The Doctor was new to the town, which he didn't like, coming in all alone made people ask questions. He was seventeen, and people were asking where his parents were as he enrolled in school, and getting the sympathy when he explained that he had none. It wasn't that he disliked that people cared, it was that he didn't know them, therefore he just didn't think it was that genuine. He'd heard it a hundred times, and it started to lose his interest if people cared that he was the only one left. He wasn't rude, though. He tried not to be rude whenever possible, thinking it only made things worse.
It was the afternoon when he finished all the paperwork for school, and he decided to walk the streets a bit, get a feel for where he was going to be staying for the next little while. It was nice here, he thought, as he looked around. There were people around, who seemed friendly enough, and the town was full of old buildings that made him feel creative. He turned the corner, happening upon a library, old but strong bricks and beautiful looking windows. He had to go in.
He walked up the stairs, hand taking hold of the huge old handle, pulling the door open as he walked in. It was more beautiful inside. High ceilings and rows after rows of books, a large desk where an elderly woman sat in her chair. She looked up at him, gave a soft smile, then returned to the book she was stamping. He gave a small smile back, and looked around. To his left, a sitting room, comfy looking furniture and glossy wooden tables throughout the ruby red carpeted room. It looked inviting, but something to his right caught his eye. A doorway without a door, more red carpeting, the beginning of a spiraling staircase being seen. He couldn't help the mystery and curiosity, and he chose that path. He ascended the stairs, one hand on the dark wood railing. He tiled his head to see up farther before he got there, and turned in another doorless doorway when he got to the top.
There were more books, shelves of tattered old ones, different from the ones downstairs. They were beautiful to him, as all books were, but more in the sense that they'd been around longer and loved enough to still be in one piece. He took careful steps around, gasping softly as his feet hit hard stone flooring. Feminine green and gray, bits of shining silver that had massive contrast to his old brown boots. He was quiet as he walked along it, taking in the look of the place, old fashioned wood looking elegant for the walls, a big window in the next room giving lovely light that cast along the floor. His feet met carpet again, soft under his booted feet, and he turned down a row of books, getting an up close look. His hand came up, feeling over the spines as he walked, indents of the words feeling familiar under his fingertips. He loved books. Just absolutely loved them.
He went through the next shelf and did the same to the same middle row, just the other side. He picked one out a little more than halfway through, the rusty red colored bookmark catching his eye. He took it carefully from the shelf, holding it with both hands. He noticed the one that was next to it, most likely next or before in the series, was missing from the collection as well. He didn't want to go back out into the open space on the other side of the room, not when he felt at home here, in between the shelves. He sat down across from the place he took the book, making sure the books behind him would be okay as he got comfortable. Settling the book in his lap, he ran his fingers along the front of the hardcover, other down to the bookmark, feeling the satin. He decided to be curious, and opened the book to the page it was keeping.
He began reading, thinking how fantastic the author was, writing so blatantly it was unlike anything he'd read before, but artistically not about love, but about companionship. It told both sides of wanting someone, something he knew too well himself and screamed over when he knew no one was listening. This one page, in this one book, told how much he wanted to be loved, but not out of pity or because someone felt like they needed to, but because two people felt made for each other the first time they met. He wanted that desperately; he wanted something...
"Beautiful." He whispered to himself, thumb rubbing over the old paper, in the white part where the words were never seemed allowed to go, fingers feeling how many pages there were to go on to, find something new and cherish it like he was this one kept page. But he didn't want to turn it. There were footsteps that went unnoticed by the Doctor, but a gasp that made feet stutter back along a squeaky floorboard did, and he looked up quickly.
A boy, not far from his own age was standing in the end of the two rows he was between, obviously startled by the Doctor's presence. He had big eyes, icy from color but looked warm although he was caught off guard, and midnight hair, messy with just the slightest curl that wasn't there if you didn't look closely. He wore black dress pants and a white dress shirt that was rolled up at the elbows, loose blue tie around his neck. It looked like an incomplete school uniform, of which the Doctor suspected. He didn't have any shoes on, dark socks covering his feet instead. The boy caught his breath and held an old book closer to him, moving it around to his chest and hugging it. He looked nervous, but smiled just a little, and moved by the Doctor to gently set the book back into it's place. So, he had the missing book, thought the Doctor.
The blue-eyed boy started to walk away after he'd stood for a moment, one hand on the wood of the shelf where the book in the Doctor's hands had been. Was he supposed to read this one next? He almost got around the corner, but the Doctor spoke up, voice thick with accent, "You read that whole thing?"
The boy stopped, looking over to him. Nodding shyly, he answered, sounding American, "Yes."
With a soft chuckle, the Doctor gave a small, lopsided grin. He saw the boy brighten, but only for a moment, before he nodded again and disappeared around the corner. The chocolate haired boy sat for a moment, ran a hand through his hair to move it from his eyes, then looked back down to the book in his lap. He didn't want the other boy to miss out because he'd decided to take the next one from the series at random, even if it called out to him with it's old-time elegance. The Doctor closed the book and stood, holding it to his chest as he peeked around the row, finding it empty. He straightened, going to search the other rows, rich brown walls and almost white from light windows making it easy to spot blue eyes in a corner of the room. He was sitting on the floor, untying a black shoe with black laces so he could most likely get it back on. A tan coat sat behind him in a pool around him, like he'd shrugged it off after he'd sat down, and other coat, matching his pants hung next to him, on the handle of the cabinet his back was against. The Doctor cleared his throat to sound his presence, and the boy looked up, lips parted just the slightest bit.
"This one is next, yeah? You can take it, I'm not..." He said softly, trailing off, racking his brain for a word. He couldn't say he wasn't reading it, because he was. He was very much so, but he caught a word just in time. He held the book with one hand, the other not touching but close if he were to fumble with it's weight, "I'm not committed to it, anyway. By the way it seems, you are."
The boy just looked a moment, from the Doctor's warm green eyes to the worn, remnants of blue, book, before he let go of the shoe and reached for it with both hands. The Doctor smiled, letting go once it was safely handled, and turned to leave him alone. A quiet, and shy voice broke the silence, "W-Were you reading the marked page?"
The Doctor turned, and nodded, "I was."
The boy smiled, opening the book to the satin ribbon, "It's my favorite, out of all of them."
"You picked a favorite, out of the fifteen plus books? One book, one part, one page?" The Doctor was intrigued by him, and bent a little to look at him, hands in the pockets of his tweed jacket.
The boy just nodded. The Doctor tilted his head to the side, watched those blue eyes look him over, then his cheeks flushed with a soft pink, before he looked back down at the book. The Doctor quirked his lips up, and sat down, cross-legged like the other boy, facing him, "You read them all?"
"There's sixteen books in all, this is the ninth." He sat the open book up against his chest, giving the Doctor a view of the spine. The boy's finger pointed to the small, golden nine at the bottom of it. All other identifying marks of the book had been worn out, washed away with time.
"They don't have names," The Doctor reached his own hand out and ran it gently over the spine where the titles and authors were supposed to be, hand brushing the other's accidentally, "What do you call them?"
"I call them... mine." He replied softly, maybe even a little embarrassed. The Doctor's smile broadened, and he leaned forward just a little more, just to take a good look at him. The boy had obviously read them before, and he wondered how many times. It just made him happier.
"What better to call them, huh? Take something that no one wants and love it like your very own... It's brilliant." He said, making the dark-haired boy smile as he set the book back right in his lap, "If I may, what's your name?"
"C-Castiel." Said the boy, and the Doctor thought instantly that it suited him, although he'd never heard it before. He liked the way it sounded, though.
"Castiel," He repeated, liking the way it sounded on his own tongue as well, and Castiel's cheeks tinted again, "Lovely. I'm the Doctor." He held out a hand, and one of Castiel's met his, shaking with shy firmness.
"The Doctor?" He asked, bemused with the name, although he kept smiling, "Is that really your name?"
"That's what I've always been called. I don't think I've ever had a proper name." The Doctor explained, and Castiel looked amused. Their hands held steady for a moment; unmoving, unhooking from each other.
"Well, Doctor, it's really nice to meet you."
"And I you, Castiel. Really."
Their hands didn't part, not once while they read together, both of them scooting so they were settled side by side on that ruby red carpeting, rich brown wood housing them, and the smell and adventure of old books to give them company as they got lost in a story together, one they'd both knew all too well before they'd even read it. Their entwined hands sat on the page, over the last line of that satin held page, I've been waiting for you for lifetimes over again.