a little lyrason moment i wrote...
The rain had settled into a steady rhythm against the windows, soft enough to fade into the music drifting through the ceiling speakers.
The kitchen lights were low, casting warm pools of amber across the marble island where dinner had been abandoned halfway through. Bread lay open on the cutting board beside slices of tomato and cheese. A knife rested exactly where Grayson had left it.
Neither of them seemed interested in finishing.
Lyra stood by the island in Grayson's oversized charcoal T-shirt. It slipped off one shoulder every few minutes, and she absently tugged it back into place without thinking. The hem brushed the middle of her thighs, the sleeves nearly reaching her elbows.
Clean cotton, cedarwood, and the faint trace of rain from earlier.
Her waist-length black hair was still slightly damp, falling in loose waves down her back.
Across from her, Grayson reached for two glasses, then paused.
A familiar melody drifted softly through the room.
He glanced toward the speakers.
She caught the look immediately.
A smile spread across her face.
He set the glasses back down.
Walked around the island.
She looked at it for a second, pretending to think.
Then slipped her hand into his.
His fingers closed around hers with quiet certainty.
He guided her away from the counter until they found the small stretch of open floor between the island and the windows.
His other hand settled lightly against her waist.
For a moment neither of them moved.
They simply stood there while the rain traced silver lines down the glass.
Then Grayson shifted his weight.
Lyra followed almost automatically.
He danced the way he'd been taught years ago—steady, precise, effortless. There wasn't anything rigid about it anymore. Every movement felt natural, as though he'd forgotten the lessons themselves and only remembered how they made someone else feel safe.
Outside, lightning flickered somewhere beyond the trees, briefly reflecting in the windows before disappearing again.
Inside, the kitchen felt impossibly warm.
He was already looking back.
He answered with the smallest lift at the corner of his mouth.
They drifted slowly around the kitchen.
The space wasn't nearly large enough.
When they reached the table, Grayson turned them smoothly before either of them could bump into it.
A second later she deliberately took one step in the wrong direction.
Without missing a beat, he adjusted, guiding her back into rhythm.
A quiet, bright sound that echoed through the empty room.
His expression finally cracked.
"Got you," she whispered.
Her hair swung gently as they turned, the ends brushing against his arm.
On the next turn, the loose waves caught him squarely across the face.
Then she burst into laughter.
The kind she couldn't stop even if she'd wanted to.
Grayson stood there, a curtain of dark hair half across his shoulder, looking thoroughly unimpressed.
Nothing came out except another laugh.
He slowly lifted a hand, carefully untangling a few strands from where they'd caught against his shoulder.
He looked at the long length of black hair still draped across him.
He let out a quiet breath through his nose.
Finally, he gathered the loose length of her hair in one hand and gently brought it forward over her shoulder so it rested against her chest instead.
His fingers lingered just long enough to make sure it wouldn't fall back.
When he looked up again, she was watching him.
He reached up almost absentmindedly and tucked one stray strand behind her ear.
She looked entirely too pleased about that.
It slipped free immediately.
She couldn't help herself.
This time he actually smiled.
Not the restrained, polite smile the rest of the world saw.
She reached up and smoothed a lock of his blond hair that had fallen across his forehead during the dance.
Just watched her with those quiet grey eyes until she dropped her hand again.
The song drifted into its chorus.
Grayson drew her a fraction closer.
Not enough to change the dance.
Just enough that there was no space left between them.
She rested her cheek lightly against his chest.
His heartbeat was slow beneath her ear.
For a long while, they swayed without speaking.
The rain filled every silence.
The music filled the rest.
When the song began to fade, Grayson tipped his head slightly until his forehead rested against hers.
His eyes closed for a brief moment.
"So this is why the sandwiches were a bad idea," Lyra murmured.
A quiet huff of amusement escaped him.
She felt it more than she heard it.
He opened his eyes again.
As though he'd been thinking them long before he'd spoken them.
Lyra's smile faltered just enough for emotion to find its way through.
She lifted their joined hands and squeezed his gently.
Just that small nod, as if the words had settled exactly where they belonged.
The next song had already started.
The sandwiches could wait.
The rain wasn't going anywhere.
And for a little while longer, neither were they.
