His broad frame stood comfortably rooted beside her, the crackle of fire painting subtle shifts of light along the line of his jaw, over the edges of ink that wove across his forearm like a map of every war he’d fought. His plate was long emptied, but he held it in one hand, as if unsure whether he planned to linger or leave.
He watched her for a moment—this woman who hosted strangers like family, who cooked with memory over measurements, who touched the locket around her neck as though remembering didn’t always hurt. He had seen the way her fingers pressed against it during the song. When she invited him to sit, he did. Slowly. Without ceremony. The chair creaked faintly under his solid weight as he angled it just enough to face her without crowding her space. One leg stretched out, the other bent, his forearm draped casually across his knee. He didn’t speak right away. Just let the silence breathe.
Then, a low chuckle left him—rough around the edges but authentic regardless.
“Swimming? Better be a strong grill waiting on shore if you want me to dive in.” His mouth quirked at the edge. It was the closest thing to a grin he ever really gave, but it softened the steel in his eyes.
“But yeah… you should host again.” He gestured with a slight tilt of his head—toward the food, the lights, the way music still hung in the air like a scent that didn’t want to leave. “You made something good here. Not just the food. The mood. The… whatever you have here.”
His gaze lifted briefly toward the fire. There was something about flame that always drew men like him in—men who knew what it meant to destroy, to survive, to rebuild with what little warmth was left.
“Lots of people feed others to show off. You feed people to remember.” His eyes met hers again—sharply, but not unkind. “That kind of cooking don’t come from recipes. Comes from loss. From love. From knowing what it means to go without.” He paused, just for a beat, before adding more lightly—
“Also helps that you don’t burn your greens like most folks do.” The corner of his mouth lifted again in the ghost of a grin.
When she asked his name, his response was simple—direct, like the man himself.
“Raiden.” A slight nod followed, as if offering the name were an exchange rather than a gift. “Used to do the grilling myself. Glad I wasn’t the one manning the flame.”
He leaned back a little, one hand bracing the armrest as he took in the sounds again—the laughter in the distance, the faint lapping of the lake, the afterglow of music still trailing through the night like a breath not yet exhaled.
“Whoever raised you—taught you right.”
He watched her as she spoke, noting the way her hand drifted near the guitar like it was second nature—an old companion she hadn’t needed to think about before offering it company. There was something effortless about the way she said it too. She could sing. Probably damn well, if her food was anything to go by. Women like her had soul built into every tendon, every breath. She didn’t wear it on her sleeve. She wore it in the pauses between words.
When she teased him, he huffed a quiet breath through his nose, more exhale than laugh, eyes shifting toward the flames.
“Nah. Not like that.” He leaned a little back in the chair, gaze lifted toward the lake as the breeze tugged the smoke in soft ribbons across the sky. “I don’t sing. Never learned to play either. But I DJ sometimes.”
The confession came low, casual, almost like it didn’t belong in a setting like this. As if turning tables and reading the energy of a crowd wasn’t the kind of thing you shared when firewood crackled and folks were thinking about sunsets and string lights. “Not clubs anymore. Got old quick. I just throw together sets. Mood-based. Beats that hold people a while. That sort of thing.”
He didn’t clarify what kind of mood. The way he said it made it clear they weren’t for dancefloors, not really. More like soundtracks to the parts of life people didn’t talk about. The in-betweens. The silences. The nights like this.
His gaze cut sideways, back to her. That playful flicker in her tone hadn’t gone unnoticed.
“But if you sing tonight, I’ll stay.” He tilted his head, considering her again in the glow of firelight. “If I may say, you seem like someone who doesn’t sing just to be heard.”
He watched her for a moment—this woman who hosted strangers like family, who cooked with memory over measurements, who touched the locket around her neck as though remembering didn’t always hurt. He had seen the way her fingers pressed against it during the song. When she invited him to sit, he did. Slowly. Without ceremony. The chair creaked faintly under his solid weight as he angled it just enough to face her without crowding her space. One leg stretched out, the other bent, his forearm draped casually across his knee. He didn’t speak right away. Just let the silence breathe.
Then, a low chuckle left him—rough around the edges but authentic regardless.
“Swimming? Better be a strong grill waiting on shore if you want me to dive in.” His mouth quirked at the edge. It was the closest thing to a grin he ever really gave, but it softened the steel in his eyes.
“But yeah… you should host again.” He gestured with a slight tilt of his head—toward the food, the lights, the way music still hung in the air like a scent that didn’t want to leave. “You made something good here. Not just the food. The mood. The… whatever you have here.”
His gaze lifted briefly toward the fire. There was something about flame that always drew men like him in—men who knew what it meant to destroy, to survive, to rebuild with what little warmth was left.
“Lots of people feed others to show off. You feed people to remember.” His eyes met hers again—sharply, but not unkind. “That kind of cooking don’t come from recipes. Comes from loss. From love. From knowing what it means to go without.” He paused, just for a beat, before adding more lightly—
“Also helps that you don’t burn your greens like most folks do.” The corner of his mouth lifted again in the ghost of a grin.
When she asked his name, his response was simple—direct, like the man himself.
“Raiden.” A slight nod followed, as if offering the name were an exchange rather than a gift. “Used to do the grilling myself. Glad I wasn’t the one manning the flame.”
He leaned back a little, one hand bracing the armrest as he took in the sounds again—the laughter in the distance, the faint lapping of the lake, the afterglow of music still trailing through the night like a breath not yet exhaled.
“Whoever raised you—taught you right.”
He watched her as she spoke, noting the way her hand drifted near the guitar like it was second nature—an old companion she hadn’t needed to think about before offering it company. There was something effortless about the way she said it too. She could sing. Probably damn well, if her food was anything to go by. Women like her had soul built into every tendon, every breath. She didn’t wear it on her sleeve. She wore it in the pauses between words.
When she teased him, he huffed a quiet breath through his nose, more exhale than laugh, eyes shifting toward the flames.
“Nah. Not like that.” He leaned a little back in the chair, gaze lifted toward the lake as the breeze tugged the smoke in soft ribbons across the sky. “I don’t sing. Never learned to play either. But I DJ sometimes.”
The confession came low, casual, almost like it didn’t belong in a setting like this. As if turning tables and reading the energy of a crowd wasn’t the kind of thing you shared when firewood crackled and folks were thinking about sunsets and string lights. “Not clubs anymore. Got old quick. I just throw together sets. Mood-based. Beats that hold people a while. That sort of thing.”
He didn’t clarify what kind of mood. The way he said it made it clear they weren’t for dancefloors, not really. More like soundtracks to the parts of life people didn’t talk about. The in-betweens. The silences. The nights like this.
His gaze cut sideways, back to her. That playful flicker in her tone hadn’t gone unnoticed.
“But if you sing tonight, I’ll stay.” He tilted his head, considering her again in the glow of firelight. “If I may say, you seem like someone who doesn’t sing just to be heard.”
Lyra did not intend for her music to make everyone feel sad or heavy with emotion. She played from her heart, but sometimes, the magic she created seemed to have a mind of its own. It felt like her notes carried a weight she couldn’t control, especially when she softly stroked her violin, letting the gentle melody flow naturally. She glanced at the crowd, hoping they enjoyed the performance along with her and Adrian. Some people sat quietly, lost in their own thoughts, as if her music had touched something deep inside them. Lyra always poured herself completely into her playing, no matter how small or simple the audience. Her violin wasn’t just an instrument; it was a symbol of her past and her feelings.
That violin had been left by her father. It was a treasure that she never knew it was exist. Her mother hated the violin, hated it even more than she hated her. To her mother, the violin and the music it made seemed like a distraction, a waste of time. Her mother wanted her to be a pianist, to follow a strict path that her own mother had set out for her. The piano had been her mother’s dream, not Lyra’s. Their lives had always been about different hopes, different expectations. Lyra knew her mother’s disappointment ran deep, and she had no love for the rigid way her life had been shaped. Sometimes Lyra wondered what her life would have been like if her father had still been there, guiding her the way he wanted. But he was gone now, and the only thing left of him was that old violin, which she cherished more than anything.
Whatever disagreements or tensions had existed between her parents in the past, Lyra couldn’t find it in herself to like her mother very much. Their conflicts were part of her story. And when she felt overwhelmed or suffocated at home, she’d escape late at night, wandering aimlessly just to find a moment of peace. It was by the side of this quiet lake, away from the noise of her home and the weight of her family’s expectations, that she found some solace. Sometimes she’d even bring food to share, simple things like bread or fruit, just enough to soothe her hunger and her restless mind. Here, by the peaceful waters, the worries eased for a little while, and she could just breathe.
When the music finally ended, the applause erupted around her. Lyra lowered herself into a deep bow, feeling a surge of gratitude and joy. She offered a small, genuine smile to the crowd that had listened so intently. She was thankful they accepted her music, appreciated the sound of her violin, even if she longed for the day she could perform on a grand stage, under bright lights, with a full audience. That dream still felt distant, but it burned brightly inside her. Maybe someday, she thought, she would have the opportunity to show the world what her music truly meant.
“Thank you,” she said softly to everyone gathered before her, her voice almost lost in the quiet hum of the crowd. Her eyes then found Adrian, standing nearby with a gentle smile. She nodded politely and said, “Thank you for accompanying me.” His support, his presence, had meant more than she could say. The awkwardness that had lingered after her performance was slowly fading. Lyra felt a sudden wave of bravery, and she stepped closer to Adrian, offering him her appreciation for standing by her side. It had been an awkward start, but now she could see her companion more clearly; a steady supporter who had believed in her even when she doubted herself.
She looked around at the gathering, feeling grateful for the moment. For a long while, she was thankful for the small things. For Adrian’s company, for the music, for the quiet night. Her gaze landed on Hannah, who was still deep in conversation with Raiden, both of them caught up in their own stories. Lyra hesitated for a moment, then approached them carefully.
“I'm sorry to interrupt,” she began, her voice gentle but firm. “But I need to leave now. I wish I could stay longer, but I have a curfew I must respect. Still, I want to thank you, Hannah... truly. For your kindness, for sharing your homemade food with a stranger like me. It meant so much. Your generosity, your warmth. I hope happiness finds you in every step of your journey, and I truly hope our paths cross again someday. I’d love to stay in touch, talk again, maybe share more music or stories.”
With that, Lyra extended her arms, signaling a gentle hug toward Hannah. If Hannah accept it, Lyra would hold her tight. "I hope you and your twin stay happy always,” she whispered softly, patting Hannah’s back gently. Her warm hug conveyed her heartfelt wishes.
Releasing Hannah, Lyra stepped back, took a deep breath, and turned her attention to Adrian. She offered a respectful bow, clutching her cherished violin close to her side, her most precious possession. Her fingers nervously traced the instrument’s polished surface, a reminder of all she had been through and all she still hoped to achieve.
“Have a nice night,” she said quietly, offering her farewell. With one last look at her new friends and the peaceful surroundings, she waved goodbye and began to walk away. Her steps were slow but steady, her heart a little lighter than before. As she moved through the night, she carried the melodies in her mind, ready to keep playing, no matter where life took her next.
That violin had been left by her father. It was a treasure that she never knew it was exist. Her mother hated the violin, hated it even more than she hated her. To her mother, the violin and the music it made seemed like a distraction, a waste of time. Her mother wanted her to be a pianist, to follow a strict path that her own mother had set out for her. The piano had been her mother’s dream, not Lyra’s. Their lives had always been about different hopes, different expectations. Lyra knew her mother’s disappointment ran deep, and she had no love for the rigid way her life had been shaped. Sometimes Lyra wondered what her life would have been like if her father had still been there, guiding her the way he wanted. But he was gone now, and the only thing left of him was that old violin, which she cherished more than anything.
Whatever disagreements or tensions had existed between her parents in the past, Lyra couldn’t find it in herself to like her mother very much. Their conflicts were part of her story. And when she felt overwhelmed or suffocated at home, she’d escape late at night, wandering aimlessly just to find a moment of peace. It was by the side of this quiet lake, away from the noise of her home and the weight of her family’s expectations, that she found some solace. Sometimes she’d even bring food to share, simple things like bread or fruit, just enough to soothe her hunger and her restless mind. Here, by the peaceful waters, the worries eased for a little while, and she could just breathe.
When the music finally ended, the applause erupted around her. Lyra lowered herself into a deep bow, feeling a surge of gratitude and joy. She offered a small, genuine smile to the crowd that had listened so intently. She was thankful they accepted her music, appreciated the sound of her violin, even if she longed for the day she could perform on a grand stage, under bright lights, with a full audience. That dream still felt distant, but it burned brightly inside her. Maybe someday, she thought, she would have the opportunity to show the world what her music truly meant.
“Thank you,” she said softly to everyone gathered before her, her voice almost lost in the quiet hum of the crowd. Her eyes then found Adrian, standing nearby with a gentle smile. She nodded politely and said, “Thank you for accompanying me.” His support, his presence, had meant more than she could say. The awkwardness that had lingered after her performance was slowly fading. Lyra felt a sudden wave of bravery, and she stepped closer to Adrian, offering him her appreciation for standing by her side. It had been an awkward start, but now she could see her companion more clearly; a steady supporter who had believed in her even when she doubted herself.
She looked around at the gathering, feeling grateful for the moment. For a long while, she was thankful for the small things. For Adrian’s company, for the music, for the quiet night. Her gaze landed on Hannah, who was still deep in conversation with Raiden, both of them caught up in their own stories. Lyra hesitated for a moment, then approached them carefully.
“I'm sorry to interrupt,” she began, her voice gentle but firm. “But I need to leave now. I wish I could stay longer, but I have a curfew I must respect. Still, I want to thank you, Hannah... truly. For your kindness, for sharing your homemade food with a stranger like me. It meant so much. Your generosity, your warmth. I hope happiness finds you in every step of your journey, and I truly hope our paths cross again someday. I’d love to stay in touch, talk again, maybe share more music or stories.”
With that, Lyra extended her arms, signaling a gentle hug toward Hannah. If Hannah accept it, Lyra would hold her tight. "I hope you and your twin stay happy always,” she whispered softly, patting Hannah’s back gently. Her warm hug conveyed her heartfelt wishes.
Releasing Hannah, Lyra stepped back, took a deep breath, and turned her attention to Adrian. She offered a respectful bow, clutching her cherished violin close to her side, her most precious possession. Her fingers nervously traced the instrument’s polished surface, a reminder of all she had been through and all she still hoped to achieve.
“Have a nice night,” she said quietly, offering her farewell. With one last look at her new friends and the peaceful surroundings, she waved goodbye and began to walk away. Her steps were slow but steady, her heart a little lighter than before. As she moved through the night, she carried the melodies in her mind, ready to keep playing, no matter where life took her next.
- Lyra had officially leaving the lakeside Soiree at night. Thank you for letting me join!
Adrian had never believed in fate, not in the romanticized way people liked to talk about it.
He had moved through so many homes during his adolescence that he stopped counting by the time he was thirteen. Faces changed. Expectations changed. Rules were rewritten in each household like contracts he never signed but was punished for breaking anyway. The only thing that stayed the same was the saxophone case he carried with him. It had been a gift from a social worker who didn’t stay long, just long enough to recognize the weight of silence in his voice and offer him something louder.
That saxophone became his first real language. It was not English. Not the formal tones of politeness he had to adopt to stay in strangers’ good graces. Just sound. Brass. Emotion.
It carried him through long nights and longer silences. Through bedrooms that never felt like his, through schools where he kept his head down until music class. It wasn’t until high school that he formed something resembling a connection—other kids with sharp edges and deep wounds, who somehow found each other between hallways and rehearsal rooms. For once, he had a band. A rhythm section. A reason to show up.
He’d never forgotten that feeling.
So when Lyra confided in him, admitted which instrument truly called to her, he hadn’t hesitated. He remembered the look in her eyes—shy but unmistakably yearning. Like the violin wasn’t just something she wanted to play—it was something that had been waiting for her.
Of course he helped her. How could he not?
Now, as the final notes of their duet dissolved into the hush of night, Adrian let the saxophone lower in his hands. His shoulders slackened with the slow, grateful sigh of someone who’d given everything they could through sound. He cast a sideways glance at Lyra, catching the slight tremble of joy in her smile as she bowed. She had played from somewhere raw. Somewhere real. And he knew that place well—he’d lived there.
“You played that like it was stitched into your ribs,” he murmured once they were no longer center stage, his voice low enough to be just for her. “I felt it. And so did our audience here.”
Adrian watched her step forward with that tentative grace of hers. When she offered him her thanks, he dipped his head slightly in acknowledgment, that familiar half-smile curving his lips as if to say you didn’t need to. But he knew how hard it was to speak at all when you were feeling too much. Her gratitude meant everything.
“You didn’t have to say anything,” he said gently, his voice quiet so it didn’t stretch farther than it needed to. “But I’m glad you did.”
He stepped back as she approached Hannah and Raiden, letting her have that moment uninterrupted. The hug, the words—Adrian watched them like someone observing a gentle tide roll in and out. He’d never had the kind of family where goodbyes were handled softly. Seeing Lyra navigate one like this reminded him what it could look like. Warm. Graceful. Even sincere.
When her eyes found his again, he straightened slightly and returned her bow with one of his own—subtle, but full of respect. Then he tucked his saxophone under his arm and stepped up beside her.
“Wait up,” he said, not loudly, but with just enough intention to carry. “You didn’t think I was gonna let you walk through the dark alone, did you?”
He turned toward Hannah and Raiden, offering both of them a parting glance.
To Hannah, his tone shifted from playful to earnest. “Thanks for everything. That meal’s going to haunt me in the best way. You’ve got something special here—and I don’t just mean the food.” He gave her a nod of genuine respect, then tipped two fingers to his brow in a casual salute toward Raiden. “Take it easy, Tower.”
And with that, Adrian turned to follow Lyra up the path, the glow of string lights gradually dimming behind them as the sounds of the soirée faded into the hush of night.
He had moved through so many homes during his adolescence that he stopped counting by the time he was thirteen. Faces changed. Expectations changed. Rules were rewritten in each household like contracts he never signed but was punished for breaking anyway. The only thing that stayed the same was the saxophone case he carried with him. It had been a gift from a social worker who didn’t stay long, just long enough to recognize the weight of silence in his voice and offer him something louder.
That saxophone became his first real language. It was not English. Not the formal tones of politeness he had to adopt to stay in strangers’ good graces. Just sound. Brass. Emotion.
It carried him through long nights and longer silences. Through bedrooms that never felt like his, through schools where he kept his head down until music class. It wasn’t until high school that he formed something resembling a connection—other kids with sharp edges and deep wounds, who somehow found each other between hallways and rehearsal rooms. For once, he had a band. A rhythm section. A reason to show up.
He’d never forgotten that feeling.
So when Lyra confided in him, admitted which instrument truly called to her, he hadn’t hesitated. He remembered the look in her eyes—shy but unmistakably yearning. Like the violin wasn’t just something she wanted to play—it was something that had been waiting for her.
Of course he helped her. How could he not?
Now, as the final notes of their duet dissolved into the hush of night, Adrian let the saxophone lower in his hands. His shoulders slackened with the slow, grateful sigh of someone who’d given everything they could through sound. He cast a sideways glance at Lyra, catching the slight tremble of joy in her smile as she bowed. She had played from somewhere raw. Somewhere real. And he knew that place well—he’d lived there.
“You played that like it was stitched into your ribs,” he murmured once they were no longer center stage, his voice low enough to be just for her. “I felt it. And so did our audience here.”
Adrian watched her step forward with that tentative grace of hers. When she offered him her thanks, he dipped his head slightly in acknowledgment, that familiar half-smile curving his lips as if to say you didn’t need to. But he knew how hard it was to speak at all when you were feeling too much. Her gratitude meant everything.
“You didn’t have to say anything,” he said gently, his voice quiet so it didn’t stretch farther than it needed to. “But I’m glad you did.”
He stepped back as she approached Hannah and Raiden, letting her have that moment uninterrupted. The hug, the words—Adrian watched them like someone observing a gentle tide roll in and out. He’d never had the kind of family where goodbyes were handled softly. Seeing Lyra navigate one like this reminded him what it could look like. Warm. Graceful. Even sincere.
When her eyes found his again, he straightened slightly and returned her bow with one of his own—subtle, but full of respect. Then he tucked his saxophone under his arm and stepped up beside her.
“Wait up,” he said, not loudly, but with just enough intention to carry. “You didn’t think I was gonna let you walk through the dark alone, did you?”
He turned toward Hannah and Raiden, offering both of them a parting glance.
To Hannah, his tone shifted from playful to earnest. “Thanks for everything. That meal’s going to haunt me in the best way. You’ve got something special here—and I don’t just mean the food.” He gave her a nod of genuine respect, then tipped two fingers to his brow in a casual salute toward Raiden. “Take it easy, Tower.”
And with that, Adrian turned to follow Lyra up the path, the glow of string lights gradually dimming behind them as the sounds of the soirée faded into the hush of night.
Adrian has taken his leave. Thank you to Hannah for hosting!
While she relaxed in her chair, Hannah listened as Raiden spoke. Shadows and firelight continued to dance around while the lake's quiet murmur weaved into the background as a reminder of it's presence. The echo of music still lingered as quiet voices buzzed but not in an uncomfortable way. Glance were occasionally given to the firepit nearby while she listened attentively. One corner of her lips quirked up a little though. "A strong grill, huh? Ya gonna do a big cannon ball or somethin'? Lemme know ahead of time, so I got some umbrellas fer those grills." She teased playfully. "I enjoyed hosting this year. We'll see what next year looks like. If it's favorable, I'll host again." She understood not every year could be done. But it was worth the effort when she was able. A moment of quiet settled. Nothing hurried. Nothing expected. Just relaxation.
Though now with bellies full, likely some sleepiness, too! Hannah didn't pry when Raiden looked at the flames for a beat. Instead, she glanced over toward the other guests that were present that evening and finished off her own plate. With a sip of her drink, the cup was set down on the arm rest of the wooden chair by the time she heard the man speak again. So, she turned to look so he knew he had her attention. His comment was met with a sense of knowing that reached her eyes without saying anything. The recipes she'd used had been passed down. Many tweaked to put her own personal spin on it. She couldn't even begin to tell him how many dishes she'd ruined at the start! There were many hilarious mishaps, too. As for who raised her? "Family raised me an' my twin, Charlie. Parents, uncles, aunts and even our older cousins. Big family."
As dysfunctional and chaotic as it could get, she wouldn't trade it for anything. When he chose to introduce himself, she sensed the directness of his tone and respected that. Now for his comment about him not being the one to man the grill? Yeah, that drew a giggle out of the woman. "Well next, if ya visit, I'll make sure to do the grillin' then, too." Amusement touched the edges of her warm voice. Then to the DJ comment she nodded thoughtfully. The way he said it gave her the impression it wasn't for dancefloors as he'd said how quickly the gig got old for him. Which she understood. A moment fell while she gazed at the fire as it flickered a bit lower. Not quite low enough to be going out, but not vigorous either. She let the moment sit for a beat before her eyes turned back toward him when he chose to speak about the possibility of staying if she sang.
Though with what he said, the man wasn't wrong. Hannah sang not just to be heard, but because it came from a deep place. It was experience made manifest in the form of music and voice. It had been a reason why the music from Lyra and Adrian had moved her the way it had. The melodies had brought up memories. Good memories. She was about to respond when their conversation was interrupted. Yet Hannah wasn't upset. Instead, she staightened up a little in her seat when Lyra spoke to her. "Of course, hon. Thank ya fer comin' all the way out here and fer the music. It was truly beautiful. I wouldn't mind in the slightest if our paths crossed again." The hug was unexpected but welcomed as Hannah embraced the girl in a firm, but still gentle enough hug. "Thank ya. I hope yer safe goin' back home and find yer own happiness, too. Okay? Take care of yerself now."
She let go and smiled warmly. The woman knew nothing about Lyra's struggles. But from the brief interactions, she could only wish her the best. As for Adrian, she waved at him with a kind of respect from one music lover to the next. "Thank ya fer comin' out here. Safe travels, hon." With that, she leaned back a little more into the wooden chair. A few more folks shuffled off as she looked toward the table crowned with plates of half-eaten food and whatnot. A chuckle came out, but it was amusement more than anything. Yep, there'd be a cleanup here in a moment! But she didn't mind in the slightest. Since there was still food in the grills, not quite finished yet, she decided to get at least one song of her own out before she had to get up and flip over some of the burgers. "Think I got a few minutes, here." A glance was given to Raiden as she winked at him. With practiced hands, her red guitar was picked up. Fingers grasped the pick for the strings and the instrument was settled in her lap. No need to tune it, either.
.
.
Though now with bellies full, likely some sleepiness, too! Hannah didn't pry when Raiden looked at the flames for a beat. Instead, she glanced over toward the other guests that were present that evening and finished off her own plate. With a sip of her drink, the cup was set down on the arm rest of the wooden chair by the time she heard the man speak again. So, she turned to look so he knew he had her attention. His comment was met with a sense of knowing that reached her eyes without saying anything. The recipes she'd used had been passed down. Many tweaked to put her own personal spin on it. She couldn't even begin to tell him how many dishes she'd ruined at the start! There were many hilarious mishaps, too. As for who raised her? "Family raised me an' my twin, Charlie. Parents, uncles, aunts and even our older cousins. Big family."
As dysfunctional and chaotic as it could get, she wouldn't trade it for anything. When he chose to introduce himself, she sensed the directness of his tone and respected that. Now for his comment about him not being the one to man the grill? Yeah, that drew a giggle out of the woman. "Well next, if ya visit, I'll make sure to do the grillin' then, too." Amusement touched the edges of her warm voice. Then to the DJ comment she nodded thoughtfully. The way he said it gave her the impression it wasn't for dancefloors as he'd said how quickly the gig got old for him. Which she understood. A moment fell while she gazed at the fire as it flickered a bit lower. Not quite low enough to be going out, but not vigorous either. She let the moment sit for a beat before her eyes turned back toward him when he chose to speak about the possibility of staying if she sang.
Though with what he said, the man wasn't wrong. Hannah sang not just to be heard, but because it came from a deep place. It was experience made manifest in the form of music and voice. It had been a reason why the music from Lyra and Adrian had moved her the way it had. The melodies had brought up memories. Good memories. She was about to respond when their conversation was interrupted. Yet Hannah wasn't upset. Instead, she staightened up a little in her seat when Lyra spoke to her. "Of course, hon. Thank ya fer comin' all the way out here and fer the music. It was truly beautiful. I wouldn't mind in the slightest if our paths crossed again." The hug was unexpected but welcomed as Hannah embraced the girl in a firm, but still gentle enough hug. "Thank ya. I hope yer safe goin' back home and find yer own happiness, too. Okay? Take care of yerself now."
She let go and smiled warmly. The woman knew nothing about Lyra's struggles. But from the brief interactions, she could only wish her the best. As for Adrian, she waved at him with a kind of respect from one music lover to the next. "Thank ya fer comin' out here. Safe travels, hon." With that, she leaned back a little more into the wooden chair. A few more folks shuffled off as she looked toward the table crowned with plates of half-eaten food and whatnot. A chuckle came out, but it was amusement more than anything. Yep, there'd be a cleanup here in a moment! But she didn't mind in the slightest. Since there was still food in the grills, not quite finished yet, she decided to get at least one song of her own out before she had to get up and flip over some of the burgers. "Think I got a few minutes, here." A glance was given to Raiden as she winked at him. With practiced hands, her red guitar was picked up. Fingers grasped the pick for the strings and the instrument was settled in her lap. No need to tune it, either.
.
Raiden let out a quiet huff that might’ve passed for a laugh, low in his chest and rough around the edges. “A cannonball’s a hell of a way to end the night. But nah…” He glanced toward the lake, where moonlight stretched like silver lace across the ripples. “Don’t want to scare off the fish or drown the music.”
He leaned forward in his seat, forearms resting on his thighs, hands laced loose. The firelight flickered against the edges of his profile, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw, the faint glint of chain at his throat, the smoke-gray ink that crept beneath the rolled sleeves of his tee. When Hannah spoke of her family, he nodded once, slow, as if mentally cataloging a world entirely different from the one he knew.
“That sounds… solid,” he murmured. “Like roots. A whole tree’s worth of ‘em.” The way he said it wasn’t wistful exactly, but there was something in the pause afterward, something carved into the space between one breath and the next.
He tilted his head back slightly, eyes tracing the dancing shadows in the tree canopy overhead. The string lights gave everything a kind of dreamlike hue, like the night had been dipped in amber and left to glow. It made him think—maybe more than he meant to.
“My family was a little different,” he said finally, words coming slow and steady, like a man turning over stones to see what lived beneath. “Pops left before I was old enough to remember him. Mom did what she could… but she wasn’t exactly cut out for the long haul.” A wry smile flickered and vanished. “By the time I hit twelve, I figured out how to keep the lights on myself. Learned how to keep people out, too.”
He didn’t say it with bitterness. If anything, his tone carried a kind of neutral resolve—a man long at peace with the landscape he came from. Maybe it was the music earlier. Maybe it was the food. Maybe it was the way Hannah listened without interrupting. But something about the evening had loosened the screws just enough to let that piece fall free.
“Didn’t have cousins or a twin. But I had a couple people along the way that gave a damn. That helped.”
He reached for the drink he’d barely touched and gave it a small swirl before setting it back down again. “Now I got a crew. Friends. Some who feel closer than blood ever did. So… not roots. Not the kind you’re talkin’ about. But maybe something like branches.”
Raiden looked over at Hannah then, not trying to read her but simply acknowledging her presence with that quiet steadiness he carried. “Next time you’re grillin’, I’ll bring dessert.” A pause. Then the smallest lift at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t get excited. It’ll probably be store-bought.”
He watched the farewell unfold likd someone accustomed to standing at the edges. Lyra’s embrace of the host was delicate, a parting stitched with gratitude and something unspoken. He didn’t know the girl beyond what her music had given, but that was enough to glean a glimpse. Perhaps she’s kind of person who held her emotions tight until they hummed out through strings and song. Then came Adrian, with that easy gait and sax in tow. Raiden met the man’s parting glance with one of his own, eyes narrowed faintly in amused acknowledgment at the nickname tossed his way.
“Tower?” he murmured, the corner of his mouth twitching with the ghost of a smirk. “I’ll take it. Beats ‘Big Guy’ or ‘Hey, You.’” He offered a lazy half-salute in return, two fingers brushed off his temple in the same fashion, before lifting his drink faintly in a quiet toast to the pair as they walked off. “Take care of each other.”
When their figures disappeared into the softer dark beyond the firelight, Raiden let out a slow exhale through his nose before leaning back again in his chair, gaze following the path until they were gone.
He turned just in time to catch Hannah’s wink, the red guitar coming into her lap like a promise kept. She didn’t need to tune it, he noticed. That detail alone said more than most people ever could. A well-versed musician knew when the strings were ready—just like she knew when a crowd was. Or when the fire didn’t need tending, only witnessing.
The first strum wasn’t flashy, didn’t beg attention.. It settled like a breath being taken after a long pause. Raiden sat back, legs stretched out beneath the wooden chair, one arm hooked casually over the backrest, his silhouette framed in warm flickers and cooling wind. His face was scrawled but engaged—eyes narrowed faintly, lashes low, jaw relaxed. There was no pretense of evaluation, no performer’s critique. Just being there.
The song played carried a blend of vulnerability and grit. Like a strength in motion, wearing boots and calluses, but still capable of softness. It was a melody that didn’t try to impress, but it understood. And in that, it offered comfort.
As the notes rolled out into the night, Raiden let the music wash over him. His gaze drifted—not away from Hannah, but toward the lake, where moonlight met ripple and breeze. His body didn’t move, but something in his chest shifted, just a little. The way it did when you heard someone speak your language without even knowing your name.
And so, the Tower sat, letting the music hold what words didn’t need to say.
He leaned forward in his seat, forearms resting on his thighs, hands laced loose. The firelight flickered against the edges of his profile, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw, the faint glint of chain at his throat, the smoke-gray ink that crept beneath the rolled sleeves of his tee. When Hannah spoke of her family, he nodded once, slow, as if mentally cataloging a world entirely different from the one he knew.
“That sounds… solid,” he murmured. “Like roots. A whole tree’s worth of ‘em.” The way he said it wasn’t wistful exactly, but there was something in the pause afterward, something carved into the space between one breath and the next.
He tilted his head back slightly, eyes tracing the dancing shadows in the tree canopy overhead. The string lights gave everything a kind of dreamlike hue, like the night had been dipped in amber and left to glow. It made him think—maybe more than he meant to.
“My family was a little different,” he said finally, words coming slow and steady, like a man turning over stones to see what lived beneath. “Pops left before I was old enough to remember him. Mom did what she could… but she wasn’t exactly cut out for the long haul.” A wry smile flickered and vanished. “By the time I hit twelve, I figured out how to keep the lights on myself. Learned how to keep people out, too.”
He didn’t say it with bitterness. If anything, his tone carried a kind of neutral resolve—a man long at peace with the landscape he came from. Maybe it was the music earlier. Maybe it was the food. Maybe it was the way Hannah listened without interrupting. But something about the evening had loosened the screws just enough to let that piece fall free.
“Didn’t have cousins or a twin. But I had a couple people along the way that gave a damn. That helped.”
He reached for the drink he’d barely touched and gave it a small swirl before setting it back down again. “Now I got a crew. Friends. Some who feel closer than blood ever did. So… not roots. Not the kind you’re talkin’ about. But maybe something like branches.”
Raiden looked over at Hannah then, not trying to read her but simply acknowledging her presence with that quiet steadiness he carried. “Next time you’re grillin’, I’ll bring dessert.” A pause. Then the smallest lift at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t get excited. It’ll probably be store-bought.”
He watched the farewell unfold likd someone accustomed to standing at the edges. Lyra’s embrace of the host was delicate, a parting stitched with gratitude and something unspoken. He didn’t know the girl beyond what her music had given, but that was enough to glean a glimpse. Perhaps she’s kind of person who held her emotions tight until they hummed out through strings and song. Then came Adrian, with that easy gait and sax in tow. Raiden met the man’s parting glance with one of his own, eyes narrowed faintly in amused acknowledgment at the nickname tossed his way.
“Tower?” he murmured, the corner of his mouth twitching with the ghost of a smirk. “I’ll take it. Beats ‘Big Guy’ or ‘Hey, You.’” He offered a lazy half-salute in return, two fingers brushed off his temple in the same fashion, before lifting his drink faintly in a quiet toast to the pair as they walked off. “Take care of each other.”
When their figures disappeared into the softer dark beyond the firelight, Raiden let out a slow exhale through his nose before leaning back again in his chair, gaze following the path until they were gone.
He turned just in time to catch Hannah’s wink, the red guitar coming into her lap like a promise kept. She didn’t need to tune it, he noticed. That detail alone said more than most people ever could. A well-versed musician knew when the strings were ready—just like she knew when a crowd was. Or when the fire didn’t need tending, only witnessing.
The first strum wasn’t flashy, didn’t beg attention.. It settled like a breath being taken after a long pause. Raiden sat back, legs stretched out beneath the wooden chair, one arm hooked casually over the backrest, his silhouette framed in warm flickers and cooling wind. His face was scrawled but engaged—eyes narrowed faintly, lashes low, jaw relaxed. There was no pretense of evaluation, no performer’s critique. Just being there.
The song played carried a blend of vulnerability and grit. Like a strength in motion, wearing boots and calluses, but still capable of softness. It was a melody that didn’t try to impress, but it understood. And in that, it offered comfort.
As the notes rolled out into the night, Raiden let the music wash over him. His gaze drifted—not away from Hannah, but toward the lake, where moonlight met ripple and breeze. His body didn’t move, but something in his chest shifted, just a little. The way it did when you heard someone speak your language without even knowing your name.
And so, the Tower sat, letting the music hold what words didn’t need to say.
Hannah had listened to Raiden when he spoke. No interruptions. No judgement. Just an openness to listen should he wish to share anything at his own pace. She felt content and relaxed there in the wooden chair while their conversation was quiet. But still heard. There were less folks around now as things began to wind down for the night. A calmer atmosphere settled in like a blanket being drawn. Crickets were in the background. The occasional frog was heard, and fireflies were in the distance around the edges of the lake as it shimmered under pale moonlight like gems had been cast into it. She had grown up surrounded by family. Had known their love, support and dysfunctional ways, too. Raiden mentioned about his own family. The details were brief, but there was certain weight to them that she picked up on. It's what he said and didn't say.
The things that lived between the lines spoken. She acknowledged it with a simple nod. Not to pry. But to give space where needed. To respect his privacy should he choose not to elaborate. The subject change of the store-bought desert brought a warm chuckle from her, though. A grin flitted there in her expression. After that the song soon filled the space around them. Slow. Heartfelt. Steady. Warmth. The sounds came from a place deep inside. No longer held back by grief. The lyrics had been made for someone specific. Someone strong with steady hands, sure of the ground beneath their boots and a protectiveness that had encompassed her life at one point in time. It was years ago now. A memory. Fond. Present. Comforting. But no longer held back by a sense of sadness. Fingers held the pick as it touched across the strings with a practiced ease of years played.
Unapologetic. The song slowly came to an end. But there was enough time for one more. Just one. She knew it was almost time to get back to her feet to finish up the food and begin to clean up. Charlie had already finished his own plate and had gotten up to go get something to drink. A few more folks tipped their hats as they left. She nodded to the locals, knowing that she'd see them again soon enough in the coming days. The barrel races were about to start up in the week that followed. She knew which horse she'd enter this year's summer races. A light smile flicked at one corner of her lips. Amusement was there. Though there was quiet and calm that had settled there, too. Firelight continued to cast shadows. Amber glow from overhead gave things a mystical feel as mist had begun to form gradually over the lake now. Soon, it would be time to pack up.
.
.
Fingers moved across the strings over the neck of the acoustic guitar. Years of practice. The pick struck the chords with accuracy while the body of the instrument sat where it normally did in her lap. One leg slightly lifted to accommodate it's balance. Hannah had sung since she could talk as the lyrics came out warm, strong but not overpowering either. Each note felt like a memory. In many ways, they were. Memories of something that was no more. Yet still remained in the heart like a promise to never be forgotten. Her eyes were sort of focused between the fire and the instrument in her lap. More lost in the music than anything. The song reached it peak, then slowly came to a close. Just in time that the scent of the grills told her that some of the food was ready to be taken out and placed. The pick was put on the armrest once more. "Sometimes singing heals wounds."
There was no elaboration though...
Her instrument was set down gently as it leaned against her chair now. A glance was given to Raiden. "There's more if yer still hungry." A playful smile was there as the woman got to her feet and walked around a foot or two before her hands were washed, dried and that second grill lifted to reveal the burgers. Tender, well-done and smelling amazing. A pair of tongs were used, each one placed onto their designated plate. This time, the grill was turned off and cleaned thoroughly. The lid was left open so it could cool down. The steaks and poultry were flipped over, their timers reset. It seemed she might have made a bit too much this year! That was fine though. Company would be over tomorrow for more food. That's usually what happened for those that missed the soiree. She turned to look at Raiden then as half-eaten food was collected into plastic holders.
She wasn't one to waste food and knew the rotties and pitties would enjoy a bite. "What do you normally grill whenever you feel like doing so?" A grin appeared as she looked up every now and again while plates were steadily cleared off the table. The plates and bowls with plenty of food in them were left alone for the moment just in case someone wanted a to-go plate to take home with them. And if so, she did have some wrapping that they could use to cover that plate til they got home. The leftovers that went into the containers were checked for bones so that her canine friends wouldn't get ahold of them by accident. If he answered, she listened and responded accordingly. When the chicken was done a few moments later, she cleared the third grill, cleaned it down and set it up to cool off. Now there was just the steaks left.
The things that lived between the lines spoken. She acknowledged it with a simple nod. Not to pry. But to give space where needed. To respect his privacy should he choose not to elaborate. The subject change of the store-bought desert brought a warm chuckle from her, though. A grin flitted there in her expression. After that the song soon filled the space around them. Slow. Heartfelt. Steady. Warmth. The sounds came from a place deep inside. No longer held back by grief. The lyrics had been made for someone specific. Someone strong with steady hands, sure of the ground beneath their boots and a protectiveness that had encompassed her life at one point in time. It was years ago now. A memory. Fond. Present. Comforting. But no longer held back by a sense of sadness. Fingers held the pick as it touched across the strings with a practiced ease of years played.
Unapologetic. The song slowly came to an end. But there was enough time for one more. Just one. She knew it was almost time to get back to her feet to finish up the food and begin to clean up. Charlie had already finished his own plate and had gotten up to go get something to drink. A few more folks tipped their hats as they left. She nodded to the locals, knowing that she'd see them again soon enough in the coming days. The barrel races were about to start up in the week that followed. She knew which horse she'd enter this year's summer races. A light smile flicked at one corner of her lips. Amusement was there. Though there was quiet and calm that had settled there, too. Firelight continued to cast shadows. Amber glow from overhead gave things a mystical feel as mist had begun to form gradually over the lake now. Soon, it would be time to pack up.
.
Fingers moved across the strings over the neck of the acoustic guitar. Years of practice. The pick struck the chords with accuracy while the body of the instrument sat where it normally did in her lap. One leg slightly lifted to accommodate it's balance. Hannah had sung since she could talk as the lyrics came out warm, strong but not overpowering either. Each note felt like a memory. In many ways, they were. Memories of something that was no more. Yet still remained in the heart like a promise to never be forgotten. Her eyes were sort of focused between the fire and the instrument in her lap. More lost in the music than anything. The song reached it peak, then slowly came to a close. Just in time that the scent of the grills told her that some of the food was ready to be taken out and placed. The pick was put on the armrest once more. "Sometimes singing heals wounds."
There was no elaboration though...
Her instrument was set down gently as it leaned against her chair now. A glance was given to Raiden. "There's more if yer still hungry." A playful smile was there as the woman got to her feet and walked around a foot or two before her hands were washed, dried and that second grill lifted to reveal the burgers. Tender, well-done and smelling amazing. A pair of tongs were used, each one placed onto their designated plate. This time, the grill was turned off and cleaned thoroughly. The lid was left open so it could cool down. The steaks and poultry were flipped over, their timers reset. It seemed she might have made a bit too much this year! That was fine though. Company would be over tomorrow for more food. That's usually what happened for those that missed the soiree. She turned to look at Raiden then as half-eaten food was collected into plastic holders.
She wasn't one to waste food and knew the rotties and pitties would enjoy a bite. "What do you normally grill whenever you feel like doing so?" A grin appeared as she looked up every now and again while plates were steadily cleared off the table. The plates and bowls with plenty of food in them were left alone for the moment just in case someone wanted a to-go plate to take home with them. And if so, she did have some wrapping that they could use to cover that plate til they got home. The leftovers that went into the containers were checked for bones so that her canine friends wouldn't get ahold of them by accident. If he answered, she listened and responded accordingly. When the chicken was done a few moments later, she cleared the third grill, cleaned it down and set it up to cool off. Now there was just the steaks left.
What Hannah sang carried a different kind of weight than Lyra’s performance earlier in the night. Less yearning, more remembering. It didn’t scrape at old wounds, but ran a thumb over the scar tissue. Her voice was seasoned, not in the way of showboats or stage performers, but in the way of someone who had lived through it. Loved, lost, and loved again in memory. The lyrics, gentle but rooted, hit like fence posts sunk deep in red dirt. And when the next one began, he found himself unprepared.
It wasn’t a technical composition. Hell, the chords were simple, clean, predictable even. But the story. A strong woman, a stronger memory. A man who kept the wolves at bay without needing to bare his teeth. There was a tenderness in it, a defense of something fragile but not weak. It stirred something in him he hadn’t touched in years. Maybe that’s why he didn’t say anything when she finished. Not right away.
The scent of meat on the grill was what eventually coaxed him back to the surface. Charred edges, slow-roasted richness, a sweetness from the glaze she must’ve added near the end. His stomach answered before his mouth did with a low, untimely growl. Raiden blinked once, glanced sidelong at her as she stood, and finally spoke. “You sure know how to knock the wind outta a man.”
He pushed himself up from the chair, his large frame unfolding into motion as he stretched his shoulders with a faint roll. The firelight carved shadows along the planes of his face, softening the hard lines, revealing a weariness he didn’t often let show. He made his way to the grill, the scent getting richer with every step. He paused a few feet away, hands in his pockets, then tilted his head at the plates she was preparing. “I’ll take you up on that offer,” he said, glancing at the burgers. “These might’ve just guilt-tripped me into round two.” Then, with a slightly more sheepish grin:
“Think I could pack some of this up to go? Not gonna lie—I’ve got gym in the morning. Burgers like these are fuel for the gains.”
The humor was dry, delivered in that low, gravel-smooth voice of his, but it wasn’t posturing. Just a moment of ease between two strangers who had managed to sidestep the awkward small talk most folks used to pass time. He looked over at the lake, the mist rising like breath from the water’s surface. Fireflies shimmered at the tree line like soft applause.
Raiden then watched her work. There was something honest in the way she tended to the food, checked the bones before setting things aside for her dogs, and cleaned the grills without ceremony. She moved like a woman who knew the worth of hard work and saw no need to dress it up. When she asked about his own grilling habits, he let out a faint breath that might’ve been a laugh, though it barely passed his lips.
“Honestly?” he said, setting down the plate she’d handed him so he could begin packing things neatly himself. His large hands moved with surprising care as he reached for one of the disposable containers nearby, opening it with the same meticulousness he’d give to weapon maintenance or setting up a turntable.
“Just the basics. Burgers, wings. Maybe ribs if I’m feeling ambitious. Not exactly gourmet—just protein I can stack in the fridge.” He flicked a glance her way, a subtle glint of amusement in his expression. “Not as much soul as yours. More… survival with seasoning.”
He layered a few burgers meticulously, not piling them on but spacing them like he was used to rationing. After a moment, he sealed the container and set it aside, eyes lifting toward the third grill where the scent of cooked chicken still lingered faintly in the air. His gaze didn’t linger there, though—it was drawn to the last grill, the one that still hissed and popped beneath the thick cuts of steak that sizzled quietly in the firelight.
A beat of hesitation passed before he spoke again.
“…Would it be rude to ask if I could take some of those steaks too?”
The question was straightforward, but there was something in his tone—unassuming, not quite sheepish but close. He wasn’t a man used to asking for extras. Hell, he was probably the type who usually left early so he didn’t inconvenience anyone. But the food was damn good, and his freezer back home wasn’t exactly overflowing.
He gave a slight shrug, as if to preempt any refusal.
“I’ll earn it. Carry out a few trash bags. Hell, I’ll hose down the lawn if you point me to the shed.”
It wasn’t a technical composition. Hell, the chords were simple, clean, predictable even. But the story. A strong woman, a stronger memory. A man who kept the wolves at bay without needing to bare his teeth. There was a tenderness in it, a defense of something fragile but not weak. It stirred something in him he hadn’t touched in years. Maybe that’s why he didn’t say anything when she finished. Not right away.
The scent of meat on the grill was what eventually coaxed him back to the surface. Charred edges, slow-roasted richness, a sweetness from the glaze she must’ve added near the end. His stomach answered before his mouth did with a low, untimely growl. Raiden blinked once, glanced sidelong at her as she stood, and finally spoke. “You sure know how to knock the wind outta a man.”
He pushed himself up from the chair, his large frame unfolding into motion as he stretched his shoulders with a faint roll. The firelight carved shadows along the planes of his face, softening the hard lines, revealing a weariness he didn’t often let show. He made his way to the grill, the scent getting richer with every step. He paused a few feet away, hands in his pockets, then tilted his head at the plates she was preparing. “I’ll take you up on that offer,” he said, glancing at the burgers. “These might’ve just guilt-tripped me into round two.” Then, with a slightly more sheepish grin:
“Think I could pack some of this up to go? Not gonna lie—I’ve got gym in the morning. Burgers like these are fuel for the gains.”
The humor was dry, delivered in that low, gravel-smooth voice of his, but it wasn’t posturing. Just a moment of ease between two strangers who had managed to sidestep the awkward small talk most folks used to pass time. He looked over at the lake, the mist rising like breath from the water’s surface. Fireflies shimmered at the tree line like soft applause.
Raiden then watched her work. There was something honest in the way she tended to the food, checked the bones before setting things aside for her dogs, and cleaned the grills without ceremony. She moved like a woman who knew the worth of hard work and saw no need to dress it up. When she asked about his own grilling habits, he let out a faint breath that might’ve been a laugh, though it barely passed his lips.
“Honestly?” he said, setting down the plate she’d handed him so he could begin packing things neatly himself. His large hands moved with surprising care as he reached for one of the disposable containers nearby, opening it with the same meticulousness he’d give to weapon maintenance or setting up a turntable.
“Just the basics. Burgers, wings. Maybe ribs if I’m feeling ambitious. Not exactly gourmet—just protein I can stack in the fridge.” He flicked a glance her way, a subtle glint of amusement in his expression. “Not as much soul as yours. More… survival with seasoning.”
He layered a few burgers meticulously, not piling them on but spacing them like he was used to rationing. After a moment, he sealed the container and set it aside, eyes lifting toward the third grill where the scent of cooked chicken still lingered faintly in the air. His gaze didn’t linger there, though—it was drawn to the last grill, the one that still hissed and popped beneath the thick cuts of steak that sizzled quietly in the firelight.
A beat of hesitation passed before he spoke again.
“…Would it be rude to ask if I could take some of those steaks too?”
The question was straightforward, but there was something in his tone—unassuming, not quite sheepish but close. He wasn’t a man used to asking for extras. Hell, he was probably the type who usually left early so he didn’t inconvenience anyone. But the food was damn good, and his freezer back home wasn’t exactly overflowing.
He gave a slight shrug, as if to preempt any refusal.
“I’ll earn it. Carry out a few trash bags. Hell, I’ll hose down the lawn if you point me to the shed.”
You sure know how to knock the wind outta a man. There seemed to be a bit more weight to the comment whether intentional or not. A quiet smile was there, made larger when that stomach of his growled though! She glanced toward him as she heard the subtle shift of movement. It didn't take much for sounds to be picked up on. Especially with sensitive hearing. As light from the firepit flitted, she caught the hint of tiredness that seemed to be there. Yet she didn't pry. He seemed like someone who knew when it was time to rest when he was good and ready to. When he said he'd take her up on the offer for more, she handed him a fresh plate to use. And then to his query about taking some with him, "Take as much as ya like, hon. I made too much it looks like." Shoulders shook slightly with humor that touched both expression and eyes.
"Oh they'll give plenty of energy. Flavor, too. They might even guilt-trip ya into making more later after that workout, too." It was meant as a playful tease, of course. His humor might be a bit dry, maybe hers was too, but Hannah didn't mind. While things were tidied up, she noticed how meticulous he seemed but didn't feel the need to point anything out or ask. As for him grilling, she listened to his answer and glanced up in time to see the amusement flicker in his eyes. "Don't have to be gourmet to fill bellies. If ya enjoy what ya do, it'll naturally show." Though the part about survival, she sensed a bit of weight behind it. Yet she wouldn't pry on the subject because it was his business. Then he seemed to hesitate, it felt almost palpable. But the woman remained steady, with warm reassurance. She gave him the space to decide whether he wanted to speak or not.
And when he did? She glanced his way. The tone of his voice gave her the impression he might not be used to asking for more of something. An empty contain was set aside, a larger one, meant for him. "It's not rude, hon. Just leave two, the rest is yers if ya want." There were a handful of steaks that sizzled on the grill with the lid still closed. Then his comment about working for it was met with a wave of her hand. "Nope. Me an' my brother will do the cleanin'. You relax an' enjoy yerself more. Besides, what kind o' hostess would I be if I let my guests clean up?" There was genuine amusement in her tone. Smile warm, playful. Yet there was a hint of wild in her eyes as they shifted from a honied brown into an almost gray. Pupils were vertical slits. The inner bob cat peered out from the human eyes momentarily.
Hannah felt the subtle changes but continued to hold it back. Now wasn't the time to let it out and stretch it's legs. It was brief, but soon her eyes returned to a more human color. Brown, yet they were like dark honey given the current lighting. The woman stepped around to the last grill and stopped the timer before it could go off. The lid was lifted as she checked the meat while it sizzled, popped and flavor wafted up through the smoke. "How did ya want yer steaks? If rare, then I'll take 'em off the grill now. If medium, then it won't be too much of a wait. And well-done will be a bit longer." Whichever he chose, she would cater to with the juicy steaks. Either way, they were seasoned, given a stroke of BBQ from her family recipe and would be tender when bitten into. "I could teach ya how to bring soul into yer ribs and burgers sometime. And who knows? Maybe yer better at it than ya might think." Perhaps next year, if he came around, she'd teach him how.
"Oh they'll give plenty of energy. Flavor, too. They might even guilt-trip ya into making more later after that workout, too." It was meant as a playful tease, of course. His humor might be a bit dry, maybe hers was too, but Hannah didn't mind. While things were tidied up, she noticed how meticulous he seemed but didn't feel the need to point anything out or ask. As for him grilling, she listened to his answer and glanced up in time to see the amusement flicker in his eyes. "Don't have to be gourmet to fill bellies. If ya enjoy what ya do, it'll naturally show." Though the part about survival, she sensed a bit of weight behind it. Yet she wouldn't pry on the subject because it was his business. Then he seemed to hesitate, it felt almost palpable. But the woman remained steady, with warm reassurance. She gave him the space to decide whether he wanted to speak or not.
And when he did? She glanced his way. The tone of his voice gave her the impression he might not be used to asking for more of something. An empty contain was set aside, a larger one, meant for him. "It's not rude, hon. Just leave two, the rest is yers if ya want." There were a handful of steaks that sizzled on the grill with the lid still closed. Then his comment about working for it was met with a wave of her hand. "Nope. Me an' my brother will do the cleanin'. You relax an' enjoy yerself more. Besides, what kind o' hostess would I be if I let my guests clean up?" There was genuine amusement in her tone. Smile warm, playful. Yet there was a hint of wild in her eyes as they shifted from a honied brown into an almost gray. Pupils were vertical slits. The inner bob cat peered out from the human eyes momentarily.
Hannah felt the subtle changes but continued to hold it back. Now wasn't the time to let it out and stretch it's legs. It was brief, but soon her eyes returned to a more human color. Brown, yet they were like dark honey given the current lighting. The woman stepped around to the last grill and stopped the timer before it could go off. The lid was lifted as she checked the meat while it sizzled, popped and flavor wafted up through the smoke. "How did ya want yer steaks? If rare, then I'll take 'em off the grill now. If medium, then it won't be too much of a wait. And well-done will be a bit longer." Whichever he chose, she would cater to with the juicy steaks. Either way, they were seasoned, given a stroke of BBQ from her family recipe and would be tender when bitten into. "I could teach ya how to bring soul into yer ribs and burgers sometime. And who knows? Maybe yer better at it than ya might think." Perhaps next year, if he came around, she'd teach him how.
Raiden accepted the fresh plate with a nod. The firelight caught the sharp angles of his face as he leaned slightly over the spread of leftovers, his movements slow, deliberate. The gratitude in the Tower’s face was very much present in how gently he handled each piece of food, as though aware that someone had poured time and care into every cut, every spice rubbed in. Her words—“Take as much as ya like, hon”—echoed somewhere deeper than she might have intended. He wasn’t used to that kind of open generosity.
He gave a faint exhale that almost passed for a laugh when she teased about post-workout guilt-tripping. The corners of his mouth tugged into a dry, crooked grin.
“If the meat starts talking to me during reps, I’ll know who to blame.”
Still, he packed the food methodically. First a few of the chicken thighs, then the burgers he hadn’t grabbed earlier. He could already imagine heating them up in the early morning hours after a graveyard shift. Maybe with rice. Maybe just as is, leaning over the sink in a dark kitchen. He wasn’t picky. Her earlier comment about cooking made him glance her way again, brow ticking just slightly.
“You’re right about that,” he said, a little slower now. “It’s not about fancy. I’ve only ever done cooking that gets the job done. Quick, high-protein stuff. Barely needs prep time. I’m no chef—I don’t have the hours.”
He sealed the last container and stacked it neatly with the others on the bench beside him before adding,
“I work twelve-hour shifts on an offshore rig. Middle of the sea. Comes with pay, but not much life.” A faint smirk tugged at his lips, like he found some wry amusement in it. “The rest of my time goes into my brand. Visceral. Clothing line.” He lifted a shoulder. “Design, testing, marketing. I sew sometimes, too, if I can stay awake.”
“I’m not tired,” he added, almost as if clarifying for himself. “But I feel tired. There’s a difference.” He let the moment settle like ash falling through firelight. Then, with a voice a little lower when there was no noise left to hide behind:
“So coming here helped. Music. The fire. Talking.”
Raiden stepped closer, catching the scent of the smoke—rich with that familiar tang of flame-kissed meat, but underscored by something deeper. Her seasoning was different than what he was used to. There was soul in it. “Medium rare,” he answered after a pause, voice low but certain. “Just enough to keep it tender and still somewhat red.”
His gaze flicked to the steaks, watching the edges char just slightly, caramelizing around the thick brushstrokes of her BBQ blend. The smoke curled upward into the night, disappearing like old stories whispered too late. When she spoke again—about teaching him how to bring soul into ribs and burgers—Raiden tilted his head slightly, a short breath slipping from his nose in something like dry amusement. “You say it like soul’s something you can measure in tablespoons.”
He didn’t dismiss the idea. If anything, the faint glint in his eye hinted that he might take her up on it next time. When the steaks were finished—juicy, glistening, cooked to his request—he reached for the to-go containers and packed them himself neatly that only came from routine and left two pieces. No less just as she said.
He laid them into the container with care, lining the bottom with a paper towel the way he’d learned to when eating out of Tupperware became a lifestyle. It soaked up the grease, made for a cleaner reheat. Less mess at 3 a.m. when your body was running on fumes and you just needed something warm to shut your brain up. He closed the lid, double-checked the seal, and gave a thumbs up of approval.
“You really didn’t have to go this hard,” he said, glancing over at her, the edges of a rare smile playing against his expression. “But I’m damn glad you did.”
He stacked the container atop the others, the entire meal looking more like an act of kindness than a plate of food. His hand lingered for a moment before he turned to her again. “I’ll bring something next year,” he said finally, not as an offer but as a promise. “Not sure what yet. But you’ll eat good.”
There wasn’t a grand goodbye, no overt sentimentality. That wasn’t his style. But as he adjusted the strap of the bag over his shoulder and began to step away, he paused at the edge of the firelight where it blurred into shadow. The corner of his mouth twitched with a rare smirk before he turned, his broad frame swallowed slowly by the dark, the crunch of his boots over the gravel and dirt blending with the gentle hum of frogs and the breeze rippling off the lake.
And like that, Raiden left the lakeside behind.
He gave a faint exhale that almost passed for a laugh when she teased about post-workout guilt-tripping. The corners of his mouth tugged into a dry, crooked grin.
“If the meat starts talking to me during reps, I’ll know who to blame.”
Still, he packed the food methodically. First a few of the chicken thighs, then the burgers he hadn’t grabbed earlier. He could already imagine heating them up in the early morning hours after a graveyard shift. Maybe with rice. Maybe just as is, leaning over the sink in a dark kitchen. He wasn’t picky. Her earlier comment about cooking made him glance her way again, brow ticking just slightly.
“You’re right about that,” he said, a little slower now. “It’s not about fancy. I’ve only ever done cooking that gets the job done. Quick, high-protein stuff. Barely needs prep time. I’m no chef—I don’t have the hours.”
He sealed the last container and stacked it neatly with the others on the bench beside him before adding,
“I work twelve-hour shifts on an offshore rig. Middle of the sea. Comes with pay, but not much life.” A faint smirk tugged at his lips, like he found some wry amusement in it. “The rest of my time goes into my brand. Visceral. Clothing line.” He lifted a shoulder. “Design, testing, marketing. I sew sometimes, too, if I can stay awake.”
“I’m not tired,” he added, almost as if clarifying for himself. “But I feel tired. There’s a difference.” He let the moment settle like ash falling through firelight. Then, with a voice a little lower when there was no noise left to hide behind:
“So coming here helped. Music. The fire. Talking.”
Raiden stepped closer, catching the scent of the smoke—rich with that familiar tang of flame-kissed meat, but underscored by something deeper. Her seasoning was different than what he was used to. There was soul in it. “Medium rare,” he answered after a pause, voice low but certain. “Just enough to keep it tender and still somewhat red.”
His gaze flicked to the steaks, watching the edges char just slightly, caramelizing around the thick brushstrokes of her BBQ blend. The smoke curled upward into the night, disappearing like old stories whispered too late. When she spoke again—about teaching him how to bring soul into ribs and burgers—Raiden tilted his head slightly, a short breath slipping from his nose in something like dry amusement. “You say it like soul’s something you can measure in tablespoons.”
He didn’t dismiss the idea. If anything, the faint glint in his eye hinted that he might take her up on it next time. When the steaks were finished—juicy, glistening, cooked to his request—he reached for the to-go containers and packed them himself neatly that only came from routine and left two pieces. No less just as she said.
He laid them into the container with care, lining the bottom with a paper towel the way he’d learned to when eating out of Tupperware became a lifestyle. It soaked up the grease, made for a cleaner reheat. Less mess at 3 a.m. when your body was running on fumes and you just needed something warm to shut your brain up. He closed the lid, double-checked the seal, and gave a thumbs up of approval.
“You really didn’t have to go this hard,” he said, glancing over at her, the edges of a rare smile playing against his expression. “But I’m damn glad you did.”
He stacked the container atop the others, the entire meal looking more like an act of kindness than a plate of food. His hand lingered for a moment before he turned to her again. “I’ll bring something next year,” he said finally, not as an offer but as a promise. “Not sure what yet. But you’ll eat good.”
There wasn’t a grand goodbye, no overt sentimentality. That wasn’t his style. But as he adjusted the strap of the bag over his shoulder and began to step away, he paused at the edge of the firelight where it blurred into shadow. The corner of his mouth twitched with a rare smirk before he turned, his broad frame swallowed slowly by the dark, the crunch of his boots over the gravel and dirt blending with the gentle hum of frogs and the breeze rippling off the lake.
And like that, Raiden left the lakeside behind.
Raiden has taken his leave. Thank you to Hannah and her writer for hosting!
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