Chapter Text
Dennis didn’t plan on finding anything that day.
He’d been walking since early morning, shoes worn thin, shoulders aching beneath the weight of a life that didn’t quite fit in his backpack. The city was louder than Broken Bow ever had been - taller, sharper, always moving. Back home, the land stretched wide and forgiving. Here, everything felt stacked on top of everything else, rent included.
He’d been going door to door, asking about work. Anything. Cleaning. Stocking. Lifting. He wasn’t picky. Beggars couldn’t be, and while Dennis didn’t like thinking of himself that way, sleeping on benches and counting coins in his palm had a way of rewriting pride.
That was when he saw it.
The bookstore sat tucked between two brick buildings like it had been forgotten on purpose. The sign was old and hand-painted, the letters a little crooked, the windows fogged just enough to blur the world inside, a world of seemingly endless bookshelves.
He stopped without meaning to.
Reading had always been his escape. On the farm, books had been his way out before he ever left. A faint scent like aged paper and dust seemed to drift out as he hesitated in front of the door. Hunger and exhaustion fought to pull him away, but curiosity won. and he pushed the door open.
A soft bell chimed.
Inside, the shop stretched larger than it had any right to be. Shelves climbed toward the ceiling, packed tight with books of every size and age. Green vines spilled lazily from ledges, curling around wooden beams. Soft light pooled between aisles, casting the room in a gentle amber hush. There were tables tucked off to the side, chairs mismatched but just as inviting.
Dennis lingered just inside the entrance, his steps tentative. He feared moving too fast, afraid he’d be told he didn’t belong.
He didn’t see anyone at first.
Then, from deeper inside the store, came the sound of footsteps and a gruff voice. “Be right with you.”
Dennis took a cautious step forward, eyes drawn to a shelf marked Classics when the voice spoke again, closer this time.
“Hello there. Anything I can help you with?”
Dennis turned.
And promptly forgot how to breathe.
The man standing in front of him was older, settled. Grey streaked through dark hair that looked like it hadn’t been tamed yet today, glasses perched low on his nose, soft lines at the corners of his eyes. He wore a worn sweater and jeans, sleeves pushed up, and somehow managed to look both tired and devastatingly handsome.
Dennis gasped internally. Oh. Oh no.
“Uh- hi,” Dennis said, voice betraying him immediately. “I-um-could I just browse for now?”
The man smiled. It was warm. Easy. Like Dennis hadn’t just stumbled in off the street with everything he owned stuffed into a bag.
“Of course,” he said, chuckling softly. “Take your time. If you need anything, let me know.”
And then he turned and went back to what looked like scanning books behind the counter, leaving Dennis standing there feeling like his chest had been cracked open.
Dennis wandered aisle after aisle, careful, reverent. He pulled out his small notebook and started writing down titles, books he wanted to read someday, when “someday” included a bed and a door that locked. He told himself he was just looking.
Then he found one.
He didn’t notice when he sank down to the floor, the hours slipping away unnoticed. His legs went numb against the wood, the scratch of turning pages the loudest sound in the room.
A shadow fell across the page.
“You know,” the man said mildly, “there are chairs around here, kid.”
Dennis looked up, heat creeping into his face. “Oh- I’m sorry”
He ducked his head, suddenly aware that he’d chosen the floor without thinking.
“It’s fine,” the man said, already stepping away. “Just figured I’d mention it. Don’t want you to ruin your back.”
Dennis shifted, hesitating, then stayed where he was. The floor felt easier than moving, and the man didn’t say anything else, didn’t hover or wait for him to change his mind. He simply returned to the counter, the quiet settling back into place like nothing had been disturbed.
The words on the page took a moment to come back into focus. Dennis read the same paragraph twice before it stuck, then once more for good measure. Somewhere behind him, a drawer opened and closed. Pages rustled. A chair scraped softly against the floor.
Time resumed its slow, unremarkable passing.
The bell on the door chimed once. Then again. Voices murmured briefly before fading. Dennis barely noticed. The world narrowed back down to ink and paper, to the steady rhythm of breathing and turning pages.
When the light outside the windows began to shift, he only noticed because the shadows changed. Lamps flickered on one by one, the soft glow filling the space without announcement.
Dennis read on.
Eventually, a voice cleared gently nearby.
“Hate to be the bad guy,” the man said gently, apologetic, “but we’re closing.”
Dennis startled, looking up far too fast. “Oh- oh god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to- I didn’t realise- I'll leave now, I didn’t mean to take up space-”
“Hey,” the man said quickly, softer now. “It’s okay. Really. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Dennis stood, cheeks burning. “I just- I didn’t mean to waste your time.”
The man smiled again, smaller this time. “You didn’t. Truth is, I’m lucky if a dozen people come through in a day. You’re the first one who’s stayed that long.”
That surprised Dennis.
He clutched the book to his chest, then hesitated. “I should probably put this back.”
“You’re welcome to take it,” the man offered. “Rent it, if you like.”
Dennis shook his head immediately. “I-I can’t afford it. And I-” He swallowed. “I don’t really have a safe place to keep it. I’d hate to damage it.”
The man studied him then, something careful and concerned settling into his expression. “Home complicated?”
Dennis gave a small, crooked smile. “You could say that.”
He left after that, book returned to its shelf, heart heavier than when he’d come in.
Behind the counter, Robby watched him go, fingers stilling over his ledger. Quietly, unexpectedly, he hoped the young man would come back.
Dennis didn’t make it far.
The city at night felt colder than it had that morning, the wind cutting sharper between buildings, carrying smells of rain and exhaust and something vaguely metallic. He walked until his feet ached, until the adrenaline of the day finally bled out of him and left only exhaustion behind.
He ended up in the same alley he always did.
It was narrow and dim, tucked just far enough away from the main street that no one bothered him. Cardboard flattened against brick, a familiar dent in the wall where his shoulder fit just right. He slid down until he was sitting, knees pulled to his chest, backpack hugged close like it might disappear if he let go.
Coming here felt like a mistake.
That thought circled in his mind, heavy in his bones. Nebraska had been suffocating, yes, but it had been known. There had been land and routine, a bed that was always his even when everything else felt wrong. Here, he was invisible. Replaceable. Just another body trying to survive in a city that didn’t notice when you disappeared.
And going home wasn’t an option.
Not after leaving. Not after finally choosing himself, even if that choice had landed him here - cold, broke, and staring at a wall.
Dennis tipped his head back and closed his eyes, breath fogging faintly in the air. He told himself not to think. Thinking hurt.
But his mind betrayed him anyway.
The bookstore.
The smell. The quiet. The man behind the counter. The way none of it had asked anything of him. The way he’d been allowed to exist there without explanation.
Dennis hadn’t even known his name, but it felt right in his mouth anyway. He pictured the way his glasses had slipped just slightly when he smiled, the way his voice had gone soft without trying, like kindness was a reflex. He hadn’t looked at Dennis like he was in the way. Hadn’t rushed him. Hadn’t questioned why he stayed so long.
Dennis swallowed, curling tighter into himself. He could still feel the book in his hands - the weight of it, the way the pages had smelled faintly of dust and age and something comforting. He’d lost himself in it so completely he’d forgotten hunger, forgotten time, forgotten that he didn’t really belong anywhere.
For a few hours, he’d been warm.
The thought settled in his chest like an ember, small but stubborn. It didn’t burn though. it glowed. A quiet, unfamiliar feeling. Hope, maybe. Or the dangerous beginning of it.
Dennis knew he shouldn’t go back.
Places like that didn’t last. People like that didn’t either. He’d learned that lesson young. Still, as he shifted against the cold brick and pulled his jacket tighter, the image of the shop lingered behind his eyes, the shelves and light and a man whose smiled reminded him of the sun.
When sleep finally claimed him, it came with that image too.
Dennis dreamed of warmth.