Out of the corner of his eye, a tiny arm and a desperately splayed hand shot up high. Armin's attention shifted from his work to the student in need. While the teacher's focus was claimed by another's plea, Armin took charge and approached the student. He surveyed the workspace before even opening his mouth. The screen looked functional with no dead pixels. The document wasn't frozen. No unexplained pop-ups plagued the screen. The keyboard and mouse seemed without faults, too.
"What do you need help with?" Armin questioned, lowering himself to meet the student's gaze.
The child's arm flopped down to his lap as he asked, "which one's the spacebar again?"
Throughout the class, Armin estimated he'd heard this question at least seven times. The repeated question did not bother him in the slightest! The kids were learning how to type for the first time; how else would they learn if they kept their questions to themselves? In fact, there was probably no question nor query he had not heard in the past five years since leading the classes. His grandfather orchestrated these classes, citing the importance of productivity and accuracy for typed work. Armin had watched his grandfather teach the typing classes as a child. He had participated in those same classes as a student. Now, following his death, it was finally Armin's turn to teach the classes.
With a patient smile, he motioned to the long, flat key nestled at the keyboard's base. "This one," Armin indicated.
"Oh, yeah!" The boy swiftly pressed the key with his index finger. As the words he sought to separate finally broke apart, he was settled and satisfied. "Thank you."
"You're welcome. It's a tricky one to remember," he reassured for (also) the seventh time that afternoon. Nonetheless, he retained his understanding-laced tone. Armin continued to survey the student's measured, deliberate typing, prepared to answer other questions that may arise.
"Armin, why doesn't the spacebar have anything written on it like the other buttons?" One of the girls spoke up. It was a fairly astute observation, one that caught her classmates off guard. The entire class wore similarly astounded gazes, those gazes firmly locked onto their keyboards. "If the word 'spacebar' was written on the spacebar, it would make it easier to remember."
How coincidental - just when he assumed no child could surprise him with a novel question!
"You're right, it would make it easier to remember. I think it's because when you press the button, it produces a blank space, so it's easier to have a blank button to represent that blank space. Or maybe it's because it's the only button shaped like that, so people didn't think it needed words. I don't know the correct answer, I'm afraid," Armin admitted with a resigned shrug. He had no desire to distract them from their work when the lesson was almost over, so he hoped the answer dampened any discussion! "That was a great question, though!"
"Can we write 'spacebar' on our spacebars?" Another student piped up, earnestly helpful. His hand dove into his pencil case, rummaging around for a tool or object he could use to scribe. "I have white-out we can use since black marker won't show up."
Clearly, the optimistic student thought his idea would be accepted! But, Armin could only imagine the mess that would ensue if primary schoolers had free reign of liquid white-out! The results would be disastrous for the keyboards, desktops, the surrounding furniture, and the students themselves! God knows he would sink under the weight of the annoyed, passive-aggressive comments should their children return home with stained uniforms... "I should have some blank stickers to write on and stick on the spacebar if you're having trouble remembering. I think that's a better idea than using your white-out because you'll have none left if we use it all for the keyboards," Armin suggested, gesturing to the tiny bottle.
"Yeah...you're right." And the white-out was surrendered back into the pencil case without complaint.
"Does everyone think that stickers sound like a good idea?" A wave of enthusiasm, compiled of a small chorus of 'yes's and exaggerated nods, swept through the students.
With confirmation, Armin turned towards his desk, but prematurely halted in his tracks as the girl - suddenly panicked - caught his eye. "Wait, Armin, how do you make a question mark again? It's only making a line when I press the button!"
"Press the 'shift' button first, then the button with the line and question mark," he instructed, watching her slowly gain control over her dexterity, order her movements, and create the character she wanted. "Good job."
"Thank you!"
"You're welcome. I'll grab those stickers now..."
"Ooh, can I be first?" He heard from the first student as he searched through the incredibly messy drawer, locating the blank white stickers as labels for the kids. A small sheet of sticks was hidden underneath random pens, pencils, scissors, and other miscellaneous items within a junk drawer. One sticker had been used, so seven remained. Perfect! One for each student! When he glanced up at the student who made the request, he had leaned away from the desk in an eager pursuit to watch Armin instead.
"Can you be first what?" The teacher piped up in the midst of her quietly assisting another student.
"Can I be first please?" The student rectified.
"Of course you can," he allowed, coming behind the students again as he scribed 'spacebar' on all the blank stickers in black pen. The interactions between the teachers and students always put a smile on his face, particularly with this age group. Their obedience was chased with just the right amount of cheekiness without being too overbearing like secondary school students. "Here."
"Yay! Thanks, Armin!"
"You're welcome." Once the first keyboard adorned its new sticker, Armin continued in a clockwise motion around the table. Seeing the kids' typing pace improve and become more fluent due to the sticker was something Armin decided he would implement in later classes.
Meanwhile, Jean pushed open library doors only to be met with a scene that caught him off guard; the small class of school children occupying the desktop computers he hoped to use. He had anticipated the quiet library with only Armin - engaged in whatever librarian duties he completed throughout the day - keeping the space company. Engrossed in his phone and a lack of warning, Jean had neither glanced through the window nor considered the possibility that the library might be occupied during the day! The school was much too far away, Jean remembered from his earlier exploration, for midday usage. So, he froze in the doorway, unsure of his next move.
Just before he considered making a stealthy escape, he accidentally caught the keen eyes of a student. Armin, conveniently enough, stood behind her writing on a tiny piece of paper. She reached back, fingers grasping his sleeve, to urgently alert the blonde man.
"Who's that?" Her voice acted as an anchor for the other students' attention, who immediately clued into the novel presence by the door.
The children made no attempt at being subtle about the stranger's intrusion. Some students even dramatically leaned over their desks to see from behind the large monitors. Loud conversations - presumably about Jean and other unrelated topics - immediately filled the library, bouncing off the walls and echoing all around. Damn, all he wanted was a change of scenery, a mouse, and a bigger screen to edit some photos on, not the scrutiny of an underaged audience.
"He uses the library for work sometimes," he stated while directing a smile towards Jean. Armin appeared unfazed by his presence, so it wasn't as though Jean wasn't allowed to be at the library. He placed the paper and pen onto the desk. "Keep working; I'll be two seconds."
"Seeing as everyone is having their own conversations, should I assume that everybody has completed their three-sentence goal?" The teacher's comment disguised as a motivator to force the students to work again did its job.
"Hey!" He approached him with a low voice so as to not further disturb the lesson. "Do you need a desktop?"
"Uh..." Jean noticed there were a few empty spots. It wasn't a matter of urgency, so there really wasn't a need to interrupt the school lesson more than he already had. "Yeah, but I can come back later."
"You don't have to leave, their lesson is almost over," Armin insisted. Intending to decline in favour of coming back once the work day was over, Jean preferred to spend his lunch break anywhere but surrounded by young school kids. He also blamed his camera's frangibility, as one careless move from a kid could cause serious damage. But, Armin was relentless and continued to coax him; verbally and with intense, beseeching eye contact. "There's five minutes until they go back to campus. Then, there's no one here for the next hour or so. You're welcome to wait here."
Jean knew the insistence probably stemmed from his obligation to Erwin, so he caved. It would be easier in the long run. He only needed fifteen, maybe twenty, minutes in the library, anyway. "...yeah, okay," he reluctantly yielded.
"Great! Just...wait here," Armin awkwardly gestured to where they currently loitered, "or they'll get even more distracted. If you don't mind."
"That's fine," and with Jean's concession, Armin returned to the class.
With the rest of the library to his left, he gazed down to his right to see the minuscule furniture - tiny little chairs, tables, and bookshelves presumably filled with picture books to compliment the childlike area. Jean opted to lean against the wall as opposed to lowering his six-foot self into a chair. It gave him the opportunity to observe the rest of the class period. Perhaps he could ask Armin more about the school to send to the team for the tourism project. The class was probably no older than nine or ten years old. Jean expected class sizes to be small, at least compared to city or regional schools, so the seven students he counted did not come as a surprise.
Sure enough, when the promised five minutes had passed, the teacher rounded up the small class to gather by the door of the library. The teacher and Armin talked with familiarity as they did. "See you next week. What do you all say to Armin?" The teacher queried, emphatically prompting a polite farewell from the students.
"Thank you," all of the kids droned monotonously in response. It took Jean back to his primary school and middle school days where manners were sort of an afterthought. The main motivation was to leave the boring class as quickly as possible to liaise with friends.
"You're welcome! See you all next week." He waved to the few students who waved at him first, though their eyes openly and shamelessly lingered on the tall stranger by the door. The blonde's sunny smile turned into one of remorse as his eyes met Jean's. "I don't think I mentioned the school has classes here when we spoke last week. Sorry about that."
"It's fine. It's my bad for coming during the day," Jean dismissed in pursuit of claiming a monitor. The area was left in immaculate condition with desks devoid of clutter, computers powered down, and chairs aligned with the desks - opposite to the chaos the brunette expected to find. The school must've drilled etiquette into its students, Or maybe this was Armin's doing, considering it was his space? "Do they come every day?"
"Not that class in particular, but there are a lot of classes here throughout the week," he answered.
"The school's so far away," Jean remarked. As he had time to kill while waiting for the computer to turn on, he didn't object to making conversation. "It must be disruptive for them to walk here."
"There's a shuttle bus that brings them here and takes them back to school." He waved his hand, vaguely gesturing towards the door of the library. "It only takes about five minutes both ways."
The logistics seemed complicated. Sure, the system probably worked, but Jean figured there was a simpler solution. "Wouldn't having a library on the actual campus seem like a better idea?"
"Mm, I agree."
"Ever thought about moving it?"
"It was debated a while ago - before I took over. There was a building on campus designated for a library, but it would take such a long time moving and setting everything up. Plus, I live next door," he pointed to a door that led to the smaller attached building Jean has seen from the outside, "and having such a large, empty space would be wasteful. So, it was more convenient to keep things as they are. Honestly, the kids love taking the bus here. They don't get to go on a lot of excursions. I'm positive there'd be an uprising if we changed the routine."
"Mm. I'll bet." Such a tiny, little island - one where you could explore every inch of the town in a few hours - inherently lacked excitement, so Jean could empathise with maintaining the one factor that provided said excitement.
"I can give you the days and times classes come so your presence doesn't overlap theirs if you'd like," Armin offered. "The school classes run on a consistent weekly schedule."
Armin's trusting nature daunted Jean, particularly considering how enthusiastically he was willing to give him, the random tourist he'd encountered not even a week ago, a school's library schedule! "Uh, if you're sure. I'd appreciate that." His schedule would most likely overlap with the school classes.
The computer powered up, cueing Jean's attention to his work and making the most of his infinitesimal amount of time. Despite needing only the mouse and keys for shortcuts during the editing process, a white sticker with 'spacebar' written in pen halted his progress. In fact, upon closer inspection, all of the keyboards possessed the sticker; what was their lesson about? He had yet to use the computers, but he was sure the keyboards lacked the sticker on his first visit. Jean's thumb smoothly glided along the sticker. Peeling it off would bring less distraction. But, the threat of disrupting Armin's deliberate action made him hesitate. Were these stickers important?
"Oh, the stickers are there because the class before had their first typing lesson today. Most of them kept forgetting which button was the spacebar. You can get rid of the sticker if you want - it isn't important," Armin mentioned, words answering the thoughts within Jean's mind. How convenient.
"How did they forget the spacebar? It's the largest and most obvious button on the keyboard," he said, peeling the sticker off in one, even piece. He folded the sticker in half, then in half again, to throw away.
"Because it didn't have 'spacebar' written on it. It seems obvious to us, but not to them," he answered. Armin seemed to hold insurmountable amounts of patience for the students. Jean, on the other hand, refused to work with kids, or entertain such an idea, due to his lack of patience. Armin made a great teacher...assuming he was. Armin seemed to be at that relatively young, yet mature, age where he could be studying in college for that purpose.
Because Jean's curiosity gradually grew as he worked, he couldn't help but speculate, "are you a teacher as well?"
"Oh, no, I'm only a librarian," he clarified.
"Ah, cool." From Jean's observations, he certainly acted like a teacher. His clear connection with the students was hard to miss, who reciprocated with friendliness and respect.
"Here's the schedule, too," Armin walked over and handed him the page.
"Thanks." Jean mentally noted which times and days would be most appropriate. While the weekdays were filled with a mosaic of colour-coded blocks, the weekends lay untouched. Though, as a precaution, he gazed over to the desk and asked, "what about weekends?"
"Wait, you're expected to work on the weekend?" His tone - as though personally offended on Jean's behalf - made the journalist's lips curl, adopting an amused grin.
"I don't have to. Sometimes, if I have too much work and a deadline quickly approaching, I deal with the overflow on the weekend. I'd also rather ask now to avoid encroaching in on an event or class I don't know about," he explained. With the list of deadlines growing as rapidly as a child during puberty, Jean sensed work occupying his weekends would happen sooner rather than later.
"I didn't put anything down because I assumed you'd only come during the work week, but you're welcome here on the weekends, too. Weekday opening and closing hours apply. I usually keep the library unlocked when I'm at home, anyway, but there are no classes or events scheduled for the weekends that you'd need to work around. I'll let you know if something changes," he added.
"Do you work the weekends?" Despite his home being about a ten-step walk away, Jean felt it was too much to tend to the library every day.
"I occasionally take inventory or place orders on Sundays. Maybe about once a month. But no, I generally don't," Armin answered.
"Cool. I'll aim to stick to the work week so I don't bother you too much, I swear." He swung his chair back towards the monitor to continue work.
"You wouldn't be a bother," he assured offhandedly, and by his tone, Jean had no reason to believe Armin told a lie.
By his own admission, Jean could be extremely bothering if he desired! Plus, the librarian's lack of security steadily grew more and more concerning. First, he'd given him - a complete stranger - a schedule of when school kids occupied the library. Then, he'd told him - still a complete stranger - that he keeps his home unlocked on specific days! Jean understood that the low crime rate and lack of visitors to Paradis meant that Armin could be a little lackadaisical.
But him? Despite his lifelong reputation - grumpy, intimidating, and towering over most around him - Armin seemed more open to him than most. Jean was grateful for his accommodating nature, even if it was at the direction of somebody else. While Jean edited the photographs he'd taken earlier that morning, Armin remained behind the chaotic-looking desk, busying himself with the clutter. It felt performative, as though Armin was somebody who needed to look busy or couldn't relax in the presence of unfamiliar people. Jean understood. He fawned when his managers - particularly Levi - stood behind him with the tense weight of their expectations. Projecting his feelings onto Armin? Sure, but he decided to throw Armin a bone, anyway. It also allowed him to enquire about the extent of Armin's technological repair knowledge.
And to fill the silence, which left Jean feeling tense and awkward.
"Not that I'd need it, but do you know much about cameras like this?" Jean brought the camera from its bag. With ginger and gentle hands, the librarian accepted and rotated the device to inspect its hardware. "Erwin mentioned you can do repairs if necessary."
"Yeah, I should be able to. I'm competent at anything to do with hardware, but anything battery or memory card related, I'm useless. I didn't know you were a photographer as well," Armin remarked, handing back the camera to its rightful owner.
"It's more of a hobby. My manager said that if I wanted to take photos to use with articles, they might be able to use 'em," he explained. "Mostly because the few photos they have are severely out of date."
"What kinds of things do you like to take photos of?" Armin remained next to him, gaze shifting between Jean's face and the computer monitor, as though putting the pieces together.
"Mainly nature and architecture. And a bit of commercial photography, too," he stated, noticing Armin's lost expression, and elaborated, "like, um, for businesses. I'm kind of winging it for the Paradis project. I'm touching these ones up at the moment to send back. This is the dock and the welcome sign," he indicated, circling his mouse around each landmark.
The images Jean was touching-up were taken that morning. The temptation for a fresh pair of eyes and perspective - particularly the perspective from someone who grew up in Paradis - called Jean. "Wow, I didn't realise the sign was so worn down! Some friends of mine occasionally mention it's in dire need of replacing. I understand exactly why they complain, now," he marvelled, leaning in and over Jean's shoulder to scrutinize the image.
To Armin, such an image should not have been a novel sight - not in Jean's opinion! Surely most adult residents would have a good idea of degraded areas within their home, particularly if these degraded areas were a source of conversations among his social group. "It's pretty distracting, especially compared to how beautiful the rest of the place is. I'd say it's one of the first things I noticed when I arrived." Jean's lips twitched into an amused smile, looking at the blonde's face. "You've never noticed it?"
Armin shook his head. "I don't go down to the docks that often, so I haven't actually seen it properly."
"But, you do leave the house and library sometimes, right?" The urge to question Armin's habits, ones that implied him to be an asocial hermit, could not be resisted.
Luckily, the comment made Armin laugh - quite freely! "Yes, I have a very healthy social life and an amazing group of friends. I don't have a reason to leave the island all that much. You know, maybe you can show it to Erwin for 'approval' so he can see how crappy the sign looks and get it replaced."
"That's a good idea. I'll get the team back home to communicate with him and pull the strings," he promised, and meant it, because the sign was way overdue for an improvement! Erwin needed all of the suggestions he could get.
"Your photos look professional and sharp. I can definitely imagine seeing them in a magazine or online," Armin walked back towards his desk. "Would you ever do...people photography?"
"Do you mean portraiture? Or fashion? Or sports? Headshots?" The more genres Jean listed, the more confused Armin grew. During his teenaged years, he made extra pocket money photographing small gatherings for his mother's friends, like baby showers and children's birthdays. Those types of events were fine for a kid learning to adjust the shutter speed and aperture on their first professional camera, definitely not something to base a career around! It felt confining.
"I never realised there were so many types," the blonde man mused. "I assumed 'taking photos of people' encompassed everything from headshots to events or parties."
"Mm. There is a bit of overlap." Truthfully, he just liked showing off his vast knowledge. "Photography's more of a hobby, so I usually tend to stick with things that are conveniently there or that interest me. So, I've never really worked directly with people before."
"Would you if you had the opportunity to?" Armin asked, his voice carrying a note of curiosity. Or, maybe, he was simply being polite.
"Maybe," Jean replied, multitasking between the conversation and the editing software on the monitor. "I don't really have the connections for that, plus the market is pretty oversaturated so it's pretty tough to break into."
"Do you still enjoy journalism? Even if you can't take photos?"
"I do. Though, it's kind of unmotivating taking photos if they're not gonna be seen by anyone but me or friends on social media...or my mom sometimes," he added.
"Heh, I'm sure she'd love to see whatever you take," he agreed with a slight smile, one of familiarity and nostalgia. "Moms always love what their kids do."
"Very true," Jean acknowledged. At the same time, the curiosity, the questions, and seemingly genuine interest from Armin struck the journalist by surprise! Imagining him behind a camera, crafting the perfect shot, or in a professional studio proved difficult! With a slight tilt of his head, and a swivel of his chair to face him, he queried, "are you interested in photography?"
"Not particularly. We've never had a journalist intending to write an article for Paradis, and I've never known a photographer before, and it isn't really a popular field that graduating students tend to pursue so I'm...taking the opportunity to ask questions while I can," Armin reasoned as he adjusted a stack of papers on his desk.
"Well, you've got me for six more months if you have anything else to ask." Just as the conversation began to adopt a nice and natural flow, the piercing ring of Jean's alarm cut through the air to signal that his lunch break was over. Armin took the alarm as his cue to return to his desk. Saving his work, powering down the computer, and pushing in the chair flush against the desk, the brunette man returned the desk to its neat and tidy state as when he arrived. "Thanks, again, for letting me use your library."
"You're welcome," Armin answered. "I'll see you around soon, I suppose?"
"Yeah." He paused before departing. "Um, hope your next class is fine, and that they remember where the spacebar is."
Armin, thankfully, found humour in his throwaway comment, laughter bright and polite. "Thanks - I'm sure they will. Enjoy the rest of your workday." After Jean vacated the library, Armin was alone for the first time since that morning. A quick glance towards the clock informed him he had roughly fifteen minutes before the next class would arrive.