anonymous asked:

au where michael loves to read and one day while he's in school library and he sees y/n aka his fucken CRUSH n shes reading a book that happens to be michaels favorite n she's lookin all cute with her glasses n big fluffy sweater n he goes n talks to her about the book n they bond n all that cute stuff :) makes me want to CRY i want a michael

This was such a cute idea and I’m worried I didn’t do it justice but here’s something x Thank you for requesting!

It’s not the most popular spot to be on a Friday night, but that’s what Michael likes about it. The campus library is practically empty while the entirety of the student body is out somewhere binge drinking, an influence that Michael didn’t feel like giving into tonight. With midterms finally coming to an end, his roommates were finding more time for their social lives, and lately their apartment has felt like a nonstop revolving door with friends coming and going as they please. Usually Michael doesn’t mind so much company, but everyone needs a break now and then. 

The woman at the front desk knows Michael’s face by now and smiles at him as he walks through the automatic doors. He gives a friendly nod in her direction on his way to the Historical Fiction section, tucking his hands into his leather jacket. While the temperature drops outside, the library remains a cozy atmosphere, making it all the more difficult not to spend forever between its shelves. 

He leisurely scans the spines of the books down one aisle, not looking for anything specific, just work he hasn’t read yet. It’s a more difficult task than it sounds considering he can’t remember the last time he wasn’t reading something. Ever since he learned how to as a kid it was basically one story after another, one universe to the next. He spends so much time invested in the made-up lives of fictional characters that he wonders how he’s able to manage his own. 

On the other side of the wall of books he hears the delicate sound of a sneeze trying not to be too loud. He smiles as he glosses over the inside of a cover, throwing out a courteous “Bless you” to whoever it came from. 

“Thank you,” a girl says back, and Michael’s head snaps up. He knows that voice. 

Around the corner he peeks to confirm his suspicion, ecstatic to see you of all people sitting on the carpeted floor with your legs crossed and an open book in your lap. You’re wearing a sweater that’s at least two sizes too big on you, and on the bridge of your nose rests the glasses that you only use when your contacts have been bothering your eyes. Michael doesn’t even notice the corners of his lips curl or that his eyelids become a little heavier, oblivious to the expression he makes when he’s absolutely adoring someone. 

Your arm flies up to cover your nose with your sleeve, capturing another sneeze that can’t be tamed. The book in your other hand folds in half over your finger to try to save your place, and Michael inadvertently catches the title of it. 

“Bless you,” he repeats. 

You’re about to thank him again when you realize who it is, happy to recognize a familiar face when you thought everyone you knew was out partying with each other. 

“What are you doing here?” you tease, well aware of Michael’s own tendency to cut loose on the weekends. Surely he’s not the type who prefers to spend his Friday evenings here. 

“What everyone comes to the library for,” he retorts, taking a step toward you, “A quickie in the Paleontology section.“ 

You laugh, using your book to lightly slap his leg. He smirks and crouches with his back to the shelf on the opposite side of the aisle. 

“What about you?” he asks, “You’re missing some real ragers right now." 

You shrug, swiping hair out of your face just to have it immediately fall back. "I’d rather hangout with Huck and Jim." 

Michael brings his gaze back to the copy of Huckleberry Finn in your lap, the one book he’s probably read more times than any other. "That’s a good one." 


"It’s too bad they all die in the end." 

You smirk. "Nice try, but I’ve read it before.” The bright yellow streaks of highlighter marking hundreds of lines on the pages are at least a few years old. “It’s one of my favorites." 

He contently reveals, "Mine too." 



He hasn’t known you long, only since the first week of the new semester, but he’s undeniably drawn to you in way he can’t recall being to anyone else. You were eerily quiet during that first week of school, too shy to initiate a conversation with anyone, but that didn’t stop Michael from talking to you. It took a couple of tries for him to break through your shell, always coming to class prepared with jokes and offering to work with you during group assignments. He’ll never forget the day you finally felt comfortable enough around him to insult his outfit, wondering why on earth he owned a pair of jeans that were half black and half striped. You told him he looked like Beetlejuice, and those easily became his favorite pants. 

This is the first time he’s really talked to you outside of a classroom, the first time he’s seen you in your element. The first time he’s seen you in glasses. And God, you’re so fucking cute. 

"I’m at the part where Huck finds out about Emmeline’s poems,” you share. “I think it’s sweet that he wants to write one for her." 

"You’re into that kinda stuff?" 

"I mean, I hate poetry." 

He laughs, not expecting an answer like that. 

"But his reasoning, y'know,” you add. 

He nods thoughtfully. “Because she wrote poems for everyone else." 

"Yeah.” You’re grateful he understands what you’re talking about. “She deserves to have something written about her, too." 

Michael blinks slowly, admiring your opinion, the weight of his hopeless crush sinking to his stomach as he realizes he’s had similar thoughts about you. 

"Maybe I would be into that." 


"Someone writing about me,” you clarify. “Who was the one who said ‘if a writer falls in love with you, you can never die?’" 

Michael doesn’t even have to think about it, that quote being one he knows well. "Mik Everett." 

You smile, impressed with his knack for trivia. "Yeah,” you conclude, “I think I’d like that." 

"I’ll write about you." 

"Oh yeah?" 

He gestures to the backpack at your side, and you scoot it across the floor to him. He starts snooping through the pockets, fetching a pen and a sheet of paper. You laugh as he clicks the pen to life, covering your mouth with your hand. He’s really doing this. 

A few seconds later he clicks the pen again, signing off on his work. He reads it over silently, proudly flicking it with his finger. 

"Can I see?” you play along. 

He folds the paper into a smaller rectangle and passes it to you. You open it one layer at a time. 

September 30th, 2016– From this day forward, Y/n is immortal. 

You roll your eyes in light humor, returning the paper to its smaller shape. “The epic of our generation,” you joke, handing it back to him. 

“Hey,” he says defensively, reaching above his head and blindly grabbing a book off one of the shelves behind him, “Hemingway’s style was short and sweet, and I bet you don’t complain about that." 

He places the random book on his leg, flipping open the hard cover and sliding the piece of paper under the removable dust jacket, letting part of his note peek out. 

"What are you doing?” you question. 

He looks at you like the answer is obvious. “You won’t live forever if no one else reads it." 

The odds of anyone else reading what’s on that piece of paper is not likely, you know that. The next person to check out that book will probably just throw the note away, if they even see it. But something else you know is that you haven’t stopped smiling since Michael got here. You’ve never felt so at ease talking to someone about a book that’s had a special place in your heart since you were a kid. You’ve never had anything, even a sentence less than 10 words, written about you before. And you’ve damn sure never known someone who could look so hot in a pair of pants that blatantly remind you of Beetlejuice.  

"Do you like coffee?” you ask as Michael returns the hidden note to the bookshelf. 


"Do you wanna go get some?" 

His lips turn into a smirk, knowing a request for a date when he hears one. 

"I think I’d like that.”