The storm raged outside, the sound of rain pounding against the windows of the Ovaris Empire, relentless as it poured down from the darkened sky. Thunder rumbled in the distance. The heavy downpour had been constant for over three days, filling the air with a thick, damp humidity that clung to everything.
Lyra stood before Zay's door, her silhouette barely visible through the dark hallway that had no light currently. She wore a soft, light blue dress, the fabric flowing gently around her as if caught in a breeze for a few seconds before becoming still. Her long, wavy blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, shimmering like spun gold in the low light. A bright pink flower, vibrant against the golden strands, was tucked behind one ear, the delicate petals standing out starkly against the backdrop of stormy gray of the darkened hallway. Her bright blue eyes glimmered with a softness, reflecting the quiet uncertainty in her heart as she hesitated.
Taking a breath, she reached up with her delicate hand, fingers brushing the wooden surface of the door before she lightly knocked, the sound barely louder than the storm raging beyond. The motion felt strange, almost as if she were interrupting something, though she knew she had to wake him. Lily had insisted she be the one to do it, to check on Zay and see if he was awake.
With her hand still lingering in the air, she closed her eyes for a brief moment, feeling the weight of the rain-soaked day around her before she gave one last soft knock.
She stood in the dimly lit hallway, her fingers nervously twirling around each other, the sound of the rain pouring steadily against the windows echoing through the still air. Her eyes scanned the walls around her, searching for any distraction, but the silence seemed to stretch on, oppressive in its stillness. She waited a few moments longer, but all she heard was the soft hum of the storm outside, the wind howling against the stone walls of the house.
'Is… he okay?' The thought crept into her mind, her gaze narrowing instinctively toward the door. Her fingers, despite the coolness of the hallway, were warm with the tension building in her chest. She took a deep breath, feeling her pulse quicken as she reached her hand toward the door handle. Her fingers brushed the cool brass, then wrapped around it, noticing immediately that the door was unlocked.
With a slow, deliberate twist, she turned the handle. The door creaked faintly, the sound almost imperceptible against the storm's intensity, but it seemed to amplify in the silence of the room as she slowly pushed the door open. The air inside was still, heavy with the scent of fresh linens and the lingering trace of strawberries, a scent that was unmistakably her own perfume when she had been in the room a day before Zay arrived. The faint rustle of the quilt over him was the only movement, his peaceful figure lying on the bed, his head nestled against the soft silk pillow, the quilt draped carefully over his form.
Lyra hesitated for a moment, scanning around her, but there was no sign of Lily. She stepped into the room quietly, closing the door behind her. Her soft, low-heeled shoes made little sound as they clicked gently against the carpeted floor, the plush fabric cushioning her every step. She had planned to go book shopping today, the reason for her dress and the heels, but the storm had thwarted that simple pleasure.
She took a few steps forward, her movements graceful and measured, her dress swaying with each motion. Her eyes fluttered shut for a second as she inhaled deeply, the scent of strawberries swirling around her, comforting and familiar. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips, but it was fleeting.
Her footsteps brought her to the side of the bed. She paused for a moment, studying Zay's sleeping form. The sight of him so still, so serene, softened her features. Her gaze lingered on him, the rising and falling of his chest beneath the quilt a quiet rhythm. She felt a pang of hesitation—how could she disturb such peace? But she knew she had to.
Taking a deep breath, Lyra gathered her courage and reached forward. She leaned down slightly, her hand gently touching his shoulder as she whispered, "Zay..." Her voice was soft, almost tentative, as though unsure if she should even wake him. Then, recalling the events of the other day, her throat tightened. She swallowed hard, shaking her head to dispel the thoughts. Some strands of her long blonde hair drifted across her cheek, and she brushed them away absently.
For a moment, she just stood there, watching him sleep, her hand hovering over his shoulder. Finally, with a resigned sigh, she bent down a little closer. "Wake up, Zayyyyy," she said, her tone carrying a soft teasing exaggeration. Her voice, though gentle, held a hint of amusement, masking the small flutter of nervousness within her.
After a few more moments of gentle shaking, Zay groaned under his breath. His eyelids fluttered open slowly, the hazy blur of sleep still clouding his vision. Shapes and colors merged, unfamiliar and vague, and he sat up instinctively—his hand brushing through his hair, unaware of his surroundings.
The soft quilt slid down from his chest and pooled around his waist, revealing his bare torso—defined with smooth muscle, abs, and the natural warmth of someone who hadn't dressed since falling asleep two days ago.
Lyra froze.
Her face lit up instantly in a pink hue that bloomed into a deeper blush. Her bright blue eyes widened as her breath caught in her throat. "O-oh! Um-!"
She turned quickly, her hands flying up to her cheeks as if to hide from the sight she'd just seen. "S-sorry!" she stammered. "I didn't—I thought you'd be clothed! I mean—why would you be clothed—wait no, that came out wrong!"
She peeked once, just a glance—eyes flicking over her shoulder—and then quickly turned her head again, her blonde waves bouncing and the pink flower pinned in her hair tilting slightly with the motion. Her voice was barely above a whisper now. "Why does he always have to look like that…"
Zay blinked a few times, the fog in his mind fading as his vision finally cleared.
'What's wrong with her?' he thought, watching her fidget.
Then he looked down.
His chest was bare.
A dry chuckle escaped his throat. "Oh… right," he muttered, brushing his hand across his chest and sighing.
He swung his legs over the bed, standing tall as the last traces of drowsiness slipped from his body. His long black hair, streaked with white and crimson, trailed behind him like ink in water. He cracked his neck with a quiet pop, rotating his shoulder once before stepping toward the wooden chair near the wall.
Draped over the back was a dark grey tunic. He picked it up, paused, and gave it a subtle sniff. The scent of strawberries clung faintly to the fabric.
"…Why the hell does this smell like strawberries?" he murmured.
She didn't turn around, but her shoulders tensed just slightly.
Zay shook his head with a faint grin. "Huh. Whatever."
With a fluid motion, he slipped the tunic over his head and rolled his shoulders once it settled on him. The scent was oddly comforting, even if he wasn't sure why it was there.
Zay stepped forward, his bare feet making almost no sound against the carpeted floor as he approached Lyra from in front of her. She stood still, hands covering her flushed face, her eyes tightly shut in sheer embarrassment.
She didn't realize Zay hadn't caught a single word of her rambling. His mind was still sluggish, the echoes of sleep clinging to him like fog. He barely remembered her voice at all—only that someone had woken him.
But as he reached her, his gaze drifted to the bright pink flower nestled behind her ear.
It was barely holding on.
The long, golden waves of her hair had loosened slightly from her hurried turn, and the delicate bloom now teetered near the edge. Without thinking, Zay raised his hand slowly, carefully, his fingers brushing softly against her hair as he caught the flower before it could fall.
Lyra inhaled sharply, a small gasp slipping from her lips. Her eyes shot open, startled, her cheeks burning even deeper as she felt the gentle touch against her hair. She fought the urge to flinch or step away and instead forced herself to stay rooted in place.
Her heart raced as she looked up—Zay's expression unreadable, his focus completely on the flower as he tucked it back into her hair, adjusting the angle so it sat just as it had before. His fingers moved with a strange calmness, deliberate and quiet.
She didn't move, only peeked between her fingers at his face, her breath caught somewhere between anticipation and confusion.
Then—
click.
The door opened.
Neither of them noticed at first.
Lily stood in the doorway, eyebrows arching, a slow smirk forming on her lips as she took in the scene: Zay's hand lingering in Lyra's hair, Lyra's entire face red, and the pink flower now freshly placed, with her looking up at him.
She brought her hand up to her mouth and gave a clearly fake, dramatic cough.
"Ahem."
Both of them froze.
Zay turned slightly, hand still half-raised. Lyra's eyes went wide as she nearly stumbled a step back, her fingers dropping from her face as if caught red-handed.
Lily blinked innocently. "Oh? Did I interrupt something sweet?"
Zay blinked once, completely thrown off. "…Interrupt what?"
Lyra's hands shot out in front of her in a flurry, waving back and forth as she took a shaky step away from Zay, her words tumbling out all at once.
"W–Wait! No! It's not what it looks like! I was just trying to wake him up and then he walked over and—and the flower—he just fixed my flower, and I didn't mean to—It wasn't—He didn't and—!"
Lily raised a brow, still leaning casually against the doorway, her lips twitching upward.
"Mhm. Right. Just a flower."
Lyra's eyes widened more, mouth opening again, but Lily cut her off with a dismissive wave and a smug grin.
"Sure. Whatever you say."
Lyra let out a tiny squeak of a sound and turned away, her hands hovering near her face again. Zay blinked, still piecing everything together.