The water was full; his entry caused the surface to rise, some foam spilling over the edge onto the tiles, slowly dissolving.
Only the faint sound of gentle ripples moving between them—this was a private moment shared in their New York hotel suite, completely different from the distance maintained through cameras and characters on set.
Time flowed slowly in the humid, warm silence.
The light from the wall lamp filtered through the steam, casting swaying spots of light on the ceiling.
Landon stared at those spots of light, but his mind uncontrollably replayed all the fragments of the day: the reporters' questions, Tracy's calm instructions, Rachel's panicked voice, and that brief nod Jennifer gave him when she passed by him on set today.
He knew she knew.
Throughout the afternoon, in the intervals on the set of A Beautiful Mind, he could feel that subtle shift in the atmosphere.
Although they played two completely unrelated characters in the movie—she was Alicia, John Nash's wife, and he was Charles, Nash's hallucination—they didn't even exist on the same level of reality in the script.
But in the real space of the set, rumors spread as fast as anywhere else.
Jennifer finally moved.
She didn't turn around; the space in the bathtub was limited, so Jennifer just sat with her back against his chest.
But she leaned back slightly, letting the back of her head rest gently against his shoulder blade.
The movement was natural, yet it caused ripples to spread across the water's surface.
"After wrapping up today," her voice came through the steam, calm and clear, "my assistant cautiously asked me if I had seen some of the reports in today's entertainment section."
Landon's body stiffened slightly. The hot water enveloped him, but he felt a chill.
Jennifer continued, her tone carrying a sense of almost amused helplessness: "She was so tactful, as if she were afraid of hurting me. I told her not to worry." Jennifer paused.
"I've been in this industry long enough to know when to take a report seriously and when to laugh it off."
She paused, then turned her face slightly to the side.
The water rippled; Landon could catch a glimpse of the contour of her cheek and a few strands of dark hair wet and plastered against her skin from the corner of his eye.
"I believe you, Landon," she said, her voice very soft, yet exceptionally clear in the steam-filled bathroom.
"I've seen too much media Ran and deception. And you're not that kind of person."
Landon felt his throat tighten.
He wanted to say something, but Jennifer shook her head gently—though her back was to him, the movement was transmitted through the ripples in the water.
"I don't need to hear an explanation," she said.
"I just need you to know: I'm on your side."
She turned around.
This movement required some skill in the bathtub; water splashed, and foam scattered.
When they were face to face, the light from the wall lamp shone from behind her, forming a hazy halo around her.
Droplets of water hung on her eyelashes, shimmering with every blink.
"There might be reporters outside the set tomorrow," Jennifer looked directly into his eyes.
"If they ask, I'll say, 'Landon is a professional actor and musician, and I don't comment on my colleagues' private lives.' But here, in private..."
She reached out, her palm flat against his chest, feeling his heartbeat. "I want you to know that I understand the pressure you're facing right now. And you can trust me."
Landon looked into her eyes. Those eyes he had seen countless times through the camera lens, capable of expressing the most complex emotions, showed no hesitation or reservation now.
There was only a mature trust based on judgment.
"Thank you," he finally managed to say, his voice a bit raspy.
Jennifer smiled, a smile that seemed exceptionally warm in the dense steam.
She Withdraw your hand, turned back around, and rested her back against his chest again.
But this posture was no longer just due to the limitations of the bathtub; it was a conscious act of closeness and support.
"Do you know what the most ironic thing is?" she asked, a hint of teasing in her voice.
"In the movie, I'm the only one who firmly believes Nash can overcome his hallucinations. And in reality..." She paused.
"I believe you can handle this farce. After all, compared to the crazy hallucinations of a mathematical genius, entertainment industry gossip is relatively easy to deal with, right?"
Landon couldn't help but laugh. This was his first genuine smile since receiving Rachel's call this morning.
He reached out his arm and gently wrapped it around her shoulder.
"I'll handle it," he said, his voice much firmer than before.
"I know you will." Jennifer closed her eyes, leaning back against him in complete relaxation. "And remember, you're not facing this alone. You have your agent, your team," she gently patted his hand wrapped around her shoulder, "and me."
The water gradually grew lukewarm, but neither of them showed any intention of getting out.
The foam slowly dissipated, and the scene beneath the water became clear—their bodies floated relaxedly in the warm water, Jennifer's long dark hair spreading out like seaweed, with a few strands tangled around Landon's arm.
"Landon," she called softly.
"Yeah?"
"Your music... that song 'Yeah!', I listened to it again in the car yesterday." She didn't open her eyes. "It has a pure energy that makes people very happy. Don't let those Ran things take away that energy. That's your most precious asset."
Landon felt something in his chest softening and melting. He lowered his head and gently kissed the top of her wet head. "I won't."
Later, when the water had turned completely cold, they finally got up.
Jennifer stepped out of the bathtub first, wrapped herself in a towel, then turned around and handed him another one.
In the bathroom where the steam was gradually dissipating, they briefly dried their bodies, even helping each other, something they had done many times before.
Jennifer wrapped her arms directly around his neck and kissed him.
She was using this kiss to tell him: I am here, I choose to believe you, and I use my whole self to prove this trust.
When they pulled apart, both were breathless.
Jennifer's forehead rested against his, water droplets dripping from their faces, indistinguishable whose they were.
"Tonight," she whispered, her breath brushing against his lips, "I want you to completely relax. I want you to forget all that noise. I want you to only feel this—" Her hand slid down his back,
"only feel the now, only feel me."
She didn't give him time to answer.
The next kiss was even more passionate, more undeniable.
Her hands, her lips, every inch of her skin conveyed the same message: tonight, let the entire outside world disappear.
Finally, as the night lights of New York cast striped shadows across the bed through the gaps in the blinds, Jennifer lay on her side, her fingers unconsciously tracing circles on his chest.
"Tomorrow," she said softly, "we'll go to the set separately. My car leaves at 7:20, yours can leave at 7:30. That way, it won't give people room for association."