Chapter 12: The Whispered Promise Under Pink Snow
His thumb stroked the back of her hand, a slow, absent rhythm that belied the tension coiled in his arm. He still hadn't let go. The world had shrunk to this patch of damp grass, their intertwined fingers, and the faint, clean scent of him cutting through the ghost of weed.
Jennie kept her head against his shoulder, watching a single petal get caught in the black curls above his ear. She was afraid to move, to breathe too loud, in case the spell broke.
“You know,” Leonid said, his voice a low rumble she felt through her temple. “I gotta tell you something stupid.”
She lifted her head just enough to look at his profile. “What?”
He took a shaky breath, his eyes fixed on the ancient tree’s trunk as if reading lines carved there. “That day in preschool. When you gave me your orange crayon because mine broke.” He huffed a soft, humourless laugh. “I fell in love with you then.”
Her heart stopped. Just for a second. Then it slammed back against her ribs, a frantic, trapped bird.
He finally turned to look at her. His dark eyes were unbearably open. “And every day since, it’s just… gotten worse. It’s like this bruise that never heals. Just gets deeper.” He swallowed. “Every girl, every stupid thing I’ve done… it’s all just been trying to paint over it. To find a colour that isn’t you.”
“Leo…” His name was a gasp, a plea.
He shook his head, cutting her off. His grip on her hand tightened, almost painful. “I know about your dad. I know about the rules. I know there’s probably some perfect seminary student your parents have picked out.”
Her face flushed, a cold sweat prickling down her spine.He knew. Of course he knew.
“I don’t care.” The words were fierce, absolute. He leaned in closer, his forehead almost touching hers. The air between them crackled. “Be with me. Be my girlfriend. Even if it’s just here. Even if it’s just… when we can. I’ll take the scraps. I’ll take anything. Just don’t go cold on me again. Please.”
The tears she’d been holding back broke free. They weren’t delicate. They were hot, messy tracks down her cheeks, silent sobs shaking her shoulders. She was crying for the years of stolen glances in hallways, for the ache in her chest every time she saw him laughing with someone else, for the sheer, terrifying relief of hearing the words she’d carved into her own soul spoken aloud in his rough, broken voice.
She didn’t have words. All she had was a frantic nod, her head jerking up and down as more tears spilled.
A shudder went through him. He released her hand only to cup her face, his thumbs brushing the tears from her cheeks. His own eyes were bright, swimming.
“Yeah?” he whispered, the word raw with hope.
“Yes,” she choked out. “Yes.”
He didn’t smile. His expression was one of utter devastation, of a hunger finally, dangerously unlocked. He leaned in slowly, giving her every chance to pull away. She didn’t. She tilted her face up, her eyes fluttering closed as his breath mingled with hers.
The first brush of his lips was tentative. Soft.A question.
It was a relief so profound it felt like drowning. Jennie surged into it, her hands flying up to clutch at the front of his jacket, pulling him closer. The noise she made was half a sob, half a sigh, lost against his mouth.
He responded instantly, a low groan vibrating in his throat. The kiss deepened, turning desperate. His lips moved over hers with a practiced, hungry grace that sent electric shocks straight to her core. She could taste the salt of her tears, the faint, minty sharpness of his toothpaste, and something uniquely, intrinsically him. It was messy and perfect and everything. One of his hands slid from her cheek into her hair, tangling in the long black strands, holding her in place. The other wrapped around her waist, pulling her onto his lap as if she weighed nothing.
She gasped into his mouth, her body molding to his. Through the layers of clothes, she could feel the hard planes of his chest, the powerful muscles of his thighs beneath her. She was achingly aware of every point of contact, of the sheer size of him surrounding her. Her mind, usually so meticulous, so guarded, dissolved into pure sensation.
He broke the kiss, panting, resting his forehead against hers. His eyes were black with want. “Fuck, Jenn
His eyes were black with want. “Fuck, Jennie,”