Chapter Text
Dear reader,
First of all, thank you for coming across the AO3 website and landing on this story. I hope it finds a way to seduce you and take you on a journey through time and space, from your eyes to the bottom of my heart.
This story is a gift from me to a friend I fell deeply in love with some time ago. They unwittingly found a way to make me happy every day and I never really managed to confess to them despite the time we spent together.
I loved them and still love them unconditionally, and instead of letting that sparkling feeling of happiness fade away deep into my heart, I decided to convey it in the thing I believe I do best: writing.
I hope you'll be able to connect with the way Gavin and Nines love and admire each other even without ever showing any obvious signs of love. I wanted to find a way to convey how strongly they care about their loved one in a simple, light-hearted way, while maintaining the depth and complexity of that feeling.
Writers are crazy. Artists in general have a spark of madness that makes them unique and magnificent. I am crazy as well, mainly crazy in love, with everything and everyone.
Especially those who are able to make me feel alive.
Keep your loved ones Close to Your Heart.
一 Cha.
CHAPTER 1 : From London To Paris : Poésie Circulaire
The rain poured down violently last night. In the three years Gavin has been here, he has never had to fix the roof of his bookshop on a Thursday night at 2am. He didn't really have a choice, he couldn't waste all those paper manuscripts ーsome were first editions or single copies. Nevertheless, the next morning, the planks were soaked in a moisture of paper, ink and rainwater.
Reed sighed as he witnessed the damage; it was going to be a long day.
He remembered the day he opened the bookshop, when a journalist had offered him the chance to be the official salesman for some of the best-known writers. Gavin's bookshop was in the centre of Paris, a perfect place to gather regular customers as well as new ones of all ages. One of his favourite regular clients and readers was a young girl in a wheelchair. She came to read Emily Bronte's novels. Her name was Rose. Although she couldn't read English, Gavin had to find her a translated version of the novels. The first time she came to ask for one, Gavin struggled to find an English-French translator who could send him a copy from England. Fortunately, he had contacts, and the fact that he was half French helped him deal with both sides in more complicated situations.
"Mr. Reed?" Rose called from the door she had pushed open.
From the ladder he stood on, Reed turned in her direction, putting away the last of the books on the top shelf of the bookcase, "oh, Rose! I'm so glad to see you, hello, my dear."
"The pleasure is mutual, Mr. Reed, I came to ask about my new book, has it arrived yet?"
Rose was such a wonderful girl, 13 years old and very bright, she loved learning about the imaginary world of literature.
"Indeed! Let me pick it out!", Gavin headed to the back of his library as Rose rolled her wheelchair down the main aisle, looking at the titles on the shelves, "I left it all wrapped up to let you have the pleasure of owning a freshly opened book!". Gavin shouted from a distance before returning with the item in his hands.
"Here it is, The Picture of Dorian Gray by Alan Edgar Poe, French version."
"Your translators are wonderful, Mr. Reed, thank you very much."
"I'm glad to hear it," he smiled, " Have a nice day, Rose."
"You too, Mr. Reed!"
Gavin held the door open for Rose and she waved him in after thanking him. They were such beautiful days to start out that way.
Although the week ended in a very usual way for Gavin, this Friday morning was different. Sure, he had to replace a few manuscripts because of the rain, but... that young man in the black hat who was watching the store from the street was not a familiar face to Gavin and was not dressed like a Frenchman. Everything was black on him, the shoes, the hat, the coat... even his shirt. The only difference was the white scarf and that pale skin.
He admired the architecture of the store for a few minutes under Gavin's watchful eyes, noting on a piece of paper the number of books he had to replace. He didn't decide to finally enter until shortly before the bell rang eleven.
"Bonjour, monsieur," Gavin greeted him in French, "Puis-je vous aider ?"
The man looked at Gavin with his cold blue eyes before leading it back into the large room filled with books of all kinds, "actually, yes, do you know any English?". He replied in very uncommon French, a French that Gavin only heard from the English.
"Absolutely, I'm probably the only bookseller in Paris who is English."
" Great, nice to meet you, my name is Richard Stern and I'm a writer."
"What is an English writer doing here in France?" asked Gavin promptly.
"I could ask the same thing of an Englishman living in Paris," retorted Richard, "besides I'm not English but American."
Gavin sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, "An American? Here? Gee, I never thought that would happen."
The tall young man sighed, removing his hat, "well... It's a long story."
"Not so surprising from a writer." Reed smiled.
He held out his hand for a handshake, and the American grasped it, "Gavin Reed, I am the owner as you may already know, Mr. Stern. How can I help you?"
"It's really a long storyー can I ask for a seat?"
"Sure, I even have coffee, would you like a cup?" Gavin motioned for him to follow.
"Gladly."
Gavin was a friendly man. Or at least that was what Richard thought he was. Reed could be the most awful asshole he'd ever met, it wouldn't have shown. Indeed, the man was a specimen, very bold and provocative but what could Richard say, he was the first Frenchman he'd met who was also English, travel was well known to Gavin and it was something he bragged about to him.
Speaking of travel, Richard hadn't taken the boat from New York to Paris for nothing. In fact, he had been to most of the great places in the world in recent years. Now, in the spring of 1904, he chose Paris as his final destination. He did not want to discover more. He thought he had gathered enough knowledge and imagination to build his story.
"What is it about? You don't write a book without at least planning the narrative, I know that well enough." Gavin swallowed his third cup of coffee.
"They're all poems about people and places I've been lucky enough to meet and see with my own eyes."
"Oh, a book of poetry? It's not something people are very fond of these days, I mean... after the last war thirty years ago, it's a bit... old."
"Are you criticising art?" Richard frowned.
"No! No, I would never, it's just that sometimes art isー " He stopped in the middle of his sentence when Richard's blue eyes pierced him, "well... forget it. What exactly do you want from me? I'm a busy man, I have a shop to run. "
"I know," the other circled his cup with a finger, "I just need help finalising my book and then selling it. I assumed that since France is a literary country, a bookseller might know the best way to do it."
It's Gavin's turn to frown: "You're not wrong, but I think you need an expert for that. A writer even."
"Aren't you?"
"A writer? No, no I'm not, I was a car seller, I couldn't be a writer."
"I meant an expert." Richard shook his head.
"Oh... well... Yes, perhaps, I have some knowledge. But am I really a good choice? I mean... how many people have you asked before me?"
"Only you."
"You should go and ask other booksellers, they might be more knowledgeable than me." Gavin brushed his hair with one hand.
"But what would be the point? I..." Richard hesitated for a second, "I have a good feeling about you. You're suited for this task."
Gavin wrinkled his nose, thinkink, before he cut him off, "how much?"
"How much?" Repeated the other, frowning.
"Money. I'll get paid to help you, right? I don't have time to waste, so I better get paid if I'm going to help with something that's going to steal it."
Reed stood up, walking around the small room at the back of the bookstore, under the curious gaze of the young man.
"Sure, I can pay you, that's not what I miss, but only when we're done with this."
"Are you trying to trick me?" Gavin stopped walking.
"No. I'm an honest man," Stern assured, "I'm just trying to write the perfect book."
"Not one book is perfect, Mr. Stern." Gavin gritted his teeth.
"If you say so, but it can be if the author believes so."
Gavin remained silent, listening to the ticking of the clock above the oil lamp. This journey could be hazardous, there was no guarantee that he wasn't wasting his time with Richard, but the man was right, he also had a good feeling about him nonetheless.
After all, why not? Maybe it could be a change from the routine and have the opportunity to work with a writer in something more than a business relationship.
"What can prove to me that you are a good man?"
"Nothing but yourself. So, deal?" Richard held out his hand.
Reed looked at it and then back at him, grimacing but not reluctant to the proposal.
"Maybe... yeah." Gavin grasped it, "business is business after all."
"Business with you doesn't seem like an easy matter." The taller man smiled kindly, "well, since you don't have time to waste, we'll start tomorrow. I'll come and see you at the same time as today."
"Eleven hours before the bell rings?" Gavin returned the smile.
"Absolutely."
What a strange situation Gavin got himself into. But Richard was nice. Polite, sure, but very nice. Gavin may have doubted him, but deep down he knew he was honest. Richard had this manner and way of speaking that made him seem like the kind of guy you want to be friends with.
The first morning they spent together, Gavin looked forward to it. And his excitement was more than reciprocated when Stern pushed open the bookshop door at exactly 10:59. The little bell above the door rang and Gavin looked up from the book he was reading in his chair. Looking over his glasses, he smiled slightly, "Welcome, Mr. Stern," he said in his French-accented English.
"Good morning, Mr. Reed," greeted the other as he placed his hat on the coat rack. "Are you still interested in my offer?"
"You think I've changed my mind?" Gavin closed his book soundingly, sliding it onto the small table next to a stack of dozens of other books, all different sizes and colours.
"I can expect anything from the French." Richard chuckled.
"How funny," Gavin chuckled, "I like you, Stern, you're such an atypical person."
"I'm not a freak." He gritted his teeth.
"I didn't say that. Take off your jacket, we're going to sit around a table." As Gavin invited him in, the bell tower of Paris echoed in the distance; it was 11 o'clock, right on time.
"Are you always this punctual?"
"I like to be, indeed." He sat down in the chair Gavin motioned him to take.
This table was round, in the middle of the bookshop, behind the big window. Just like the first time he'd set foot there, Richard realised that there were books absolutely everywhere: on the carpet, the tables, the chairs, the overcrowded shelves, the stairs... It was fascinating to see how many of them were stored in this place. The atmosphere was filled with the smell of paper and printed ink.
"Reassure me," Gavin crossed his arms over his shirt, "you can speak French, right?"
"Of course I can, but only a little. I need to practise."
"Hm, okay. At least you can find yourself in Paris if you haven't already gotten lost without knowing a word of French."
"That's almost insulting."
"I know," Reed grinned as he straightened a stack of books beside him, "so what's our deal again? You didn't give me many details."
"That's easy, I just need some advice on how to get my book perfectly structured. And since I'm in Paris, I'd like to have... a guide that could help me find inspiration to write about this beautiful city. "
Gavin took off his glasses, frowning, "You want me to be that guy, right?"
"Only if you want to, Mr Reed."
"Gavin. Call me Gavin, if we're about to collaborate together, I prefer some familiarity."
Already? Jesus, this man was also an atypical.
"Well... I guess you're right. You can call me Richard."
They exchanged a friendly smile and Gavin put his glasses back on. The connection was going a little too well, but neither Gavin nor Richard was complaining. It was good to have a good feeling with your new partner if you were going to be working together for the next few months.
Nothing really happened this morning, a customer came in around noon while he and Richard were exchanging pleasantries. The man asked for one of Zola's books, La Bête Humaine. He had a strong Austrian accent, when Gavin asked his name, he said he was Sigmund Freud, who was apparently travelling around Europe to gather qualified doctors in Paris. A strange character, but brilliant. At least that's what Gavin thought as he spoke to him.
"What are you planning to do in Paris today? It's a beautiful day, perfect weather for a walk around the city一 oh! How about Le Champs de Mars?" Gavin suggested to Richard who opened a book while Reed took care of the customer.
The blue-eyed man looked up from his reading for a second, then turned a page, again to read the lines of a book whose title Gavin could read: Les Misérables, a book he hated in his giant book collection. Honestly, Gavin still didn't understand how people could be so interested in this story... Anyway, it didn't really matter.
Richard replied without losing the thread of his reading, "why not, it might give me some inspiration to start. "
"Hm, tell me, you said you understood French, right?".
"Quite well, yes. But I'm better at reading and writing than speaking," he turned a new page, "and you?"
"What do you mean, I'm half French, I speak it perfectly." Gavin crossed his arms.
"I know," he stared at Gavin with a smile, "but how can you be perfectly bilingual like that?".
"You don't need to know my life, we don't even know each other."
"I'm trying to fix that, but you're not exactly cooperative, Mr. Reed." Stern stood up as he handed Gavin the book, crossing the room to grab his coat hanging on the coat rack, then his hat.
"Where are you going?" Gavin frowned, tossing the book into the corner of the room. This man doesn't even care a bit about his merchandise , Richard thought, or maybe he just hates this one.
"We're going for a walk, aren't we?"
We? Well...
"N-Now? But it's nearly noon..." Gavin scratched his beard.
"We can have lunch walking, there must be benches in Paris. And we don't have time to waste, you're the one who said you were a busy man."
"Richard..."
"Come on, hurry up! I'm hungry for food and inspiration!"
Reed sighed, "Ah... these writers, I swear to God... all the same."
"London? Ah, I was there, a couple of weeks ago, I found myself in the middle of a violent Suffragette demonstration."
"Oh, I've heard of that movement, I think women should have the vote, it would be fair, but all that violence over it... I don't like it." Gavin sighed, eating his last piece of bread.
"There's not much we can do here, but it was such a sight, it made me want to write poems about British women." Richard nodded to himself, a satisfied smile curving his lips.
In front of them, Le Champs de Mars was full of people picnicking in the midday sun, girls chatting together, children chasing a dog, men walking... and above them, the EIffel Tower, rising to the sky.
Gavin was looking up at it when he asked Richard, "Can I see your work?"
Stern suddenly turned his head towards him, "See... my work?"
"If we are to be partners, it would be useful for me to see what you have written before to get an idea of how to proceed."
They were silent for a while, listening to the conversations of the people around them, Gavin was swinging his legs in a childish way, waiting for a response.
When viewed from a distance they looked like a strange duo, Richard was all in black, except for the white scarf. Gavin, on the other hand, was wearing camel trousers with a cream shirt, barely ironed, it wasn't even buttoned up to the collar, it was finished with braces the same colour as his trousers. His dishevelled hair made him look more like a street kid than a bookseller. But he had his glasses over his head, so that counted.
"If you see my work, you'll base it on what I've done before, but I need a fresh mind and something new for each place I write about." Stern explained.
"Does that mean I have to find a way to make Paris unique and special in your writing?"
"That's the idea, yes."
Reed stood up, stretched, and looked at the sky. Richard followed his every move until the man winked at him, "Then I will make your Paris unforgettable."