Chapter Text
Artwork by magnoliajades
Another quiet day at the Musashi Public Library. Just the way that Kikyo liked it.
Once upon a time, the children’s room had been on the same level as the main part of the library. But the lack of doors, or a separate space for children’s events, had made it difficult for the adult patrons to work. And so a few years ago, the library had raised enough money to add a separate children’s wing, with doors and everything. To keep the children out of the main part of the library, where Kikyo didn’t think they belonged, anyway.
She was the main circulation desk librarian, responsible for books being checked in and out, for putting books away (when there wasn’t a high school student page there to help out), and for keeping the library generally quiet. That wasn’t usually an issue; library patrons kept to themselves, brought headphones if they played music or used the public computers, and there had only been a few occasions where Kikyo had had to politely, but firmly, tell a patron that the public computers were not an appropriate place to be watching pornography.
Tonight, she was in her favorite place: buried in the stacks, with a cart of books, shelving recent returns and looking for books that were misshelved. Library shelves gave Kikyo a bit of peace and order: every book belonged somewhere, and trying to find just the right place, among all the Dewey decimals, was a puzzle she loved trying to solve. She was in the cooking section, where the books were always shoved together, turned this way and that, and even though the job of fixing the bookshelves belonged to the teenage helpers, and to the volunteers, it was a job that Kikyo secretly loved. She loved putting things back where they belonged. She loved creating order out of chaos. She loved…
I’m just a girl with a crush on you.
Kikyo blinked.
Hold up.
Okay, she did not love singing in her library.
Kikyo peeked her head around the corner of the bookshelves, towards the tables. Sitting at the closest table, with her back to Kikyo, was a girl on a laptop, wearing an army green jacket. She had on headphones, but she was also singing. In a squeaky voice. Loudly.
Kikyo’s gentle smile hardened into a firm line. She did not appreciate noise in her library; most of all, she did not allow singing.
She stepped out from behind the stacks, and stalked over to the girl, ready to lecture her for singing in the library—ready to perhaps even ask her to leave, if it came to that.
Kikyo stood behind the girl, her hand lifted, ready to tap her on the shoulder. Her fingers came down, gently, on the girl’s shoulder, and she said “Excuse me,” in an authoritative tone.
The girl froze, and turned slightly in her seat. Kikyo’s breath caught.
She was beautiful.
Her hair was dark, nearly blue in the fluorescent lights of the library, and tumbled down her back and over her shoulders, curling gently at the ends. Her face was adorable, and heart-shaped, with a perfect little nose and dusky rose lips that looked petal-soft.
But above all, more than anything else about her features, Kikyo felt herself immediately drawn to the girl’s eyes : violet, and sparkling, like dark pools of water. They were warm, and inviting, and Kikyo wanted nothing more than to accept the invitation and throttle along, headfirst, into said eyes, and just lose herself in them completely.
Yes. Beautiful.
Kikyo sighed and started to reach out towards her...
“I’m sorry?” The girl spoke, and the moment was broken; Kikyo blinked; her arm fell back to her side. “Can I help you with something?” The girl slipped her headphones around her shoulders.
While her singing voice wasn’t magical, her speaking voice was : a beautiful tone that danced over the words, enunciating them carefully.
Remember. Singing. Remember.
“Actually,” Kikyo said, drawing herself up and clearing her throat, “I wanted to ask if you could please keep it down. We are in a library, after all.”
The girl’s mouth dropped open, and her shining violet ears shimmered with unshed tears. “Oh, gods!” she moaned softly, and Kikyo immediately shivered from the thought of the girl moaning that, moaning her name, underneath her, while Kikyo kissed every inch of her body.
“I’m so sorry!” the girl continued, and Kikyo’s body snapped back to attention. Librarian, she told herself. You are a librarian, and this patron was singing in the library. “I promise,” the girl continued, “I promise not to do it again. I’m really sorry!”
The horror-stricken look on the girl’s face made Kikyo’s heart stop. It was open, and earnest, and sad. And Kikyo’s annoyance—with the girl for singing, with herself for imagining doing all sorts of things with the girl—quickly faded.
“It’s okay,” she said kindly, “just see that it doesn’t happen again.”
The girl nodded, her violet eyes still wide, her breath coming in short, quick bursts that were mirroring the pitter-patter of Kikyo’s heart. The girl’s violet eyes met Kikyo’s gray ones, and Kikyo felt an inexplicable pull towards this girl, who she barely knew, and who already was invading her heart and her mind.
“I’ll try,” the girl said, a small smile playing on her lips. She blinked, and turned back to her laptop, slipping her headphones over her ears again.
Kikyo turned, smiling to herself, and walked back to her cart on the other side of the stacks. She paused for a moment, looking at the girl one more time, and her heart stuttered when she saw the girl’s head bopping along to music that only she could hear—music that, thankfully, she was not signing out loud anymore.
Kikyo heard the mysterious, beautiful girl before she saw her.
Once again, she was in the stacks; this time, she was in the history section, shelving books on World War II, on Ernest Shackleton, and on McCarthyism. She’d been particularly irritated when she found a book on Reaganomics mixed with books on the 2008 recession. How could people be so sloppy? She sighed and put the books back where they belonged.
Then, she heard it:
You've been scared of love and what it did to you
You don't have to run, I know what you've been through
Just a simple touch and it can set you free
We don't have to rush when you're alone with me
The squeaky voice butchering The Weeknd...Kikyo knew that voice all too well.
She was hidden in the far corner by the big art books. Kikyo had to smile to herself; at least the girl was trying to hide the fact that she was a loud and terrible singer. She was seated in one of the big, overstuffed chairs that the reference librarian, Yura, had wanted to toss (“burn them,” was actually what she had said), but that Kikyo had fought to keep. And now, seeing the girl nestled in the chair, in her army green jacket again, her laptop perched on her knees, a stack of books on the table beside her, her headphones on, but still singing...Kikyo couldn’t help but softly smile at the image.
But, she was a librarian first. So…
“Excuse me.” Kikyo tried not to sound too authoritative, and she winced a little at the harshness in her tone, but she needed the girl to hear her.
The girl’s eyes snapped up from her laptop to meet Kikyo’s, and again Kikyo was startled by the deep violet color. This time, she saw that there were swirls of blue and gold: impossibly beautiful. Kikyo saw the girl’s face light up in remembrance at the sight of Kikyo, and then her face immediately fell. She slipped her headphones off her ears and rested them around her neck.
“I—I was singing again?” It wasn’t really a question, even though that was how she asked it.
Kikyo nodded. “You were.”
The girl buried her face in her hands. “I’m so sorry,” she moaned softly. “I guess I just can’t help it. I’m always singing at home, and it’s like when a good song comes on, I can’t help myself.”
Kikyo smiled in spite of herself. “Unfortunately, you can’t sing in the library.”
“I know,” the girl sighed cutely. “I promise, next time? I’ll be good, and quiet.”
“Maybe...no music?” Kikyo suggested kindly.
The girl’s face was horrified. “If you had to read all of Charles Dickens as part of your reading list for your exams,” she said, “you would want to listen to all of the music that you could, and make it happy, pop music, so you could forget that Miss Havisham is only forty in Great Expectations.”
Kikyo laughed. “Yes, she is,” she replied. She opened her mouth to say something more, but she saw Yura, the reference librarian, standing at the end of the stacks, glaring at her, her arms crossed over her ample bosom. She turned to look back at the girl, who was now gazing up at her with interest.
“Just make sure you keep the music—and your voice—down,” Kikyo said, and she gave the girl a soft wave as she walked over to join Yura.
“Kikyo,” Yura hissed when Kikyo joined her at the end of the row of books, “that girl is super annoying! Did you hear her singing? It’s terrible!”
Kikyo shrugged. “So long as she doesn’t do it anymore,” she replied, “does that really matter?”
Yura frowned. “I would prefer that the library not be sullied by such harsh tones,” she retorted.
And I would prefer that the library not be sullied by YOUR harsh tones, Kikyo thought huffily, but she said nothing, and allowed Yura to lead her down the hall for a staff meeting, her thoughts full of a certain young woman in a army green jacket, who had luminous violet eyes and a terrible singing voice.
Days passed, and the library was quiet. Every day, Kikyo watched (and listened) for the young woman’s reappearance at the library, but every day, the library was silent. Kikyo continued to do her job: checking out books for patrons, shelving recently returned books, cataloging, and doing other things that circulation librarians are supposed to do. But it felt a little bit like the life, the vibrancy, had gone out of the library, without her there. Even though she’d only seen the girl twice, Kikyo...missed her.
She missed her thick shock of beautiful dark hair; she missed her shining violet eyes; she missed her pearlescent skin. She even missed the girl’s squeaky singing voice. Kikyo just missed all of her.
So imagine her surprise when she walked through the reference section a few days later to bring Yura the reference books that had been left behind at the circulation desk, when she saw her. The girl.
She was sitting at one of the cubicles, her hair tied up in a topknot, pieces spilling out all down her neck. She wore an emerald green sweater, and once again, she had a stack of books beside her laptop, and was weaning her headphones, her head bopping along to some unknown tune. Kikyo couldn’t help but smile at seeing her there, and for one brief, shining, second, thought about going to say hello, but Yura called out to her softly, and Kikyo had to turn away from the girl, and bring Yura the reference books she was carrying (plus see whatever other nonsense Yura was up to).
Everyday after that, Kikyo managed to find a reason to go over to the reference section, and there she would find the girl, hidden away in a cubicle, working diligently on whatever it was she was working on. It was cute; endearing, even, and it made Kikyo’s heart race to see such a beautiful girl working so hard. And, it was funny: now that the girl wasn’t singing anymore, Kikyo really wanted to know: what was she listening to? What music made the girl’s entire body move so rhythmically, so sensually, even while she was sitting down?
Kikyo wished she had the nerve to go over to the girl, and just naturally strike up a conversation. Find out what she was listening to. Ask if maybe they could get together sometime, to talk about music (not that Kikyo knew much, but...she would like to listen).
As these thoughts floated in and out of Kikyo’s mind, she heard a sound that made her heart freeze. A squeaky sound. A loud, squeaky, singing sound.
A moment of terror gripped her. Kikyo knew who it was. And knew that, if Yura got to the girl first, Yura was going to throw her out.
So, Kikyo leapt from her seat at the circulation desk, and ran.
She ran past the mothers and children, coming to check out their books.
She ran past the elderly gentleman reading that day’s newspaper.
She ran past the high school student volunteer, who was shelving books in the stacks.
She saw Yura, getting up from her desk, a look of irritation on her face, and Kikyo ran even faster.
She stopped behind the girl’s cubicle, at the same time as Yura, who frowned when she saw Kikyo’s flushed face and wide-eyed, eager expression.
“Gods, Kikyo,” Yura muttered, “obvious much?”
Kikyo ignored Yura, took a deep breath, and walked slowly over to the girl, who was once again singing, loudly, and badly:
Cause I never knew, I never knew
You could hold moonlight in your hands
'Til the night I held you
You are my moonlight
Ariana Grande. Kikyo’s heart caught in her throat. She loved Ariana Grande.
But, as much as she wanted to hear the girl keep singing “Moonlight” (terribly), she had to do her job.
“Excuse me,” Kikyo said gently, tapping the girl on the shoulder. She turned around, opened her beautiful violet eyes wide at the sight of Kikyo standing behind her.
Artwork by magnoliajades
“Hi,” the girl breathed, pulling down her headphones and looking up at Kikyo. She blinked when Kikyo frowned gently, and her face fell. “I was singing again, wasn’t I?” she asked softly. Kikyo nodded. “Okay,” she said, “I’m so sorry. I will be quiet, okay?”
The way that her face fell—the sadness in her eyes—made Kikyo’s heart hurt. “It’s fine,” she said, as warmly as she possibly could. “Just so long as you’re quiet the rest of the night, it’s okay.”
The girl looked up at Kikyo, her eyes shining again like amethysts. “O—Okay,” she breathed. Kikyo offered her an encouraging smile again, and then walked back to the circulation desk again. She stepped back behind the desk, and looked back towards the reference area, her eyes carefully trained on the cubicles where the girl was sitting. She sank back onto her stool, in front of the computer, but her breaths coming in short, quick gasps.
Every time she saw her—everytime she heard her—Kikyo felt a quickening of her heart. She knew, now, more than ever, that she was attracted to this girl. She had to know this girl’s name. She had to know all about her: what was she studying? What kind of music did she listen to? What was her favorite movie? Her favorite meal? Could Kikyo maybe take her out for her favorite meal?
She sighed, and shook her head, and turned back to her computer, trying like crazy to distract herself from the beautiful girl, working away in the reference room.
The rest of the evening passed quietly; Kikyo didn’t hear any more noise from the reference room, and even Yura was properly quiet. Kikyo finished her cataloguing work, checked out books for patrons, and organized the returned books on the cart for the volunteer to come and get them for shelving. At fifteen minutes to nine, Kikyo went around and began to prepare the library for closing; Yura made the announcement that the library was closing, and then Kikyo went back to the circulation desk, to check out the last few patrons, and then to shut down her computer for the night.
A flash of green caught her eye, and Kikyo looked up, to see the girl coming towards the circulation desk. Her breath caught, and she paused. Could she ?
The girl pushed a stack of books onto the desk, and smiled shyly. “I thought that maybe I could leave these here?” she asked. “I...the reference librarian doesn’t seem to like me.” Her face turned rueful.
“Of course!” Kikyo’s voice was louder than she intended, and she instantly flinched a little at the sound. “I’m happy to take them.” She reached out to take the books; her fingers brushed up against the girl’s, and she blushed. They both froze, and then the girl broke the silence first.
“Well,” the girl said, “I’ll see you again, huh?” She withdrew her fingers and turned to leave.
What are you doing, Kikyo? Stall her!
“Wait!” Kikyo croaked out, and the girl turned back to her. “What—what were you listening to tonight?” she asked lamely.
The girl’s face broke out into a giant smile. “You heard the Ariana Grande,” she said, and Kikyo nodded. “Britney just now,” she added. “I love her… her music makes me focus.”
Kikyo smiled. “Really?”
“Really.” The girl’s smile was brilliant. “Do—do you want to listen?”
They—they would be so close together. And they would…
The girl leaned over the desk, and Kikyo’s eyes were drawn forward, down from the girl’s eyes: down her nose, her (kissable) lips, over the hollow of her throat, and coming to a rest at the soft swell of her decolletage in her low-cut shirt she wore under her jacket. The girl had an earbud in her hand. “Ready?” she whispered. Kikyo nodded, and took the earbuds between her fingers, against brushing the tips against the girl’s own fingers. She placed the earbud in her ear; the girl did the same, and then pressed play on her phone, and Britney’s sultry voice came through the earbud.
I used to think
I had the answers to everything
But now I know
That life doesn't always
Go my way, yeah
Together, they listened, captive to Britney, through the entire song. When it was over, Kikyo reluctantly took the earbud out of her ear, and handed it back to the girl. “Thanks,” she said softly, shyly. “I always did like that song.”
The girl grinned. “Me, too,” she replied. They stood for a moment, staring at each other, Kikyo’s eyes wide. She was barely breathing.
“Well,” the girl said, “I guess I’ll see you around?”
“What—what’s your name?” Kikyo burst out, then immediately blushed. “Your name,” she said again, more softly this time. “What’s your name?”
A brilliant smile crossed the girl’s face. “Kagome,” she replied. “I’m Kagome Higurashi.”
“Kikyo,” Kikyo said. “I’m Kikyo Saitama.”
The girl—Kagome—leaned forward on the circulation desk; Kikyo’s eyes were once again drawn to her breasts, but only for a moment, as Kagome’s gripped her and drew her gaze back up. Had Kikyo ever been drawn to someone like she was drawn to Kagome?
“Well,” Kagome said in a breathy voice, “it’s nice to meet you, Kikyo Saitama.”