Chapter Text
The Bookkeeper is nestled right in the heart of Bangkok; it’s a small red brick building with large windows and a wooden door painted black with golden letters above spelling out the name in Italic font. Despite the hustle and bustle of the streets, it’s always quiet inside and it smells like leather and coffee. Strings upon strings of golden little bulbs hang from the beams and sometimes, there are unfamiliar songs softly playing through the cleverly hidden speakers.
The owner of the bookshop is nice and never hovers - simply welcomes inside with a smile and a nod of the head. He’s rather quiet, only really ever speaks when spoken to. When he does say a word, his voice is soothing and low, a deeper baritone. Everyone thinks he’s rather cool - with his long black hair tied up in a ponytail and a silver metal hoop glinting in his nose, he looks a little more like a rockstar than a quiet bookshop owner, but perhaps that is part of the charm for both him and his fine establishment.
And The Bookkeeper is truly as fine of an establishment as one can get. With rows and rows of endless books, soft bean bags and luscious plants scattered about, The Bookkeeper is loved by all the quiet introverts searching for a moment of solace. A place to hide away in when the world is too loud and life is a little too bleak.
Chay is one of them.
He comes to The Bookkeeper every single Wednesday and Friday after class, without fail. To study while sitting in one of the further corners of the shop; to simply peruse the newest book selection; to sit in the window seat and watch people go by while nursing a cup of chamomile tea ( The Bookkeeper happens to have the best tea selection in the city). The owner allows these kinds of things - in fact, he encourages young people to come here, to use his shop as a little safe haven, an escape from the ever growing noise of the city. He’s put a little black board outside and written in white chalk - come to escape the world.
Chay’s not one to pass up an opportunity to escape his life, and so he comes in every Wednesday and Friday. The owner already recognizes him, gives him an endearingly awkward little wave each time the bell above the door chimes and he sees it is Chay’s head that peeks through, and Chay feels this warm glow in his chest, knowing that he’s always welcome somewhere.
He’s always felt drawn to the shop, since the very beginning when he stumbled across it on a random rainy Tuesday with his rowdy school friends three years ago, and instantly felt so strangely at home.
So, he’s been coming here for three years now, and even after all this time, he likes staying until closing time. The Bookkeeper might be the only introvert-friendly place that stays open so late in the city - the shop closes its doors to customers at 11 p.m., and Chay finds that he’s always the last person to shuffle his feet and begrudgingly leave the quiet, cozy place. It’s always a little jarring to step out from the warm, intimate glow of The Bookkeeper’s lights and be met with bright neons, loud chatter and sticky heat. Leaving always feels so hard, but coming back tastes even sweeter then.
The Bookkeeper truly is his favorite place, and if Chay could, he’d probably move in. Alas, he can’t, so he settles for his visits twice every week, and he cherishes those long hours that he’s allowed to be here, and lose himself in thousands of different worlds, and the quiet of the shop.
🔮
It’s another Friday when Chay finds himself stepping past the threshold of The Bookkeeper, the little bell above chiming its usual welcoming melody.
It’s gloomy outside, a slight drizzle coming down from the gray clouds above, and Chay shivers as he shrugs his jacket off and hangs it on the wooden coat rack right by the door. As the door swings shut behind him, the sounds from the street instantly die down, replaced by soft music and the rustle of pages being turned. Chay’s eyes burn a little with the exhaustion and stress of his week, but he gets this instant rush of comfort filling his body as he takes a look around the bookshop.
There’s a girl with striking red hair and a sleeve of tattoos down her arm lounging in one of the bean bags closest to the window, her purse thrown on the bean bag next to her, and from his position by the door, Chay can see the owner of the shop further down, standing behind the cash register and sipping something steamy from a large black mug.
They meet eyes, and Chay gives a small wave, which the owner returns by tipping his chin down in a nod. That’s about the extent of their usual communication, and Chay genuinely prefers it this way. The girl in the bean bag doesn’t even spare him a glance, too engrossed in a copy of Dark Folklore. Chay’s read that one before, he bought it about a year ago, and it sits in the very middle of his bookshelf of most treasured reads at home. It’s a good book.
Running his hand through his rain-damp hair, he quietly makes his way to the back of the shop. The homework in his bag weighs him down heavily, but it’s a Friday, so instead of studying, Chay is going to find something interesting to thumb through while sitting in the large armchair hidden behind one of the large bookcases.
He passes the owner, making his way to his favorite spot, and when he gets to the chair, he slips his bag off his shoulder and quietly lets it fall to the ground. There’s a painful flare in his shoulder that makes him wince; his muscles have been so tense with all the hunching he’s been doing over his books the past few weeks, studying for his upcoming midterms. He rubs at his shoulder, digging his fingers into the little knot the way Porsche taught him to hopefully relieve some of the pressure, but he’s not as good at it as Porsche is, so it ends up doing precisely jackshit to alleviate the ache.
Chay sighs, and drops like a heavy sack of potatoes into the chair. His eyelids feel heavy too, and he wonders if he should have grabbed a book before he fell down into the chair, because the longer he spends just sitting here, the more he feels himself sink into the material and the less he wants to get up. It’s been a hard few days and maybe Chay can just sit here for a little bit before he gets up. It’s so warm and cozy.
Maybe, he can…
He doesn’t even notice how his eyelids fall closed and he falls asleep.
🔮
Consciousness comes back to Chay slowly.
As he opens his eyes, he’s met with the usual warm lights above him, and he yawns. The fact that he fell asleep dawns on him pretty quickly - his throat is dry in the way that it only ever is after sleep, and his muscles are in need of a good long stretch. He unfurls himself from the little ball he had curled into on the chair, stretching his long and gangly limbs out like a starfish on the ocean floor. The shop is quiet - there’s no music playing anymore and Chay also cannot hear the rustle of pages being turned.
Scratching his nape, he sits up and peeks from the corner of the bookcase only to be met with a whole lot of…nothing.
It seems that he’s completely alone in the shop. The owner is no longer behind the register and the girl from before seems to be long gone too - the bean bag still holds the curve of her body in the material, but the purse that had been thrown haphazardly on the second bean bag next to it is no longer there. Chay blinks and reaches for his backpack.
Fishing out his phone, he blinks at the numbers on the screen. It’s 10:45 p.m.
Chay’s been asleep for several hours. A weird feeling of regret curls in the depths of his stomach as he realizes that he slept through the afternoon and most of the evening and completely lost out on being able to read a book and lose himself in the precious ambiance of The Bookkeeper . He’s almost a little mad at himself about it too, even though he knows he really needed this nap.
His phone vibrates in his hand and he looks down to see Porsche’s name flashing across his screen. A text.
Went out to the ring tonight. Don’t wait up. Get home safe.
Chay sighs. Porsche has gone out to the fighting ring again tonight, and Chay knows he shouldn’t be too surprised - it’s a Friday night, after all. One of the busiest nights in the “business”. Chay knows he shouldn’t be surprised, but he had really been hoping that after the last time… Well, guess not.
He simply sends back an okay , and locks his phone before standing up. His knees crack and he winces. Damn, okay. He’s way too young to be feeling like one blow of the wind could knock him over, but here he is, feeling exactly like that.
He gathers his bag and steps around the bookcase, heading towards the three step staircase that leads to the lower floor, when his eye catches something. A faint purple glow is coming from one of the bookshelves to his left, and Chay blinks. He knows he was asleep not even five minutes ago, but he feels a little like he’s dreaming still when he blinks and the purple glow just doesn't disappear from his vision.
He looks around. The shop is empty. It’s just him here. Usually the owner hangs around until he’s sure the last customer has left, so it’s already a bit unusual for Chay to realize he’s all alone. He wonders if the purple glow is just a new light fixture that the owner has gotten and is now trying out for the shop, but the longer Chay blatantly stares at it, the less likely it seems.
Without even fully realizing it, Chay begins making his way closer and closer to the specific bookshelf. The purple glow seems to shine brighter, pulsing in waves, and Chay’s stomach twists in a strange excitement. It’s weird. It’s like he can’t even really control it, his body just moving on its own accord, his legs having a mind of their own; like something within the bookshelf is beckoning him to come closer and closer and closer and -
“Kid.”
Chay squeaks and jumps nearly ten feet into the air. He spins around on his heel only to be met with the owner of the shop standing not even three feet away from him. He’s dressed in all black, the sleeves of his T-shirt revealing lines and lines of intricate tattoos decorating his arms, and Chay realizes he’s never seen the owner in a short-sleeve anything before. His eyebrow is raised and something in his expression seems a little off, almost dangerous looking. Chay’s never seen the friendly, mellow owner look like this before.
“You okay?”
Chay nods quickly, clutching tight to the strap of his backpack. The owner looks at him, then at the bookshelf behind him, then back at him again, and his eyes narrow.
“Did you see something back there?”
Chay immediately shakes his head. He’s not sure why he’s lying right now, really. Something in his chest tightens as he listens to a little voice inside his head tell him that it’s better to lie - his own subconsciousness speaking to him, it seems.
“You sure?”
The owner of the shop has never said so many words to him at once, and even that in of itself is weird enough. Chay gets the feeling he should probably get out.
“Yeah. Sorry. Just… thought I saw a book I had been searching for before.”
The owner slips his gaze back towards him again, and Chay isn’t an idiot. He’s being scrutinized.
“What book would that be?”
Fuck. Think fast.
“ The Five. The Untold Lives of the Women Killed by Jack The Ripper. ”
He remembers reading that book once. It was a good one too. Very informative.
The shop owner narrows his eyes again. “We have that one. It’s in the True Crime section.”
Chay blinks. Bites his lip nervously.
“Oh. Sorry, I thought it was here.”
The owner walks around him, heading towards the True Crime section, but he doesn’t take his eyes away from Chay.
“It’s here if you want it.”
Chay pulls his backpack closer to his shoulder and shakes his head. “I didn’t bring my wallet, I’ll buy it the next time.”
The owner nods slowly, turning around to fully face him again. “Alright.” He glanced at the bookshelf again for a second, then back to Chay. “I’m closing up, it’s almost eleven.”
Chay nods, rushing towards the door. “Yeah! Of course, sorry! I was just on my way.”
“Kid!”
Chay stops right by the door, his hand already halfway up towards the coat rack. He slowly turns his head to meet eyes with the owner. “Yes?”
The man slowly blinks, tilts his head slightly to the side. Something about his mannerisms right now - something about the expression on his face…it all reminds Chay so much of a cat. It’s a weird comparison to draw, but it’s all Chay can see right now as he stares at the owner. A particularly suspicious, slightly eerie looking cat.
The man smiles at him. A close-lipped, polite smile, but it lacks the usual warmth. His eyes are dark.
“Have a safe night.”
Chay nods, grabbing his jacket off the little hook. “You too, sir!”
With that, he leaves the shop, feeling a little unmoored and a lot dazed. Maybe a little frightened too, feeling a little like he’s being watched now.
Once the door is shut behind him, he’s met with the usual loud hustle and bustle of night time Bangkok. The lights are so bright, he’s nearly blinded, especially after his vision having grown so used to the intimate golden light of the bookshop. The smell of fried chicken lingers in the air and Chay nearly runs into several people making their way to the bars and clubs for their Friday night dose of alcohol and loud music.
The air is wet and humid from the day’s rain and yet there’s a chill running through Chay’s bones that makes him zip up his jacket and draw his hood over his head as he begins the long journey home.
He never once loses the feeling that something is watching him.
🔮
The house is dark and quiet when Chay arrives. The key is left where it always is, in the pot of the hanging plant by the door.
He kept looking over his shoulder every few seconds as he was making his way home, and even now, as he’s on his street - his quiet, safe, normal suburban little street - he still feels like he’s being watched. He can’t shake the feeling, he’s been having it ever since he walked out of The Bookkeeper. Yet, every time he looks back, there’s no one - nothing - there.
Tonight has been fucking weird, seriously.
Chay shakes his head and unlocks the door, lets himself inside and kicks off his shoes. Peeling his jacket off his body, he makes his way to the kitchen. His stomach rumbles, reminding him that he hasn’t eaten in a couple of hours. He’s not really in the mood to cook, nor does he feel like he even has the energy to stand by a stove, so he simply grabs a banana and eats it while standing by the sink, staring out the window and towards the backyard. The lights strung across the swing set seem a little more dull than usual, and Chay blames it on the fact that the batteries are probably running low. He’ll have to buy a new pair.
There should have been a full moon tonight, if Chay remembers clearly, but it’s nowhere to be found in the sky right now. Must still be cloudy from the day. He finishes his banana and drinks a glass of water before he grabs his backpack and makes his way towards the staircase and up to the second floor. His bedroom is right between the second and third floor of the house, and he always keeps his door locked because Porsche has a bad habit of tumbling inside whenever he wants without knocking, leading to all sorts of awkward situations that both of them would rather avoid.
His room feels colder than usual tonight and Chay shivers, heading straight towards the small heater that he barely ever even uses, but now feels so grateful to have - he’s so glad that Porsche got it for him all those years ago when he had a bad cold. He turns it on now, before finally dropping his backpack off his shoulder and shrugging his T-shirt over his head. He feels weirdly tired now that he’s in his room, even if he slept for several hours in The Bookkeeper. He turns on his desk lamp and decides it’s time to get ready for bed.
The next twenty or so minutes are spent going through his usual bedtime routine - brush teeth, wash face, change into pajamas, pee, wash hands.
When he makes his way back to his bedroom, he turns off his desk lamp and heads straight to his bed. As his eyes get used to the sudden darkness that engulfs his bedroom, he notices something glowing in his peripheral vision.
Chay stops dead in his tracks. Turns his head slowly towards the glowing. Purple. Coming straight from his unzipped backpack.