August, 2017

"You're in my seat," were the first words I ever said to him. The day I met Benjamin Cross, my life hadn't strayed far from normal... until he showed up. Though, looking back and knowing everything I know now, it could have gone so many different ways.

Long legs stretched out under the table, lanky frame supported by the wall, he briefly glanced up from his book to meet my tired gaze.

"Excuse me?" he replied, voice laced with animosity. Curly brown locks extended past his chin, only accentuating his porcelain skin and iridescent blue eyes.

"I said... you're in my seat," I repeated.

Yet he merely furrowed his brows and narrowed his eyes at me, like I was being the unreasonable one.

And, sure, you might be inclined to side with him. He was there first... this time. But this was normally my spot. Every single morning of a weekday I'd forward up the steps of the library at 9:30am sharp and take this very seat right at the back corner by the mythology section. And every single time I have done so, it has been empty.

Perhaps most days, I would have just let this slide. I should have. But after all the encounters I had to face with other human beings this morning, I was desperate for my sense of normalcy to return... even if it meant arguing with this blue-eyed stranger.

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Earlier that Day

A brisk chill clung to the air as I forwarded onto the 8am bus at Highgate Station. Even to this day, I can still recall that, while other travellers whispered about rumours of a hotspell on its way, I huddled into my jacket as I took a free seat on the bottom level of the double decker, shaking my head at their nonsense about the concept of 'warmth' ever making its way to the United Kingdom.

Because, in some way I relished in the coldness of the place—in the weather and in the people. And my steady constant was unlikely to change. It hadn't in the over half-a-year I had been here. Drizzly, overcast, and gloomy was the way things always went around here.

As my gaze turned out the window of the half-full bus, I relaxed in my free seat. No one ever afforded me attention in London; it's miserable inhabitants too selfishly focussed on their busy—though empty—lives.

But as stop after stop came, so did the inevitable. The spaces ahead filled until a nondescript man took the seat next to me, legs splaying wide as he claimed more than his fair share of the bench and my personal bubble.

Instinctively, I hid behind the curtain of my hair as he continued to whip his head around, looking here and there and everywhere that wasn't really me... but I still felt watched in some way. As always, I felt the knotted pit growing in my stomach as I began to wonder whether my foundation this morning really had concealed my pigmentation scars, or if perhaps the person next to me was turning up their nose at my copper hair. My teenage days of being teased for being a "ranga" still returned in harrowing echoes.

Just like every morning that some person took the space next to me, the walls of the bus began to feel like they were closing. The desire to run to someone, anyone, for safety and comfort began to grow... if only I had someone to run to.

But instead, as the telltale signs of a panic attack began to set in, I merely slipped in my headphones, blasted my favourite song, and clamped my eyes shut as I counted my breaths... until the dread subsided. Until the sweat claiming my whole body dried up. And until my racing heart lulled back to a gentle rhythm.

Only opening my eyes every now and then to glance at the moving cityscape to ascertain where we were, I stayed in my happy place until about an hour later when my stop finally arrived.

Wedging past the man—who made next to no attempt to move his knees out of my path—I stepped onto the bus aisle and squeezed my way past the other passengers until finally I was safe on the footpath.

Another few deep breaths later, I checked the time, smiling at the fact that, despite the usual horrible encounter with other humans, everything was still going to plan. Everything was just like every other day—normal, predictable, routine.

So, sticking to my usual rhythm, I shuffled over to the nearby Costa to grab myself an iced coffee before making the trek up the stairs to the British Library and stepping inside just as they opened the doors to the public.

The lack of people around me and the books up the stairs almost calling my name felt like a breath of fresh air—despite being inside.

So I eagerly forwarded up the next flight with haste, mind already racing about which creature I'd investigate today.

Oblivious to the world around me, as I rounded the corner, I had already taken a few steps before my eyes focussed on him.

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"I didn't see your name on it," he snarkily replied, voice thick with British inflections. He looked no older than twenty, no older than me.

A sigh escaped my mouth as my jaw worked over time, a battle raging within me to keep fighting with the stranger or just relinquish my seat for the day. To the pit in my stomach's dismay, I pivoted on my heel and headed to the neighbouring table instead.

Yet as I turned away from him, my eyes couldn't help but glance over his stack of books—ridiculously large and widely resourced for someone who arrived only a minute after the place opened.

And my eyes widened slightly. Every single book focussed on one topic in particular: vampires.

Doing my best to not glance back at him, I quickly turned my attention to my station, setting up the table in the usual manner: notebook in the middle, pens to the right, pencil case to the left, and laptop to the front.

Satisfied with its layout, I got back to my feet and stormed past him into the nearby aisles to start selecting my texts for the day.

It didn't take long for the spines and stories of myth, lore, and fictional tales to drag me away from my earlier woes. With arms full of books, I eventually stumbled out and back to my table, jumping head-first into my note taking on today's mythological creature: witches.

But all distractions always come to an end. While normally I'd be able to throw small disturbances far from my mind as I became infatuated on a task, I eventually couldn't stop the incessant tapping of my hand against my leg under the desk. And as the minutes continued to tick on, I realised I had read and reread the same paragraph again.

It's his damn fault, I falsely labelled the blame. If he didn't come here, my day would have been just fine. Whenever I follow my routine, things work out, and I did everything right this morning! Maybe he's been here before and saw me sitting there... Maybe he thought it would be funny to mess with my day.

With venom lacing my thoughts, I couldn't help but flicker my eyes upwards, shooting daggers across the room.

Yet as my gaze sought him out, my fury was instantly quelled by confusion. His original pile of books had been pushed to the edge of the table as though he was done with them, a new stack now the centre of his attention.

Has he read them all?

No way...

He must be skimming them. No one would read that many books in such a short time...

But my eyes lingered on him as he thumbed through the pages with such ferociousness, like he was desperate for an answer to something, anything.

And I almost got lost staring at him in his element, feeling the rhythmic nature to his hunt for something easing some unsourced dread within me.

Until his eyes snapped up to mine.

Gaze widened, cheeks licked by flames, I immediately averted my gaze downwards and tried to pour myself back into my work.

But the rapid beat in my chest demanded my attention as I struggled to get past the first sentence on the page.

After a few deep steady breaths and a slightly calmer heart, I slowly raised my gaze once more across the way between us.

Yet he was gone.

His once-new pile of books had been shoved aside to join the old ones as the boy with the blue eyes evidently had gone to find more to read.

A new sense of urgency consumed me at once as curiosity begged me to take this opportunity to my advantage.

Immediately jumping to my feet, my head swivelled this way and that as I sauntered towards his station, doing my best to look like I was naturally walking his way and not on a mission to pry.

Yet as I made my way past his desk—my desk—I couldn't help but pause as my gaze took in the titles.

More vampires... I deduced. But nothing worthy of use...

As I cocked my head to the side while I tried to piece together the reason for his intrigue in the creature, a part of me wondered if I could simply ask him. But after our churlish exchange earlier, I quickly realised it wasn't my place. Besides, talking to him again further break my routine... And I simply wouldn't do that. In fact... sometimes it almost felt like I couldn't.

Before he could catch me lurking, I ducked into the nearest aisle and quickly pretended to be perusing the section. Though there was nothing I really needed down these already rummaged rows.

But as I continued to walk the length of the shelves, eventually one title did spark my attention: Vampire Lore 101.

My fingers were quick to extend for its hardcover, tweezing the text from its home, the binder's board whispering a groan of protest as it glided out.

Abruptly turning on my heel, I knew I only had moments to complete my newly devised goal before I'd be caught.

Striding out from the shelves, I dropped the book off at the edge of his table as I stepped past it. Then I scurried back to my station, sitting down and immediately erecting the nearest book as a partition to hide my watchful gaze.

He emerged from the rows of bound paper not long later, meandering across the library with a new book already opened in hand as he flicked through those pages in haste.

Though as he reached the edge of the table, he came to a sudden stop.

As if he knew already that something was different, he ever so slowly lowered the book, blue peering over its top to glance at the lonesome text now sitting against the dark wooden table.

He closed the book in his hand as he lowered his new stack to the desk. Then, as though it might bite him, his hands cautiously pried the book from the surface before he began to flick through it.

He had made it only a quarter through the book when he came to a halt, eyes seeming to sweep across the page again and again as he evidently found the section I had suggested it for.

Then, at once, his head whipped around, burning blue searching for me. Full of hostility, his gaze slowly marred with sincerity as he raised the book and mouthed a 'thank you' my way.

With a curt nod, I turned back to my own book as he sat down at his desk again, immersing himself in my recommendation.

Ease consumed me, the interruption no longer seeming to burden my day as my disdain for the stranger washed out of my body. Because something told me that, whatever my gesture had done, it might just see my life go back to normal much more quickly than I had hoped. And, sure enough, the next time I looked up from my notes an hour later, the table was cleared and he was already gone.

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