Evening settled quietly over the house.
The golden light of the setting sun slipped through the window, stretching long shadows across the wooden floor. The noise of the city had softened into a distant hum, no longer overwhelming—just present, like a quiet reminder that life beyond these walls never truly stopped.
Inside—
It was calm.
Peaceful.
Evan lay on his back for a while, staring at the ceiling, one arm resting behind his head.
But his mind wasn't quiet.
It kept drifting back.
Not to the streets.
Not to the people.
But—
"…That food…"
He turned his head slightly, staring toward the door.
The taste lingered in his memory.
Warm.
Rich.
Perfectly balanced.
It wasn't just good.
It was… memorable.
Evan sat up slowly.
"…Yeah. That's not something I can just forget."
He stood from the bed and made his way out of the room.
Lyra was already in the main area.
As expected.
She stood near the table, organizing a few items with her usual precise movements, every action efficient, every placement deliberate.
Evan leaned against the doorway for a moment, watching her.
Then—
"…Lyra."
She didn't turn.
"Yes?"
"…Teach me how to cook."
Her hands stopped.
Just for a second.
Then resumed.
"…No."
Evan blinked.
"…That was fast."
Lyra turned slightly, her expression calm.
"…There is no need."
"…No need?" Evan repeated, pushing himself off the doorway and walking closer. "Did you forget what we ate earlier?"
"…No."
"…Then you understand why I'm asking."
"…I do."
"…And you still said no?"
"…Yes."
Evan stared at her.
"…You're serious?"
"…Always."
Evan let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair.
"…Okay… give me one good reason."
Lyra faced him fully now.
"…Your status."
Evan frowned.
"…My status?"
"…Yes."
Her voice remained steady.
"…You are not in a position where you need to cook for yourself."
"…That's not a reason," Evan said immediately. "That's an excuse."
Lyra didn't react to his tone.
"…It is practical."
"…It's restrictive," Evan corrected.
A brief silence settled between them.
Evan crossed his arms.
"…So what—you're saying I shouldn't learn something useful just because I don't 'need' it right now?"
"…Yes."
"…That's a terrible argument."
"…It is efficient."
Evan stared at her for a long moment.
Then exhaled.
"…You know what, fine."
He turned slightly away, pacing a step or two.
"…Let's say I get separated from you."
Lyra's gaze sharpened instantly.
"…That will not happen."
"…You don't know that," Evan cut in, turning back toward her. "This world isn't exactly safe, remember?"
She didn't respond.
"…If I end up somewhere alone," he continued, "no food, no support—what then?"
Lyra remained silent.
"…Am I just supposed to starve because learning how to cook was 'beneath my status'?"
That—
Made her pause.
Just slightly.
Evan caught it.
And pressed forward.
"…You told me yourself this world isn't forgiving."
"…So why are you stopping me from learning something that could actually help me survive?"
The room fell quiet.
The fading sunlight cast a softer glow now, the shadows deepening as evening crept further in.
Lyra looked at him.
Really looked at him.
Measuring.
Thinking.
Then—
"…You would not be cooking in that situation."
Evan blinked.
"…What?"
"…If you are stranded," she continued calmly, "…your priority would be survival, not preparing proper meals."
Evan stared at her.
"…That's not the point."
"…It is."
"…No, it's not!"
Lyra exhaled softly.
A faint sign of patience being tested.
"…Even so," she said, "your height alone makes it impractical."
Evan paused.
"…My height?"
"…Yes."
She gestured lightly toward the kitchen area.
"…You cannot properly reach the counter."
Evan followed her gaze.
Then looked back at her.
A slow smile began to form.
"…That's your argument?"
"…It is a valid one."
Evan said nothing.
He simply turned.
Walked away.
Lyra watched him, her expression unchanged.
"…What are you doing?" she asked.
"…Solving your 'valid argument,'" Evan replied casually.
A moment later—
He returned.
Dragging something behind him.
A small wooden stool.
Lyra's eyes lowered slightly.
Then lifted back to him.
Evan placed the stool in front of the counter.
Stepped onto it.
Turned.
And looked at her with a wide, unapologetic grin.
"…Problem solved."
Silence.
Lyra stared at him.
For a long second.
Then another.
Then—
She closed her eyes briefly.
And sighed.
A quiet, controlled exhale.
"…You are persistent."
Evan crossed his arms proudly, still standing on the stool.
"…I prefer 'convincing.'"
"…That is not the word I would use."
"…It worked, didn't it?"
Lyra opened her eyes again.
Her gaze moved from him—
To the stool—
Then back to him.
"…Very well."
Evan blinked.
"…Wait… really?"
"…Yes."
"…That easy?"
"…No."
A pause.
"…But your reasoning is acceptable."
Evan's grin widened slightly.
"…I knew it."
Lyra stepped closer to the counter.
"…We will begin with something simple."
Evan leaned forward slightly, clearly interested.
"…Something like what we ate earlier?"
"…No."
His expression immediately dropped.
"…That's disappointing."
"…You lack the necessary control for that level."
"…Ouch."
"…It is a fact."
Evan sighed dramatically.
"…Fine. I'll work my way up."
Lyra nodded.
"…That would be appropriate."
A brief silence passed as she began preparing a few basic ingredients.
Evan watched carefully.
Not casually.
But with intent.
The same focus he showed when learning anything new.
After a moment, he spoke again.
"…Lyra."
"Yes?"
"…Teach me every day."
She paused.
"…Explain."
"…Cooking," Evan said. "Like this."
He rested his hands lightly on the counter, balancing himself on the stool.
"…After everything else."
"…Just a little each day."
Lyra considered it.
"…Why?"
Evan shrugged slightly.
"…Because I want to."
A simple answer.
But honest.
"…And because next time we go out," he added with a small grin, "…I don't want to just follow you around while you 'evaluate' food."
Lyra's gaze narrowed slightly.
"…I do not—"
"…You do," Evan interrupted, smiling.
A brief pause.
Then—
"…Very well."
Evan blinked again.
"…That easy?"
"…No," she repeated calmly. "…But it is acceptable."
Evan leaned back slightly, satisfied.
"…Good."
Lyra turned back to the ingredients.
"…Then pay attention."
Evan straightened immediately on the stool.
"…I am."
She handed him a small knife.
"…First, learn control."
Evan took it carefully. The handle felt heavier than he expected, but he adjusted his grip and looked down at the cutting board.
"…Like this?" he asked.
"…No."
Lyra stepped closer.
Much closer.
Evan blinked slightly as she moved beside him.
Then—
Her hand gently closed around his wrist.
"…Your grip is wrong."
Her fingers were cool but steady, guiding his hand down toward the knife handle.
"…Hold it like this."
Evan felt the slight pressure of her fingers adjusting his grip.
"…You're holding my hand," he said casually.
Lyra didn't react.
"…I am correcting your posture."
"…Right."
Her other hand moved to the cutting board, steadying the vegetable.
"…Your fingers go here."
She repositioned his hand again, carefully curling his fingers inward.
"…If you leave them straight, you will cut yourself."
Evan glanced sideways at her.
She was leaning slightly toward him now.
Close enough that he could feel the faint warmth of her presence beside him.
"…You're taking this very seriously," he said.
"…Precision matters."
"…Even for vegetables?"
"…Especially for vegetables."
Evan huffed a quiet laugh.
"…You're terrifyingly strict for a cooking teacher."
"…Focus."
She guided his hand forward slightly.
"…Now cut."
Evan followed the movement.
The knife slid down.
Slice.
The piece landed neatly on the board.
"…See?" she said calmly. "…Control."
Evan looked at the cut piece.
Then at their hands.
Lyra still hadn't let go.
"…You know," he said slowly, "I could probably manage from here."
"…Not yet."
Her grip adjusted again, guiding the next cut.
Slice.
Another clean piece.
Evan smiled faintly.
"…You're enjoying this."
"…No."
"…You definitely are."
Lyra's expression didn't change.
"…Again."
She guided the knife down once more.
Slice.
This time Evan didn't follow automatically.
Instead—
He paused halfway through the motion.
Lyra frowned slightly.
"…Why did you stop?"
Evan looked at their hands again.
Then at her.
"…You're very close."
Lyra blinked.
For the first time—
She seemed to realize the distance between them.
Or rather—
The lack of distance.
Her shoulder was nearly touching his.
Her hand still wrapped around his wrist.
Her other hand resting on the cutting board right beside his.
For a brief moment—
A faint color touched her cheeks.
Subtle.
Almost invisible.
But it was there.
Lyra immediately released his wrist and stepped back half a step.
"…Continue cutting."
Her voice remained calm.
But just slightly quicker than before.
Evan's grin widened.
"…You're embarrassed."
"…I am not."
"…You definitely are."
"…Focus."
"…I am focusing," Evan said, still smiling as he resumed cutting.
Slice.
Slice.
Lyra folded her arms now, watching him from the side again.
But this time—
She kept just a little more distance.
Evan noticed immediately.
"…You moved away."
"…You no longer require assistance."
"…That's disappointing."
Lyra ignored that comment.
"…Your cuts are still uneven."
"…That's because my teacher abandoned me."
"…Your teacher stepped back."
"…Same thing."
Lyra sighed softly.
But despite herself—
The faintest hint of warmth lingered in her expression as she watched him continue practicing.