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Living with Yor and Anya has led to many discoveries on Twilight’s end; both intentionally, when he observes them to get a better grasp on their personalities and feelings (which sometimes helps with dealing with how unpredictable the two can be), and unintentionally, from their day-to-day interactions living together under one roof.
For better or for worse, he’s learned many things about the two of them - like how picky Anya can be with food, or how fond she is of the penguin doll he won her. How scarily intuitive she can be at times, and how she seemed to naturally have a knack for making him anxious.
As for Yor, their interactions have taught him certain things about her too; like how she has a penchant for wearing mostly red or black clothes (a pity, since she looks good in other colours too), how selflessly she extends her kindness to anyone in need, and her impressive strength that he’s been on the unfortunate receiving end more than once.
One thing in particular that he’s noticed about Yor is that she’s never really been one to use makeup. Other than the occasional red lipstick when they went out for dinner, it was rare for Yor to dress up. She always seemed more comfortable dressing simply, foregoing the makeup or dresses for a warm coat or sweater. Which is why, when Yor knocks on his door one day, holding a tube of eyeliner in her hands, Twilight blinks in confusion.
“Um, Loid, this may be a bit presumptuous of me to ask since you’re always helping me all the time and I know how busy you are and I’m sorry to bother you,” she says all in one breath. “But can you help me with my makeup? There’s a dinner party and I can’t seem to get this weap- eyeliner to work… P-please!” she throws in a plea at the last minute, her tone bordering on desperation.
“You’re not a bother, Yor. You can always come to me for help,” he reassures her quickly before she could spiral further into a state of distress. “I’m not sure if I’ll be much help, but I can try.”
He’s dabbled in makeup before, having to disguise himself for many of his other identities. Although he can’t exactly say he’s had to resort to any for his current role as Loid Forger.
If there’s one other thing that he’s learned about Yor, it’s how open she can be with her emotions. She lights up almost instantly, the distress on her face melting away as she beams. “Thank you so much, Loid! I promise I’ll return the favour!”
“You don’t have to,” Twilight smiles at how sincere her happiness is. “You’re always helping me too.”
Seeing her smile is enough - it put his mind at ease seeing her happy, especially with her tendency to be self-deprecating. He knows how hard she can be on herself.
“T-then, um… My room?” she asks, and Twilight nods, suddenly feeling slightly nervous.
It’s not like he’s never been to her room before. Quite the opposite, actually - he’s been there on a few occasions, like the time when she injured her wrists and needed help getting around - but it’s always been when Anya is around, and never just the two of them alone. It was like an unspoken rule between them. A boundary that neither dared cross without any reason to. But Anya isn't here tonight, away on a sleepover at Becky's. Neither is Bond, whom she'd insisted on bringing over. Tonight, it's just them.
Stepping into her room now, then, watching the gentle silhouette of his wife’s back as she pulls up a chair for him, feels more intimate than it should.
You’re overthinking it, he tells himself as he sits himself down across from Yor.
He's wholly unprepared for how close they are due to their current positions, sitting directly in front of one another. His wife is only a few inches away, and if he moved his chair just a little, their fingers would brush and their knees would touch. And yet, Yor seemed oblivious to this fact, smiling innocently at him like there was nothing wrong.
Which is true, it’s not like there’s anything wrong with their current situation. Still, Twilight clears his throat, averting his attention away from their close proximity to, well, anything else. His eyes catch sight of her dressing table - or rather, the state of disarray it’s in - various makeup products and tissues stained with multiple colours are strewn haphazardly across the surface, a sign of Yor’s struggle.
“I’m sorry about the mess. I’m not really the best with makeup,” Yor confesses.
“My skills aren’t anything to write home about either. We’ll figure our way through,” Twilight reassures her again. “What do you need help with?”
“The eyeshadow and eyeliner, if that’s okay. I usually just go with whatever colour that looks okay to me.”
At Yor’s request, Twilight nods, picking up the eyeshadow palette and assessing the colours within. A soft, neutral brown and dusty rose would complement the dress she was wearing. A touch of silver would also help to accentuate her eyes without bringing too much attention away from her outfit. His decision made, he turns to Yor, who already has her eyes closed and her hands fisted in her lap. Her eyebrows are scrunched together in anticipation, and Twilight has to hide a smile at how endearing he found it to be.
He moves his chair forward, careful not to brush his leg against hers as he does. The last thing he needs is to add another hole in the wall and a possible mild concussion on his end to Yor’s list of current worries.
“Can you lean forward a little?”
It would be easier for him to reach Yor this way without accidentally touching her. Yor complies, shifting her body nearer to his.
“Like this?” she whispers, and Twilight is once again very aware of just how close she is. He can hear her quiet, steady breathing, can smell the faint scent of roses on her neck. He recognises the fragrance as the perfume that he had gotten her for her birthday (and he was right to choose it after all - the sweet blend of roses and hyacinths does suit her, just as he thought it would). And her face; her face which seemed so small and delicate was right there, close enough for him to touch. She was right there; his wife, sitting so patiently and compliantly, eyes fluttered close and lips a tantalising red.
It would be so simple, for him to just reach over and touch her. To hold her like he’s always secretly longed to, gently tilting her face towards his and kissing her the same way he’s dreamed of for many nights.
Twilight bites down hard on his lower lip, chiding himself to focus. It would be simple - but dealing with what came after that, and what this would mean for both of them, wouldn’t be.
It would be so much simpler for him to just pretend these feelings never existed.
He exhales quietly, forcing himself to speak. “Yes, that’s fine.”
He picks up the makeup brush on her table, steeling his resolve to not get distracted.
“Do you trust me with this?” he asks in a low voice, brush hovering a few inches away from her face. It almost surprises him how immediate her reply is, honest and without a single hint of hesitation.
“Of course. I always trust you, Loid.”
The sincerity in her voice feels like a direct punch to his gut, knowing that he’s been anything but truthful with her.
He could just as easily tell her - if not the whole truth, at least his feelings for her - but because he’s Twilight; a liar, he forces a smile and thanks her, hushing the words of an unspoken confession that lay unbidden on the tip of his tongue.
“I’ll get started then.”
It’s slightly awkward for the both of them in the beginning. Yor sits rigidly in her seat, her posture stiff as he diligently works on her makeup, being mindful to put as much distance between them as possible. He tries to make small talk, asking her about work in hopes of easing her tension.
It works, at first - that is, until he mentions her coworkers, and her posture goes incredibly stiff. There’s a hint of red growing on her face as he waits for her to respond (he assumes it must be some deep-seated frustration), and Twilight decides it would be best to steer clear entirely of that conversation.
“Actually, I’m curious,” he starts, changing the topic. “What made you come to me?”
“You’re good at a lot of things, so I assumed you would know something about makeup too.”
“You flatter me. I just like doing what I can.”
“I-it's true!” Yor exclaims, surprising Twilight when she opens her eyes to fix him with a glare. He blinks, mystified at what could have brought on her sudden outburst.
“You're good at cooking. You won the tennis competition with your coworkers. You're smart enough to be a doctor. And…” she pauses, her cheeks reddening as her voice goes quiet, and her eyes soften with open honesty. “You always know how to take good care of me.”
For a moment, he thinks she might kiss him. The space between them feels too small, the air in the room too intimate. He thinks he sees her eyes flicker to his lips, and it takes all of his self-control to not kiss her there and then. His heart pounds loudly in his chest as the moments tick by, and he can feel his ears reddening involuntarily as her lips part and her tongue darts out to wet her lips.
How would her lips feel against his? How would she feel in his arms, as he ran a thumb along the outline of her lips, pressing a kiss to the pulse on her neck?
“Yor, can I…”
“Hm?” Yor hums absentmindedly. Even with their lack of distance and the obvious tension in the air, her demeanour remains strangely calm. Gentle, as she smiles at him and waits for what he has to say.
Twilight can feel his resolve crumbling the longer he looks at her.
“Can I-” he catches himself before he can stutter and make himself look even more of a fool in front of her. Yor tilts her head questioningly, and he feels his throat tightening.
“Do you mind if I touch you?” he says eventually - a poor choice of words, he realises too late, when Yor’s breath hitches. “F-for the eyeliner, I mean. It would let me control my hand better.”
“G-go ahead,” Yor says shakily, closing her eyes in compliance.
Without her gaze on him, Twilight can breathe easier. He doesn’t think he can handle touching her if she looked at him with those captivating, doe-red eyes that threatened to break any semblance of his self-control and ruin the peace of their current life.
They were fine like this, he lies to himself.
He’s gentle as he places a tentative hand under her chin, tilting her face upwards. Yor, for the most part, does her best to remain impassive - although he still notices how her breathing picks up when his fingers make contact with her skin, and a faint pink settles over her cheeks. As long as she’s not trying to kill him, he takes that as a sign that it’s safe for him to continue.
Neither of them say anything as Twilight works, his concentration focused on the task at hand. The silence hangs heavily around them, made worse by the tension that continues to linger - it hums in his veins, etching trails of heat into his skin as he holds her face, careful and as if she's the most delicate thing he’s ever touched.
“Did you… used to do this with your wife?” Yor asks quietly after a while, and Twilight’s hand stills.
“Oh, um! Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked such a sensitive question. Ignore me.”
“It’s okay. You just caught me off guard, that’s all.” An impartial lie. And then, a beat, before he continues, his voice dropping in tone, honest for the first time in a while.
“But to answer the question, no. You’re the first.”
The first I’ve ever touched like this, he doesn’t say.
Of course, there’s no other wife besides her, not like Yor would ever know. But neither has there been anyone else that he’s ever held this gently, or whose touch he craves this desperately.
“Oh,” Yor breathes out, and they leave it at that.
(And maybe it’s his imagination, but he thinks he sees some of the tension easing off of her; an unplaced emotion that he can’t exactly read flickering over her features, as if something finally made sense to her.)
It doesn’t take him too long before he’s finally done - and because her mascara is the only thing left to apply, he takes the liberty of applying it on her too (after asking for permission, of course).
“I’m done, Yor. You can take a look,” he tells her, handing her the hand mirror on her table and moving back to give her space. Yor is quiet as she looks at her reflection, turning her head to inspect his handiwork. There’s an awe-struck look on her face, as if she can’t quite believe what she’s looking at.
“If there’s anything you want me to change…” his voice trails off, catching in his throat as Yor looks up, peering at him from behind mascara-brushed lashes.
“I think it’s perfect, Loid. But… What do you think? H-how do I look?” she murmurs, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers nervously. Those same, enticing red eyes of hers blink innocently at him, shy and nervous in her gaze.
Maybe he made his wife a little too pretty.
“You look beautiful, Yor. You always do,” he tells her honestly, revelling in the way she turns pink. It can be so easy to fluster her.
“Th-thank you,” Yor squeaks out, turning her eyes away from him. Twilight watches in amusement as she busies herself with tidying the dressing table, making a pointed effort to not look at him. “And thank you for helping me. I knew I was right to come to you.”
“You can always come to me for anything,” he replies. And this time, he's being honest again, something he just can't help but want to be around her.
“And, um, Loid?”
“Hm?”
“I just… Wanted to thank you again. For everything,” Yor looks at him, eyes warm as she levels her gaze with his.
“You’re always taking care of me. I don't think I've ever thanked you enough for all the things you've done for me- so, thank you, Loid,” her voice is soft as she smiles at him and, just like before, it becomes apparent to him just how pretty his wife is.
“You know I’m always- Y-Yor ?!” his voice goes embarrassingly high when Yor suddenly closes the distance between them, leaning in towards him. The scent of roses and hyacinths on the curve of her neck surrounds him, intoxicating his senses, and Twilight already knows that he’s going to dream of her tonight.
Now it's his turn to be flustered as he struggles to form coherent words beyond just panicked noises, nearly knocking over every single item on her table when he tries to put some space between them. If he thought Yor was too close before, he almost forgets how to breathe now. Her eyes are dark with intent as she clutches loosely at his shirt, and Twilight thinks he might die.
“Wh-what are you-”
Just as he’s regained enough composure to finally say something that could qualify as part of a language, Yor swiftly stands on her tiptoes and kisses him on the corner of his mouth, just shy of grazing his lips - and his brain quite literally shuts down.
He barely has any time to react before Yor has already pulled away, her face aflame. They stare at each other, wide-eyed and red-faced, her hand still on his chest, until reality seemed to sink in for Yor and she gasps. As quickly as she had kissed him, Yor rips her hand away from him, looking mortified at her own actions.
“Th-that’sallIwantedtosaythankyou!” she stutters out before bolting out of the room and into the bathroom, leaving him standing there alone, dumbfounded. There’s a loud, crashing sound from the bathroom, and Twilight snaps out of his trance.
“Yor? You okay?” he raps on the door worriedly.
There’s a slurred, “M’fine!” from behind the door followed by the sound of more things crashing to the ground. Twilight decides it would be best to leave her alone for now.
Somehow, he manages to make it to the living room, hoping that the bitterness of a black coffee will be enough to make him feel normal again by the time Yor emerges from the bathroom. He still has to see her off, of course, even if all he wants to do right now is bury his head in a pillow and stay there.
Twilight stumbles to the kitchen, passing by the room near the doorway - only to pause when he catches sight of his reflection in the room’s mirror.
Apart from the obvious redness on his face, there's something else about his reflection that stands out - because right there, contrasting clearly against his skin, is a bright red lipstick marking where his wife’s lips had been.
Twilight buries his burning face in his hands. Yor might actually just kill him one day.
It's not the first time he's been kissed - far from it, and yet, he can't stop the small smile that stretches across his lips or the warm, giddy feeling that flutters in his chest.
Maybe it doesn’t have to be that complicated. Maybe acting on his feelings and touching his wife, as Yor had done to him, is truly as simple as she had made it seem.
He'd just have to be the one to catch her off-guard the next time, then.