Chapter 2: Lunchtime Reverie in the Courtyard
The courtyard was a painting in motion. Golden light filtered through the canopy of cherry blossoms, casting dappled shadows across the stone paths and blanketing everything in a warm, honeyed glow. Students clustered in small groups, their laughter and chatter weaving through the air like background music to the rhythm of the day. Jennie sat cross-legged on a picnic blanket she'd claimed near the edge of the lawn, her jacket discarded beside her, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders as she laughed at something Minji had just said.
But her focus wasn't on Minji.
It never was.
Leonid lay stretched out beside her, propped on his elbows with his long legs extended across the grass. The sleeves of his white button-up were rolled to his forearms, and the afternoon sun caught the veins running along his skin in a way that made her throat tight. His curls shifted with the breeze, dark and unruly, and when he turned his head to catch her gaze, something electric passed between them.
"You're not listening to a word I'm saying," Minji said flatly, though a smirk tugged at her lips.
"I am." Jennie's response was automatic, her eyes still locked on Leonid.
"Then what did I just say?"
"Something about—" Jennie faltered, and Minji burst into laughter.
"I rest my case. You're hopeless."
Leonid's smirk deepened, and Jennie felt a flush creep up her neck. She shot him a look that promised retribution later, but he only shrugged, utterly unrepentant. His attention drifted back to the conversation among their friends—something about an upcoming festival, a group project, a professor's ridiculous grading curve—but Jennie remained hyperaware of his presence beside her. The warmth radiating from his body. The way his fingers absently plucked at blades of grass. The faint scent of his cologne, warm and spicy, mingling with the sweetness of the blossoms overhead.
She wanted him closer.
The thought arrived unbidden, sharp and insistent, and she pushed it down with practiced ease. Not here. Not now. But the need coiled in her chest anyway, persistent and undeniable.
"Hey, I'm gonna grab more water." Minji stood, brushing grass from her jeans. "Anyone want anything?"
A chorus of responses followed—someone requested a soda, someone else asked for snacks—but Jennie barely registered them. Her attention had shifted entirely to Leonid, who was watching her with that quiet intensity she knew better than her own reflection.
"You okay?" he asked, his voice low enough that only she could hear.
"I'm fine." She forced a smile. "Just tired."
He didn't believe her. She could tell by the way his brow furrowed slightly, the way his dark eyes searched hers for the truth she wasn't saying. But he didn't push, and she loved him for that. For knowing when to let her keep her secrets until she was ready to share them.
The group began to disperse—some heading to the library, others toward the student center. The blanket that had felt crowded moments ago now held only the two of them, and Jennie felt the tension in her shoulders ease.
"Come here," she said softly, patting her lap.
Leonid raised an eyebrow. "Here?"
"It's peaceful. The tree's blocking the sun. No one's bothering us." She tilted her head, a challenge glinting in her feline eyes. "Unless you're too shy."
He snorted, but he moved anyway, shifting until his head rested in her lap. His curls spilled across her thighs, soft and fragrant, and Jennie's fingers immediately found their way into the dark strands. She carded through them slowly, savoring the texture, the warmth, the way his eyes fluttered closed at her touch.
"That's better," she murmured.
"Mmm." He stretched slightly, his body relaxing into the grass. "Your hands are cold."
"You always say that."
"Because it's always true."
She laughed softly, her nails scraping gently against his scalp. The sound of the courtyard faded around them—the distant shouts of a pickup basketball game, the rustle of pages turning, the hum of conversations she couldn't quite make out. It all blurred into white noise, insignificant against the steady rhythm of his breathing.
Leonid's features softened as drowsiness crept over him. The sharp angles of his jaw seemed less severe in the golden light, his lashes casting faint shadows on his cheekbones. He looked younger like this. Vulnerability settled into his expression the way moonlight settled on water, and Jennie felt her chest ache with the weight of her devotion.
"Sleep," she whispered. "I'll wake you if anything happens."
"Don't let anyone steal my spot." His voice was already thick with sleep.
"Never."
His hand found hers, tugging it down to rest against his chest. She felt the steady thump of his heart beneath her palm, grounding and familiar. Within minutes, his breathing evened out, his body going slack against her thighs.
Jennie watched him sleep, her fingers moving through his curls in slow, hypnotic circles. The peace she felt was almost painful in its intensity—a quiet so profound it felt like standing at the edge of the world. This was what she needed. This was all she needed. Him, here, safe and hers.
But the peace shattered when she caught the stare.
A girl across the courtyard—pretty, with honey-brown hair and sharp cheekbones—was watching them with an expression Jennie recognized all too well. Envy, thinly veiled. Her eyes lingered on Leonid's sleeping form, on the curve of his jaw, on the way his hand was splayed across Jennie's thigh.
Something dark and possessive coiled in Jennie's chest.
She knew that look. She'd seen it a hundred times before—in high school hallways, in university lecture halls, in the eyes of girls who thought they had a chance. Girls who didn't understand that Leonid wasn't available. That he'd never been available. That he belonged to her in ways they couldn't comprehend.
Jennie's fingers stilled in his hair, and she felt her jaw tighten. She didn't move—didn't need to. Instead, she let her gaze lock onto the girl's, holding it with a quiet intensity that bordered on warning. The girl's cheeks flushed, and she quickly looked away, pretending to be absorbed in her phone.
But Jennie didn't look away. She kept watching until the girl gathered her things and retreated toward the library, her steps hurried and uncertain.
Satisfied, Jennie exhaled slowly and returned her attention to Leonid. His breathing remained steady, undisturbed by the silent battle she'd just waged on his behalf. She ran her fingers through his curls again, and some of the tension bled out of her.
"They're always watching," she murmured, more to herself than to him. "Always looking. Always wanting."
He didn't respond. He was too far gone, lost in whatever dreamscape his mind had conjured. She pressed a kiss to his temple, featherlight, and allowed herself a small smile.
"Not them, though. Never them. You're mine."
The words settled into the air between them, quiet and absolute. Jennie leaned her head back against the tree trunk, her eyes scanning the courtyard with the watchfulness of a hawk protecting its nest. The afternoon stretched on, golden and warm, and she let herself exist in this moment—this fragile, perfect moment where the world felt small enough to hold in her hands.
But she knew it wouldn't last.
It never did.
She felt too lucky. Too full. The universe didn't hand out happiness without extracting its price, and some part of her was bracing for the bill. For the moment when someone would try to take him from her. For the day when his own doubts would resurface and she'd have to fight for him all over again.
She'd do it, though. She'd fight the world if she had to—would burn it all down and rebuild from the ashes if that was what it took to keep him.
Leonid stirred slightly, his hand tightening around hers in his sleep. The gesture was unconscious, instinctive, and it made her heart lurch.
"I've got you," she whispered. "I'll always got you."
The breeze rustled through the blossoms above them, scattering pink petals across his sleeping form. Jennie watched them land, so delicate they seemed unreal, and she let herself pretend—just for a moment—that they were somewhere else. Somewhere with no classes, no students, no envious glances. Somewhere they could exist without pretense.
But Seoul was Seoul, and their life was their life, and she wouldn't trade it. Not even for that impossible somewhere.
She'd take the stolen moments. The quiet mornings in her dorm. The way he crawled into her bed when the nights got too heavy. The golden afternoons like this one, where she could pretend the world wasn't watching.
Leonid shifted again, a soft sound escaping his lips, and Jennie smiled down at him. His curls were a mess against her thighs, his shirt rumpled, a blade of grass clinging to his collar. He was beautiful in the way that storms were beautiful—powerful and unpredictable and utterly devastating.
And he was hers.
Minji returned a while later, a bottle of water in hand and a curious expression on her face. She paused at the edge of the blanket, taking in the scene with raised eyebrows.
"Is he actually asleep?"
Jennie nodded, pressing a finger to her lips.
Minji's smirk widened. "You two are disgustingly cute. It's honestly nauseating."
"Jealous?"
"Of what? My freedom?" Minji laughed, but there was a softness in her eyes that suggested she understood more than she let on. "You're lucky, you know. Most people never find someone who looks at them like that."
Jennie's gaze dropped to Leonid's sleeping face. "I know."
Minji lingered for another moment before heading off to join the others, leaving Jennie alone with her sleeping twin. The afternoon continued its slow dance toward evening, the light shifting from gold to amber, and Jennie let herself sink into the peace of it.
But even as she sat there, her heart racing at the thought of anyone disturbing their fragile solitude, she felt the first prickle of unease. A warning, perhaps. Or a premonition.
She pushed it aside and held Leonid closer.
Let them come, she thought. Let them try.