Book boy [DNF]

[1] "Harry Potter is overatted"

George walks through the rows and rows of bookshelf's, staring down at him with their musky, warn scents of children whom had picked them out of their places and basked in their stories.

A hard, red book with illegible images and large golden words is pressed onto his chest, as he pushes the bridge of his glasses up his nose so they don't fall off his face.

He blinks, his long eyelashes making contact with his rose tinted cheeks and he looks up, stopping before a large shelf, with a small, rather noticeable jab where another book should rest.

Standing on his toes, he pushes the book into it's fold and he brushes his finger on the cover before tearing his hand away, a small smile finding it's way onto his face.

Harry Potter. The story never got old.

George loved the series dearly, and he would hold it towards his chest for all eternity because his love for it was too strong.

He had never resonated with characters much like the ones in Harry Potter, and he was thankful for them, because without their courage and brave grins, he would have never found his way through life.

You could call him a nerd, a dork, a child, or perhaps even a geek and he had heard it all before, but it didn't matter, because the opinions of those folks who judged his favourite book series held no meaning, and so he didn't care.

He loved this place too much, the library. He had been to every corner of it and yet it still held surprises that warmed his heart.

He had the amazing opportunity to work here, and the first time he heard of the job from his friend Wilbur, he took it without a second thought.

Because the library was sort of a second home to him, one that was large and quiet and filled with his favourite things in the whole world, stories that were timeless to anyone who read them and still held up to this very day.

George pushed his brunette locks out of his eyes and lifted his head as the sound of shuffling reached his ears.

Taking a step back, he peered through the gab between two bookshelves and saw a rather tall man standing there, with a book in his hands, his emerald green eyes trailing across the cover with a smile resting on his face.

George bit his bottom lip at the sight of him and became paralysed. Dirty blond hair, with a dark, pickle green hood covering it, beautiful emerald green eyes, sun-kissed skin with very evident freckles spaced out on his face like stars in the nights sky, ripped jeans, green converses, his jacket and a rope necklace with a small silver rectangle hanging from it.

It was Dream. The Dream.

The Dream from the band 'The Diamonds' that George listened to everyday and the band that were currently on tour and the people he was saving up to go see.

He bit his tongue really hard and blinked for what felt like a dozen times. But he was still there, living, breathing, like a normal human being- He wasn't dreaming. This was actually happening. The Dream was right there.

He stood quietly, trying to get himself to move, trying to stop himself from staring but he just couldn't- He was right there. His idol was right there.

Chill out George, he's just a human being, just like you and everyone else in the world.

George knew, he knew it well enough, but he and the rest of his band were people that have helped George so much through his life, had made his darker days brighter, a shinning layer of hope that he clung onto and went back to almost everyday for comfort.