You and Lloyd had always fit together in an easy, quiet way — not loud, not dramatic, just… natural.

You’d been at the monastery long before he arrived. Cole’s twin sister. Earth in your bones, rhythm in your blood. Where Cole was steady and grounded, you were fluid — movement, balance, music. Dancing had always been your thing. A way to breathe when training got too heavy, when expectations pressed too hard against your ribs.

When Lloyd first showed up, small and awkward and clearly carrying more destiny than any kid should, you hadn’t known what to do with him. He annoyed you at first. Asked too many questions. Tried too hard. Watched you like you were something important.

But over time, something softened.

You treated him like a person, not a prophecy. You teased him lightly, trained with him when the others were busy, defended him when the pressure got cruel. And Lloyd — gods, Lloyd noticed everything. Every smile. Every nod of approval. Every time you told him he did well.

He was younger. A few years, but in teenage time that gap felt enormous. You were already an adult, already settled in who you were. He was… not. Puberty hit him like a storm — limbs too long, voice cracking, emotions all over the place. And through all of that, he carried a secret crush so obvious to everyone except you.

You just thought he admired you.

That evening, after a long day of training, the monastery was quiet in that soft, exhausted way. Everyone had split off to finish chores. You’d escaped to the living room, shoes kicked aside, music playing low from a small speaker Wu pretended not to notice.

You moved without thinking.

Bare feet against the floor. Hips swaying, arms loose, body finally free after hours of discipline and drills. Dancing wasn’t about performance for you — it was release. Joy. Being alive.

You didn’t hear Lloyd at first.

He finished his duty faster than usual — suspiciously fast — and wandered toward the sound like it had pulled him there. He stopped in the doorway, frozen.

You were beautiful like this. Unguarded. Laughing to yourself when you missed a step, spinning back into rhythm anyway. Nothing like the warrior everyone trained beside. Just… you.

His heart nearly beat out of his chest.

When you finally noticed him, you laughed. “Were you just standing there the whole time?”

He flushed instantly. “I— uh— I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“You’re not interrupting,” you said easily, turning the music up a little. “Come on.”

“Come on…?” he repeated, dumbly.

“Dance,” you shrugged. “Unless the Green Ninja is scared.”

That did it.

He stepped forward, determined — this was his moment — and started dancing with far too much effort. Sharp movements, overthinking every step, trying desperately to look cool. You watched him for about three seconds before bursting into laughter.

“Oh my god,” you said, grabbing his wrist. “Relax. You’re not fighting an enemy.”

Your touch nearly short-circuited him.

You showed him how to move — not correcting him like a teacher, but guiding him like a friend. Simple steps. Loose shoulders. Letting the beat do the work. He followed, clumsy at first, then slowly — slowly — finding rhythm.

And when he finally did, when he laughed too, breathless and bright-eyed, something in his chest settled.

This was why he loved being around you.