Jayna couldn't help thinking—of course Ginevra, with her fussy little clean streak, would actually follow her in to wash hands.
So Jayna decided to be unbearably proper about it.
She pumped soap into her palm with ceremony, then went through the full seven-step routine the way they taught in health class—palms, backs of hands, between fingers, thumbs, fingertips, wrists—scrubbing until there was absolutely nothing left for anyone to criticize.
When she was done, she held up her hands like a magician presenting the final trick, wiggling her fingers in front of Ginevra's face.
"Well?" Jayna asked, grinning. "Smell nice?"
Ginevra ignored her completely and walked off toward the ticket counter in the cinema lobby.
Jayna stood there a second longer, staring at the back of Ginevra's sweatshirt, feeling wronged for reasons she couldn't quite explain.
"Seriously… what did I do this time?" she muttered under her breath. "Why is she mad…?"
Ginevra's face had always been cool by default—calm, distant, impossible to read—but now it was even colder, like she'd turned the temperature down on purpose. A little girl who'd been about to approach the sink kept hovering uncertainly, too intimidated to step closer while Ginevra was nearby.
Jayna noticed and laughed softly. She leaned toward the girl, friendly. "Were you scared just now?"
The girl nodded blankly—an honest, wide-eyed little nod—then hurried to wash her hands only after Ginevra had walked far enough away.
Jayna watched the girl for a moment, then said with a straight face, as if explaining a mystery creature: "She's a pufferfish that turned into a girl. She's here to repay a debt."
The girl blinked in confusion. Clearly, she'd been expecting something more familiar—some story about a fairy godmother or a helpful sprite.
Jayna only smiled, dried her hands, and drifted after Ginevra.
At the counter, Ginevra was studying the seat map on the screen with quiet seriousness, like it was an exam question.
Jayna sidled up beside her and tilted her head. "So, Miss Pufferfish… where are we sitting?"
Ginevra shot her a look—flat, unimpressed, but still very much there.
The cashier, a young woman with a gentle voice, pointed at the screen. "Red seats are taken. Blue seats are available."
Jayna didn't say another word. She just stood slightly behind Ginevra's shoulder, watching her choose.
Most of the good center seats were already gone. There were only scattered options left—some in the very first row, and a few in the last two rows.
Ginevra's eyes moved across the screen with that measured, calculating calm she carried everywhere. Then she tapped the last row.
Row 8. Seats 2 and 3.
The cashier glanced at the selection, then looked up with a small, knowing smile that made Jayna's eyebrows twitch.
"Are you sure about those?" the cashier asked lightly. "If you're sure, I'll print them."
Ginevra nodded. "Yes."
"Okay—one moment." The cashier printed the tickets and then asked, cheerful and practiced, "Would you like soda and popcorn?"
Ginevra's gaze shifted to Jayna automatically, as if that decision belonged to her.
Jayna lifted her iced cocoa. "We already have drinks. But… popcorn sounds good."
"One bag enough?" Ginevra asked, very sincerely.
Jayna's eyes narrowed. Oh? So in your mind I'm a bottomless pit now?
Before she could protest, Ginevra turned back to the cashier. "Large popcorn, please."
"Got it."
While the popcorn was being scooped, Jayna kept watching.
Ginevra—just standing there—had the kind of presence that drew eyes without trying. Jayna glanced around, and sure enough, people kept looking. Boys. Girls. Everyone.
It was absurd.
Ginevra hadn't even done anything outrageous—she just wasn't wearing her glasses today, and somehow that alone had turned her into a walking disaster.
Jayna's mouth pressed into a thin, sour line.
The cashier handed over the popcorn. "Here you go."
"Thank you," Ginevra said politely, taking it.
And the cashier looked at her again—just a little too long.
Jayna saw it. Every second of it.
When they stepped away from the counter, Ginevra glanced at Jayna's face, finally noticing the storm cloud building there. "What's wrong?"
Jayna shook her head, lips tight, expression unmistakably sulky—like someone had knocked over an entire jar of vinegar inside her chest.
"Nothing," she said stiffly. "I just think you look… especially showy today."
"Showy?" Ginevra frowned, immediately switching into correction mode. "That word means someone is dressed in a flashy, dramatic way. Your vocabulary needs work."
"Hmph."
Jayna's reply was pure childish defiance.
Ginevra didn't understand, but she held the popcorn toward Jayna anyway. "You're not eating?"
She pretended to pull it back, testing.
Jayna snatched it instantly, glaring. "Who said I'm not eating?"
She shoved a few kernels into her mouth like she was proving a point.
Predictably—because she was doing it out of spite—she went too fast and choked.
"Cough—cough!"
Her eyes turned red with watering tears. Ginevra sighed and began patting her back gently, the way someone would with a skittish animal, voice low so only Jayna could hear.
"I'm not fighting you for it."
Jayna wanted to curse her out.
But she couldn't breathe enough to form a sentence, so she just shot daggers with her eyes while letting Ginevra's hand steady her.
A few minutes later, they joined the line to enter.
They'd picked a romantic comedy—big cast, big buzz, a movie everyone was talking about. The crowd made that obvious: couples everywhere, friends giggling, people holding hands as if the night was meant to be shared.
Jayna walked ahead. Ginevra followed behind.
They found their seats—Row 8, seats 2 and 3.
Only when Jayna sat down did she realize it.
There was no divider between the seats. No armrest barrier. The space was designed for bodies to lean toward each other without resistance.
A couple's seat.
Jayna's heart gave a tiny, stupid jolt.
Ginevra sat down, still unaware.
The theater kept filling. People filtered in wave after wave, and by the time the lights dimmed, the last row was practically a strip of paired silhouettes—couples tucked into the dark like secrets.
When the screen went black and the first glow flickered across faces, Jayna leaned closer to Ginevra and whispered right into her ear.
"You know," she murmured, voice barely louder than breath, "you picked a couple's seat."
Couple's seat.
In the dark, Jayna couldn't see it, but Ginevra's eyes widened in a stunned, disbelieving stare.
Heat rushed from her ears down her cheeks so fast it was almost violent.
Jayna's warm breath brushed her skin. Ginevra turned her face away instinctively, voice low and awkward, as if the words physically resisted her.
"I… didn't know."
Jayna laughed quietly. "I didn't realize either. Not until we walked in."
Ginevra's response was stiff, almost robotic. "Oh."
Jayna wasn't satisfied. She tilted her head, eyes glinting with mischief. "Then why did you choose Row eight, seats two and three? 'Eight-Two-Three.'"
She drew the numbers out, savoring them.
The old pager code. Thinking of you.
Ginevra blinked, confused for half a second—then it clicked, and the embarrassment hit her like a wave.
"I picked them because the view is better," she said quickly, as if reason could save her.
"Mm," Jayna hummed, leaning closer anyway, so close her nose nearly brushed Ginevra's heated cheek. "Sure."
Ginevra's voice trembled—just slightly. "You thought… what?"
Jayna blinked slowly, letting the moment stretch until it almost hurt. She breathed in. She breathed out. She let her warmth hover right there, right on the edge of Ginevra's composure.
Then—mercifully—she didn't push further.
Instead, Jayna straightened, set the popcorn on her lap, and popped a kernel into Ginevra's mouth with easy familiarity.
"I thought you'd been trying to tell me you wanted me to be thinking about you all this time," Jayna whispered, soft and teasing. "And you didn't even realize it. God, you're kind of adorable."
Ginevra went quiet.
There was a helplessness in her—an unfamiliar frustration—as if she should deny it, should say Jayna was imagining things, should reestablish some safe boundary.
But she didn't want to deny it.
And the part of her that noticed that fact didn't know what to do with it.
Jayna watched her in the faint glow from the screen, eyes warm, voice gentle. "What's wrong?"
Ginevra turned her face forward, signaling that the movie was starting.
Jayna obeyed, but her mind didn't settle.
She liked the faint scent that clung to Ginevra—clean, soft, almost indistinguishable from skin itself. Once, when Jayna had visited Ginevra's house and slipped into the bathroom, she'd peeked at the bottles out of pure curiosity—just ordinary shampoo, ordinary body wash.
So this gentle scent had to be Ginevra's own.
That realization made Jayna press her teeth lightly into her lower lip, like she was trying to hold something in.
On screen, the lead actor delivered an absurdly perfect punchline.
Jayna laughed so hard she practically honked.
"Ha—ha—haa—" her laugh broke into something ridiculous and loud, tears spilling. "Okay, wow. This is actually as good as everyone said."
She fumbled in her purse for tissues, dabbing at her eyes.
In the dark, a cool hand touched the back of her fingers.
Jayna looked up.
Ginevra held out a tissue, already unfolded.
"Thanks…" Jayna whispered, wiping quickly.
The screen's light flashed across Ginevra's face—bright then dim, bright then dim—and Jayna found herself staring like she couldn't stop.
"Your eyelashes are so long," Jayna blurted.
Ginevra glanced at her. "Watch the movie."
Jayna lowered her voice, suddenly shy. "Do you think I'm… too loud? Like, not very… graceful?"
Ginevra looked genuinely puzzled by the question. "No."
"Really?" Jayna tugged at her sleeve, needing to hear it twice.
Ginevra's gaze settled on the corner of Jayna's eye—still damp, tear tracks not fully wiped away. Without a word, she took the tissue from Jayna's hand and gently wiped the tears away herself, slow and careful, as though the smallest pressure might hurt.
"Really," Ginevra murmured. "If you want to laugh, laugh."
Jayna felt the warmth of Ginevra's fingers.
And suddenly she wanted that warmth to stay there longer. Just another second. Just long enough for her to remember what it felt like.
She looked into Ginevra's eyes, and in the flicker of the screen they looked like they held tiny points of light—almost like stars had gotten caught in them.
If Ginevra ever looked at someone else like this…
Jayna's chest tightened so sharply it scared her.
It wouldn't be a small jealousy.
It would be the kind that made you go insane.
"Giny," Jayna asked softly—so softly the sound barely survived the theater's music—"do you have someone you like?"
At that exact moment, the movie swerved into its ending.
The male lead stood in the center of a huge stage, looking wrecked—comic and tragic at once—and shouted toward the woman who was about to leave.
"Lena—why won't you look back at me? I've done so many things I didn't even mean, but I never once wanted you to end up with Evan Bailey. That idiot doesn't deserve you. He's not good enough—he's not—because I've always… always loved you…"
Romantic comedies loved doing this at the end—wringing a real, aching confession out of all the laughter, turning the audience's heart with a single twist.
The lead strummed a battered guitar, saying "I love you" again and again, and the background score rose, swelling through the darkness.
In the rows around them, people sniffled. Someone nearby wiped tears quietly, trying not to be heard.
Ginevra watched the ending—the kind of love that waited and waited, the kind that endured loneliness like it was a duty.
And Jayna's question echoed in her ear, too close, too sudden.
Someone you like…
What counted as liking?
Was it like the movie—silent devotion, stubborn waiting, choosing pain because it felt honest?
That kind of love looked lonely.
It looked unbearable.
Jayna stared at the screen and spoke as if she wasn't sure whether she was talking to herself or to Ginevra.
"If you really like someone," she murmured, "would you keep waiting like that? Would you just… keep waiting for something you can't even fully feel yet?"
Ginevra listened.
Quietly.
Her eyes lowered as if she was thinking carefully, weighing the question the way she weighed math problems—slowly, seriously, without wasting motion.
Then she lifted her gaze, steady, and said in a voice that didn't shake:
"I would wait."
Jayna turned, startled.
Her eyes widened in the dark. She hadn't expected an answer at all—certainly not a firm one. She'd expected "I don't know." Something vague. Something safe.
But Ginevra had answered as if it mattered.
As if she meant it.
Jayna laughed softly, but there was a thin edge of bitterness under it that she didn't know how to hide.
Of course Ginevra would be like this. If she loved someone, she would love them the way winter loves the earth—silent, relentless, deep enough to bury you.
People like Ginevra, the ones who seemed cold and restrained, were always the ones who could be frighteningly devoted.
"I suddenly want to time-travel," Jayna said, voice light on purpose, "just to see what kind of person you'll like someday. If someone can be loved by you… they must be incredible."
She turned her face away quickly, afraid Ginevra might see what flickered across her expression.
Ginevra didn't understand why Jayna's mood had dropped so abruptly. She'd only answered honestly. She hadn't even answered the main question—whether there was a person.
Her eyes flickered, landing on Jayna's profile.
She didn't want to answer that part.
Not now.
"Not eating popcorn?" Ginevra asked instead.
She reached over and quietly took the tub from Jayna's hands, pretending she was going to eat it herself.
Normally, Jayna would have fought for it like her life depended on it.
But she didn't even react.
Ginevra's lips pressed together.
A rare, awkward helplessness crept into her posture.
"What's wrong?" she asked, softer. "Is it not good?"
Jayna shook her head without speaking.
Ginevra felt her own confusion thicken—Jayna's mind was harder than complex analysis, she thought, harder than anything with rules and proofs.
"I'm just…" Jayna finally muttered, voice stiff with forced normalcy, "…thirsty."
"I'll go buy you something," Ginevra said at once, starting to stand.
Jayna grabbed her wrist. "No," she whispered. "I'll drink yours."
Ginevra paused, blinking.
Jayna hated bitter things. Jayna loved sweetness. Jayna had looked at Ginevra's black coffee earlier like it was poison.
But now Jayna leaned across, reached for Ginevra's cup, and lifted it.
In the dim theater, Ginevra found herself watching Jayna's mouth.
Watching her lips meet the only rim.
Jayna took a few slow swallows.
Then she swallowed the last of it.
"It's so bitter," Jayna whispered.
Yet she drained it completely, not leaving a single drop behind.
Then she handed the empty cup back with a very practiced expression of innocence—as if she hadn't just done something strangely intimate, strangely defiant.
Ginevra stared at the cup, then at Jayna.
She really was thirsty, Ginevra thought, trying to make it make sense.
Her voice lowered, careful. "So you were upset… because you were thirsty?"
Jayna froze.
A second of silence.
Then she nodded quickly. "Yeah. That's it."
Ginevra's eyes softened with something like guilt. "You can tell me."
Tell you what?
That I'm scared you'll like someone else?That I don't even understand why I'm scared, but I am?That the idea of you belonging to someone in the future makes my chest ache right now?
Jayna swallowed all of it back down, smiling faintly like a lie.
And then—
A soft, breathy sound drifted from the row beside them.
("Baby… not here… mm…")("Why not? The movie's loud. Other people are kissing too.")
Jayna and Ginevra went rigid at the exact same time, like startled animals.
Their eyes met in the dark.
Both of them flushed.
Jayna reacted first. She slapped a hand over Ginevra's ear.
"No," Jayna whispered fiercely, mortified and righteous all at once. "You're underage. You can't listen to that."
Ginevra frowned and, even now, couldn't stop herself from being exact. "You're underage too."
Jayna kept her palm over Ginevra's ear anyway—and with her other hand, she pinched Ginevra's cheek for emphasis, as if that would make her point more official.
"I'm older than you," Jayna declared, pure authority in her tone. "So you listen to me."
And as if to prove she meant it, she pinched Ginevra's cheek again—gentler this time, almost fond.