The Crown Room's door clicked softly behind her, but it still felt loud in Leina's ears—like a bell signaling the end of something she hadn't quite figured out yet. The hallway was quieter than usual. Maybe it was the hour, maybe it was just her. Either way, the silence matched the weight she carried.
Lunch period.
It used to be her favorite part of the day. Now, it felt like a pause button pressed in the middle of a movie she wasn't even enjoying. No one noticed her as she walked past the lockers, past the echoing clatter of the cafeteria, past everything. Her blazer sleeves were slightly too long, brushing her knuckles, and she kept her arms close, her head low, her steps slower than usual. Deliberate.
She hadn't been to the library in weeks. Maybe months. Not since the Crown Room began swallowing her time and energy, not since everything got… serious. People treated her differently now. Teachers watched her like she might explode into brilliance or failure at any moment. Students whispered—Reinhardt this, Crown Room that. Being the Reinhardt princess didn't help either. It was all eyes, all pressure, all the time.
But today, she didn't care.
Today, she just wanted something soft. Something hers.
The library was nestled between two old wings of the school, a little forgotten, a little sacred. As she stepped inside, the familiar scent hit her—warm pages, dusty wood, that faint note of citrus from the janitor's cleaner. The air shifted, and so did her chest. Just a little. Like it knew how to breathe again.
Her feet carried her without thinking. Past the main desks, past the sunlit tables where students whispered over textbooks. Straight to the reading pods.
That pod.
Tucked into the far corner behind a half-shelf of archived encyclopedias no one touched anymore. Her pod. It had a window with sunlight that slanted across the seat just the way she remembered. The cushion still sagged in the middle. Her name was still carved faintly on the bottom of the desk, hidden unless you knew where to look.
She sighed. Her fingers brushed the edge of the wood as she turned the corner.
And froze.
He was there.
Alexander.
Sitting inside her pod.
Head bent over a book, fingers idly turning pages, one leg propped up, blazer tossed beside him like it didn't matter. His hair fell a little messier today, curling slightly at the ends. He looked calm, focused. At peace.
She didn't move. Just watched him for a second longer than she should've. Her stomach twisted—not unpleasantly. There was that weird warmth again, the one that made her hands feel too big and her throat a little dry. The one she hated to admit she didn't hate at all.
And then, like a slow, inevitable pull, he looked up.
Eyes meeting hers like he'd expected it. Like he'd known she'd be there, eventually.
Something flickered across his face. Surprise, sure. But softer too—a crack of something he didn't let others see. His mouth parted slightly, a breath caught between lines of unread dialogue.
Her heart jumped. Stupidly. Traitorously.
But then it sank just as fast.
Because he didn't say anything.
Didn't smile.
Didn't even move.
He just stared.
And that stupid aching place in her chest pulsed like it always did around him now.
So, Leina did something she hadn't done in a long time. Something wild. Something bold.
She walked over.
Not to the opposite side, not to her usual corner of the pod.
No.
She slid right in beside him. Close.
Too close.
His body went still—like someone hit pause.
The book in his hand drooped slightly, forgotten. He didn't look at her right away. Just felt her presence, felt her breath brush the space between them. And she… she waited. Her eyes on the book, then the window, then finally, him.
"Why are you ignoring me?"
Her voice was soft. Not fragile. Just tired. The kind of tired that came from pretending things didn't hurt when they did.
Alexander blinked, then finally looked at her fully. And oh, he looked older up close. Sharper. Shadows under his eyes. A tiredness of his own.
"I'm not," he said, voice low, careful.
She scoffed. "You haven't spoken to me properly in months."
"I've been busy."
"With what? Avoiding me?"
There it was—the flicker of something in his eyes. Guilt? No. It was never that easy with him. It was layered. Complicated.
"I thought…" he started, then stopped. Ran a hand through his hair. "You're in the Crown Room now. You've changed."
"I'm still me."
He looked at her again, and this time he really looked. Like he was trying to memorize who she was now.
"You've grown up."
"Not enough to be invisible," she shot back.
And for some reason, that made him smile. Barely. But she saw it.
"So you have missed me," he said, that old teasing tone slipping in.
"I miss a lot of things," she replied, refusing to smile back. "Like when you weren't a complete jerk."
"That wasn't very long ago."
"You'd be surprised."
He chuckled—quiet, deep. And for a moment, it felt like nothing had changed. Like she was nine again and he was the boy who used to sneak her extra strawberry pocky during class breaks.
But then the silence stretched, and she remembered just how close they were sitting. Their knees almost touched. His arm brushed hers when he adjusted his posture, and suddenly her whole body was hyper-aware of everything.
Her cheeks burned.
He noticed.
She stood abruptly, nearly stumbling out of the pod.
"Leina—"
"I have to go," she mumbled, already halfway out.
He rose slightly like he might stop her, but she was already gone, her footsteps echoing down the hall before he could say another word.
Back in the pod, Alexander sat down again slowly. The cushion still warm from where she'd been.
He ran a hand over his face and sighed, barely holding back a laugh.
"Still a little squirrel," he murmured, "just...ugh prettier."