You were just about to lock up the library when a voice behind you made you stop. "Just a moment!" You turned and saw Ichabod Crane hurrying over to you, a book clutched in his hand. "Hello, Ichabod." In his typical manner, he gave a small bow. "I have come to return the book you were so gracious to loan me." You gave a little and opened the door. "Ichabod, it's a library. That's kind of the point."

This had been happening for months now. Ever since the two of you defeated the Lamia, an ancient Greek monster, you and Ichabod had grown closer. He would come to library at closing every couple of days and the two of you would sit and discuss books for hours. "What did you think?" you asked him as you returned "The Count of Monte Cristo" to the shelf. "I thoroughly enjoyed it. Thank you. Perhaps a British or American author this time? I trust your judgment," he said with a shudder.

About a month or so before, Jenny had forced Ichabod to read the "Twilight" series as a joke. Ichabod had been disgusted, but being the good sport he was, he finished them all. After that, he swore he would never again ask Jenny for book recommendations. You laughed and replied, "Alright, how about this one?" You held up a book of stories by Edgar Allan Poe. "With the things we face, I figure these stories are appropriate. They're a bit macabre," you handed him the book.

"Why did you become a librarian, Y/N?" The question caught you off guard. People normally didn't ask or care. "Um, well, I love books. I always have. Books have a way of transporting us to different times and worlds, at least works of fiction." Ichabod smiled at you as he looked down at the book. "Cannot works of history also transport us?" You gave a nod and then a soft chuckle. "According to you, our history books are all wrong."

The two of you sat that way for hours. Simply talking and sometimes debating about books of all kinds. "No one shall ever compare to William Shakespeare," Ichabod told you and you readily agreed. "You know there's a theory that Shakespeare didn't write his plays. It says the Earl of Oxford wrote them and published them in Shakespeare's name," you told and his jaw dropped. "That is an...interesting theory. I suppose it makes sense." You shrugged. "The only people that truly know are all dead." He nodded in response.

"Seriously though. Give Poe a try. His work is dark, but the symbolism is undeniable. My favorite is (f/sop). Shakespeare was good, but Poe is different." Ichabod picked up the book and smiled at you. "Thank you, Y/N. For sharing your love of literature with me these past months. It has been a shining light in the otherwise dark days." You gave him a grin and hugged him. "It's no problem, Ichabod. It's nice to meet someone who shares my passion for the written word."

"I thoroughly enjoy our conversations. You have enabled me to view the books of every era with a reverence I could not before," he said when you back away from the hug. "I like them too.Anyway, it's getting pretty late. I should probably head home." Ichabod's smile slipped a bit, but he grabbed his coat and followed you. "Y/N?"You looked up at him. "I was hoping we could, perhaps, take a leisurely stroll tomorrow?" His face was turning pink and he avoided your gaze."Why, Ichabod Crane, did you just ask me out on a date?" He nodded sheepishly. You kissed his bearded cheek. "I'd love to."o