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With the semester break coming up on Friday, you’ve found yourself swamped in two of the worst things this world has to offer: finals, and cataloging each and every individual book that the campus library has in its possession. The former is mostly manageable, your falling grade in your science class is the only thing that really worries you, but it would be false to propose that your other upcoming tests aren’t heavy on your mind. The latter isn’t as easy as you had thought it would be; from texts about cellular respiration to thorough readings about Asia in the 1950’s, the library has thousands of books, though you feel it might be millions as you spend your time scanning each bar code and checking off the title on a long sheet that you’re not even halfway through.
Going against your better judgement, you decided to stay past your regular hours in hopes of getting as far through the list of books as possible. The clock is nearly at two in the morning and there hasn’t been a soul in the library since twelve - at least, not one that you’ve heard. Surrounded by multiple empty cups of coffee and looking more frazzled than you’d be willing to admit, you’re thankful for the lack of company; having to interact in such a state where your hands are jitterier than hell and your eyes are barely able to focus would be as terrible as it would be embarrassing.
You sigh and close your eyes, ignoring the tears that prick at the corners. Blinking and refocusing on the pen in your hand and the paper in your lap, you decide it might be best to close up and leave before you fall asleep at the desk. It’s only Monday and you’re maybe a sixth of the way through the entirety of the list, but you can’t rely on your eyes to actually believe that to be true or not. You pray that it is; tomorrow will be entirely dedicated to studying for finals and you will only really have a few precious hours to spend at the library. At times, you wonder if this part-time job is even worthwhile, but then you’re reminded of loans and decide that $7.00 an hour is definitely worth it.
Shoving all of the empty cups into the garbage and groaning as half of them fall to the floor, you eventually get out from behind the circular desk and head towards the doors with a tired kind of excitement. Never has your bed, as uncomfortable and squeaky as it is, called to you as fondly as it does now. You’re practically falling asleep whilst thinking about the embrace of your pillow, but then you pass one of the last bookshelves and catch something out of the corner of your eye. Whipping around, you turn too harshly and end up making yourself dizzy, but you focus on what appears to be a wall of books carefully set up in the design of a castle on one of the farthest tables. You’re tempted to just leave it alone and let the actual librarian take care of it when she comes in the morning, but the initial temptation leaves you and you set down your coat.
Though they’re hard to read, titles about plants and botany jump out to you. You groan; that section is upstairs, why in the hell would anyone go through the trouble of taking so many books and bringing them to the first floor? Sighing, you approach the end of the table and prepare yourself to gather as many of the books in your arms as you can manage, only pausing when brown hair appears over the edge of the wall. Surprised, you take a quick jump backwards before a distinct and quiet snore meets your ears. Frowning, you take a step closer and find a sight not uncommon at a college library: the stressed out and deliriously tired student inelegantly passed out among the material they’re attempting to study.
You poke the individual’s hand a total of six times before they stop snoring and abruptly lift their head up, eyes staring blankly at the row of books in front of them before coming up to meet yours. Looking just as exhausted as you must, they mumble, “Sorry, what?” and rub at their eyes, a perpetual frown painted on their lips.
“It’s two in the morning,” you say, making no comment on the drool that had collected on the stranger’s sweatshirt. Despite the somewhat disheveled appearance, you can’t help but notice that she really is quite pretty, and you can’t help but feel that you’ve talked to her before. Possibly outside of the library, but you’re certain the two of you have at least exchanged greetings. What was her name? “The library closes at twelve,” you absently mention; not that it really matters. You were the one who had made no attempt to lock the doors at the appropriate time and neglected to alert anyone who may be present that it was time to leave.
You watch as she stands from her spot, lazily grasping at the organized books and carefully taking down the wall that had been built. “I’m terribly sorry,” she says, quickly glancing at you and smiling politely before her eyes travel back down to what’s in her hands. You follow, reading over titles about botany and other various sciences; you wonder if she’s having as much trouble as you are in that field. “I must have fallen asleep at one point - did you know botany can be incredibly boring when you’re dying to go home and sleep? As much as I love the study, I really cannot handle these idiotic finals they demand we be put through…” she carries on like this, seemingly content to ramble and think aloud while you watch her. You smile and find that her feelings towards the upcoming tests are similar to your own: absolute exhaustion and quite a bit of hatred.
Handing her the final book that had been part of the wall, you listen as she finishes her small rant about schoolwork, seeming more awake and lively than she had been a moment ago. “I agree with literally everything that just came out of your mouth,” you tell her, both of you grinning. You really wish this chance meeting had occurred at almost any other moment in the day, preferably one where you didn’t look half-dead and still dying. “With the excessive study you seem to be up to…” you prompt, pausing to make sure you still have her attention, “would it be fair for one to assume you’re having as much trouble in the subject of science as I do?” Though there’s really no better way to phrase it, you hope she doesn’t assume that you’re failing; which you are, but you don’t necessarily need her to know that.
She looks at you, genuinely eyeing you, and you suppose that your question make have came out like an accusation rather than a question. Your smile falters and she seems pleased with this reaction, at least enough to answer you. “Since I am unaware of how much trouble you’re having, I cannot truthfully say as much. However, I am having issues with the topic, yes. Is there a reason why you’re asking besides making conversation?” she quizzes, calmly standing behind the stack of books, and it takes you a moment to realize she probably doesn’t have some second motive behind her actions. She’s sincerely trying to have a conversation with you. You take a deep breath before responding.
“Well, firstly, could I ask what your name is?” Yours is printed out on your name tag, which the actual librarian required you to wear despite how ridiculously useless it was. Regardless, Rose L. is neatly on display as is.
The girl seems a bit surprised with your question, tilting her head to the side for a brief moment before snapping back up and answering, “Oh, it’s Kanaya,” and smiling. You entertain the idea that she’s as sleep-deprived as you, to the point of forgetting her own name. However, the air of profound knowledge that surrounds her suggests otherwise. You recite the name in your head six times to make sure you don’t forget. Kanaya.
You offer a small grin back up to her, absently rubbing at your wrist as you stem on from your early inquiry. “I was wondering if we could create a mutually beneficial relationship built off of our problematic science grades, if such a suggestion would be amenable to you, Kanaya.” You tactfully ignore the fact that the word "relationship" sounds too heavy for the situation, and something like acquaintanceship would have probably worked better, but it’s two in the morning and you can’t bring yourself to care too much about that.
“As it would turn out, such a suggestion is indeed agreeable to me, Rose,” she smiles again and you wonder how someone who just fell asleep in a library and smudged their makeup could look as good as she does.
The two of you meet the next day and Kanaya sits behind the library’s circular desk with you, asking various questions about science while you continue to catalog books. Every now and again, you trade jobs; Kanaya scans bar code after bar code and checks off the title while you ask questions about botany and find yourself thoroughly confused with the subject, but you do learn a few facts along the way. By the time you have to split apart, you’re almost a fourth of the way through all the work that needs to be done and feel just a bit more confident about your science final.
Predictably, this confidence was ill-founded and you ended up failing the test anyway. At this point, you can’t particularly bring yourself to care; semester break is in three days and you’re done with stressing about all the nonsense that follows Kreb’s Cycle, NADPH, ATP, and other silly acronyms that continue to be lost to you. Besides, you’re far too busy with your shitty job and helping Kanaya preparing for her final to even think about those things. Hers is on Thursday, so you spend almost the entirety of Wednesday assisting her to the best of your capabilities while simultaneously writing down ideas for the novel you’ve neglected for the past several months. All the while, the two of you share teasing snark over coffee and tea and a little vodka, just enough to make both of you slightly more relaxed. By the time you leave the library at twelve, you’re joking that you might spend the night at her apartment. She’s laughing along, though you’re not entirely certain you’re joking.
It’s almost nine on Friday night when Kanaya bursts into the library and tackles you in your chair, a hug far stronger than you thought she would be capable of giving. The feeling of her lips against your cheek a second later sends shivers from your toes to your fingertips, and your face is just about on fire as she exclaims, “I passed! I got a B!” There’s an awkward moment where you’re still caught up in the lipstick mark on your cheek and she’s waiting for your response and an odd quiet falls between you, but you quickly kick it away by hugging her in return and choosing to not tell her what your own grade was.
With quite a bit more vodka and still some tea, she spends the next three hours with you at the library discussing what both your plans are for the semester break. You’re sad to admit that there’s nothing on your plate and that you’ll be spending a majority of it just working on your novels and sleeping. Similarly, Kanaya admits that she’s going to spend the entirety of it in her bed and suggests not a moment later, “Perhaps you can spend it in my bed, too.” Both of you laugh and you feel just a tad guilty for hoping, just slightly, that it might not be a joke. Only a little, though; by the time you’re finished with the list of books that needed to be cataloged and you have as much as the library organized as you can mentally deal with, the two of you have been tossing back flirtatious invitations for over an hour and you’re hoping that she picks up on the fact that you haven’t been joking for most of them.
At twelve, you close the library and she sincerely invites you to spend the night. You’re giddy and a little tipsy and it shows, but you and Kanaya don’t get up to half the things you had talked about; instead, the second you got in her room you took off your jeans and helped her out of her skirt, and then passed out on her bed, lazily wrapping your arms around her waist while she snored quietly above you.