Chapter Text
Jon had just wanted to go to the library for one book. Just one. He wasn’t asking for much. And in all honesty, he was so close to actually having a normal day. He had woken up early and had gotten an email that the school event he thought would be required to attend for his major was actually optional, eats a granola bar for breakfast, and managed to sleep in another while without any trouble. He took his time on what might have been one of his last slow days before the semester started and the pace of the day kicks up.
College had easily placed itself as one of the most stressful times of his life so far. Between switching his major mid-year and adding an art minor, he's spent the last week organizing and buying supplies for classes. He didn’t initially anticipate taking on at the beginning of the year. When Georgie had found out about it, she had laughed at him playfully and questioned if he could handle the new workload. He wasn’t very sure himself, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. Instead, he tossed a pen at her head (which she just dodged, because of course she did).
He checked his email again when he woke up to see that the book he had on hold at his nearby library was finally in. He had requested it before the incoming semester, but as it came in later than expected, he figured he’d try to fit in what he could. He’d been looking forward to it, though, as he hadn’t read a mystery book in a while, and even though he liked staying in, he reluctantly got up and got ready for the day. He lazily threw on a plain black long-sleeved shirt and a pair of the most comfortable outside-appropriate pants he could find. He texted Georgie to let her know that he’d be out and asked if she wanted him to grab anything while he was gone. He almost forgot to grab his jacket and a tote bag to carry his book (or books, if he spotted something else at the library; or maybe groceries if Georgie texted him before he came back) and finally made his way down the block. The neighborhood they lived in was a mixed demographic of older people who had lived there forever and students who enjoyed cheap rent in the old buildings. So along the route were other homes and small shops. He filled his time stopping in to grab small things he needed before moving on. Spending some time in a cafe finishing the last book he had grabbed from the library, and a snack for lunch.
The library was smaller but closer to the flat than the one on his campus. It was older, much like the other buildings in the area, and was clearly once a large house renovated to make the space. It tended to attract neighbors more than students, but the people who worked there were always nice to him, so it worked out. He had quickly gained the habit of stopping by and using the library over the one belonging to the school. It wasn’t ever busy, and it had become his go-to in recent months.
Jon weaved his way through the packed and familiar shelves towards where he knew the on-hold section stood. He probably used this area the most. It took a lot for a book to grab his interest and hold it, so often he would look online for recommendations before requesting from the library to bring something new in. In between, he would grab one new book from each section a week and see if he could expand his literary interests any. This was a routine he’d done several times at this point. He ran his fingers across the books as he slowly walked across the shelving, reading the titles and authors on the side and keeping his mind out for the book he was checking out.
And then very suddenly, he stopped. A feeling of dread he hadn't felt for a while washed over him. And in that moment, he Knew.
Throughout his secondary school career, he had spent his free time looking for Leitners. A collection of cursed books that he found out are never not bad news. And while the books themselves were dreadful and frightening (and deadly), he found that he rather enjoyed the research process of looking for and into each one (this happened to have a heavy influence on finalizing his focus in college, much to his amusement). The first one in his lifetime was an awful enough accident to find that he did not want to think about. The second one was another accidental meeting, but he was wary and knew better by now. The second one was still a shock to his system. Subconsciously, he must’ve known that the title of Leitner appeared on the bookplate. It was a label clearly belonging to a collection, but the confirmation that there were more books, ones that just anyone could find, alarmed him. So he looked for more. And the more he worked on looking for Leitners, the more he found and the faster he got. The first one he had actively tried to track down took 8 months of active searching. By the end of his final year of school before he moved out, he could follow a Leitner’s history to where it could be in 3 months or less on average. For several months, it became his obsession before he had to let school become a priority again.
It certainly helped that with his affinity for finding books, he has gained the odd ability to Know things. The Knowing wasn’t entirely helpful. Often, drops of new knowledge that were totally irrelevant to his situation would make themselves known. He wasn’t entirely sure why this happened (possibly a side effect from the cursed books?), but it’s something he’s learned to live with. With the odd drops of information, he was often able to piece together the gory details about a Leitner's existence at a continuously faster rate.
As much as he enjoyed the search, he put a pause on the Leitner-hunting career. And even here, 7 months later, the feeling of dread and nervous energy he associated with being near the volumes was a gross sort of familiarity. Recognizing that feeling of dread, randomly, in this small library that he has come to trust, made him feel sick in a way he hadn’t been since the second book he had come across so long ago.
He couldn’t leave this here. He could check for the Leitner label, but experience has taught him that even if it didn’t have one, this book could be cursed. It sure felt like it.
Jon takes a glance back and forth to see if anyone is near him. The books on this shelf are specifically requested. Someone wanted a copy and would be missing it. Thankfully, no one is near, and the library is old and not important enough to have camera surveillance looking into the shelves. He thanks whatever higher power there is that this building is so empty all the time before slipping the book off the shelf. The book is a copy of a Giorgio Vasari book: The Lives of the Most Excellent Painters, Sculptors, and Architects. It was something he’d seen in passing but didn’t exactly recognize. This particular hardback copy was old and well-loved, but flipping to the back of the cover revealed the suspected “donated” sticker. He makes quick work of sliding it into his bag and searching for his own book faster.
He has to scramble to attempt with the very nice lady who works there while he checks out his book and tries to ignore the guilt of stealing this book. He is well aware she has no clue he’s stealing from their library, but he feels so bad anyway. It’s ultimately safer if it isn’t here, and he hopes that no one gets in too much trouble with whoever wanted to rent it.
He tries his best to smile politely as he leaves and narrowly avoids bumping into another person, tall and dressed darkly, who raises his eyes at Jon but doesn’t say anything as he passes him and the doorway. Unfortunately, Jon still stumbles through, and that is enough for the person he almost knocked into to stop and stare at him oddly. The look startles Jon enough to finally and awkwardly stand upright and hastily make his way home.
It isn’t until he closes the door to his flat does he realizes he never checked to see if Georgie had messaged him back, and thankfully, she hadn’t, so he texts again to let her know he’s home.
The book stays in his bag while he goes searching through his room for any kind of lockbox (or anything similar, as he knows finding one is unlikely). He curses to himself as he digs under his bed. He continues his search for, quite frankly, anything helpful, when he is rudely interrupted by a questioning “Hey Jon” and immediately slams his head on his bedframe before pulling himself out from underneath it with a frown.
“Jesus Christ, Georgie. You scared the shit out of me.”
“Okay? Want to tell me why you’re tearing up your room again?”
Jon can’t do much but sigh, “I’m trying to find a container, or maybe it was a lockbox that I thought I owned. It’s about like this big?” he gestures. “At this point, I would take a normal box with a lid I can tape shut, though. Any ideas?”
He watches as she pauses and her face twists into something as she thinks. Finally, after a moment, she holds up her hand and turns and leaves, “Hold on a second, I think I have something.”
Jon sighs. He’s discovered through a frustrating length of trial and error that the best way to get rid of the books is often to burn them. For other volumes, he needs to resort to burying (or find increasingly absurd ways to get rid of it from the general public). He can’t exactly do that on the street or in his flat, so he’ll have to settle on storing the book in a box until he can get a chance to properly get rid of it.
Finally, Georgie pops back into the room, waving around the box she grabbed with a slight smile. “This work?” She handed it down towards where Jon still sat on the floor.
“Yes, this’ll work fine. Thank you.”
She watches curiously as Jon tosses the box on top of his bedding and starts to heave the things he pulled out in his earlier search back into their original spots. “Can I ask why you need the box so badly?”
He hums, “You know how I told you I used to track down certain rare books for fun?” She nods and makes a noise of acknowledgement, “Well, I found one randomly while I was out. Unfortunately, it seems I have nowhere proper to store it and I would really like it to be put out of the way.”
“Well, shit, Jon. Have fun with that. I was going to order food for dinner early. Chinese food maybe? I don’t want to make anything, and I’m sure you don’t either.”
“That's-” Jon huffs with effort as he puts the last thing back, “fine. Just get what I normally get.”
“Cool. I'll order then.” Jon nods even as Georgie slaps his doorway before walking away. He carefully takes the volume out of his bag and places it into the box Georgie found for him before taping it shut and tucking it into the most secure place he can find in his closet.
Finally, once he feels confident with the placement of the book, he ventures out into their small kitchen. Georgie was clearly wrapping up, placing their food order, and hanging up as he made his way to sit at the counter. She turned and leaned across the kitchen table. Both stayed silent for a moment before her eyes catches his sketchpad. She gives him a small grin. “So Jon, when are you going to design our matching tattoos?”
He sighs and leans across the opposite side of the table to mirror her pose. Thankful for a conversation, he can navigate through despite the obvious tease. “We have known each other for less than a year, Georgina. We are not getting matching tattoos.”
She exaggerates a deep and exhausted sigh of someone who loves torturing Jon. “You should have some fun.”
“Fun, like getting matching tattoos? Don't people tend to find that a bad idea?”
“Well, yes,” she rolls her eyes, “but they don't have what we do.”
He raised a brow at that, “and that is?”
“An unhealthy lack of self-preservation.”
Jon nods sagely, going along with the bit, “Ah, yes, well, you got me there.”
“Exactly,” Georgie said, sitting up, pointing at him before beginning to clean the table off. “That is exactly why tattoos are a fantastic idea.”
“You know me so well.”