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When Twilight had given up his entire identity to become a spy, it included everything that could be a part of what was considered a normal life. His rank and status, his future, his dreams… All gone for the sake of a mission far grander than himself. No one who truly knew him was left anyway. No one was left that would sling their arm around his shoulders when hanging out together. His cheeks would no longer be pinched by people who thought he was being a cheeky rascal. A firm hand would no longer hold his own to keep him safe by their side. There wasn’t anyone left who would hug and comfort him through a frightening ordeal. All that he had left to keep himself going were his motivations.
He had gotten used to lack of physical affection in his life much like he got used to the lack of anything else. At times, he would have to employ tactics that make use of touch in his missions — most commonly on female targets — but they were never anything that he could say were for himself. Even the friendly pats on the back from the conspirators he pretended to be a part of were never for him. Of course they weren’t. He could never indulge in those. Everything he was for whichever mission he was assigned to carry out. Not a single one of those actions meant anything to him personally.
So then why was it that when his hand brushed against Yor Briar Forger’s, the woman whom he had taken as his wife while under a fake identity for Operation Strix, he felt as though he had been shocked? A tingling sensation remained on the parts of his skin that made contact with hers, his chest feeling strangely constricted at the happenstance. He had brushed it aside at the time, Yor’s brother being a guest of immediate concern with his irrational demand of them and also his (poorly hidden) identity as part of the SSS. Not that Yor drunkenly climbing atop him at her brother’s (very) questionable methods of making them prove their marriage wasn’t a sham feel equally, if not more so suffocating (the spot on his chest where her hand had been felt like it was on fire), but it wasn’t like he could entertain any wandering thoughts back then.
In all, that evening had been a very messy one for him and he preferred to sleep rather than ponder the implications of his bodily reactions.
He was sitting on the edge of Anya’s bed after tucking her in for the night, fiddling with his hands with his brows furrowed as his mind plagued him with questions he didn’t want answered. Or, at the very least, wanted to avoid answering. Maybe it was due to the dream he could no longer remember, but he felt quite a bit shaken up. The longer Operation Strix went on for, the more he felt himself slipping into cracks he was certain there were no ways out of. Not that it could be helped. His current mission was one for the long haul, he knew that. However, life as Loid Forger was beginning to morph into something he wasn’t quite comfortable admitting.
What am I even doing? He asked himself. There was a heaviness that latched on to him, dangerously suffocating as it took his mind to a dark depth. He let a frustrated sigh escape into the darkness of Anya’s bedroom. Anya, his (fake) daughter, the supposed key to the success of the operation. At least, with her it was easier to spin himself in circles, justifying his actions with layers and layers of excuses that all boiled down to them being for the mission. Good parenting meant a well-adjusted child, a well-adjusted child would be more open to cooperation; and, the more cooperative the child, the easier it was to go about fulfilling his mission without a hitch. Yes, he had managed to convince himself as much. Well, he thought he did, at least. And he would continue to tell himself that his excuses were working.
With Yor it was much harder.
For one thing, their marriage was one of convenience for both of them. And, although he had already been planning to propose to her much the same, Yor was the one who brought up continuing their deal. Technically, aside from the pretensions they needed to keep up for Eden, and occasionally her work, neither of them were obligated to care about the other if they were both keeping to just using their marriage as a cover-up. In spite of all these facts, Yor was earnestly doing the best she could for Anya and him, always seeking to improve herself for them.
As Twilight, seeing her try her hardest to do right by them awakened an unfamiliar feeling in his very soul that he could not truly control. Not when he watched her be so gentle and encouraging to Anya; not when he could hear her giggle from the bathroom where Bond had undoubtedly shaken off the wetness from the bath she had given him on to her; and especially not when she so easily soothed his inner turmoils with a cup of tea, uplifting words and a smile so tender it was dizzying. She filled him with a force that just wanted to reach out to her, touch her, hold her in his arms… It was ridiculous. It was maddening. Perhaps even ridiculously maddening.
He ran his hands over his face, groaning in frustration as he forced himself up. There were boundaries and limitations he had to keep in mind. Their marriage was a sham, no matter what he deeply, secretly wanted. He respected Yor too much to even consider closing the literal distance between them. Not only that, but he also had his protocols as a spy to worry about. Any attachment to her, and to Anya, was senseless and dangerous. When the mission was over, they would all part ways. They would never see each other again and that would be it. Anya would likely be brought to another orphanage and Yor would live her life as she did before they came into the picture.
The fact that he had to keep reminding himself of those irrefutable facts was concerning. After all, there was nothing left in the world for him. Not for Twilight.
He stood by the door, taking a moment to compose himself as he put on the act of Loid forger once more. With a sigh, he stepped back out into the dazzlingly bright warmth where his wife was.
Despite losing her youth to it, Yor couldn’t really say that she had any regrets in becoming an assassin. She had learned to take pride in how well she did her job. It had served her well in being able to provide a comfortable life for her younger brother, and that was something she would never be ashamed of. Not only that, but she also felt a sense of fulfillment in being able to serve to keep the peace in her country. However, to say that she had never been envious of those who could simply live normal lives would be a lie. At times, perhaps due to goading of her co-workers, she wondered how she would have turned out if she had never taken up a blade, never joined Garden. Would she have gotten into a relationship? Would she have been married? Have her own kids? What kind of job would she have instead? Silently, always so silently as with everything she did, she would ponder the answer to these questions. Not that she ever got anywhere. Her conclusion was always the same:
As long as I can keep working as an assassin, I don’t need anything else .
And, she didn’t. For the longest time, she didn’t need anything else. Just seeing her brother continue to live carefree and happily, that was enough for her. However, since she had begun living with the Forgers — Loid and Anya, her husband and daughter — her world had shifted. She had only asked to extend their agreement for her own sake, to have a cover-up and avoid suspicion so that she could keep her assassin job. That was all that she intended it to be. Yet, so unbelievably quickly, they had made themselves precious to her. She had found a place to be, one that she selfishly did not want to lose.
She wanted to hold them close to her, however presumptuous that may be.
The sound of tap water running filled the room as Yor washed the dishes from their dinner, their kitchen sink littered with soap suds as she worked absent-mindedly. She was lost in thought worrying about Loid. When he awoke from having fainted, his mood was quite low. However, even when Anya, like the sweet little girl that she was, tried to comfort him, he had simply brushed it aside. He had put on a smile and carried on as he normally would for the rest of the evening, but she couldn’t help but feel that he was being distant.
A few hours had passed since then and, eventually, Anya had dozed off while watching the Bondman rerun marathon that had been airing. Loud had volunteered to tuck her in and Yor had decided it was the perfect time to ste el her nerves. She would talk to him about it, hopefully put his mind at ease, reassure him. After all, her husband was the type to keep his thoughts bottled up within him. Yor had learned that much in her time with them, at least.
He had been there for her on numerous occasions, easily comforting her with his kind words. Even just in their day-to-day life, he did so much for her. Not once did he treat her like an outsider to his family. Because of that, she trusted that she could rely on him. He had become a pillar whom she knew she could lean on if anything concerned her. And, in earnest, she wanted to be someone like that for him too. Of course, she was fully aware that she was lacking in so many things — her co-workers took care to remind her as much almost daily — but she still hoped that, even just hearing him out, listening to what was troubling him, she could provide him the same kind of support he gave her.
Not that her honest desire to do her best for both him and Anya stopped her mind from spiraling anxiously in on itself.
What if I’m just that unreliable? She sighed hopelessly as she submerged a plate in water to rinse it. Should he think that way, it would make sense to her. After all, she wasn’t his real wife. He couldn’t look for the comforts and needs he needed fulfilled in her. Hell, she could barely give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
It felt odd to her to even attempt it.
With Anya, it came to her easily. She was a darling little girl who welcomed her, an unfamiliar woman, with open arms and a loving heart, even addressing her as her “mama” on the first day that she had moved in. Anya would call for her, reach out to her, hold her hand, hug her, settle herself on her lap with such ease that reciprocating the affection came naturally to her. And, even though Yor’s affection was meant for Anya, she could not help the heartwarming feeling that fluttered through her system whenever she had her little frame in her hold.
It felt nice. And, if she could be so bold, she loved the feeling of being able to cling on to someone with tenderness. How long had it been since she’d shared a good hug with anyone. Yuri, despite being her brother, barely counted. He was her only family left, it was only natural that they would be there for each other. But even he had grown to be distant in some sense. For the longest time, there wasn’t really anyone with whom she could just be with.
Not until the Forgers had come along and lit up a dark corner in her life that she wasn’t even aware of.
Still, that didn’t make her feel any less self-conscious about being the same way with Loid. There were too many things that worried her enough that she dared not to even try. First, the fact that they weren’t even truly married. Second, she was afraid that she would be pushing boundaries. It would be far too presumptuous and could likely make him think ill of her.
Yor heard the door to Anya’s room creak open then. She shook her head to clear it, wanting to be able to give Loid whatever support he needed without being plagued by her insecurities. Craning her neck so that she could look over her shoulder, she greeted her husband.
“How is she?” Yor asked as Loid walked toward her, dragging his feet ever so slightly. She shook off the water droplets from her hand, fully turning to him as she grabbed a kitchen towel to dry herself.
He settled an arm on the kitchen counter, smiling at her. “Out like a light,” there was an amused chuckle in his reply. “Wish I could sleep like that, honestly.”
“Oh, I know how you feel! Yuri was pretty much the same,” she giggled, reminiscing. “Still, knowing they can sleep so peacefully through the night, I think that’s plenty relaxing already.”
“Huh, well,” Loid looked at her wide-eyed for a moment before his expression softened, “I guess you’re right. At the end of the day, I suppose that’s all I could ask for.”
A silence fell upon them, awkwardly hanging in the air as Loid lost himself in his thoughts and Yor mentally fumbled for the right words she wanted to say. A moment or two passed before she eventually found the strength to speak up.
“Loid?” She called out, her tone soft, careful even. He hummed in response, eyes focusing on her. “Are you,” Yor paused, breathing in as she braced herself, “are you alright?”
“Huh?” Her question caught him off-guard, almost startling him. Loid felt his expression shift, settling into a frown before he could stop himself. He shifted his gaze from her, a poor attempt to hide it.
Yor waved her hands defensively in front of her, a red hue beginning to rise to her face as she spoke again. “It’s just that, it seemed like there was something heavy weighing on your mind after you woke up and,” she stilled, hiding her face by touching her forehead to the back of her hand, “I know you told Anya everything was fine, but I couldn’t help but worry!”
There was that tug again, urging him to reach out to her, to bridge some sort of gap that he couldn’t quite identify.
Against his better judgment, he took her hands in his, pulling her cover away. “Yor, it’s alright. I appreciate your concern,” he assured her. When she looked at him again, he sighed. “It’s just…”
“Yes?” She held his hands tighter, eager to hear him out.
Loid smiled at her for a moment. It was a flimsy one and definitely wasn’t one of his best, betraying too much of his emotions. He didn’t bother keeping it up. “I don’t remember what happened in my dream, that’s why I said it was fine, but…” It seemed he would continue to trail off as he struggled within himself.
“But?”
How much of himself was he willing to reveal? What could he say? What should he say?
Not that he didn’t know. He was already so tired of the battles he had to fight within himself.
Loid shut his eyes. A spy can never indulge in comfort, never show vulnerability , he reminded himself. And yet, as Yor traced comforting circles on the back of his hands with her thumbs, his shoulders slackened.
“I felt like I was thrown back to when,” his hands started trembling then, “to when I’d lost everything.” The heaviness that threatened to take the air out of his lungs returned at his admittance. It was a numb pain that crushed his heart and strangled his throat. Unfamiliar and terrifying. He couldn’t recall the last time he felt that way. “I could smell the gunpowder, the blood. The ash and dust that settled in the air. I-” he stopped when he heard his voice shake. He’d said too much. Allowed himself to recall too much. That life wasn’t his. Not anymore. He’d thrown it away.
Before he could even continue, before he could regain his composure, Yor’s hands left his. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him, gently forcing his forehead to her shoulder as she hugged him. She stroked his head with a tenderness that halted his breath, her other arm secure and firm around his torso. “You must have held your tears in for so long,” she was heartbroken when she spoke.
Tears? He hadn’t even realized until then. Completely against his will, against everything, he was crying . Loid sobbed out a laugh. His arms which had been hanging loosely at his sides hugged her close to him, hands desperately holding on to her. When was the last time he had cried? The last time he had been able to hold on to someone like he was now? He hadn’t even meant to break down like he had. No, he had meant to just shove whatever he was feeling down, never to be seen again. And yet, Yor’s comforting had easily unraveled years of pent up emotions.
His sobs were silent as silent as they could be, distraughtly gasping for air as Yor lay her cheek against his head. Her heart ached seeing him so hurt, so devastated. He’d always made the effort to appear so put together, so perfect , she almost believed it. But Loid was human too. And human beings weren’t perfect. She wondered how long he’d been holding everything in, how long he’d been carrying such a weight on his shoulders.
Yor held him tighter, as tight as she could without hurting him. “It’s okay to cry,” her voice was barely above a whisper. “I’m here.”
So they stood there for a while until, gradually, Loid had managed to calm down. She swayed them back and forth, humming softly as her husband collected himself. He stayed with his face burrowed against her neck, too exhausted to do much else.
Loid gave a hollow laugh after some time. “I’m sorry, Yor. I didn’t mean to-”
“No, I’m sorry,” she cut him off. “I didn’t mean to make you cry, I just wanted to make sure you were going to be okay.”
There was a squeeze at his heart unlike the horrifically painful one from before. It felt contented.
“Well, I’m sure I will be now.”
He felt her sigh against him, likely relieved. “I’m glad,” his wife smiled at him as she pulled away, cupping his cheeks in her palms and wiping away his tears with her thumbs. “Let me get you some water.”
“Ah, it’s okay, I’ve got it,” Loid stopped her before she could step too far from him. “You should go freshen up, I”, he gestured at her shoulder sheepishly. The wetness from his crying soaked her skin and dampened even the off-shoulder collar of her sweater. “I’ve made such a mess on you, I’m sorry,” he said, eyes not meeting hers in sheepishness.
Yor looked at her shoulder, noting its state, before nodding. “Okay, I will. But don’t worry about it, I don’t mind.” She moved to go past him. “Well, I’ll be going on ahead then.”
Loid watched her as she left, silently lamenting her departure. It had felt nice to be held in her arms and to have had her in his. As though something that he had been missing for so long had found its way back into his life. He let out a heavy sigh. This is a one-time thing, Twilight. Don’t get carried away .
And then, as if on cue, halfway to the hallway, Yor turned around to face him with an expression that almost made him cry again. “By the way,” her quiet voice was easily heard in the silence of the night, “thank you for trusting me enough with this.”
He felt as though he’d just been shot in the heart with a pistol point-blank. “Y-yeah, of course, Yor.”
With one final smile sent, she withdrew for the night, unaware of the death sentence he was sure she had just placed on him.
If only for a moment, he allowed himself to think that it would be an okay way to go.