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They warn you about him on your first day.
“His name is Adrian Chase. He’s harmless, mostly. But he’ll talk your ear off, and he asks the weirdest questions,” Laura tells you.
“Like, you seriously never know what you’re going to get when he opens his mouth,” Dawn adds.
You quickly learn that they’re right.
He comes in just fifteen minutes after you open. It’s only your third day, and it’s like he’s got some spidey-sense that you’re new, and you need to be baptized by bizarre-reference-question-fire.
“Hi! Do you think you could help me? I’m trying to find some books on—” He pauses and looks down at your lanyard with your name badge, which you’ve decorated with enamel pins from your favorite books, games, and movies. He points to an Undertale one. “Hey, I loved that game!”
“Me too,” you smile. “I liked going through the different versions. But the pacifist route was my favorite.”
“I thought the genocide route was pretty sick,” he says. “So fucking hard to beat though. I’m Adrian. You’re new, right? I haven’t seen you before.”
Oh, shit, you think, as you realize this is The Guy. Why, among the warnings that he’s a bit strange, did nobody give you a heads up that he’s hot? Nerdy, too. Just your type.
You are so fucked.
“I am new,” you say, recovering quickly, and you introduce yourself. “It’s nice to meet you, Adrian. You said you were looking for some books?”
“Right, yeah, I am! I’m doing some research about graffiti,” he says.
That’s not so strange, you think. “Okay, we’ve got a pretty big selection of art books. We’ve probably got something on graffiti style art, if that’s what you’re looking for?”
“Actually, I’m not really interested in the art,” he interrupts. “More like…the artists?”
“Like…Banksy? I think we have a biography about him. Some of his work is pretty cool, actually—”
“Cool?” Adrian sputters. “He’s a criminal! That’s not cool, that’s—that’s illegal!”
You pause, caught off guard. You’ve never seen someone have such strong opinions about graffiti before, but to each their own. “Right. Okay, um, how about you just tell me a little bit about what you want to know?”
“I want to know about the laws,” he says firmly.
“Oh! Maybe some criminal cases, stuff like that?”
“Exactly!”
“Well, we might have a book or two, but the online databases probably have some more up-to-date information in that case. Have you used those before?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Adrian says.
“Here, have a seat, I can show you how,” you say, pulling out a chair for him. He hesitates, like he’s not sure what to do, before he slowly sits down next to you, his eyes on you the whole time like he’s waiting for you to change your mind and yell at him to leave. When you don’t, and he’s settled fully in the chair, he just looks at you with wide, surprised eyes.
“Alright, the first thing you’ll want to do is navigate to the library website…” you start.
He takes detailed notes as you walk him through the process of accessing a database, using the search bar, and what kind of filters might be helpful as he digs through the results. When he’s confused, he pauses to ask questions without rudely interrupting you, and he actually listens to your answers. It’s incredibly refreshing to see someone so…enthusiastic about research, when so often, people just want you to do the research for them and spoon-feed them the answers they’re looking for.
“Which database should I start with, do you think?”
“Hm,” you consider, scrolling through the options. “I would probably start with this law one.” You point at the screen. “Court cases and police reports might be useful if you’re looking for specific examples of how the law was enforced. Also—if there’s anything behind a paywall that you can’t access for some reason, email me and let me know. I’ve got an academic librarian contact who works at a law school library; he might be able to help you out.”
You hand Adrian your business card, and he looks down at it, cradled in his hands like you’ve given him something precious, made of gold. He reads your name out loud, softly, and you feel your cheeks heat.
“Wow,” he says. “Thank you so much. This was, like…so helpful. You’re the best librarian ever.”
You laugh. “I don’t know about that. I do my best. I’m glad I could help. I’m always here if you need anything, okay? You can email or call, or drop by if you’re in the area.”
“I will definitely do that,” he says, smiling wide. He’s got a really nice smile, you realize, warm and inviting, just a little bit goofy. It’s charming. “I’ll see you around.”
Adrian doesn’t take advantage of your offer as much as you’d hoped he would. He comes in a couple times a week. He doesn’t have a computer at home, he tells you, so whenever he needs internet access he comes to the library. It’s never on the same day, or at the same time—it’s always a surprise, when you see him walk in the doors, and you catch yourself several times watching the entrance, hoping it’s him every time you hear the slide of the automatic door.
Usually he keeps to himself, though. He’s pretty competent, actually, and he only ever requests a librarian’s help when he really needs it—an occasional question, or troubleshooting with one of the janky old computer stations.
Still, you know you’re down bad when you think about purposefully sabotaging his preferred workstation (number four, with a good view of the exit, Adrian says) so he has a reason to come ask for you. It’s embarrassing. You haven’t had a crush this debilitating since you were obsessed with a boy band in middle school.
“It’s not that he doesn’t ask for help,” Laura points out. “He’s just hyperfixated on you. He only ever asks for help when you are on the desk. I’m dreadfully sorry. But thank god for the rest of us.”
“I don’t know, he’s not so bad,” you say, embarrassed to admit that you wish he would ask you more questions, just so you have an excuse to talk to him. “He’s polite, which is more than I can say about Mrs. Glassman, who acts like she owns the place.”
“She is kind of a bitch,” Laura agrees. “And he’s not a creep, like that other guy who came in the other day. What was his name?”
You shudder when you remember the incident. “Raymond. God, what a weirdo. He was just staring at me. It was so uncomfortable.”
“True. Adrian never stares at you, he just follows you around. In a cute way, not a creepy way. Like a lost puppy.”
“And his questions are never actually stupid,” you say, “like that guy who called to ask if he would rub the prescription off his glasses if he cleaned them too much. Or that person who asked if twenty-five milligrams of THC is too much. I’m not a medical professional. Why would they call the library to ask that?”
You don’t admit to her that you find yourself looking forward to the few minutes of interaction you get when Adrian prints out his research for the day at the end of his session. You spend that time trying to find the common theme and figure him out.
You know you’re not supposed to ask overly prying questions and get all up in his business. That’s like, rule number one of reference librarianship. But you are so curious.
Your initial assumption is law school, because he has a lot of legal questions. First it was graffiti art, then marijuana and drugs, public intoxication, other petty crimes. And he’s always staying up to date on what’s changing, keeping an eye on current events. He reads the paper every day, and he’s constantly educating himself about political topics—he reads politicians’ memoirs, books about racism and queer theory, microhistories about underrepresented populations.
But he’s never actually writing papers or doing homework, so…he’s just doing all of that out of personal interest, apparently. It’s respectable, honestly. But it made your curiosity grow even more.
Adrian also reads a lot of true crime, you notice. You’d be concerned about all the serial killer books if they weren’t all balanced out by other bizarre book requests. His name comes up in the book orders pretty frequently, always for weird, obscure things that do not seem connected to one another at all. Right now, he’s on some kind of zoology kick, according to his interlibrary loan history.
“Who the hell is that for?” Dawn asks when you unbox a book shipment and pull out a book about bird migration patterns.
“Adrian.”
“…Why does he want a book about geese?” she asks, squinting at the photo on the cover through her bejeweled glasses.
“I don’t know. I think he just likes birds. He was telling me everything he knows about pigeons the other day while I printed out his reference articles. Did you know that a group of scientists once trained some pigeons in a lab to play ping pong?”
“God, you’re starting to sound like him.”
“He actually says some interesting things when you don’t instantly tune him out, Dawn!” you say defensively.
“Sure,” she says. “That’s why you’re hanging on his every word. To learn some Snapple cap facts. Not because you’re into the weird 80’s nerd thing he has going on.”
You blush and elect to ignore her.
A few days later, you’re a bit grumpy that you have to cover for the children’s librarian that’s out sick. Screaming, germy children are not your forte. At least you won’t have to deal with Raymond the Creep’s unsettling stare today.
You’re pleasantly surprised to see Adrian when he wanders upstairs halfway through your shift, waving at you delightedly.
“Hi!”
“Hey,” you say, a bit flustered, because you weren’t expecting to see him today. “What brings you to the kids section?”
“Pokémon books,” he says, like it’s obvious.
“Of course. I should have known.” You hold up your lanyard and show off your Ninetales pin. “My favorite since I was a kid.”
He beams. “My favorite is Infernape. We both like fire types!”
“Nice choice. Do you need help finding the books, or do you know where you’re going?”
“I’ve got it, thanks,” he says, still smiling. “I practically lived next to that shelf when I was nine.” He wanders over to the graphic novel shelf, and you try (and fail) not to stare at his ass as he walks away.
God. You’re pining after a patron like a teenage girl. You are supposed to be an information professional. What is wrong with you?
He comes up to the desk a few minutes later with a massive stack of manga, and starts chatting away as you start scanning the pile for him. You smile to yourself as you listen to him talk.
“I used to collect the cards when I was a kid,” Adrian is saying, “but my assho—er.” He pauses and remembers he’s in the children’s area, glancing at the toddlers playing at the train table. “My very mean older brother stole my collection and sold it on eBay.”
If you were fully paying attention to what he was saying, you would be sympathetic, and say something like, I’m sorry, that’s terrible or I can’t believe he did that, but instead, as you reach the bottom of his book pile, you say, “What the heck is this?”
Near the bottom of Adrian’s book pile is a medical textbook. You didn’t even know the library had a collection of medical textbooks. Why in the world is he checking one out?
“Oh! I’m just doing some research,” he says. “I found that downstairs. I was actually meaning to ask you if you had any recommendations for medical databases.”
“Um, I would have to look into it,” you say, confused, as you scan the medical book. “It’s definitely not my area of expertise. But I can get back to you on that, if you can wait a day or two. What are you researching?”
“That would be great, thanks. I’m looking into wound treatment, specifically. Stab wounds, gunshot wounds, that kind of thing.”
A writer, you decide. He has to be a writer. It’s the only thing that would explain his strange and varied search history.
“I also wanted to ask if you had any books about stitching?”
You pause again. That one really stumps you. Maybe they’re for his mom? You’re pretty sure he still lives with her, not that you can judge him at all. In this economy, it’s a miracle you can afford your own shitty one-bedroom apartment.
“New hobby?” you ask, genuinely curious, but he looks at you with wide eyes, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t be.
“You could say that,” he says, clearing his throat.
“Okay. Stitching,” you repeat, turning to the computer and navigating to the search bar. “Like…embroidery?”
“More like…for clothes.”
“Oh, neat! Just regular clothes?” you ask. You look him up and down, taking in his outfit, and glance back at the giant stack of manga you just checked out to him. Adrian seems twitchy, more uncomfortable than you’ve ever seen him. Maybe he’s just nervous to admit how much of a nerd he really is? “Or do you do cosplay? At conventions and stuff?”
“Um. Yeah,” he says, nodding slowly. “I am…working on a costume. Fixing a costume, really. I went to a…convention, this weekend, and it got…ripped. So I wanted to see if I could teach myself how to do some more secure stitches.”
“That’s really cool,” you say softly, looking him in the eye. “I’ve always wanted to do something like that, but I’ve never had the patience.”
Adrian seems to settle a bit. “Cool?”
“Yeah,” you smile. “Come on. It looks like we’ve got a couple things. Let me walk you to the adult craft books.”
You put out the Desk Closed - Check Out Downstairs sign and gesture for Adrian to follow you toward the stairs. He looks worried.
“I can go get it myself,” he offers, pointing at the sign. “If you have to stay up here—”
“Don’t worry about it,” you say, waving it off, and he quickly fumbles to grab his pile of books and catch up to you.
Downstairs, you make a beeline for the nonfiction section, eyes scanning the shelves for a few options that might work and pulling them out slightly. “This one’s about cosplay specifically, but these are just general sewing. I’m not sure which you would prefer.”
“Um,” Adrian says, shifting his already massive book pile around so he can poke his head around it to look at you. “Is there…a checkout limit?”
You laugh. “No, you can take as many as you want. Well. As many as you can carry.”
He grins. “Then I’ll take them both, I think.”
You add both books to the stop of his wobbly stack. His nose twitches, and you look at him oddly before you realize he’s trying to shift his glasses back up his nose where they’ve slid down a bit.
“Here, let me,” you say, reaching for the silver frames. His breath hitches as your fingertips brush against the side of his face, eyes widening.
“Um. Thank you,” he breathes. You just nod.
“I should get back to work,” you say quietly, a little regretful.
“Fuck. I’m sorry, I feel like I take up so much of your time—”
“I’m not going to get fired because I spent fifteen minutes helping my favorite patron find a book,” you say firmly.
Adrian nearly trips over his own feet, and you just barely stop his book stack from toppling over. He’s staring at you like you’ve got two heads, absorbing your words. You think back, and then smile, a little shyly, when you realize what you said.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been anyone’s favorite anything before,” he says quietly, and you blush.
“Well, you are,” you say. He seems like he’s waiting for something—for you to take it back, to correct yourself, maybe?—but you won’t. It wasn’t a slipup, it was true. “I like it when you come in. You make me laugh.”
Adrian’s lips quirk up in a tiny, disbelieving smile, like he can’t quite believe this conversation is really happening, and you start to feel overwhelmed with the way he’s staring at you, so you clear your throat and nod at the stack of books he’s got piled precariously in his arms.
“You’ve got quite the haul today. A very…eclectic selection,” you observe. Medical textbook, true crime, Pokémon, sewing and cosplay workbooks.
“Yeah,” he says, “I—”
Adrian gets cut off by a loud, disruptive shout from the computer stations that startles you both, and the stack of books in his arms nearly topples to the ground for the second time in less than five minutes before you reach up to steady it.
“God, sorry, are you okay?” he asks, and you nod.
“I’m fine,” you say quickly, and you rush in the direction of the commotion. Adrian sets his books down on the floor and follows.
“What the hell is going on over there?” he asks you, eyebrows furrowed with concern, and as you both emerge from the stacks, you see Dawn escorting a rowdy man from the library. She shakes her head as she makes eye contact with you—she’s got it handled, you don’t need to intervene.
“Not all of our patrons are as kind as you,” you tell him. “Some people get really irritable when we tell them we can’t do certain things for them.” You pause, and you both listen to the man’s ranting on his way out the door. “Sounds like that guy is angry that we are not filing his taxes for him. We are, unfortunately, not accountants, and that is not a service we offer at the library.”
“So he started…verbally assaulting the staff because he didn’t get what he wanted?”
“You’d be surprised, the crap we get on a daily basis,” you mutter. “There’s this guy who comes in all the time and just…stares at me all day. He doesn’t even say anything. It’s so uncomfortable.”
“That’s insane,” Adrian says, outraged. “You’re like, the nicest person on the planet, and that’s the shit you have to deal with?”
“You get used to it,” you shrug. “Luckily, we live in a city where the good outweighs the bad. The library I worked at before this one was way worse.”
He looks down at you, frowning, then back up in the direction of the man who was just kicked out. There’s a determined set to his jaw. “Someone should still do something about it.”
“He’ll be banned for a while, at least. And the people who do really egregious things get permanently banned.”
“Like the homeless guys who watch porn and masturbate at the public computers?”
You wince. “You’ve seen that, huh?”
He shakes his head and scoffs, disgusted. “Public indecency is a crime.”
“To answer your question—yeah, those guys get lifetime bans,” you assure him. “The library director is good about staff safety. It’s just…gross. And I hate having to call the cops on people.”
Adrian’s mood has shifted drastically. He’s still glowering in the direction of the door, so you elbow him gently in the side.
“Hey,” you say. “We deal with shitty people like that all the time, but nice people like you make the job worth it.”
The ghost of a smile crosses his face.
“You deserve a safe work environment,” he says firmly. “And you help me so much, all the time. So if there’s ever anything I can do to help you, please tell me.”
You’re not sure what you would ever need Adrian’s help with, but it’s a kind offer nonetheless.
“I will. Thank you.”
“Well. Thanks for your help, today. I hope it gets better.”
“It’s about to get a lot more chaotic,” you tell him. “The children’s librarian is out sick today, so I’m about to go run Lego Club. We’re having a competition to see who can build the tallest tower today.”
Adrian grins. “Well. I’m something of a Lego expert, you know.”
“Oh, are you?”
“Oh, yeah. I have a bunch of the Star Wars sets. So, if you need an extra adult chaperone…” he says hopefully, trailing off.
“My tower is going to be so much taller than yours,” you say matter-of-factly, and you turn back toward the staircase. You smile to yourself as you hear Adrian shuffle to pick up his books and scramble after you.
The afternoon is just as chaotic as you expected it to be, with eager elementary schoolers running around and toppling brick structures crashing to the floor. But it’s twice as fun because he’s there.
Your Lego tower is taller than his. But you think, just maybe, he might have let you win.
“Did you see the news this morning?” Dawn says to you as you walk in the door the following Monday. You haven’t even put your things down yet, halfway to tapping your badge on the time clock to punch in, but her hushed tone and wide eyes give you pause.
“The news?” you repeat, and you gesture for her to follow you to your desk in the back office so you can get set up for the day while she talks.
“Raymond,” she whispers, but it’s loud enough that anyone passing by could hear. She might as well just speak at a regular volume. “They found him dead this morning in an alley on Third Avenue!”
Your jaw drops. “Oh my god. Raymond the Creep, who was here on Saturday?”
It had been a long fucking weekend to say the least. You’d gotten rear-ended on Friday night, and your car is still in the shop, so you had to Uber to work. Saturday was a slow afternoon, so you were rolling around a cart of books, putting things back on the shelf and refilling book displays while Dawn managed the circulation desk.
You had just bent down to put a book on the bottom shelf of the new book display, and when you stood up, Raymond had been right there, uncomfortably close to you. And he said something foul and inappropriate in his slimy voice that rang out loud and clear in the dead silence of the not-busy library.
It wasn’t the first time you’d been sexually harassed at work. It was probably the worst thing that had ever been said to you.
And it happened while Adrian Chase was in your general vicinity, and he was pissed.
“What the fuck did you just say to her?” he snapped from over at the computer station, standing up so fast that his chair fell over backwards and immediately rushing over to put himself between you and the other man. He was angry, more furious than you’d ever seen him. Adrian had only ever been kind and pleasant with you, and seeing this version of him was unsettling.
The rest of the library, which was already pretty quiet, fell dead silent. “What’s your fucking problem?” Adrian demanded. “You don’t say shit like that to women. You don’t say shit like that to anyone, especially not to her!”
He took one step closer, lowered his voice, and said something you couldn't hear.
Whatever it was, Raymond looked at him like a spooked cat, decided he wasn’t in the mood for a fight, and scrambled out of the library.
You stood there, frozen, cheeks hot with embarrassment and eyes welling with tears. Dawn instantly reached for the phone.
“I’ll call the police,” she said.
Adrian followed Raymond toward the door.
“No—Adrian, don’t—” you choked out, and he stopped just shy of the automatic doors, looking out at the parking lot. Then he turned back and took long, quick strides over toward you, scanning you up and down.
“I just wanted to make sure he was gone. Fuck, are you okay?” he said worriedly. “That was so fucked up. I can’t believe he fucking said that to you.” His hands hovered in the air around you, like he wanted to touch you, but he wasn’t sure if he was allowed. He never had before, not really, and you were vulnerable right now. It might not be welcome.
You dove forward, hugging your arms around his waist and sniffling into his shirt. His arms settled around your back, squeezing tight.
“Sorry,” you said after a moment. “This isn’t very professional of me.”
He huffed a laugh. “I don’t care. I really, really don’t.”
Adrian stayed with you, a comforting presence while you spoke to the police, filed a report, and had Raymond trespassed from the library. He stayed as long as he could until he had to leave for work just half an hour before the library closed. You’d told him he could go home, but he sat at the computer and pretended to do research so he could keep an eye on you for the rest of the day, in case you needed him.
Now, on Monday, Dawn recounts the news article she read this morning about Raymond’s death.
“When I saw his name come up in the papers, I thought, oh, we just saw him on Saturday. I’m thinking, it must be an overdose, he’s struggled with addiction for years, you know? No. He was murdered.”
“What?”
“They think it was that costumed crime fighter,” Dawn says. “Vigilante.”
“...Why would Vigilante kill Raymond?” you ask, bewildered. While you’re shocked to learn that the man who harassed you was literally murdered, you also feel…relieved. A tiny, guilty part of you thinks, good riddance.
“I mean. He was a criminal,” Dawn says. “That’s kind of Vigilante’s M.O., isn’t it?”
“I guess so,” you say absently, still lost in thought.
It becomes a recurring event after that. You don’t realize it at first. But one morning, Laura, who’s notoriously not a morning person, grins at you bright and early, and says, “Good morning!” and one of the grumpiest library assistants smiles at you, and you think, what the hell is going on here?
You look around while you’re on the desk and you notice that there are some people missing. No one that you would miss. A bunch of problem patrons, actually.
Mr. Benson, who yelled at you once because the copier was broken and he needed to make “Incredibly important copies, you dumb bitch, so fix the fucking machine!”
A pair of nasty ladies who repeatedly tried to steal books, and set off the security gate every time they tried to leave.
Jake, the twenty-something stoner who always fiddles with the smoke detector so he can get high in the library bathroom.
During your desk shift, when it’s slow, you start looking up their names, expecting to get to a Facebook or Instagram page that might let you know where they’ve been.
What you don’t expect is a series of local news articles about their deaths. And Vigilante is linked to every single one of them.
“What the hell,” you whisper.
Why the fuck is Vigilante offing people who cause problems at the local library? You’re not sure whether to call the police or find a way to write him a thank-you note.
You’re still frowning at your computer screen when someone drops a stack of books on the counter in front of you. You nearly jump out of your seat.
“Sorry!” Adrian says. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Oh god,” you say, laughing it off, even as your heart races. “Sorry. I think I’m still a little on edge, after the other weekend.”
Adrian’s expression darkens. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” you say, softer, a little more serious. “Yeah. I’m okay. Thank you. For being there.”
“Whenever you need me,” he says sincerely. “I mean it.”
“I know,” you say, placing a hand on top of his and squeezing for just a moment. He looks down at your joint hands for a moment, swallowing, and glances back up at you with a shy smile.
You clear your throat. “Um, that book you requested came in, by the way! The octopus one.”
“Oh, sick,” he says, genuinely excited as you reach behind you to grab it from the holds shelf. “Thank you! I can’t stay and chat for too long today, unfortunately. I need to, uh, run to work. I just had to drop some things off that were due today.”
Adrian checks out dozens of books at a time, but none of them are ever late. He’s got the cleanest library record you’ve ever seen.
“Have a good shift,” you say. “Maybe I’ll…see you this weekend?”
“Definitely!” he agrees, gathering his book stack and rushing out the door.
When you finally close up the library at 9 p.m., you’re the last one to leave the building. You sit down on the bench near the sidewalk and pull out your phone to call for an Uber.
“Miss, it’s not safe to stay out here all by yourself at night,” says a voice from behind you, and you yelp and nearly drop your phone. You jump up and look around, clutching your bag and your phone, ready to bolt if you have to, but there’s no one there.
Then fucking Vigilante pops out from the bushes nearby.
“Oh my god,” you say. “What the fuck!”
“Don’t worry, I’m one of the good guys,” he says, voice muffled through the material of his mask.
“You—what—oh my god. Why are you patrolling the library parking lot?”
“It’s not safe to stay out here all by yourself at night,” he repeats, and you nod slowly. “This is a high crime area. People like to do drug deals on that street corner over there, even though it’s against local ordinances as well as state and federal law to sell cocaine. Graffiti artists, too. I don't know what it is they don't understand. If it's not yours to draw on, don't draw on it!”
“Um,” you say slowly, thrown off by the unexpected legal lecture. “My car is in the shop. I was just…gonna call an Uber.”
“That could be dangerous,” he says, and you think he’s frowning beneath his mask. “They let anyone drive for Uber these days. What if you get in the car with a murderer?”
You stare at him.
“Let me give you a ride,” he offers.
“You want me to avoid getting in the car with a murderer…by getting in the car with you. A murderer?” you ask.
“Huh. That’s a good point,” he says. “I do kill people. But I only kill bad people! You’re not a bad person. You’re a librarian. Librarians are like, the best kind of people.”
“Um, thank you?” you say hesitantly. “Hang on—how do you know I’m a librarian?” You pause again. “Wait—do you have a library card?”
“Of course I do,” he says, like he’s offended that you would even ask.
“Right,” you say to yourself. “Okay.”
“So…can I give you a ride?”
You consider your options. If Vigilante wanted to kill you, he’s had ample opportunity to do so in the last five minutes. He’s been improving your life, really, over the last few weeks, by killing off some of the more hateful and problematic people who showed up at the library. And librarians really don’t get paid all that much, so if you can save twenty bucks…
You sigh. “Yes. God, I can’t believe I’m saying this. You can give me a ride.”
“Sweet! My Vigilante-mobile is this way,” he says, and you follow him through the parking lot to a beat-up Sebring. He opens the passenger door for you.
“Oh,” you say, surprised, because you were not expecting him to be so…gentlemanly. “Um, thank you.”
“No problem!”
The drive to your apartment feels like an out-of-body experience. You kind of can’t believe that you actually got in the car with him, but you’re here, telling him where to turn, listening to his gloved fingers tap on the steering wheel along with the song on the radio, watching him swerve to avoid hitting a squirrel.
“Did you know that squirrels lose 74% of the nuts that they bury?” he says conversationally.
“I think I did know that actually,” you say. “My friend Adrian told me.”
“Oh!...He sounds cool.”
Vigilante pulls up to your apartment complex.
“Here is fine,” you say. “Thanks for the ride.”
“Stay safe!” he says cheerfully. You nod and get out of the car. As you close the door, you catch a glimpse of the back seat. There’s a stack of books scattered on the floor. True crime. A couple mystery novels.
The weirdly specific octopus book that you’d checked out to Adrian that afternoon.
You turn on your heel instantly, eyes widening.
“Holy shit,” you whisper aloud, and you speed-walk into your apartment, deadbolt the door, and pour yourself a glass of wine.
You turn it over in your mind all night. Are you going to say something to him? There’s no way he thought you wouldn’t figure it out, right? He literally lectured you about marijuana laws and graffiti and told you a squirrel fact in the car. He didn’t even try to hide his library books in the back seat.
Adrian doesn’t come into the library the next day, even though another hold came in for him. A History of Weapons.
God, you really should have made the connection sooner. And you’d been so confident that you’d cracked the case. That the common thread in all his disjointed questions was that he was a writer.
In your defense, nerdy writers need to know about laws and bullet wounds and costume design as much as vigilantes.
You go about your usual library activities throughout the day and try not to freak out internally and look at the door every two seconds. Your subconscious is trying to manifest his appearance or something, and it’s just not happening.
That night, you glance out the window from the back room to see if Vigilante is lurking in the parking lot. Sure enough, you catch the glint of a street lamp illuminating his red visor through the bushes.
You lock up the library with a racing heart. You’re going to do something risky. You hope it doesn’t come back to bite you.
“Hey, Vigilante,” you say as you walk into the parking lot, waving at the bush. His head pops up.
“Hello,” he says.
“My car is fixed,” you tell him. “So I don’t need a ride tonight. But thank you, for yesterday.”
“Just doing my job!”
“Oh! By the way,” you say, “your hold came in today.”
You pull A History of Weapons out of your bag and hand it over to him. He flips through the pages.
“Finally!” he says, delighted. “I’ve been waiting ages for this one!”
You smile.
“Goodnight, Adrian.”
“Goodnight,” he says.
He doesn’t realize what’s happened until you’re in the car, about to drive away.
“Wait a second. Fuck.”
You’re still in the parking lot, heading toward the exit. It’s not too late.
Adrian sprints in front of your car, planting his hands on the hood. You scream, tires screeching as you slam on the brakes.
“Oh my god, what the fuck is wrong with you?” you yell. Adrian comes around the side of your car, talking animatedly, gesturing, but you can’t hear a word he’s saying through the window glass, which you roll down quickly.
“ —please don’t be mad at me. I was just trying to make sure that the library was a safer place for you guys to work,” he’s saying. “I mean, those shitty people who made death threats at Dawn? That was super fucked up—”
“Adrian,” you interrupt, and he falls immediately silent. You soften your voice. “I am not mad at you.”
“You’re not?”
“No. I’m not.”
“So…I’m still your favorite library patron?” he asks hopefully, maybe a little desperately, too. You laugh, but he’s absolutely, 100% serious. You remember what he told you that day in the stacks. I don’t think I’ve ever been anyone’s favorite anything before.
“You are still my favorite library patron, Adrian,” you say firmly, assuaging his fears. You watch his shoulders slump with relief.
“Well, um…how would you feel about hanging out with your favorite library patron outside of the library?” he asks, trying and failing to sound casual about it. Your heart skips a beat.
“I would like that,” you say. “I would like that a lot. But maybe…ask me again tomorrow? When I can see your face, and you can kiss me?”
Adrian looks around at the empty parking lot. Then he ducks his head inside the open driver’s side window, tugs his mask off, and kisses you firmly. You gasp into his mouth, surprised, but your eyes flutter closed as a gloved hand caresses the side of your face.
“Sorry,” he says quietly when he pulls back. “I didn’t want to wait until tomorrow.”
“That’s okay,” you whisper. “I didn’t want to wait either.” You smooth his hair out of his eyes before you take his mask in your hands and tug it back over his head. “Go finish your patrol. And I’ll see you tomorrow. Okay?"
“Okay,” he smiles.