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In the late night hours when the light of Lua would be at her boldest Lyon found himself knelt at the altar, lighting candles for worship as sleep eluded him once again. Though it was not the shadows nor the voices that chased sleep from his grasp this time, but the memory of gentle hands and gentler lips against his own. The priest paused in his preparations and lifted his hand to his eye, closing it in memory of a soft kiss against it, tracing the feeling of warm lips down to his own and pressing his fingers against his mouth as if to replicate the feeling of the Drifter’s kiss.
A kiss... Lyon’s hands had been shaking, yet the ones holding them were firm and steady, grounding him in the turbulence of his mind. Then lips met his and he’d begun to shake all over, pressing closer to that steady presence as gentle hands held him close. His Drifter, his miracle. He hadn’t known what to make of the time traveller at first, seeing nothing more than a bold and stubborn stranger. So he’d kept his distance, closed himself off and waited for the Drifter to get bored. But now... The gates of his heart opened readily, and peaceful quiet had followed in their presence.
The kiss had ended with Lyon falling asleep in his miracle’s arms, the beat of the heart that loved him a soothing rhythm that eased the pounding of the megrim in his head. But it was the thoughts that followed after that night that left him awake now, seeking guidance and penance for the thoughts that lingered in his mind as he traced over his lips again. Would that he’d not had the megrim, what then? Would those lips have lingered longer? Kissed him deeper? Would he have knelt before his miracle then as he knelt before the altar now? He didn’t know, but the thoughts lingered despite his best attempts at banishing them, his back carrying the brunt of the results of those attempts. Marie had chastised him thoroughly for it, but when she asked him what troubled him so, he hadn’t been able to provide her with an answer. How could he give her an answer that he didn’t know himself?
He resumed lighting the candles, his hands never idle as prayer fell from his lips instinctively. As he lit the last one and collected himself, Lyon felt something reach out through the fabric of time and tug him closer. Like a hook in his chest, Lyon felt it pull, and he went. Through cosmos and stars, into the arms of sweet Lua herself it felt like, and then he was no longer knelt before the familiar altar in the Cathedral, but instead knelt at one he much preferred. As he opened his eyes, Lyon felt soft warmth and gentle love flood through him in from head to toe, prompting an equally gentle and loving smile to his lips as his gaze softened, his hand curling around where their presence felt strongest around his heart. “The ease with which you appear to answer my prayers...” He murmured reverently. “Hello, mon miracle.”