He liked it in here. It was quiet, and so far, no-one had tried anything. And no-one had yelled when he snuck a book off the shelf (a children's one, easy to try and read from).

He'd found a corner still near the children's section, out of the way, hidden, but not well enough to escape notice, not really.

"Excuse me, sir, I need to close up for the night. I can check that out for you, if you'd like?"

He hunches in on himself immediately, he knows he's not supposed to-

"M'sorry, ma'am," he manages, holding the book out to her. (He's shaking, and he can feel his control about to snap, and there's flames starting to flicker around his other hand, he tucks it closer to his chest, trying to hide it and stop it.)

The lights are already dimmed, and the flames are too obvious to miss; she takes a step back, but stays calm. "Are you all right, sir?"

"M'sorry," he repeats. "Can- can stop it."

(Contrary to his words, the flames on his hand flares, and he flinches, not quite away from it.)

- yeah. And, living's hard everywhere, but he's a little too scrawny. Somebody's runaway apprentice? Runaway trying to avoid being picked up for an apprentice? She doesn't know, and she suspects she's not going to find out, but in any case he can't stay; it's not safe for anyone, least of all him.

"It's all right," she reassures. "I do need to close up, but how about you wait out front and I'll bring you a sandwich? It won't take long."

He scrambles to his feet, keeping himself hunched over and small, and practically cowering away from her.

"I. Yes ma'am, m'sorry," he's definitely used to obeying anything even remotely phrased as an order. He stumbles slightly as he hurries out of the library, pausing long enough to put the book on the front counter on his way past.

- well, that's concerning.

She works her way through the nightly paperwork, setting the parts that can be left until morning aside, and then shifts a few boxes to unbury the long-range two-way radio that's sat unused in the corner of the office since she was hired. Instructions for how to use it are taped to the side, and she quickly has it working.

"Hello?"

"Hello, this is Marisel, the librarian? I was told to contact you if there was an emergency."

"Yes; what's the matter?"

"There's a young man here who, ah - caught fire, when I asked him to leave so I could close up. He hasn't threatened anyone, but he didn't seem to be able to stop, either."

"Ah. Yes, I'll head right out. Are you in any danger now?"

She peeks out the front window to check on him.

He's curled up on the steps, rocking slightly, arms slightly on fire, but held carefully such that there's no risk of anything possibly flammable catching. He manages to look a little more pathetic than dangerous.

"I think I'll be fine."

"Good. I'll be there in a few hours." The line goes dead.

She calls the chief of police, to let him know to warn everyone that the Sith is on her way and the library should be avoided, and then makes a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and takes the book from the counter and one from her to-read pile out front with her. "Hey," she says, softly, as she edges through the door, and then "here you go," as she offers him the sandwich.

He flinches away from her anyway, and then stares at the sandwich in complete confusion (he hadn't believed she was intending to make him one). "I-?" he starts, the flames on one hand dying down, fingers twitching towards the sandwich.

"There you go, it's all right." She crouches down to press the sandwich into his hand, then retreats back to the other side of the steps to sit. "Been a while?"

He watches her go warily (wonders what she wants for this), before wolfing the sandwich down. "Thank you, ma'am," he says.

He nods hesitantly in answer to her question. (Before he ran certainly.)

"Do you want some more?"

He looks away, shakes his head. "No, ma'am, m'fine," he is so obviously lying about that. He wants more, he's still starving, but... He shouldn't ask for more.

Hm.

She goes back in, leaving the books behind, and a few minutes later returns with bread and peanut butter and jam.

"So, how did you end up out here?" she asks, spreading peanut butter on a slice of bread.

He hasn't moved, and continues to watch her cautiously out of the corner of his eyes.

He shrugs, doesn't really want to answer that. (He doesn't want to be sent back.) "M- not sure?" That's not a lie, not really, not about how he ended up here precisely.