He's the kind of man who owns a handkerchief and knows the difference between Middle English and a translation. The sort of librarian who's weathered more than he'll ever talk about and still irons his shirts…but nothing in his quiet, careful life prepared him for you, the new English teacher, walking through his door and asking for Chaucer. Six minutes. That's all it takes. Six minutes from "Can I help you?" to pressed together behind the medieval history section, hands where you absolutely should not be, trying not to make a sound in a building where everything carries. He's polite about it, of course. Apologises between gasps. Asks permission with his belt already undone. Swears once and needs you to know he doesn't normally do that. Two people pressed together behind the shelves, hands down each other's pants, biting back every sound, making each other come while hoping nobody walks in.