Re: [bookshop: ren & elijah]
The surface of Elijah's mind was like dirty water, deep and dark. Things flurried beneath the surface in a brief and frantic scud before drowning and other, slower thoughts lazed slowly on and through. There was little hidden to Elijah. Knew himself. There were only so many hours and so many days and so many weeks, months, years that could pass without knowing. There was nothing locked. No boxes, no cupboards, no drawers. Just water, thick and dingy.
A brief, dragonfly-flit over the surface of vague panic that the man - Ren - would circle out from behind the counter. Wasn't logical. Coffee and counters went together but the boy in the store hadn't been logical. Panic was panic. Nervous system, adrenal glands, white and bitter on his tongue. Elijah sheered backwards and sideways, the motion ugly and stuttering and it was accompanied by the plashing sound of multiple books falling, pages wide.
Then, in quick succession. Shame. Curdling; embarrassment, fear, anger. Elijah in the store bent his knees, reached for the books with sharp, darting movements of his hands, stacking them there, on the floor instead of back on the pile above. Safer. Quicker. Hands went back into his pockets, belonged there. He stood, awkwardly, the weight over his knees unbalanced, his hips twisted back toward the man. "Elijah." Name for a name. Didn't need to hide it. The blue eyes held, briefly on Ren's face and swung right.
"No, no." Waved off help. Didn't need help. Not this second.