"Your heart is beating so fast…"
Jayna couldn't stand it anymore. She was the first to crack the silence—the kind that made the air restless, like something was about to ignite.
She had meant to prop herself up and face Ginevra properly, to look at her head-on the way she always did when she was trying to be brave. But she hadn't expected it to turn into this—their bodies tucked under the same blanket, the distance between their faces reduced to almost nothing. Jayna's knee was awkwardly wedged in the middle, her legs half-kneeling, half-straining, making her balance feel ridiculously precarious.
She didn't even know how to describe the sweetness of the atmosphere. It was thick, cloying—like syrup poured too slowly.
Thump. Thump.
Two heartbeats in the dark, answering each other.
"You're too close." Ginevra frowned faintly, eyes lifting toward the ceiling as though looking away might help. Their faces were barely a finger's width apart.
Jayna tugged out an embarrassed smile. "I didn't mean to."
She tried to fix her position—stretching her leg out, shifting her weight to the side—but she'd been kneeling too long. Her knees had gone soft, and the moment she pushed herself up, she lost it.
She collapsed—right onto Ginevra.
Ginevra let out a muffled grunt. The sound carried a strange, almost dangerous note to it, as if even pain could be altered by the wrong kind of proximity.
Jayna's face ended up buried against Ginevra's chest.
She wanted to die.
Fine. Let her keep humiliating herself. At this point it was practically her signature talent.
"I really didn't do it on purpose," Jayna mumbled, not daring to lift her head, voice muffled against that warmth. She wasn't afraid of danger—never had been—but she was certain of one thing:
Ginevra wouldn't hurt her.
And even if she got annoyed… Jayna always knew how to coax her. This quiet little sealed jar of a person—this small, stubborn, sulky fortress.
Ginevra, on the other hand, felt something close to panic.
An impatient heat rose inside her, sharp and uncontrollable, and she had to clamp down hard just to keep it from showing. She forced her voice into something cool.
"Get up."
"I won't," Jayna said instantly, suddenly turning shameless, as though she'd been waiting for permission. "Not unless you promise you're not mad."
And then—before Ginevra could stop her—Jayna rubbed her cheek, almost petting herself against a place on Ginevra's body that had never been touched so carelessly, so thoughtlessly.
A place too sensitive.
Too private.
Ginevra went rigid.
Her first instinct was to shove Jayna away—and in the same breath, she feared she'd push too hard, that Jayna would hurt herself, that she'd flinch and look wounded and Ginevra would never forgive herself for it.
So she lowered her voice, forcing control into every syllable.
"Jayna. Get up. Right now." A pause—then, like an unwilling concession: "I'm not angry."
"Really?" Jayna lifted her head a little, peeking up like a child testing the temperature of a parent's mood.
Ginevra stared at her.
Jayna's eyes were clear and bright, the corners slightly pink—as if emotion lived there and refused to hide. The gaze was so affectionate it reminded Ginevra of Little Raindrop, that loyal little creature who would press close without fear, trusting completely. Jayna's beautiful face was full of careful closeness, full of tentative hope, as though she were reaching forward with both hands and asking—quietly—Will you let me stay?
Ginevra exhaled, a slow surrender.
She didn't know why, but she couldn't say cruel things to Jayna. She couldn't even manage a properly cold expression.
"Really," she said at last. "I promise."
Only then did Jayna finally sit up, obedient at once, and wriggle into place on Ginevra's right side.
"You smell so good," Jayna whispered, pulling the blanket up to cover half her face, as if she were hiding the confession inside the fabric.
Ginevra stared at the ceiling.
She had no idea what to say.
God knew what had just happened—Jayna's face against her chest, Jayna's warmth too close, Jayna's reckless, unthinking contact—
If it had been anyone else, their wrist would have been twisted until the bones begged.
But because it was Jayna…
Ginevra could only accept her fate and close her eyes, as if shutting them could restore order.
"I finally figured it out," Jayna continued softly, fearless again now that she'd been forgiven. "The scent on you—it's not your body wash or anything. It's just you. It's special."
"I've never noticed," Ginevra said truthfully. She didn't understand "body scent." She'd never cared.
Jayna liked to talk nonsense. Ginevra had long since learned that the easiest way was to let her.
But then Jayna scooted closer, sniffing at Ginevra's shoulder like some overly curious puppy. Ginevra instinctively leaned away, just a fraction.
Jayna didn't take the hint. She lifted the blanket, extended her pale arm right under Ginevra's nose, and offered it with grand generosity.
"Here. Smell me. Do I smell nice?"
Ginevra looked at her like she'd lost her mind.
It was nearly eleven. How did Jayna still have this much energy?
"Why aren't you sleepy?" Ginevra's voice carried the weight of helpless disbelief.
"Come on, come on—smell." Jayna grinned. "Or you can smell my neck. That's even better."
As she spoke, she tilted her face closer, raising her chin, exposing her throat as if it were a gift she was placing in Ginevra's hands. A pale swan-like neck—smooth, vulnerable, pulsing with life.
Ginevra turned her head.
Her eyes locked on the curve of Jayna's throat.
And her heart—without permission—began to pound violently.
Jayna waited, eyes bright, trusting.
Ginevra leaned in slowly.
As if she were approaching something rare, something precious enough to fear breaking, she let the tip of her nose brush the place where Jayna's pulse fluttered. The touch was cool—almost startling. Ginevra inhaled, lightly, carefully, from the top of Jayna's neck down, as though memorizing the scent with restraint that barely held.
Jayna shivered.
A tremor ran through her body, sudden and involuntary. Her mind went blank, as if the world had been wiped clean except for one sensation: Ginevra's cold, distinct presence surrounding her, invading her, claiming the air itself.
Jayna's eyelids fluttered shut.
Only when Ginevra pulled back did Jayna open them again, slowly, dazed.
"If you were a vampire," Jayna whispered, voice soft with awe, "I think I'd really offer you my blood."
She stared straight at Ginevra, unblinking.
Ginevra's ears flushed hot.
Because for a brief, terrifying moment, she'd felt it too—the urge.
Not just to bite.
To take.
To possess Jayna's body the way she had just possessed the space between them.
She didn't understand why the thought had even appeared, like a shadow crossing her mind, but hearing Jayna say those words only made the shame deepen, the heat sharpen.
"Why?" Ginevra asked, voice quieter than before.
Jayna shook her head. She didn't know either. She only knew the feeling—raw, bright, unreasonable.
"I don't know," she admitted. "I just… feel like I want to give you everything."
Ginevra lifted a hand and tapped Jayna's forehead, pushing her gently back into her own space.
"Stop thinking nonsense," she murmured. "Go to sleep."
Jayna watched her.
That faint redness at Ginevra's ears—so subtle, so rare—made something warm bloom inside Jayna's chest. She felt an almost smug, secret delight.
Ginevra was shy.
And with Jayna… she was different.
"Good night," Jayna said softly.
"…Good night," Ginevra replied.
Jayna closed her eyes.
She didn't know how long passed before she woke again.
Restlessness gnawed at her, turning her over and over, until she finally checked the time: 2:30 a.m.
Quietly, she turned her head toward Ginevra.
Ginevra lay on her back, still and composed even in sleep, close enough that Jayna could feel the heat of her existence. The closeness felt unreal—like a dream that might vanish the moment Jayna moved.
"Ginevra," Jayna whispered into the dark, voice so low it barely existed, "when all that happened today… you were the first person I thought of."
She turned fully onto her side, staring at Ginevra's profile.
Ginevra's long eyelashes occasionally trembled. Even asleep, she was breathtaking—cool, detached, like an angel who had fallen into the mortal world by mistake and still hadn't learned how to belong.
Jayna lifted a hand, wanting to touch her face.
Her fingers stopped midair.
She didn't have the courage.
So she stayed like that—lying on her side, eyes open, quietly watching.
And after a long time… she drifted into sleep again.
Much later, Ginevra woke, overheated.
She blinked in confusion and realized she had two thick blankets piled over her. The heat was stifling. Slowly she pushed them off and sat up, turning toward the other side of the bed.
Jayna was curled near the edge, her own blanket nowhere to be seen—every bit of it had been dragged onto Ginevra during the night. Jayna's thin pajama top barely covered her; her stomach was half exposed to the cold air.
If Jayna rolled even once more, she'd fall straight onto the floor.
So much for "sleeping like an angel."
Ginevra's thoughts, unexpectedly, weren't annoyed.
They were… gentle.
With careful slowness, she slid an arm around Jayna and lifted her, drawing her back toward the center of the bed.
"Mmm…" Jayna breathed out unconsciously, a small, soft sound.
Ginevra froze instantly—every muscle locked, as if she'd been caught committing a crime.
But Jayna only snuggled closer, instinctively curling into the warmth of Ginevra's hold, settling as though she belonged there.
Only then did Ginevra move again, placing Jayna safely in the middle.
She drew the blanket over Jayna, tucking it around her shoulders, then checked—absurdly, carefully—whether Jayna's feet were sticking out. They were.
So Ginevra tucked them in too.
Jayna muttered something in her sleep, sounding mildly irritated, but the words were unclear. Ginevra didn't need to hear them.
As long as Jayna wasn't cursing her, it was fine.
Ginevra sat beside her for a moment, looking down.
Her eyes, usually so cold, carried a tenderness rarely seen. She reached out and brushed aside the loose strands of hair at Jayna's forehead, smoothing the slight crease between her brows when it tightened.
This person…
Had somehow become important to her.
More important than she could explain.
Ginevra's gaze deepened, shifting from light to dark, as if emotion itself were thickening in her pupils. She still didn't understand what this pull meant—why it existed—only that she could no longer treat Jayna as someone outside her life.
Slowly, she leaned down and pressed a shallow kiss into Jayna's hair.
Sleep well.
I'm here.
Always.
The next morning—
Jayna woke slowly, the kind of waking that felt like climbing out of warm water. She swore it was the best sleep she'd had in days—so good she didn't even want to open her eyes.
She stretched lazily, reaching toward the other side of the bed out of habit—
And touched nothing.
Jayna snapped upright, alarm cutting through her like ice. She scanned the room.
No one.
But the warmth on the sheets told her Ginevra couldn't have gone far.
Jayna stumbled out of bed barefoot and ran downstairs, anxiety pushing her forward. She looked around frantically, searching for the one presence that steadied her.
"Giny—Giny—!"
No answer.
Her chest tightened. For a second, the ugliness of yesterday flashed back—faces, hands, fear—like something grabbing her from behind.
Then she heard faint sounds from the kitchen.
Jayna instantly grabbed the baseball bat from the living room, clutching it to her chest as she crept toward the doorway on silent toes, eyes sharp with sudden vigilance.
"Ginevra!"
She saw the familiar back—so familiar it made her throat ache—and her anger flared as sharply as relief.
Ginevra turned her head slightly at the shout, glanced at Jayna once, then calmly plated the egg pancake from the nonstick pan. Only after removing her apron did she walk toward Jayna, stopping in front of her to examine this classmate who clearly hadn't even washed her face.
Bare feet.
A bat in her hands.
Hair like a bird's nest.
Ginevra frowned.
"…What is that," she asked, "supposed to be?"
Jayna shoved the bat into Ginevra's hands with all the dramatic force of someone returning a weapon after war. Her eyes stung, her throat rough.
"Do you know how scared I was just now?" she choked out, voice cracking.
Ginevra blinked, caught off guard by the almost-tears in Jayna's expression. Her fingers were still a little oily; she couldn't touch Jayna properly. She could only stand there, helpless, letting Jayna accuse her.
"What happened?" Ginevra asked, genuinely startled.
"You could've told me you were getting up!" Jayna's voice went hoarse as she spoke, the words spilling out faster. "I woke up and you were gone. I thought you just left. I thought you… didn't want me anymore…"
By the end, she sounded like she'd scraped her voice raw. She rubbed at her eyes, blinking hard; they hurt.
Ginevra stared at her.
Something in her chest tightened painfully.
"I didn't want to wake you," Ginevra said softly. "I thought you needed sleep."
"I know." Jayna swallowed hard. "I know you meant well. I just… I just don't want you to suddenly disappear. I'm scared to be alone right now."
Her mouth pouted like a wronged child. Then she crouched and wrapped both arms around Ginevra's leg like a stubborn sticker, clinging with absolute shamelessness.
"Mmph. I'm holding you so you can't leave. Woof."
Ginevra tipped her head back, helpless.
She was three years younger than Jayna.
So why was Jayna the one acting like a toddler?
And why was it…
kind of cute?
"You're going to keep standing barefoot?" Ginevra asked, looking down at her.
Jayna shook her head miserably. "No."
"Then I'll eat breakfast alone," Ginevra said, pointing toward the kitchen.
Jayna shot up instantly. "Wait for me!"
She dashed upstairs in a blur.
Ginevra watched her go, and a faint smile touched her mouth. There was no beating someone like Jayna—someone whose devotion to food outweighed all dignity.
Ginevra set the table, arranged the breakfast she'd made—simple, neat. And Jayna praised her like she'd been served by a Michelin-star chef.
"You know," Jayna said between spoonfuls, eyes shining, "your cooking is basically restaurant-level."
She drank the Kasha—perfectly seasoned. The stuff sold outside suddenly felt like cheap imitation.
"I didn't even know we had buckwheat," Jayna laughed. "I only know the second cabinet has my instant noodles. Everything else? I never look."
"I found them last night while cooking," Ginevra said, tasting her own porridge with small, quiet spoonfuls.
Jayna sat across from her, watching her with slow curiosity.
"Do you know what you feel like right now?" Jayna asked.
Ginevra lifted her eyes. "?"
"You feel like… like a rich young lady from an old-era mansion," Jayna said, warming to her own metaphor. "Elegant. Cool but not arrogant. Every little movement looks refined."
Then she lifted her chin, completely serious.
"And obviously—a beauty should have another beauty beside her. I'm not losing to you."
Ginevra raised an eyebrow, amused. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"Listen," Jayna said, beaming with confidence, "I can already imagine us living together someday. It would be so perfect."
Ginevra immediately shook her head. "It would be a disaster."
"E—excuse me?" Jayna set her spoon down, staring, eyebrows climbing.
Ginevra lowered her own spoon and looked at Jayna with calm precision.
"You didn't wash your face."
Jayna's expression twisted in outrage and humiliation all at once. "What—what does that have to do with anything? I was just hungry! Oh my God— I brushed my teeth!"
Ginevra's gaze stayed steady, almost entertained.
"Imagine," she said, tone perfectly reasonable, "living with someone. They're a little messy. A little lacking in manners. Forgetful. Often shameless. Sometimes they even throw tantrums. How would you feel?"
Jayna stared at her in disbelief.
For the first time, she realized Ginevra wasn't bad with words.
Ginevra was simply vicious.
Messy? No manners? Forgetful? Shameless?
Jayna absolutely refused—
…Okay. Maybe a tiny bit. But not that bad, right?
She forced a smile so bright it looked painful.
"Even if—even if—she has those small flaws," Jayna insisted, "she has a heart like gold. An angel's heart. And she's extremely easy on the eyes. She's a total beauty. Just looking at her makes life better."
Ginevra nodded thoughtfully. "True."
Then, with a tiny tilt of cruelty disguised as calm: "One of her few virtues."
Jayna's mouth fell open.
"…Heartless," she muttered, stirring her porridge like it had personally betrayed her.
Ginevra lifted her gaze to Jayna's puffed cheeks and said, very quietly, "Honestly… I kind of like it."
Jayna froze mid-stir.
"Huh?" she asked, suddenly alert, as if she'd heard her name being called in a crowd. "What did you say? Like? You said you like—like what? You said 'like,' right?"
Ginevra looked away, as if the words had escaped without her permission.
"Nothing," she said flatly. "Eat."
Jayna's face scrunched with frustration.
"Ahhh! You always do this! You say half of it and then refuse to repeat it!" she complained, baring her teeth like a small angry animal. "Are you royalty or something? You won't even let me guess. So tsundere, it's going to kill me…"
She glared fiercely and shoveled porridge into her mouth with exaggerated determination, as if she planned to eat everything and leave Ginevra starving.
"Jayna."
"What?!" Jayna snapped, still sulking.
Then she noticed—Ginevra was calmly spooning the pieces of pork from her own bowl into Jayna's.
Jayna's anger wavered, startled.
Ginevra's gaze stayed cool, but her voice dropped into something firm.
"Shut up and eat."
Jayna blinked.
And despite herself—
her mouth twitched, the beginnings of a smile trying to escape.