Synopsis: Lyra and Grayson were walking through the silent streets of Paris at night that Lyra finds herself in
an unfortunate situation.
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“And then Cooper stepped on his tail.”
“And the dog ran away because of this?”
“‘The dog’ had a name,” Lyra corrected, “His name was Winter. And yes, he was hurt.”
She looked at him, as if daring him to make fun of her for naming a stray dog Winter. She had found Winter on the streets, when she was sixteen and Cooper had been 2 at that time. Lyra had brought that dog to home with her; fully ready to convince her parents to let her keep him.
But before she had a chance to plead her case; her little brother —who was full of toddler energy and was already playing in the backyard — came barreling toward the golden retriever.
He stepped on Winter's tail.
Then, as if that weren't enough, jumped on it.
Winter had yelped and bolted.
Never coming back.
Five years later, Lyra was still a little salty about this incident and her missed-opportunity of being a dog mom.
“We can get a dog now, if you want,” Grayson offered, the night breeze lifting a few blonde strands across his forehead.
They were wandering through the empty streets of Paris, ice cream cones in hand, the warm glow of the streetlamps stretching across the cobblestones.
Paris had proven to be the perfect vacation destination.
It was their fourth day here, the clock was striking eleven and they had just gotten done with dinner at a fancy restaurant of Grayson’s choosing. The hotel was only twenty minutes away so they’d opted to walk.
“I think if I were to get a pet now, I would want to get a cat,” Lyra admitted, taking another bite of her melting ice cream.
“A cat,” Grayson repeated, his mind immediately flashing back to the countless times his little sister had unceremoniously deposited one of her cats into his arms.
Lyra nodded.
“I might have feline-related trauma,” Grayson deadpanned, “Courtesy of Gigi, of course.”
Lyra laughed.
“I’ll be sure to mention this to Gigi.”
Grayson looked at her, “No. Please don’t.”
Lyra grinned to herself and took another step.
Then another.
She felt a trickle of something warm.
And that’s when that feeling started.
A feeling that she had felt every month for the past ten years. It was something she dreaded.
Lyra slowed down her pace, shifting her weight almost imperceptibly.
The hotel was still a solid ten minutes away. And apparently, Lyra had the world's worst luck because she was wearing an off-white dress.
She wanted to cry now.
It was three days early.
In three days she would’ve been home. Not on vacation! And that too, currently unprepared!
She hadn’t realized she had stopped until Grayson stopped beside her, putting a hand on her shoulder,
“Lyra? Sweetheart? What happened?”
Suddenly, there was a commotion from the other end of the street. A group of teenagers appeared, bottles in hand, bumping into each other and completely drunk.
Subconsciously, Lyra backed against the lamp post, hand automatically brushing the back of her cream dress.
When she pulled her hand, there was no blood.
This confirmation was not good enough.
“Lyra? What’s wrong?” Grayson was in front of her, blocking her view.
Lyra didn’t say anything. She waited for the teenagers to disappear down before twisting awkwardly at the waist, trying to look over her shoulder.
The angle was impossible.
She could barely see the back of her own dress.
But that treacherous red stain was very easy to spot.
It was as if there was a neon sign with it saying, “I’M BLOOD! LOOK AT ME!”
Lyra closed her eyes in defeat.
Grayson took another step toward her. She smacked her head against his chest in frustration. Given his towering height over her, he could easily see the spot.
“How big is it?” She asked weakly.
“Almost…the size of a coin?”
“A coin?!”
He paused, “Maybe a One cent coin?”
She glared at him.
He gave her a helpless look, “Do you want me to use another unit of measurement?”
“No.”
Before she could spiral any further, he stepped back, slipped off his suit jacket, and tied it securely around her waist.
Always the gentleman.
“Thank you,” she whispered as he finished knotting the sleeves before pulling her gently into his arms.
“It's no problem.”
They stayed like that for a few moments before Lyra reluctantly stepped back.
“I don’t have anything with me right now,” she mumbled. She had used her last ‘emergency pad’ on the flight for a ‘just in case’ and forgot to put another one in her purse.
Her mother had always lectured her to be prepared. That if she wasn't, she'd end up stranded somewhere without supplies.
Like now.
Subtle foreshadowing, mom, Lyra thought bitterly.
“I am sure there is a pharmacy nearby,” Grayson reassured her.
Grayson glanced up and down the street until his eyes landed on a glowing green cross a little farther ahead.
“There.”
Sure enough, a pharmacy sat on the corner.
“I’ll go,” he said.
Lyra looked at him.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“You will go to a French pharmacy to ask for pads?”
“Yes. Unless you wanted some other sanitary product?”
He didn't sound embarrassed in the slightest.
If it were somehow possible to fall even more in love with him, Lyra would've.
“Sure?”
“Yes, Lyra, I’m sure.”
“Ohkay,” Lyra said hesitantly.
The two of them crossed the street together.
Lyra kept one hand on the knot of Grayson's jacket around her waist, painfully aware of every person they passed—even though there were barely any.
When they reached the pharmacy, she stopped several feet from the entrance.
“I'll wait here.”
Grayson glanced back at her, “Are you sure? You should come in. We can ask if there is a restroom here.”
Lyra shook her head, “Nope. I’m good. You go, shoo.”
“I won’t be long,” he promised before pushing the door inward and stepping in the pharmacy.
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Grayson Hawthorne had never bought sanitary products for anyone in his life.
But there’s a first time for everything.
Of course he knew what they were, he wasn’t an idiot.
But what he hadn’t anticipated was the sheer number of options.
Standing in front of the aisle, Grayson was reconsidering everything. He should’ve asked Lyra the exact brand, size, and apparently the color too.
Grayson stared hard at the bane of his problem;
Ultra thin
Maxi
Night
Wings
Cotton
Lavender scented
Grayson had closed billion-dollar deals with even less information. He could feel a headache coming. He could just go out and ask Lyra but that would mean to make her wait even more.
“Excuse me?” Grayson said in French.
The employee on the other aisle looked up from where she was restocking shelves, “Yes?”
“I’m looking for sanitary pads.”
The girl gestured toward the aisle in front of him, “They are in front of you, sir.”
Grayson looked back at the shelves.
Right. They were.
That, however, did not solve the problem. There were dozens of boxes. A lot of options. He was beginning to understand why Lyra had looked so horrified when she realized he would be the one buying them.
Noticing his silence, the girl spoke again, “Do you need help choosing?”
“Yes.”
She walked over to him, “Do you know the brand name?”
“No.”
She picked up two packets, showing them to him “Do you know if she prefers wings or not?”
“No.” Now, he was getting embarrassed by his lack of knowledge about this.
‘Do you even know anything?’ Grayson could hear her mutter under breath.
Grayson was tempted to say ‘No’ again.
Instead, he cleared his throat, “Just excuse me for a moment.”
He walked a few feet away from her and pulled out his phone.
After a few minutes, his google search history looked something like this:
What does ultra thin mean?
Are wings better than no wings?
What does maxi mean?
What difference does a scented pad make?
Absorbing as much information as he could, Grayson drew his conclusion. To be on a safer side, maxi was better than ultra thin. Scented pads were not recommended by people on reddit.
With the amount of options available, Grayson decided there was only one reasonable solution.
He picked up both boxes.
One with wings. One without.
Then paused.
With wings seemed to be a safer and more protecting option.
Satisfied with his decision, Grayson grabbed that box that said “MAXI PAD + WITH WINGS” and headed toward the counter.
There was a small stand holding a few sticks of dark chocolates; the kind you would find in pharmacies located in a tourist-friendly area.
“That's all?” the cashier asked
Grayson grabbed five bars from the container - which was basically all and put them beside the pads.
“Yes.”
Grayson glanced around, “You wouldn’t happen to have a restroom here, would you?”
The cashier shook his head.
Grayson exited the pharmacy and found Lyra outside, leaning against the bricked wall. She was hugging herself tightly, warily glancing toward the pharmacy, waiting for him.
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He had said ‘I won’t be long.’
What was taking him so long?
He had been so confident before going in.
It took him ten minutes to come back.
“Finally,” she muttered, as Grayson emerged from the pharmacy, holding a plastic bag in one hand.
“I am sorry for the delay,” Grayson apologized as soon as he approached her, “Also, they don’t have restrooms there.”
“I figured,” Lyra mumbled before asking, “What took you so long though?”
He gave her a sheepish smile, “My incompetency.”
“What?”
“Come on, I’ve called a cab, I’ll tell you on the way.”
Soon enough, a car pulled up beside them.
Lyra was still wondering how he’d managed to spend a grand total of ten minutes buying pads from a pharmacy.
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His story evolved around several options and his lack of knowledge about sanitary products and stupidity of not asking her what she preferred.
Now, they were back at the hotel.
They had showered and changed and she was currently cocooned in the blanket, her head tucked under Grayson’s chin.
“And I realized, I don’t really know which brand you use.”
“Well, it’s not something one would share over dinner, you know.”
“No, yeah, I know, but still.”
She moved her head, the stubble on his chin scratching her forehead, “Hey, look at me.”
He looked down and she smiled softly,
“Don’t be disappointed in yourself just because you didn’t know what brand of pads I use. Thank you for today.”
He smiled gently and kissed the top of her forehead, “Anytime sweetheart. Also just as general knowledge, I need to know the name of the brand.”
“You need to shave,” she said instead, settling back into her place; head tucked under his chin.
TYSM for the people who replied to the posts of me asking you questions about lyra!
AN: This was supposed to be a short domestic lyrason fluff but....welp- it's almost 2k words but okay. Happy reading! Ignore any illogical or grammatical errors!
"The things we do in the name of love" is a series of short (cough cough this was 1794 words) fics of just the couples being in-love and all. Maybe I'll do a javery version of this? Or maybe I'll do lyrason at miles end next.
