Checking Out at 5:15 PM Chapter 6: The Gloomy Author and the Black Thunder (Patreon)

(Misaki’s Perspective)

What am I doing?

Misaki scolded herself, staring blankly at the glowing report on her laptop monitor as Motoi excused himself to help with the closing duties.

I need to focus.

But how could she? The space behind her desk was far too cramped for two people, forcing their bodies dangerously close together. Every time she had shifted, her thigh had deliberately brushed against his. The friction of her tight pencil skirt against her legs seemed to amplify the stifling heat radiating between them in the cramped office, and the faint, distinctly masculine scent of his clean cologne was making her head spin.

She bit the inside of her cheek, desperately trying to read the Tokyo publisher's reviews, but she couldn't stop her eyes from wandering.

She had traced the sharp, masculine line of his jaw. She watched the way his round glasses sat perfectly on the bridge of his nose as he focused intensely on the screen. Her gaze had inevitably dipped lower, landing heavily on his slightly unbuttoned collar. The sight of his well-toned collarbones, exposed to the cool, air-conditioned air of the library, had made her throat instantly dry. Her breathing had grown shallow and heavy, her chest rising and falling against the tight fabric of her blazer.

“...Stop looking at me like that, Kacho.”

His low, sudden murmur had vibrated through the quiet space, sending a sharp, electric jolt straight up her spine.

He noticed!

Caught entirely red-handed, a fierce, burning flush erupted across her cheeks. Panic flared in her chest as she forcefully tore her gaze away, staring at her monitor as if her life depended on it.

“Yosh, let’s do it!” she coughed loudly, her voice an octave higher than usual as she desperately tried to hide her embarrassment and regain her authority. “A-Also, shadow me at the meeting tomorrow. It’ll be a good experience for you.”

“Yes.”

His perfectly calm reply only made her blush deepen. As they worked in tandem, the soft, rhythmic clicking of their keyboards filled the silence, but Misaki could barely process a single word she was typing.

Now, fortunately, he had left the office to patrol the floor. Yet, her skin could still feel the vivid, phantom heat of his body pressing against hers, his fresh scent lingering in the air, and the low, teasing timber of his voice echoing in her ears.

“Really... what is wrong with me?” she whispered to the empty room, burying her flushed face in her hands.

(Motoi’s Perspective)

While Misaki was alone in the office, likely wrestling with her own thoughts, I was entirely oblivious. Instead, I was currently facing one of our most famous regular patrons, even if she certainly didn't look the part right now.

“Don’t worry, Sensei. But, the library is about to close, so...”

“R-Right away! I will pack up everything right now!”

The gloomy woman knew she had held me up, and in her sudden panic, she scrambled to her feet. But she moved too fast. I watched the color drain from her face as her knees buckled, her body swaying dangerously toward the heavy wooden table.

“Careful—let me help you.”

I stepped forward smoothly, catching her by the arm before she could collapse and bring a towering stack of reference books down with her. Her arm was incredibly soft beneath the thick wool of her sweater.

“O-Once again, I am so sorry, Motoi-san!” she squeaked, her face turning beet red. She froze, terrified that if she moved too abruptly, she might knock over her half-empty thermos of coffee and force us to clean up a massive disaster.

“It’s completely fine. Don’t worry about it, Sensei,” I said, gently steadying her. “But... have you eaten anything today?”

I couldn’t help but ask. Her body was trembling slightly against my grip, and she looked incredibly pale, clearly suffering from low blood sugar after sitting in that chair since the library doors opened this morning.

“...................”

Before she could form a lie, her stomach answered for her, letting out a surprisingly loud, incredibly cute rumble that echoed in the quiet aisle.

The woman gasped, immediately covering her stomach with both hands as if trying to muffle the sound, looking like she wanted the floor to swallow her whole.

I blinked, fighting back a smile, and reached into my pocket. “It might not be much, but please eat this for now so you can at least make it home safely for dinner.”

“This is...?” She peered down through her thick-rimmed glasses at my hand.

Resting in my palm was a small, black-and-gold wrapper featuring a striking lightning bolt.

Black Thunder.

No, it wasn’t the name of some ultimate anime finishing move. It was just a cheap, widely popular chocolate bar. I always kept one stashed in my uniform pocket. I hadn't eaten dinner yet either, and frankly, I had a massive sweet tooth. But as a grown man and a professional civil servant, it didn't exactly fit my image to be seen nibbling on cute macarons or strawberry crepes. Black Thunder was perfectly rugged, cheap, and loaded with the sugar I desperately needed during long shifts—especially when I was forced to wait for my workaholic boss.

“Do you not like chocolate?” I asked.

“Ah, no, I-I love it, but... is it really okay?” The female patron looked up at me timidly through her messy bangs, her large eyes wondering if it was appropriate for her to take food from a staff member.

“Don’t worry, Sensei. You’ve helped me out plenty of times before, after all.”

I couldn’t help but offer her a gentle smile, remembering exactly who this clumsy, slouching woman was.

Her name was Amami Yui.

For the average person, the name might not ring a bell. But to anyone who actively read modern literature, she was a titan. She was a prodigious, bestselling author who had moved millions of copies before she even hit her twenties. Even now, patrons regularly came to the library specifically asking for her novels, despite the fact that she had been on an indefinite hiatus for the past few years.

No one knew exactly why she stopped publishing. If I had to guess, she was trapped in a brutal writer's block. People thought being an author was a glamorous, easy life—just sitting at a laptop, typing away, and collecting infinite royalty checks. But if it were that easy, most writers wouldn't be working miserable part-time jobs just to survive. If your reputation faded and your books stopped selling, you couldn't eat.

But Yui was a different breed. She was a genuine millionaire, which was why it was so surreal to see her here every day, hiding her face behind long bangs and thick glasses.

It was honestly a shame she tried so hard to hide herself. Yui was a breathtakingly beautiful young woman. And even if it was highly unprofessional for me to notice, her body was completely absurd. Even beneath the oversized, frumpy sweater, her curves were staggering—easily surpassing Misaki's. She was relatively short, making the sheer volume of her chest look even more disproportionate. She was like a slender, fragile branch struggling to support an impossibly heavy harvest.

..................What the hell am I thinking?

I mentally slapped myself, throwing away my totally inappropriate thoughts, and recalled my very first day on the job. I had been struggling to figure out the complex Dewey Decimal shelving system, looking completely lost with a heavy cart of books.

“It’s over there,” a soft voice had murmured.

“Hmm?”

“T-The book... it belongs in that section...”

Yui had practically run away after helping me, thinking she had overstepped her bounds. But instead of getting annoyed, I had simply smiled and thanked her. Since then, an unspoken bond had formed between us. She came to the library every single day, burying herself in the reference section, desperately reading obscure materials to try and spark an idea for her next book. She was far more diligent than I was; I couldn't wait to clock out, while she stayed from open to close.

She even went out of her way to neatly stack books or return them to the proper bins to make my job easier. Giving her a Black Thunder was the absolute least I could do.

“It’s fine, Sensei. I will take care of the rest of the cleanup. Please, go home and rest without worrying.”

“T-Thank you, Motoi-san...”

Yui’s voice was barely a whisper. She lingered for a moment, her wobbly legs finally steadying, watching me expertly clear the table before she finally clutched the chocolate to her chest and shuffled out of the library.

(Yui's Perspective)

Yui didn’t want to go back to her empty home. She knew that even if she sat at her expensive desk and stared at her blank monitor, no words would come.

Even if I stay awake all night, will I ever have a good idea again?

She sighed miserably as she slipped into the driver's seat of her car. The parking lot was dark and quiet. She sat there in the silence, staring down at the Black Thunder wrapper in her hands. It was a simple gift from the kind, handsome librarian who always treated her with such gentle patience.

With trembling fingers, she tore open the packaging and took a small, hesitant bite.

Crunch.

“It’s sweet...” she whispered into the empty car.

As the rich, sugary chocolate melted on her tongue, hot tears suddenly welled up in her eyes, spilling over her lashes and streaming down her cheeks. She hurriedly wiped them away with the back of her sleeve, knowing that crying wouldn't cure her writer's block. Yet, even through the crushing weight of her anxiety, the lingering sweetness in her mouth made her chest feel just a little bit warmer.

(Motoi's Perspective)

I knew absolutely nothing about what Yui was going through in the parking lot. I sincerely hoped she could conquer whatever demons were keeping her from writing, but right now, I had my own terrifying boss-level encounter to survive.

“Shall we go now?”

Standing by the front doors was Misaki. She had put on a sleek, tailored trench coat over her work clothes, the belt cinched tightly around her narrow waist. She looked incredibly sharp, beautiful, and completely ready to drag me into the second round of our night out.

God, give me the power to survive this without doing something stupid.

I prayed internally, hoping I wouldn't end up trapped in another cramped, heavily perfumed space with her tonight. Taking a deep breath, I took my first step toward the doors.

“Lead the way, Kacho.”