For a while, he didn't blink or move or give any indication that he was not, in fact, a statue built on-site at the library. His eyes held the only obvious sign of life- some burning intensity, telling of a great passion for the story before him. And then- a flash of movement. Just for a moment. Turning the page as fast as possible to devour the last few vestiges of the novel.
Were there other people around him? Had the sun gone down yet? Had he even been at dinner that day? These were all good questions, and questions which he was far too preoccupied to consider.
He had a problem. This book- this series- was super good. Like, donut good, you know? If someone could translate the sugary wonder and overall delight of a donut into a book, this would be it. But now he was on the last chapter, and things were not looking good. At all.
His eyes grew impossibly wider as they travelled further down the page. Angelina was...
What? No! That didn't make any sense!
Tears, literal actual tears, filled his eyes as Angelina stabbed her best friends, her new family, right in the back. It came out of nowhere, but it also made sense- a terrible, foreboding kind of sense. No. Nope. He could not handle this right now. He leaned down to wipe his eyes on his arm and ended up collapsing in a very small, shuddering heap.