The school bell rang, a soft chime against the backdrop of chattering students funneling out of their classrooms. Lunch break had arrived, and the winter sun filtered through the high windows of Westdentia Academy, casting geometric light on the hallway floors.
Leina walked calmly, lunch bag in hand, her steps quieter than most. Today, the academy felt a little louder than usual—or perhaps she was simply more attuned to it.
"Leina!"
She stopped. Malvern was weaving through the crowd, his pale blue scarf trailing behind him like a ribbon of sky. He looked flustered, as always when approaching her, but less hesitant than before.
"I—I saved you a seat," he said, rubbing the back of his neck.
Leina blinked. "Why?"
Malvern blinked right back, face going faintly pink. "Because… um, I thought you might not want to sit alone again."
There was a moment of silence.
Then, very softly, Leina said, "Okay."
It wasn't much. But to Malvern, it felt like a minor miracle.
They walked together through the corridor, down the steps, and into the courtyard, where sunlight dusted the snow-dotted benches. Malvern had chosen one tucked beside a tree, slightly removed from the rest. It was quiet, peaceful—thoughtful, even.
"You eat here often?" Leina asked, sitting beside him.
"Yeah," he replied, unzipping his lunch. "It's... calmer. I can think better here. And I don't get stepped on by the basketball team."
She cracked a tiny smile, unwrapping her sandwich. "Smart."
They ate in relative silence, but it wasn't the awkward kind of silence. It was... companionable. Leina occasionally glanced sideways, watching Malvern fiddle nervously with the edge of his scarf or stare a bit too hard at his soup thermos.
"Do you always talk this much?" she asked, her tone soft but teasing.
Malvern nearly choked. "Wh-what? I—I mean, I could talk less—"
"I'm kidding," she said quickly, and this time, her smile lasted longer.
A little ways off, behind a pillar wrapped in climbing ivy, Alexander leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. His emerald eyes trailed over the scene before him—the way Malvern laughed too hard at something Leina said, the way her posture wasn't as guarded as usual.
Something twinged in his chest.
Not anger. Not sadness. Just... a quiet, uncomfortable prickling.
He didn't like seeing Leina vulnerable—not because he distrusted Malvern, but because Leina didn't open up easily. And here she was, laughing. Smiling. Lowering her walls. With someone else.
James had once said that some people came into your life like puzzle pieces—never forced, never loud, just perfectly fitting in places you didn't even know were empty.
Alexander didn't know what Malvern was to Leina yet. But he wasn't sure if he liked it.
Still, he didn't move. Just watched.
"Are you always this nervous?" Leina asked again, as Malvern nearly dropped his spoon.
He groaned. "Only around you."
"Why?"
"Because you're... you," he said, looking up at her, a sincerity in his voice that cut straight through the chilly air. "You're quiet but strong. And sometimes, when you speak in debate, it's like… everything else fades. I admire that."
Leina was quiet, the compliment hanging in the air between them. She didn't blush or smile immediately. She looked at him, long and thoughtful.
Then, as if granting something unspoken, she murmured, "You're not so bad either, Malvern."
His breath hitched.
A pause.
Then, slowly, they returned to their lunch. No grand declarations. No flustered endings. Just a simple, new closeness.
Alexander finally turned away from the courtyard, eyes shadowed by the faintest frown. As he walked back inside, his fingers brushed the edge of the limited-edition book he had planned to give Leina later.
He paused.
Slipped it back into his blazer pocket.
Some things could wait.
...
Unbeknownst to him, across the upper corridor that overlooked the courtyard, a pair of sharp eyes followed his every move. Vivianne Kilner stood half-hidden behind the tall glass panes of the east wing, arms crossed loosely, her expression unreadable.
She hadn't meant to watch, not really. But the moment Alexander's gaze had lingered on Leina—the moment his steps faltered—she had felt it. That quiet pull he always reserved for Leina Reinhardt. It didn't matter how subtle it was. Vivianne saw it every time.
Her lips curled, not into a smile but something more controlled. More careful.
"Interesting," she whispered under her breath, tapping her polished nails against the cold glass.
And then she turned, walking away before the bell rang, her heels clicking softly against the marble.
She wouldn't confront it. Not yet.
But she was watching.
Always.