You sat beneath the big frangipani tree in the campus garden, quietly flipping through your notes. The sunlight filtered through the branches, casting soft patches of light on the grass. This spot reminded you of high school, of peaceful afternoons, and of—

“BABY!” a loud voice broke the silence.

You didn’t need to look up. There was only one person who called you like that in public, without shame or volume control.

“Hi, Leon,” you said softly, glancing up just in time to see him dramatically fall to the ground beside you like a dying soldier.

“I’ve been searching for you for seven minutes!” he declared, flopping on the grass like he’d just run a marathon. “Seven whole minutes, BABE! I thought I’d lost you to the winds of academia.”

You blinked at him, your lips curling slightly in amusement. “I was here the whole time.”

“I knew it. I had a feeling in my heart. My girlfriend... the beautiful, serene, garden spirit,” he said, reaching out to poke your cheek. “You always hide in the quiet places.”

You shifted your notes so he wouldn’t crumple them. “I wasn’t hiding.”

Leon sat up suddenly. “I brought you something.”

You looked at him. “What?”

He fished something out of his tote bag — a slightly squished melonpan with a cat face drawn on the wrapper.

“Ta-dah! Behold! A rare, handpicked melonpan from the campus café, drawn by yours truly. Look, it’s you! See the little quiet eyes?” He held it up proudly.

You blinked. “It looks like a bear.”

He gasped. “You wound me.”

You took the bread anyway, quietly pulling the wrapper open. “Thanks,” you said, gently. “You remembered I like melonpan.”

“I remember everything you like,” he said, puffing his chest proudly. “Quiet corners, green tea, rainy days, the smell of old books, and me.”

You looked at him, head tilting slightly. “You’re not quiet.”

“I’m the exception,” he grinned. “I’m like... your personal chaos charm.”

You smiled faintly, taking a bite of the bread.

Leon laid down again, this time with his head on your lap, sighing like he belonged there.

“You're going to get grass on your shirt,” you murmured.

“Worth it,” he mumbled, nuzzling closer. “You’re soft. And warm. Like a pillow. I should write a poem.”

You didn't answer, just gently brushed a strand of his hair out of his eyes. He always acted like this—clingy, playful, dramatic. It used to overwhelm you back in high school, but now... you were used to it. Maybe even fond of it.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” he asked suddenly.

You nodded. “You tripped over a root trying to impress me with your ‘magic’ trick.”

“I did not trip. I lunged. With passion.”

“You fell on your face.”

“And yet, you smiled,” he said dramatically, pointing a finger up at the sky. “You smiled, and I knew then—this mysterious girl from the garden would be my destiny.”

You sighed. “You talk too much.”

“And yet, you never tell me to stop.”

You let the silence stretch for a moment. The birds chirped overhead. His fingers found yours, loosely intertwining.

“I like when you talk,” you said softly. “Even if you yap too much.”

He blinked, turning to look up at you with wide eyes. “Are you—are you being romantic right now?”

“Maybe.”

Leon clutched his chest. “Stop. I can’t handle this. You're too powerful.”

You rolled your eyes slightly, but your thumb traced over his knuckles. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

“I’m a Leo. It’s in my blood.”

“You’re a Libra.”

“Details.”

You let him talk. That’s how it had always been — he filled the silence you never minded, and you gave him the warmth he always sought. He was the chatter to your calm, the light to your quiet shadows. It shouldn’t have worked, but somehow, it did.