[ the first thing that hits darling is the acidic smell of cigarette smoke. the second is the click of a lighter. he turns, watching as the man takes in a drag of said smoke, it curling from his mouth. darling straightens himself, spine rigid. dust is still sprinkled across the dark material of his cardigan. his glasses are a mess, so he takes them off, cleaning the lenses on the hem of the material. ]

Nothing of interest, no. Seems to only be a place to collect dust — none of the titles rang a bell. Strange, isn't it?

[ a wry smile, one that wrinkles the skin around darling's eyes. he places his glasses on his nose, pushing them up and settling them on the bridge. he doesn't know this man, but the way he seems relaxed and without worry helps darling's heartbeat slow down to a relaxed thump, thump, thump. the unusualness of the encounter seems to melt away, and darling rounds his shoulders, trying to relieve the tension he holds there. ]