The applause and noise on set slowly faded away.
Link didn't move. He stayed tucked in the shadow of a bookshelf, watching the crew take down lights and coil cables.
Ron Howard was like a kid who'd just gotten a new toy, replaying the last take over and over, muttering "genius" under his breath.
Russell Crowe seemed calmer too. He patted Jennifer on the shoulder and said something to her in a low voice.
Link, though, was waiting for her.
Jennifer exchanged a few polite words with the director and cast, declined the dinner invitation, then changed out of her costume and back into her familiar black turtleneck.
When she walked through the crowd toward him, all the heat and chaos under the spotlights stayed behind her.
"Want to take a walk?" she asked softly, her voice still husky from stepping out of character.
Link nodded.
They walked out of the library side by side.
Dusk had fully surrendered to night. One by one, the campus lights came on. The wind rustled through the plane trees, leaves whispering softly. From a distant church, evening bells rang out, echoing through the twilight in a way that felt almost unreal.
They walked along the stone path together, neither of them speaking. Streetlights flickered on, stretching their shadows long across the ground.
"How did you know?"
Jennifer finally broke the silence. She didn't look at him, just stared ahead at the pebbled path lit by the lamps.
Link slipped his hands into his pockets, feeling the cool night air.
"Because, in some ways, Alicia and I are the same kind of person."
Jennifer stopped and turned to look at him.
"I was once the audience member sitting in the very last row," he continued.
He smiled faintly, a hint of self-mockery in it. "So I can see everything on the stage—the lighting, the blocking, the ending. But I can never really step into it."
He paused.
"When someone sees too clearly, but stands too far away, they end up… lonely."
He looked at her. His obsidian-dark eyes reflected the soft yellow glow of the streetlight.
"Alicia was Nash's audience. She didn't understand his world, but she understood his loneliness. She wasn't saving a madman—she was giving him a place to rest."
"A harbor," Jennifer said quietly, finishing the thought.
"Yes," he said. "A harbor."
The air fell still, broken only by the wind.
They stopped beneath a streetlight. The warm glow traced her profile, softening her sculpted features.
She looked at him silently—for a long moment.
Then she lifted her hand and gently pressed it against his chest. Even through his shirt, he could feel the coolness of her fingers.
Link's breath caught.
"So…" she asked softly, her voice barely audible, "the one being leaned on… needs someone to lean on too, right?"
He didn't answer. He only raised his hand and placed it over hers.
Her fingers trembled slightly, but she didn't pull away.
At that exact moment, the bells stopped ringing.
For a heartbeat, it felt like the whole world had narrowed down to the warmth in their palms and the rhythm of each other's breathing.
He looked into her eyes. The cool detachment she usually carried was gone—no trace of a role left—only the quiet calm of someone who felt truly understood.
He gently curled his fingers, enclosing her cold hand in his.
It was an answer without words.
Somewhere in the distance, a door slammed shut. Then a car engine started, pulling them back from that frozen moment.
Jennifer's eyelashes fluttered, like she was waking from a dream. She still didn't pull her hand away.
Link lowered their joined hands from his chest, but didn't let go. He led her forward as naturally as if it required no thought at all.
"Cold?" he asked.
"A little," she replied softly.
They started walking again along the stone path toward the parking lot. Their shadows overlapped under the streetlights, stretching, merging, then overlapping again.
"Thank you… for earlier," Jennifer said quietly. "I got lost in the role."
"I just pulled you back," Link replied.
"No." She shook her head slightly. Her fingers curled gently in his palm. "You didn't pull me back. You… walked into the forest where I was lost."
Something stirred softly in his chest.
He knew she was talking about the role—but not entirely.
At the parking lot, Link let go of her hand and opened the passenger door for her.
Jennifer sat down. Just before he closed the door, she looked up at him.
"What about you?" she asked. "When you feel lonely… who do you lean on?"
His hand paused on the door.
He looked at her, stayed silent for a few seconds, then smiled.
"Before I met you," he said half-jokingly, "probably whiskey and movies."
He closed the door and walked around to the driver's side.
The space inside the car felt small, sealed off from the world outside. No wind, no bells—just the quiet sound of their breathing.
Link didn't start the car right away. He looked at her.
Dim light softened her features. She held his gaze, her eyes full of curiosity—and something that felt like an invitation.
Suddenly, words seemed unnecessary.
He leaned closer.
Jennifer didn't move away. She simply closed her eyes, long lashes trembling faintly.
He bent down, and she held her breath.
She caught the faint scent of smoke on him, mixed with something woody.
Then—
Click.
The seatbelt snapped into place.
Link straightened up, expression perfectly calm.
"Safety first."
Her face was already warm, her fingers gripping the strap of her bag.
For a moment, the car was so quiet they could hear each other breathe.
Link glanced at her, noticing her unease.
He smiled and broke the silence. "Jennifer."
She looked up, her voice barely a whisper. "Yeah?"
"Want a drink?"
She froze for a second, then nodded lightly. "Mm."
Link started the engine.
Night slid past the windshield, streetlights drifting backward one by one.
The car headed toward a bar in the distance.