do something, but not sure what. “Go on,” Levi prompts. “You must’ve had a good reason to sneak up on me. Out with it. What were you going to ask?”
The stranger pauses for a second, eyes blank, impending query somehow lost in the tumult of the recent events. But then he seems to return to himself. “Ah! Yes. I need help finding a book on the Peloponnesian War.”
Of course a man with a face like that would be looking into Greek history. Levi’s brow furrows in distaste. “It’s under 938. Fifth floor. Knock yourself out.”
He turns away to go find his cart of books, but the stranger stops him. “Wait!” Levi looks back and waits. The stranger gives him a sheepish look. “I’m so sorry to keep bothering you, but I’ve already been to the fifth floor, and I couldn’t find it. I don’t understand these shelves or this… this Doing System. Would you be so kind as to walk me over?”
Levi suppresses the urge to sigh. Why did he ever agree to this job? He’ll have to be more careful about Hange’s ‘great ideas’ from now on. A day filled with cleaning and organization is not worth human interaction like this. Summoning his last shreds of patience, he waves a brief ‘come along’ gesture.
“Fine. Follow me,” he says grumpily. He starts heading towards the elevators. “But it’s not called the Doing System. It’s the Dewey Decimal System. You’re telling me you’re reading up on the Peloponnesian War for fun, and you don’t know the Dewey Decimal System?”
The stranger does a quick jog to catch up, and Levi spots him silently and carefully mouthing ‘Dewey Decimal System’. He’s inexplicably hit with another wave of hatred.
“Well, it’s not for fun, it’s for a research that I’m doing,” the stranger says conversationally once they’re side by side. He’s definitely the type of guy who makes friends everywhere. Gross. “And I guess I never really learned the system because I was too wrapped up in actually reading the books. Why would I waste the energy when I could just ask expert librarians like you?” he says with a winning smile that makes Levi want to kick something.
Levi takes his rage out on the elevator button, jabbing it far harder than necessary. His stiff finger pangs in protest. Fantastic.
“First of all, what kind of research could you possibly do on an ancient war?” Levi says rudely. “And second of all, the Dewey Decimal System is an important system that has organized the world’s knowledge for centuries. To ignore it is to ignore the very skeleton upon which your studies rest. Have you ever even stopped to think about why certain books are categorized in certain sections?”
Ignoring Levi’s insult to his work, the stranger’s eyes light up even more, if possible. “Why no, I haven’t. Please do tell me more.”
Levi realizes far too late that he’s been roped into having a conversation with this terrible stranger. He briefly considers saying something like ‘too bad, you’ll never know’, but the elevator hasn’t even arrived yet. He has no choice but to respond.
“Well…” he suddenly feels a bit awkward with the stranger’s gaze so intensely set on him. “For example, books on domestic skills like cleaning and dinner etiquette used to always be grouped together with topics on women. As if domestic spaces are inherently gendered. Of course, that’s no surprise, seeing as how Melvil Dewey was a well-known sexual harasser of women. The groupings were changed once people realized this bias, but if you think about what that says in terms of who is pushed towards certain knowledge…”
Levi pauses, trying to nail down his point, but the elevator dings, and he loses his track completely. They step into the empty elevator, Levi standing as far away as naturally possible.
“You were saying?” the stranger prompts. He seems to sense that Levi lost his train of thought. “Something about the effects of the Dewey Decimal System on our knowledge?”
“Oh… right.” How terrible of this stranger to revive the conversation. “I guess I’m just saying that the system has an effect on -- or at least is representative of -- how we bias our knowledge.”
Another example comes to his mind, and he feels his mouth automatically spitting out the words, feeding the eager fascination in the stranger’s eyes, even as Levi mentally groans to himself about how much he hates this conversation.
“Another example is the categorization of LGBTQ topics. Did you know queer discussions were originally labelled under the numbers 132 and 159.9?” Levi says, outraged.
His words did not garner the reaction he expected. The stranger looks completely lost. “What does that mean?”
This idiot seriously needs to learn the system. “They were categorized under mental derangements and abnormal psychology,” Levi answers grimly.
“Oh shit.”
Oh shit indeed. Something about the profanity coming out of the stranger’s mouth makes Levi hate him a little less.
“Yeah, well. It switched around to the 300’s -- sociology -- and skipped around from social problems to social deviations. A lot of libraries still use those labels today. But the most current one is 306.7, sexual relations.”
The stranger pokes out his lips and nods, seemingly impressed with Levi’s expertise. His eyes are bright with the new knowledge. The elevator dings, and they step out onto the fifth floor.
“I see your point about the significance of the system,” he says enthusiastically. “And if I may ask, what number do you categorize LGBTQ works under?”
Suddenly, Levi feels strangely scrutinized. “306.7, sexual relations, obviously,” he says flatly. “Everything else is problematic.”
The stranger nods, pleased. “An ally, are you?” Something about the question feels loaded.
Levi doesn’t like it one bit. “Basic fucking human decency.”
Full lips break into that stupid winning smile. “Well, I appreciate your human decency…” the stranger peers down to look at Levi’s name card. “Levi,” he finishes, voice dipping down a notch.
At that, Levi’s heart doesn’t leap. And he definitely doesn’t feel a lurch of hope. None of it. Not one bit. Why would it matter if the stranger is gay? It doesn’t. Not one bit. Levi’s face pinches, as if displeased, and he doesn’t respond.
Silently, he crosses the aisles, trying not to let his limp show -- because for some reason, he wants to look strong in front of this stranger (only to scare him off, of course) -- as he watches the numbers slowly tick up. 931. 932. 933.
“Do you read a lot of books?” the stranger asks out of the blue. “It’s strange. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a librarian read a book.”
“No. Of course not. We’re here to work, not read books,” Levi says disdainfully.
“But do you read on your breaks?”
“No.”
“Not at all?”
Levi makes a face. “Why would I ever need to read a book?”
The stranger gives him an incredulous look. “For fun. Or to give recommendations. You’re telling me you really don’t read for fun?”
“No.” Why would he need to? He has baking and cleaning and nice warm baths to keep him busy.
But the stranger looks appalled. Starts rummaging through his leather messenger bag, because of course a man like that would carry a bag like that. Levi peeks down, curious in spite of himself, as the stranger keeps rummaging, narrowly swerving past a shelf he almost walks into in his distracted state.
“Aha!” the stranger finally says triumphantly, producing an extremely thin book from the depths of his bag and hands it out. “Try this. It’s short. But it packs a punch. You won’t be disappointed.”
Skeptical, Levi takes the book. He fans through the meager number of pages before letting it fall shut and looking at the cover: Wit by Margaret Edson. “What’s this about?”
The stranger struggles with the closures on his bag for a moment before responding. “It’s about a renowned professor, named Vivan Bearing, who finds out she has ovarian cancer. It follows her journey, discussing the fear of mortality, the arrogance of intellect, the futility of achievement. And I guess, just the general dehumanization involved in living with an expiration date.”
Levi doesn’t respond. Just pinches his brows together, eyeing the cover cynically.
“Trust me,” the stranger says confidently. “It’s amazing. Just try it. Tell me you’ll read it,” he insists.
“Okay,” Levi agrees blankly. He’s not sure why.
They arrive at the shelves labelled 938 before he can think of what else to say.
“Looks like we’re here,” the stranger says cheerfully, always smiling. “Thank you so much for your help, Levi. I think I can take it from here. Share your thoughts with me when you’re reading the book, yeah?”
But before Levi can even open his mouth to ask how the hell he’s supposed to contact him to share his thoughts, the stranger is gone, lost in the maze of shelves. Levi stands there for a minute, brain stalling. What the hell just happened? Why did he agree to read this stupid book? Why is he… disappointed now that he’s alone?
He tsks at his own stupidity and starts limping back to the elevator, refusing to look at the book. But as soon as the metal doors close, and he’s safe from any glittering blue eyes that might be watching, he flicks open the cover of the book to look at the first page. He instantly screws his face up in disgust.
On the first page is a customized stamp that says ‘If you find me, please return me to my owner:’ with a cartoon of a smiling book and a neat list of contact info, pressed into the page in dark blue. Of course a man like that would have a fucking customized stamp like this.
“Erwin Smith,” Levi reads aloud.
Immediately, he feels like he’s done something blasphemous, and he snaps the book shut. Absolutely not. He is not thinking about this during work.
When the elevator dings and the doors slide open, he’s empty handed, the book tucked away in his suit jacket. He limps off to go find his book cart, thinking about dust and disordered books and the bath he’s going to take tonight and pretty much everything except for this mysterious man named Erwin Smith.