Breaking the Grid

My fault?

The morning sunlight was creeping into the room, streaking the walls with a soft, golden glow. My fingers traced lazy patterns along Kyra's back, her skin warm beneath my touch. Milo was curled up at the foot of the bed, blissfully unaware of the chaos that was about to unfold.

I stared up at the ceiling, my mind still half-asleep, until my phone buzzed loudly on the nightstand. I groaned, reaching over to grab it, my eyes squinting at the bright screen. When I saw the time, my heart nearly stopped.

"Oh, shit," I muttered, sitting up so quickly that Kyra's head slipped off my shoulder and landed on the bed with a muffled thud.

"Hey!" she groaned, her voice hoarse with sleep as she shot me a half-hearted glare. "What the hell, Blair?"

I ignored her, my eyes scanning the room for my top, which was nowhere to be found. My gaze landed on the floor, where our clothes were scattered haphazardly—a reminder of how we'd ended up like this in the first place.

"We're late!" I exclaimed, scrambling out of bed and practically diving for my jeans.

"Late for what?" she asked, her tone still groggy as she rubbed her eyes. Then, it hit her. "Oh, the plane."

"Yes, the plane!" I said, yanking my jeans on and grabbing her shirt from the floor. "We were supposed to leave ages ago!"

Kyra stretched lazily, an infuriatingly calm smile on her face. "Relax, it's not that bad."

"Not that bad?" I snapped, throwing her shirt at her, a little harder than necessary. "You're sitting there like we're on vacation, and we're about to miss our flight!"

The shirt hit her square in the face, and instead of being annoyed, she burst out laughing. "Blair, you're so dramatic. We'll make it. Probably."

"Probably?" I repeated, glaring at her as she slowly pulled the shirt over her head. "You're unbelievable."

She smirked, standing up and reaching for her pants. "If we're late, it's your fault, you know."

I froze, my hands mid-way through grabbing my sneakers. "My fault?"

"Yeah," she said, grinning as she took her sweet time getting dressed. "You're the one who couldn't keep her hands to herself this morning."

"Oh, I couldn't keep my hands to myself?" I shot back, grabbing one of her shoes and tossing it at her feet. "If I remember correctly, you were the one who started it!"

She shrugged, a playful glint in her eye. "Details."

"Details?" I repeated, throwing my hands up in exasperation.

Kyra laughed again, clearly enjoying my frustration. "Blair, relax. We've got this. You're always stressed about time."

I grabbed her other shoe and tossed it toward her, this time with a little more force. "Kyra, if we miss this flight, I swear—"

"Alright, alright," she said, finally slipping her shoes on. "But seriously, don't act like you didn't enjoy yourself earlier."

I pointed a finger at her, trying to hide the grin tugging at my lips. "You're insufferable."

"And you love it," she said, smirking as she grabbed her bag.

I rolled my eyes, grabbing my own bag and checking my phone again. We had just enough time to make it if we hurried.

"Ready?" I asked, slinging my bag over my shoulder.

"Always," she said, grinning as she grabbed Milo's leash and gave me a mock salute. "Lead the way, Commander Becks."