Chapter Text
[Day #1: Domestic]
i. waking up together.
Twilight will never admit it, but it messes up his morning if he can’t see Yor right before they both leave for work and take their daughter to the school bus. There’s a sense of calm whenever he observes his wife’s sleeping features: her long lashes and drooping eyelids that she adorably tries to open at each second; her rosy cheeks and parted cherry lips as she yawns and greets him and her daughter; her small but strong curvy body lazily moving as the skirt of her nightgown dances around her and the locks of her hair entangled and curling all around her face.
Even though he’s aware that his wife is a beautiful woman, he loves this sight of her the most, looking helpless and natural next to him. It gives him a feeling of possessiveness and pride that he’s the only one who gets to see this state of her, even if it’s just for a few minutes.
(sometimes it takes all his strength to fight his instincts and bend over to kiss her goodbye).
ii. nursing the sick one.
He hates getting sick, and it’s because of this particularly deep wound he got on tonight’s mission that the fever takes him over. And even though it's rare for him to get symptoms, he’s glad that he has treated the wound earlier and covered it with his own shirt, when he senses Yor’s and Anya’s frames between his blurry eyes, staring at him with worry and anxiety.
Loid isn’t really used to it, this sensation of floating away and the world going damp and blurry all around him—losing the professional control that he always held like an art. Yet now, he has a wife and a daughter, and Yor seems to focus all her attention into nursing him back to health no matter what—Anya on her side eager to be a nurse for papa as well.
For a whole week he can feel his wife’s hand softly pressing on his forehead, checking him, and Loid dreams that he’s holding her hand before she can put away, feeling a light squeeze on his fingers (he doesn’t know where it begins to be a dream and where does it end). During the days, Anya and Bond are there next to him on the bed—while Yor tries hard to do all the chores of the house that he usually does.
Now he’s sitting down on the bathtub that Yor filed for him, and leans his back against the cold tiles, letting the hot water spray over his legs. He closes his eyes and sighs in a deep relief as he can see Yor’s shadow outside of the bathroom door, waiting for him. He knows that his wife is also tired, as she wakes up several times in the nights to check his temperature, and stays together with him whenever he feels worse or the pains grow. Loid is grateful that he isn’t throwing up or bleeding anymore, and that he doesn’t have to find any excuses for her or make her worry worse.
When he finishes putting something on his legs, Yor rushes into his side despite the heavy blush on her face, butting up his shirt as the red of her face clings to her ears as well. Loid’s vision and mind are still sleepy, and dizzy, but even so he finds her adorable—and his chest is filled with a warmth he only feels when he’s together with her. When Yor finishes putting his shirt on, they go back to his bedroom (Loid can hear the water of the bathtub still going, knowing that she’s putting his clothes and the sweated sheets to wash later), and Yor sits on his side after she checks his temperature one more time.
When he closes his eyes, he dreams that he’s holding her hand again, and sinks into a deep sleep while he hears her voice humming the ballad he heard from childhood, resounding in an far-away echo. And he believes he’s dreaming again, when he feels her fingers lightly squeezing back his hand—warm peachy lips on his temple.
Even though he’s still floating in a fever, Loid believes this is the first calm sleep he had in many years. He reminds himself to properly thank Yor for everything when he’s back to health, and maybe take her to a nice night-out in gratitude. Meanwhile he can’t help but sink into the feeling of being clinging and carefree like this, and craving that special affection from someone who can take care of him, who can tell him what to do when he loses control over himself.
(he vanishes into the depths and dreams with her—longing, even though she stays next to him all night).
iii. washing dishes.
Yor feels worse about the mess she has made in the kitchen as she washes the endless dirty pots and pans from sink to counter. She feels like a child who made her own mess, and a deep sense of guilt in her blood arises when her husband arrives, shocked at the state of the walls and floor all covered in chocolate (and some parts even similar to blood, but he does his best to ignore it), after her yet another failed attempt to cook something for all of them.
Even though she apologizes again and again, shame filling her eyes as she stares at the floor like a child in trouble, Loid smiles politely and insists that it’s nothing to apologize about—and now she steals glances at him, watching him help her clean all the mess.
Loid’s cleaning off the table and putting the dirty dishes in the sink; filling the basin with steaming water and scrubbing beside her. Her gaze is fond and loving, as she watches his trailing sleeves that are a sodden mess; rolled back up impatiently, and his bangs pushed out of his eyes as his face gets some traces of leftover chocolate as well. She can’t help but think that he looks both handsome and adorable like this: her husband, who has so much work all day and grows tired each night, is still kind enough to help her out and has patience with her lack of a wife’s skills.
Yor’s heart flutters as she feels her lungs filled with something mellow.
She releases the plate and sponge, approaching timidly behind him and slowly puts her arms around his waist as she snuggles her face on his back—making him look at her over his shoulder, surprised but smiling warmly After a moment he places one of his hand over hers, and presses back to her warmth, embracing her.
(the silence holds them softly and the heart that pounds in the room is the one that they share together).
iv. trying something new.
When the song on the radio switches in the afternoon, his wife accepts his offered hand. They might have the goal to learn to dance before his co-workers’s party from the hospital so they can put on the appearance of a married couple who are used to going out all the time—but deep down, Loid just wants to dance with her.
His smile is loving and fond when Yor lets herself be softly pulled by his arm, blush and shocked expression still drawn in her eyes. Neither of them are good at this particular slow ballad, but Loid still reaches for his wife’s waist as she nervously follows his steps.
Her moves are clumsy and out of place compared to his—but Loid still whispers gentle directions and encouragement to her ear, holding back a smile, slowly feeling her softering and relaxing between his palms.
As they move together with the female voice singing the particularly romantic tune, her hands on his shoulder and her waist following his slow movements, he absorbs the image of her on his mind: the smell of almonds from her skin that reaches him, her face blushed in pink, the peach from her lips and the starless night reflecting on the strands of her hair. The way she lets out a giggle as they sway and spin gently in the light of the afternoon, faces glowing with the sunset filling the room, their bodies moving to the sound of the far-away radio thrumming in both of their hearts.
(he’s willing to put up with a lot of stomping in order to spend every song with her).
v. forgetting something.
It starts when Yor has a sudden call from the Shopkeeper, and has to leave quickly without having the time to greet her family or make any excuses. So she leaves him a little note in a ripped piece of paper, quickly scrawled in her clumsy but elegant handwriting, to inform him that she has a sudden call from work (that part isn’t particularly a lie), but that she will come back in time for dinner. When she comes back, the note isn’t on the kitchen table where she left it, but Loid is there smiling and putting the food on the table. He had been waiting for her.
Later, it repeats when he had to leave for work and hasn’t been back yet, and Anya insisted she wanted to go play at the park with Bond because it was finally sunny outside. So she leaves him another one, and her daughter joins in saying that she wants to say good morning to papa too, and puts her messy, almost unreadable handwriting together with hers (and then they imagine Loid’s expression as he finds it).
It quickly becomes her own little habit—meant to him only.
For everything she leaves a note. If she has to leave earlier or will come back later, if Anya’s spending the night at Becky’s, if she’s going shopping first and wants to know what he needs for dinner. Both of them are busy people, keeping their own secrets and lives, but Yor fills the moments when they aren’t together—leaving little traces of her to him.
(although she doesn’t know that Loid carefully keeps every one of her notes saved for himself between his belongings, instead of throwing them away like she believes).
vi. road trips.
Things weren’t supposed to be like this. They shouldn't be remotely like this.
They’re sitting in the car on the top of a hill as it’s raining heavily outside, the city lights looking blurry and almost magical as they peek through the coated windows. Yor’s sitting next to him, quiet; Loid has put his green coat over her shoulders, sensing that she must be cold with all her white, mouthwatering skin exposed on her lovely and tempting new dress.
And Loid wants to tell her that she looks very pretty and ethereal under the moonlight, but he doesn’t. He instead pinches the space between his eyes in a deep frustration, hating how everything went wrong: the movie he invited her to watch somehow got canceled, the restaurant missed the reservations he made, and the car suddenly stopped working just before the heavy storm came over the sky—having to stop on that hill after driving for almost an hour.
Twilight always executed his plans with a calculated perfection—but with Yor, his wife, it always seems to fail for some damned reason. He had sensed that she came back in some sort of a bad mood once again after a long night of work, but this time she stayed like that for days, getting even Anya’s attention. That’s why he decided to, yet again, invite her out like she deserves, but of course things go in the worst way possible.
He feels like a fool, and the anxiety climbs towards him—afraid to look at her. But when he steals a glance towards her frame again, she looks as lovely as always, and her expression is soft and rosy and filled with some sort of melancholy that makes his chest constrict. Everything about her always makes his heart flutter, this time mixed with his stress and guilt.
“I’m very sorry, Yor,” he suddenly says, calling her attention, voice muffled by the raindrops hitting the glass. “I wanted to thank you for all your hard work again and save you some stress, but this was a big disaster.”
Her eyes are clouded with something else, and somehow the red of her cheeks grows stronger—like she’s expecting something, and her voice is made of honey as she murmurs back, staring at her clenched hands.
“Not at all. I had so much fun just going out with you, Loid, thank you so much for always taking me to new places. Uhm, I—being together with you is more than enough.”
Something flickers in his blue eyes, and he drinks her whole image as it blends with the rain and the yellow lights floating outside. She's always adorable. Loid suddenly wants to reach and touch the always present red of her cheeks—so he does it. And when he feels her skin, she’s flinching and melting under the brief touch of his gloved hand against her, only the tips of his fingers following the path of a particular very faint mark he finds near her ear.
Neither of them say anything, and Loid has to mentally kick himself to stop whatever madness he’s doing—not even understanding himself at this point. But before he can pull away and apologize, to improvise whatever lie he can create, Yor is pressing his palm harder against her whole cheek, and her eyes are filled with a fondness that shouldn’t be there.
The way she mouths his name in her lips, eating each syllable like it’s magic, shouldn’t make his heart melt like it does either. But before Loid can think straight again, Yor is lunging for his mouth—and he isn’t particularly aware that he’s grabbing her face between his palms as he devours her.
Before they can fully notice, both of them stumble towards the back seat with their clothes half removed, his coat slipping from her shoulders as he looks for the opening on her back. They feel like some sort of teenagers, or re-living a youth that neither of them ever had: kissing and touching each other on the back of a small car under the heavy rain, the sound of the drops rumbling on the roof and the glass interrupted only by the far-away echo of thunder.
On that stormy night, beneath him, his wife’s moaning, drowning, gripping onto him—and his anxiety erases away as he watches her: he's doing everything right, he's doing everything right and she's loving it as she scrapes her fingers through his hair, groaning with the strength of his thrusts, and Loid marks secret words onto her neck.
(the rain waters them like flowers and they expand and tangle like gentle vines—no space within their hold).
vii. nighttime routine.
Yor stands in the park and stares at the road of the fallen leaves under the moon while she waits for her husband.
Neither of them admit it out loud, but they always take the same path to casually bump into each other on their way back home from work. And Yor will never admit this either, but it messes her day if she can’t finish it by coming back home with him, his soft and tired eyes on her and kind voice making her relax before they go home to wait for their darling daughter.
After waiting for a short while, she turns her face away sensing his presence (like she always does), and discovers him: a solitary figure in the midst of the lights of the street lamps and the tenacious fall of the leaves, slow, constant, silent. She inches near him until they’re very close together, enough that she can see the specks of some leaves gathering on top of his hat—making her giggle.
When they greet each other with a smile, they begin to walk under the calm and cold night. A breeze suddenly comes around Yor’s thin coat that makes her shiver until she feels how Loid’s arm encircles around her shoulders, drawing her closer to him as he shares his warmth with her.
(merely touching him is enough, and as they walk they silently wish the road home was a bit longer).
viii. night in.
Outside it’s snowing heavily, the sky is gray and the darkness gradually takes over the living room of the warm and comfortable little home.
Loid is sitting on the couch with Anya sleeping on his lap. They’re surrounded by her books and papers from school, yet another failed attempt to study before bed. He tightly closes his eyes in deep thought, frustration trying to take over even in the comfort of his own home and the warmth of his daughter against him.
The living room lamp suddenly comes on then, and Yor shows up at his side with a warm smile, as she places a steaming cup in front of him (with the little extra milk she knows he likes), in which he can smell the coffee. She then puts a blanket over his back and around Anya, and as Loid smiles and lifts his head to thank her, Yor’s lips are brushing his cheek.
He follows her frame disappearing in the kitchen as she walks away, taking the cup and sipping while his daughter snuggles closer to him.
(and now it’s Twilight who smiles, knowing that it’s his wife’s little domestic gestures that always keep him on track, above everything else).