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Parties could be broken down into a simple equation that always equaled the upkeep of the mission. Parading in front of Yor's "friends"—if that's what you could call those terrible banshees from her office—added a layer of safety to the act. It was imperative regardless of Loid's personal feelings–though he had to admit the deep loathing was a thick, inky smog that often threatened to strangle him.
"How long have they been married?"
The twitter of an unfamiliar voice had Loid's ear perked, making him tilt his head ever so slightly towards the kitchen.
"Oh, who cares? Regardless of the time, it's strange. "
"Strange" was never the word Loid wanted to hear.
"Well, he can't be the problem. He already has a daughter."
Regardless of the calm he tried to exude, Loid prickled, eye twitching momentarily. Yor , his mind whispered protectively.
"She's probably barren. It wouldn't be a surprise. I bet it happened when she was selling–"
This time his neck snapped towards the disgusting voices along with the involuntary stomping step of his foot. He could see his actions easily playing out: busting into the kitchen, parting those venomous harpies, and defending his wife – the woman he chose– the woman he–
Yor's delicate, cool fingers wrapped around his, catching his momentum before it could become a whirlwind. The view as he turned his head was even more infuriating than those creeping words. Yor was smiling softly— knowingly —at him with more a wisp of melancholia than the bitterness she deserved to harbor. Before that could spur his feet again, she squeezed their connection, leaving him with a message he could barely swallow:
Don't.
The taste of bile laced his tongue as he produced a grin in return. Just a loving couple exchanging a glance. Just a happily married pair weaving their fingers together in a sweet exchange. As if to make the moment count, Loid leaned down, his lips lingering closely to her ear. "I want to leave."
To anyone else those words would be a loving whisper, not a desperate plea.
To every other partygoer the kiss that he dusted along that elegant cheekbone would be a stereotypical exchange, not an uncalculated, knee-jerk mistake.
To everyone but Loid Folger that moment would be a sweet interlude, not another wall crumbling.
Yor stared at the darkened ceiling, worrying the sheets in her fingers as they rested on her chest. The party had gone much like all the others, but this time a sour air followed them home, wrapping tightly around Loid. There was no mistaking the cause either– it was her .
That wasn't the first time she'd heard the whispers, and the subject matter itself wasn't a surprise. Married women had children. It was a natural order, one that any normal couple would follow. Instead, she was un natural– as she always was. There was no hope, even if Loid was–
Her eyes snapped shut, desperate and tight against the thoughts and maybe even the threat of tears. In the darkness, a terrible muttering voice hit her:
How long until he realizes how wrong you are?
Yor's breath faltered as she lunged to sit. The sheets crumpled at her waist, her hands now white knuckled fists in her lap.
How long until you lose this place? Anya? Him ?
Stumbling steps brought her out of bed and into the hallway as if the whisper could be left behind, escaped from like a monster under the bed. She settled on the hopes of a cool glass of water washing away some of the constriction in her throat and started for the kitchen. As she emerged from the hallway, her feet planted, knees rocking unsteady.
Loid was standing at the window of the terrace, the moonlight painting the exquisite lines of his face as he stared into the night. He'd loosened his tie and pulled up his sleeves, but otherwise had remained unchanged from the party as if still trapped in that moment.
He's upset. Her heart lurched, making her feet follow suit and trespass closer. Graceful steps whispered across the hardwood until they reached the small square of carpet at the armchair.
He jumped, head swiveling as his eyes widened. "Yor? What are you doing awake?"
"Um…" She scooped up her elbows to hug herself around the middle. "Just getting some water."
The soft smile that she would normally enjoy slowly graced his fine lips. "Don't let me keep you. You need your rest." As swiftly as he'd turned, he was back, now only showing the clean lines of hair along his neck.
I can't. Yor's nails pressed crescents into her skin. "Loid?" His name quaked off her tongue but still earned her his gentle gaze again. "I-is something the matter?"
If she had blinked she would have missed the ever so slight shift in his eyebrows or the quick dip in his smile, but she was all too aware of every inch of him. "Why would it be?" While the tone dripped with Loid's usual nonchalant detachment, Yor couldn't shake the surety of the shadow that spread across his features.
She swallowed, mouth dry and heart thundering, but forced the words anyway: "I know what you heard."
Finally, truth came in the set of his jaw and the drop of all pretenses of a smile. "Don't concern yourself with my feelings on that. I'm only bothered that you had to hear it."
"But I'd like to…"
His eyebrows started to rise.
Yor hugged a little tighter, wishing the pleasant pressure of her own arms would bring her comfort. "I'd like to know how you feel."
His fist clenched at his side, relaxed, and then seized again. It was a heart beating in time, working away towards some end that left Yor breathless.
“Loid?” she barely managed through a trembling exhale.
His profile shone again, a moonlight halo as he glanced back at the window. “Yor…” His eyes narrowed at the night, worried lines interrupting the smooth eyebrows. “Have a drink with me?”
Loid stared at the deep crimson in the glass, listening to Yor’s breath and the soft clink of her nail against the stem. What was your plan? His throat constricted, his swallow clicking dryly. Your priority is the mission. What you’re thinking– what you’re having the nerve to contemplate puts everything in danger. He raised a hand, letting it settle over his mouth to keep the next volatile thought from exploding over his lips instead. Feeling– the way I feel– what I’ve avoided about her for what seems like the entirety of this ruse. A drive beyond Strix.
“I know what they said must seem cruel…” The softness of Yor’s voice betrayed her trepidation, but it seemed that no matter her fear, she always still found the words to encompass it– something Loid so desperately envied. “But I can see the logic in it. We… Our arrangement…”
A painful breath shook between his fingers before he dropped his palm to his knee. “Our arrangement is fine the way it is. Asking you to shoulder something like that for the sake of appearances would be–”
“I know”—Yor crushed the flimsy words before they could even finish—”that I have struggled to be the best wife and mother, but–”
“There is no one more qualified for either than you, Yor.” That terrifying bit of truth somehow birthed from the deep recesses of his mind, taking Loid by surprise. He floundered, that steady heart of his momentarily trembling offbeat as he risked a glance at her.
The soft blush on her cheeks, the quiver of her lip– these were things he’d produced in women a million times. Manipulation was easy with honeyed words. It was simple to claim that statement as another fabrication meant to solidify the sham, but that line was no longer black. The utterly harrowing realization was all too apparent in the moonlight: This is grey. So grey and muddled that thinking about her, looking at her is making it impossible to hold on.
In all the fluttering of his thoughts, Yor collected her own. “And I’m thankful that it’s you who I have as a, well, a partner.”
Don’t – But no matter the plea, his heart still sang with it. Grappling with that pleasure consumed him, making silence his only answer.
“So I’d never want to make trouble for you.” Her murmur was sweet, soft, and another rush of pink took over her cheeks.
“It’s no trouble, Yor.” The usual cool tempo of his tone strained as he reached for her. Don't, his mind screamed again but all muscles refused to listen. Again, he was no stranger to touching a woman, to running fingers through her hair or caressing down her arm in promises of seduction, but all had been perfunctory. These had not been impulses but categorical steps with dictated goals in mind. This though—the way his fingertips just brushed a tendril of hair along her shoulder—was anything but. This is me being weak– being stupid– being–
“Loid?” Her eyes darted from the connection to his face to her nervous fingers along the stem.
Weak– stupid– “Yor, can I kiss you?”
Ruby eyes became so wide that he could fall into them, those beautiful pink lips parting to tremble. “K-kiss?” She turned to her wine glass again, threatening to bring it up to interrupt any more stuttering.
His fingers caught the base, keeping her from tilting it to her lips. “If I tell you it’s just me asking, then do you really need to do that?”
Her mouth worked over the words silently, eyes darting over the liquid that rippled as Loid’s hand shook. “Y-you want to kiss me?”
Whatever horrific consequences the answer would produce were at least momentarily pushed from his mind. “Yes.” The glass pressed against his hand, moving it out of the way to leave before the drink rested on the coffee table.
After relinquishing it, Yor’s hands fell to her lap. “And it’s– you said ‘just you asking’ –”
“This–” He so desperately wanted to reach for her again, but there was still a poisonous fear starting to seep into his veins. I can need her all I want, but if she doesn’t– Loid bit back that possibility as his hand hovered between them. “I haven’t been thinking in terms of our deal for some time now.” In all the time he’d known her, Yor’s face had never been so guarded, unreadable. He had always prided himself on the ability to pick any person apart and usually Yor’s features came just as easily as any other. In that moment— in those utterly terrifying ticking seconds —she was a complete mystery to him.
Her head slowly swiveled, chin tilting slightly as she regarded him with such scrutiny that she was most certainly paying him back tenfold. Silence continued, broken only by the slight strain of the fabric between her fingers as her fists clenched around her dress. "Close your eyes."
"What?" Loid could only do the opposite, staring to take in every inch of her face. Still, there was no discernable message in her features.
"Close your eyes. Please. "
Vulnerability was rarely his forte, so accepting her orders came as easily as pulling his own teeth. All the same, he blindly followed her command.
As soon as those sparkling blue eyes closed, Yor let her palms cup her cheeks, trying to control the steady burn. It's not about the arrangement! But that means– As her head shook away the reality of that, her hands dropped. It was almost impossible, but she turned her head, gazing at a man that she had never tried to harbor hope for. Except there he was, eyes diligently closed, hands out still frozen in their reach for her. Has he really been waiting?
She extended her arms until her palms pressed to his, fingers lacing together easily. His eyelids twitched but did not open, holding tight to his promise.
Even with the warm connection that sang sweetly to her heart, her mind bucked. He doesn't know– doesn't realize how different I am. How wrong , so if I–
"Yor?" It wasn't impatience but that dearest warble of concern.
But I want to! The desperate, selfish cry rang up from her bones. It's not about convenience anymore. That's not what keeps me with him and Anya. It's so much more. And he makes it sound like– almost like he could feel the same. Her hands were trembling in his until the delicate swipe of his thumb along her skin started to allow something close to hope to sink in. “Keep”—she pulled in a shaky breath—”keep them closed.”
“Alright,” he murmured.
Yor leaned forward, using his hands as leverage to keep her from pitching forward. He steadied her, letting her shift whatever way she pleased as she inched closer. Loid remained still except for his breath that parted his quaking lips. It was an entirely novel sensation as the warmth of his exhale lit across her own lips as she stopped almost nose to nose.
Even with his eyes shut, there was no mistaking her closeness and Loid tilted his head, noses now nuzzled ever so slightly. What guide did she have? Her normal was drenched in blood, not drifting through the soft ecstasy of closeness. Saying this was new didn’t encompass the pure bliss of simply sharing his space. While her mind screamed hesitation, her body moved regardless to meet him.
Loid’s fingers squeezed on contact, but the pressure didn’t steal her attention from this unfamiliar euphoria. This can’t be real. His lips lingered on hers. I never left my bed. Another pulse of his palm against hers. I’m dreaming– or is this a nightmare because waking up to life without this–
Separation was anything but sweet, but the beautiful timbre of his voice brought back some of the warmth. “Can I open my eyes?”
No , she wanted to plead. If you do, it’s over, isn’t it? She clutched his hands and nodded.
“Will you open yours?”
Yor shook her head.
“Please.”
All she wanted was to shake her head again, to just live in the moment that had passed and never leave it. Yor forced a breath and tried to pull back her hands but found them stuck, still clasped tightly by his. Her eyes fluttered open only to stretch to their widest.
Loid was flushed—almost feverish—with eyes shining as if on the verge of tears. “Thank you.”
“Loid, I–” He answered her hesitation with a hand hovering by her cheek that after she didn’t pull away made soft contact. “I–"
His thumb rolled over her lip, silencing the stuttering. "I don't know if I can give you more than this, Yor," he murmured as he gently stroked the line of her lips. "But will you accept me if I try?"
That would always be their conundrum; living lives that offered no surety and forever falling away from normal. Nothing would ever be guaranteed, but looking in his eyes, knowing his touch, left Yor only able to nod.
They would both have to try.