He's a book.

You know, one of those books set – hidden? - in the darkest corner of the highest shelf of a gigantic library.

Small. Thin.

Black leather cover and golden lines.

No title.

Out of reach. Almost.

But you know it's here. When you get it to open, pages scratch your fingers and you could swear you heard it chuckling.

No story. An inextricable web which causes the average reader to give up leafing through it.

He's a book.

This kind of book.

Small. Thin.

Black turtleneck. Golden hair.

Out of reach. Almost.

Inscrutable. Almost.

But I'm an avid reader...