Chapter Text
You knew taking that class was going to be a mistake. If you aren’t struggling to keep up with the reading, you’re floundering in class discussions, trying to convince everyone else that you know what they’re talking about.
It would be easier if you found any of the reading interesting, but none of it seems to compel you.
A biology major should not have to take a classics course, and that’s that.
But, you’re enrolled, and it’s past the deadline for dropping the class, so you’re stuck with it and whatever grade you end up with.
You should be reading now, though once again you can’t bring yourself to delve into the dry ramblings of irrelevant texts. Instead, you find yourself walking from your dormitory to the college’s nature preserve. It’s a quiet place, laying across an old train-bridge and consisting of a sprawling forest. You haven’t ever seen oak trees as large as the ones there; massive, twisting giants older than the college itself.
You seat yourself at the base of one of the trees, beside the river that runs through the preserve. There’s a woodpecker somewhere nearby, beating a tattoo into a tree in search of insects, and you look up in search of it, hoping to identify it.
Your attempt is futile, though, and you settle back down to watching the river and ignoring your homework. It’s a lovely day, but eventually, the guilt of procrastination tugs at your brain enough that you pull out your copy of the Aeneid and try, once again, to read it. You get a few pages through before once again finding yourself bored and setting it aside in favor of watching the pair of ducks paddling past you on the river.
You only stay out there another half hour before deciding to return to your room, walking back across the old train-bridge and back onto the college campus. It isn’t until you get back that you realize you left your copy of the book in the forest, and by that time, you really aren’t inclined to go back and get it.
If anything, it gives you a reason to avoid reading it for another night.
You have no classes the next day, so after dressing and eating breakfast, you head back out to the forest. As much as you don’t want to read that book for class, you need to if you’re going to participate in the class discussion the following day. So… back to the river-side you go to recover your book.
It isn’t until you’re nearly at the tree you sat under the previous day that you spot the large, hunched figure sitting underneath, a book held carefully in his over-sized hands. Your book.
You stop, vague thoughts of all the warnings you’ve been given to avoid strangers running through your mind, and as you stand there, the stranger seems to realize he’s being watched. He looks up, for a moment turning to look at you before he, too, freezes. You can only see part of his face, and you aren’t sure whether it’s the dappled light from the trees or if his face really is that rough and scarred.
You can nearly see him consider his next action, and you’re about ready to just turn and leave when he slowly closes your book and sets it on the ground beside him. “I apologize,” he says, and your resolve to flee fades into curiosity. His voice is deep, vaguely rough but at the same time smooth, each word seemingly well-practiced before it’s spoken. “This book… is yours?”
You nod, and then manage to find your voice. “Yes. I… forgot it here yesterday.”
He nods, turning his head away from you so you can no longer see anything of his features. You try not to feel ashamed at the relief you feel as he turns away. “You may have it back,” he says slowly. “I will leave you be.”
You stand motionless as he slowly stands, still resolutely turned away from you. He’s impossibly tall, far taller than any person you’ve seen, and you wonder what sort of genetic condition he may have that caused such impractical height.
He’s walking away from you, and nearly too far for practical hailing before you realize that you want to ask him something.
“Wait!”
He pauses, but doesn’t turn toward you.
“That book… did you… like it?” you ask.
It doesn’t seem to be the question he expects, and he nearly turns to look at you again before stopping himself. “Yes,” he replies simply.
“Are you a student?”
He pauses before answering that question. “If I say I am not, will you turn me in? Will you have me driven away?”
There’s a sadness in his questions, a sense that he already anticipates your answer.
“The nature preserve is open to the public. What would I say, that there’s some tall guy sitting by the river reading a book?”
He pauses in surprise, then chuckles; a deep, rumbling sound. “I suppose that is true,” he replies. “But why ask if I enjoy the book? Do… you not?”
You shake your head. “Honestly, I think it’s terrible. I just took the classics class to fill a requirement.”
“A requirement?”
“Yeah, you know, a class to ‘broaden your horizons’ or whatever. I’m a biology major.”
For a long moment, he’s silent, and since you can’t see his face, it’s difficult to know just what he thinks of your words. But finally, he speaks again. “A scientist in training, then?”
“Maybe someday.”
He nods slowly. “Would it be… would you be willing to let me borrow that book when you are finished with it?”
“You want to borrow that? ” You point at the book, still sitting on the ground under the large tree, though he can’t see you pointing.
“I didn’t finish it,” he admits, “and I am curious as to how it ends.”
You shake your head incredulously and go to pick up your book. “I’ll tell you what. We’re finishing it tomorrow. I’ll bring it back here after class. If you really want to read it that badly, you can have it.”
He nearly turns to face you at this news, and you catch another glimpse of his face. Definitely scarred, and not just the lighting. “Thank you,” he says, and you can hear the excitement in his expressive voice.
“Do you… not know what a library is?” you ask, suddenly anxious again. You don’t even know who this stranger is. He’s huge, and who knows where he comes from, and if he doesn’t even know that he can go to a library for books...
“I… am not comfortable entering such places,” he admits. “Surely you’re frightened of me, just standing here and not even having seen my face?”
Oh. Of course someone so obviously... unordinary would be uncomfortable around potential crowds. “Right,” you say after a moment of silence. “I’ll… bring the book tomorrow afternoon.”
“Thank you,” he repeats, quieter this time, and walks deeper into the forest and out of sight.