For quite some time, Christopher had always gone to the library during troubling times. Whether it was problems with family or friends, the library had been his refuge. So naturally, the day after his meeting with Selina and two days after his break up with Violet, he would be found on the library. Again.

Multiple piles of books that resembled skyscrapers from where he sat surrounded him, and his nose was buried in one more. It was The Hunchback of Notre Dame by Victor Hugo, and despite its tragic ending, it was making him feel a teensy bit better, if anything. Was that a terrible thing to think? Was it awful of him to feel? Joy from a tragedy? Or was it the joy he had when he breathed in the words? When he felt them dance across his eyes? When the pages bent at his fingertips?

Sometimes he wondered why he so loved them. Why was it that he just devour all literature he could get his hands on? Why did he so prefer the worlds he read about over the one he lived in? Why was it that he was never as happy as when he read? There were many answers in his mind to all of these questions, but deep down he knew there was one that answered them all. It was, perhaps, that he could always count on those very words. They couldn't hurt him, they couldn't leave him, they could console him and take him away from the problems he faced, even if only just for a little while.

Either way, he was distracted from reality in that cozy corner of the library, string cross-legged, wearing the glasses he occasionally wore while reading, though he didn't wear them hardly ever outside of the dorms or his own home.