[Fanfic, 100% OJ] Books and Coffee

Genre: Slice of Life

Length: 1937 words

B/D: Sora and Nath visit a book store.

Nath sighs, and breathes deeply. The scent of roasted coffee is in the air, wafting through the cases upon cases of literature. It is difficult not to be still here, to fill her heart with quiet and let the hours move away from her; but she has company, and an objective. There is history to be learned, and letters to be taught.

“Do you think they’ll have books about the war?” Sora asks. She follows Nath through the stacks slowly, like a wary animal. Words upon words upon words, and she can’t read any of them. The weight of them seems to bear down upon her shoulders. How much knowledge is arrayed before her, there but foreign and unattainable? How many hours was spent writing these tomes, and how many lives were breathed into their pages?

“Hm. Perhaps. It’s not well known what happened in the immediate aftermath of the fighting. There was a lot of destruction. A lot of technology was lost, and what was left was no longer trusted. For a while, science was blamed for enabling mankind to indulge their warlike nature… they were dark times,” Nath says. Her voice is level, and cool. These events are distant to her now, a far-gone memory. “Not a lot of books got written in that period. The ones that did probably didn’t survive.”

“They wanted to forget?”

It’s a question, but there is an accusation for it. Of course. The ten thousand years since the war have elapsed in the blink of an eye for Sora. For her, the wound is still fresh, the feelings undiluted by time.

“Not as such, but… All the books will have been written much later, so a lot of the details will be sketchy,” Nath replies, cautiously. “Maybe we should pick a different topic.”

She knows even as she suggests it that Sora will refuse. But she also knows that sometimes being able to retreat is comforting, even if you have no intention of doing so. They’ve earned their right to pick their battles, after all this time.

“I have some money, so we don’t have to get just one. We should get one that I want, one that you want, and an easy one so I can practice.”

It’s a fine suggestion, although easier said than done. It has been a long time since Nath set foot in a real bookshop; it’s far easier to read things digitally, since tablets are so much easier for her to control. It limits what she can read, of course. The older titles, or obscure ones, never get transcribed. They exist, but are just as lost to her as if they had been burned in the final fires of the conflict.

They begin to make their rounds. The bookshelves have been arrayed in four concentric circles, with breaks at each of the cardinal directions; each segment holds a different genre, and each shelf is laden to the brim. The effect is a little like being hemmed into a labyrinth of solid oak and bound paper. Off to one side in its own little alcove, a coffee shop sits raised on a deck of old timber floorboards, quietly alluring. The idea, it seems, is quite simple: get lost in the books, let your feet grow tired, pick one, and retire with a hot drink to read a little before you go home.

It’s slow going. Sora leads, her fingers trailing across the spines of the hardback books, as if she could somehow glean any information from the raised letters of the author’s names. Every so often, seemingly at random, she plucks one from the shelf and examines the cover with a critical eye; if it passes some hidden test, she presents it to Nath for elaboration. Occasionally, Nath sees a volume that might be of interest, and has to shepherd her back to pick it out.

“Do you like the feel of them?” Nath asks, somewhere between looking at the Unabridged History of Trains and the memoirs of a deadbeat politician from three hundred years ago.

“Oh. …I’m sorry,” Sora replies, suddenly becoming aware of herself. She balls up her hands and thrusts them into her pockets, almost petulantly. “I wasn’t thinking.”

Nath is caught halfway between a smile and frown. “It’s fine. You just seem to be a tactile kind of person.”

Sora nods, a little absently. “I’m good with my hands. I can juggle, and fold paper cranes. I’ll show you some time.”

Eventually, they find what they’re looking for, or close enough to it that they’re willing to stop wandering in circles. The War to End the World: An Illustrated History for Sora, a book on the various regional foods of the area for Nath, and a teenager’s book of jokes for reading comprehension. (Nath feels like Suguri and Hime are going to experience some very obnoxious puns in their future, although they’ll probably enjoy them more than anybody their age has a right to).

They’ve paid for their literature and have almost escaped before the inevitable happens, and Nath’s stomach lets forth an audible growl. She frowns, uncomfortable. Their shopping trip has taken longer than she expected; perhaps it was not a wise idea to belay food in favour of books, although the experience has brought her fundamentally closer to being a college student. Sora’s gaze drifts from the exit to the coffee shop, where a shelf has been dedicated to displaying pastries of all types, and in her heart, Nath knows what will happen next.

“Sora, no. I can’t eat here,” she tries, even though she feels it will be in vain. “People will stare if I start using my feet. If we were in one of the little local places where they know me, it would be different, but…”

Sora tilts her head, quizzical. “I’ll help.”

Nath almost sighs, but holds back. How does she explain? Being fed by another person is… not unpleasant, but intimate. More intimate, perhaps, than the bounds of friendship allow. But then, Sora’s model of friendship is probably different, since she’s so close to Suguri and Hime, who seem less like friends and more like lovers who haven’t realised it yet.

“Nath, you’re being a doof,” the girl says, looking at her with those piercing green eyes. It’s as if she’s reading her mind. Nevertheless, Nath feels her eyebrow quirk.

“A doof?”

“Yes. You are doofy, and hungry, and we’re getting food,” Sora replies, and gives her a light push towards the café. If it were anybody else trying to push her, Nath would have laughed, but a light push from Sora is like a light push from a bulldozer. Before she knows it, she’s been marched to a table and Sora is thrusting a menu in front of her nose, demanding that she convert the rounded letters into food names and prices. There is a serious set to the blonde girl’s jaw that will brook no resistance, and, resigned, she concedes that there is a small possibility she would be interested in a danish pastry and some coffee to wash it down with.

Sora scuttles off to take her place in the queue, leaving Nath with a stack of books and a feeling of… anticipation? It’s difficult to tell. Her friend no longer feels alien and unknowable to her, but she’s still a little unpredictable. Volatile, perhaps, is the word: quick to jump into action, always taking the simplest route through social situations. She watches as Sora talks to the cashier, counts out the shiny little coins into her hand one by one, and begins to wonder how much influence Hime and Suguri have over her.

“I got a hot chocolate as well. I'm not sure I'll like coffee,” the blonde girl says when she returns, depositing the tray onto the table with exaggerated gentleness. There’s barely a ripple in the surface of the coffee; she carried it all with a poise that put the waitress to shame. Nath takes a deep breath, feels the aroma of food and drink hit her nose, and her belly growls in response.

“Coffee is an acquired taste. A little like wine,” Nath explains. “You were right, though. I am hungry. Can I get a bite of that danish?”

She closes her eyes and opens her mouth. Really, she needn’t close her eyes, but there’s something about just holding her mouth open that’s faintly embarrassing. Any second, she expects to feel the flaky pastry brush against her lips, taste almonds and pecans as Sora leans across the table with a fork. Instead, she hears the scraping of the chair.

“Hm?”

“It’s easier this way,” Sora explains. Calling anything Sora says ‘explaining’ is a little bit of a stretch, Nath thinks, but it’s as close as she gets. She parks her chair right next to Nath’s and sits down so they’re shoulder to shoulder, almost cheek to cheek. It feels very different from sitting across the table to each other. Nath resolves not to blush, and almost manages it. Sora, seemingly unaffected, cuts off a chunk of danish with the side of her fork.

“Aaaa,” she says. An impish kind of smile is forming on her face.

“Don’t do tha–” Nath begins, but the fork presses gently, gently to her lips before she can finish. “Mmmfph.”

She chews quickly, but not quickly enough; by the time she’s swallowed, Sora has armed herself with the cup of coffee – flat white, just as Nath requested. She gently holds it to her lips, before tilting it just the tiniest bit. So careful, and with such delicate, deliberate movements.

“Better?” Sora asks, when Nath has taken a long sip.

“Better. But please, don’t say ‘ahhh’ if you’re doing this kind of thing. I am ten thousand years old, and I have a little dignity,” she replies, pouting. Her pouts are a rare and glorious thing, rarely deployed and very effective.

Despite their scarcity, Sora seems unimpressed. “You have foam on your lip.”

She rolls her eyes. “I wonder whose fault that is.”

It was a mistake, of course. She should know better than to waste time chatting when she should have been licking her lips, and by the time she realises it, Sora’s hand has already reached her face. With those same delicate, gentle movements, she wipes away the foam with her finger.

“Sora!”

Her voice is perhaps a little too loud, and betrays a little too much, but Sora takes no notice of her. Instead, she pops her finger in her mouth. Nath begins to feel important parts of her brain shutting down from pure embarrassment.

“It’s bitter and sweet at the same time,” Sora murmurs.

“I-It’s an adult’s sense of taste!” she replies hotly.

“I never said it was bad,” the girl replies, and her grin is now definitively impish. Hime has been a bad influence on her. Briskly, she taps one of the letters in the title of her book of jokes. “Here. Teach me this squiggly one.”

Nath groans. “I’m going to need more coffee for this.”

“You’ll have to earn it,” Sora says, leaning against her.

Nath grumbles; her cheeks are still burning as she begins to explain, first in stumbling half-sentences and then with more fluency, the swooping letters of a modern alphabet. Her tone is not urgent, and her voice is honeyed by the occasional sip of coffee. Before she knows it, the evening sun is glowing amber through the windows of the shop. It is only then that she realises that, in this place filled with the words of the past, her time has begun to move forward.

A/N: Not pictured in this story: the three or four stories I tried to write and couldn't quite get to work before I hit this one. Sometimes writing comes less easily than others -- I could probably produce more if I just forced my way through blocks, but I feel like the quality would be even worse than it already is if I did that.