Lexa sat stiffly at the wooden table in your home, her posture perfect, her hands folded neatly in her lap. You, sitting next to her, struggled not to laugh.

“You don’t have to sit like that,”

you whispered.

Lexa side-eyed you.

“I don’t see why this is funny.”

You grinned.

“Because you look like you’re being held hostage.”

Across the table, your mother, Abby, was piling more food onto Lexa’s plate.

“You need to eat more, Lexa. You train so much, you’ll waste away if you don’t.”

“I—”

Lexa hesitated, clearly unused to the fuss.

“I eat enough.”

Lexa looked to you for help, but you just shrugged, biting back a laugh.

“You might as well eat it. She won’t let you leave until you do.”

Lexa sighed, picking up her fork. Your house was different from her own. It was warmer, louder. There was laughter, teasing, and a sense of ease she didn’t often find in her own home. She had grown up in strict discipline, every meal a quiet affair, every word measured. Here, things were… chaotic. And strangely, she didn’t mind it.

Later, when the meal was over and Abby had finally stopped mothering her, Lexa found herself sitting on the floor of your room, watching as you sketched something in the dim firelight.

“You come here a lot,”

You said after a moment, not looking up from your drawing.

Lexa shifted.

“Your mother insists.”

You smirked.

“Well, it’s not like you couldn’t say no.”

Lexa didn’t answer right away. She could. But she never did.

You put down your charcoal, turning to face her.

“You like it here.”

It wasn’t a question.

Lexa sighed and rolled her eyes before leaning back against the wall.

“It’s… different.”

You chuckle and stand up

„It definitely is, your parents are strict, very strict. But hey, let’s have some fun. Let’s sneak out to the stables.“

You grin and walk towards the window to open it, waiting for Lexa to join.