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It starts out innocent enough; a simple question over lunch.
“What do you and Loid usually do on dates?”
Yor freezes like she’s being interrogated. “Uh…”
“Come on,” Camilla whines. “You were so secretive about your sex life the last time, and we get it—he’s probably some kind of sex god and you’re probably some kind of freak in the sheets.” Yor gesticulates wildly with her hands in a show of violent protest. They’ve been nothing but normal , really. She’s nowhere as imaginative as her colleagues—who clearly had very bizarre notions of what they got up to at night. “But you can at least give us date ideas.”
“W-well,” Yor squirms, cagey. “We…”
“Well?” Her colleagues lean in, like vultures. “We what?”
“… Eat,” she finishes lamely, only to be met with derisive grumblings about men . As if that word alone explained everything. Yor blinks, nonplussed. Had they expected something more? But what more was there? More importantly, was this normal for married couples? Sometimes they patronize a nice cafe, and other times they go on a killing spree, but even Yor strongly doubted the latter was remotely close to ‘normal’. “And then put Anya to bed.”
“I knew it. It’s just like any other marriage.” Sharon rolls her eyes. Privately, Yor rejoices at this, relieved that the SSS isn’t going to come knocking at her door tonight. God forbid she gets arrested and locked up for a sham marriage when it’s just bloomed into a genuine fledgling of a real one. “Forget what people said about children being a bundle of joy—they’re a complete fucking killjoy.”
“Can’t say I disagree,” Camilla grumbles, rubbing absently at her belly. It’s still only barely discernible, the growing life inside of her, but Yor knows it’s been causing her to hurl up in the ladies’ every morning. “I can already foresee Dominic forgetting my existence altogether once our child is born.”
“Men,” her colleagues sigh a tad dramatically, arms linked in a show of solidarity. “Even the great Loid Forger disappoints, huh?”
Yor fidgets uneasily. Something tells her she should simply play along and cement their views of her extremely normal married life, but another part of her is itching to defend Loid’s honor, especially when he’s been nothing but sweet and kind and considerate.
“Well, uh,” Yor blurts out, more out of reflex than anything else. “We… sometimes go to the opera.”
That sounded like a safe answer, and it was true. They’d gone once as practice for the admissions interview—never mind that it had bored her to tears or that she’d had to cook up all sorts of violent scenarios in her mind to keep from falling asleep. She simply didn’t get the appeal of a bunch of pompously-dressed people prancing around on stage and trilling like skewered birds.
Millie lights up, eyes shining. “The opera! How nice! Which one was it?”
“I…” Which one was it? “Well, the one with a lot of singing.”
The girls sigh in unison once more, as if in mourning.
“Men.”
As has become their usual routine, Loid picks Yor up after work at six-thirty sharp. He smiles as soon as he spots her on the steps, although the crease in her brows suggests she’s troubled by something—which leads him to frown and anxiously inspect everything that’s transpired between them since breakfast. Had he said something wrong? Have a good day at work, Yor. I love you. I’ll pick you up tonight, okay? Unlikely. Had he done something wrong? A peck on the cheek, and another hug for good measure. Again, unlikely. Had he cooked something wrong, then? Or had he done something wrong last night in bed—?
“Hi, Loid,” she greets, voice half an octave higher than normal. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“You didn’t,” Loid reassures, instinctively reaching out to enfold her hand in his as they walk down the street. The evening crowd is annoying, to say the least. Not to mention the loud babbles of excitable children and the constant hammering of construction. “How was work today?”
“Good, thank you.” Yor purses her lips pensively. Not a lie, but not the entire truth, either. “How about you?”
“Good, too.” He squeezes her hand gently, leading her towards a quieter sidewalk. “Is something bothering you?”
“Not really,” she mutters, eyes trained on the ground.
A complete lie.
“Yor,” Loid coaxes patiently. “You can tell me anything.”
Yor inhales sharply, hand clammy in his. “I—well, I was just thinking—we haven’t been on a proper date in a while. But I’m not angry! I’m not saying it’s a bad thing,” she hastens to justify. Loid would beg to differ. It is a bad thing, and he’s been awfully stupid for overlooking something so important. “You’ve been nothing but good to me, Loid. It’s just, uh, my colleagues were asking me over lunch what we usually do on dates, and…” she trails off, nearly breathless. Intimations like these always left her tongue-tied and frazzled. “I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
“For making you feel bad,” she says, but it comes out more like a question. “I shouldn’t have—“
“No,” Loid cuts her off gently. “I will always appreciate your honesty, Yor. If anything, I should be the one apologizing.”
“Not at all!” Yor insists. “I’m always happy to just spend time with you, whatever we do. I just… didn’t really know what to tell my colleagues.”
Loid hums in agreement. He’s generally disinclined to tell his colleagues that a regular date between them consisted of espionage and bloody murder. Definitely not suitable for pantry gossip.
“I understand. Why don't we go for a walk? We can talk about it somewhere else.”
“Anya-”
“-is probably more than happy to continue watching cartoons without my interference.”
Even Yor has to laugh at that. “I suppose you’re not wrong.”
So they pad down the cobblestoned streets that they’ve grown so familiar with over three summers of marriage: two false, one real. Eventually they arrive at Yor’s favorite park and settle on a bench, drenched in the sunset glow. Humming quietly, Yor finds his hand once more, fingers slipping back into his with ease.
Loid smiles serenely. It’s strangely liberating to know that none of this is just for show now. That his affectionate whispers are as forthcoming as can be—with no agenda other than reassurance and love.
“Thank you for always coming here with me,” Yor murmurs. “I used to come here all the time after work, and it was nice, but it’s nicer with you.”
“It’s the company that matters?”
“Yes,” Yor admits, in that disarmingly shy and honest way of hers. “I’m really glad I married you, Loid.”
Loid squeezes her hand lightly. “Me, too.”
They stay like that for a while, reveling in the tranquility of the night: the crickets, the rustling leaves; the moon like a spotlight on the lake.
Suddenly Yor perks up, seemingly stricken by some kind of epiphany.
“What’s your ideal date?”
“I should be asking you that, no?”
Yor shrugs. “I… don’t know. I haven’t really been on many dates, if at all.”
“That makes two of us,” he chuckles. Yor eyes him in disbelief. “Most, if not all of my dates in the past were really just for work. I’d usually bring them someplace fancy to siphon out information and then dump after.”
“Heartbreaker,” Yor teases.
“It was for the mission,” Loid grins. He leans over to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear, causing her to blush prettily. “But you’re the exception.”
“You’re deflecting again. Answer the question.”
“Alright,” Loid acquiesces, though not before planting a kiss on her knuckles. He chafes her hand in his. “Why don’t you start?”
“I don’t know where to start,” Yor mutters glumly. To be honest, neither does he. Though he’d come up with a grand total of eight-hundred and sixty-two ideas for their first date it had been nothing short of a disaster of hideous proportions.
“Let’s try eliminating the obvious first. The opera?” Yor wrinkles her nose at the memory, eliciting a chuckle. “It’s a bit stuffy, isn’t it?”
“I mean—not to sound like an ingrate, but…”
“I get it. I was pretty bored too.”
“Really? I couldn’t tell.”
“That means I did my job well,” he remarks candidly. “Although… I’m sorry you had to sit through all that highbrow nonsense—it must’ve been awfully boring for you. Not to mention the museums and fancy restaurants, too.”
Yor shakes her head, hair fluttering softly in the evening breeze. “It’s good exposure. I never would’ve experienced those things otherwise.”
“You’re too kind to me, Yor.” Loid knows she’s just trying to assuage his feeling bad over treating their relationship as nothing more than another mission in the beginning. He demurs easily, before guilt can take root and ruin the mood. “Alright, so. Nothing too stuffy.”
“Is that okay with you?”
“Believe me, I’m more than fine with that.” He’s done the whole fine dining thing enough to last ten lifetimes. Not to mention the pitifully small portions. “Would you enjoy a date at a nice restaurant, though?”
“Maybe,” she says, her tone doubtful. “I still prefer your cooking, though.”
“Likewise.” Yor giggles at this, and he grins with pride. “Maybe we could do a picnic or something.”
“That sounds nice,” Yor sighs, leaning in to rest her head on his shoulder. “I think Anya would like that. And Bond, too.”
“It’s a date , Yor,” Loid reminds her gently. “We’ll work something out. It’s good for couples to spend time alone every now and then.” He smirks, unable to resist a little bit of teasing. “Outside of the bedroom, that is.”
Yor splutters. “Loid!”
“I’m kidding. But it’s true, you know.”
“That last part was unnecessary,” she mutters, clearly still mortified. His grin widens. “But point taken. There’s a carnival coming up, I think, if you’re interested…”
Loid grimaces at the memory. The last time they’d gone to a carnival they had almost busted their covers completely, what with her absurd strength effectively breaking every record on every one of those machines involving hammers and punching bags and the like. Not to mention the sizable crowd that had clamored around them like pests. In the end, the vendors had, by unanimous agreement, driven them out and banned them from returning, because they were apparently putting them all out of pocket and obstructing access.
“I would love to,” he coughs. “But I don’t think it went very well the last time.”
Yor slumps in apparent defeat. Immediately his resolve hardens. Nothing too fancy or outlandish, and nothing that can potentially draw a conspicuous crowd and rouse suspicion–
“How about we go camping this weekend instead?”
And Yor beams, earnest and bright in the glow of streetlights. “Sure. I’d love that.”
“Why can’t I come?”
“Well,” Yor begins nervously. She’s always had trouble saying no to Anya, no matter how ridiculous the request. Not to mention her wide eyes and endearingly adorable pout. A killer combination, really. “There might be bears, for one.”
Anya pales visibly.
“That’s right. And dinosaurs, too,” Loid deadpans.
“Dinosaurs don’t exist.”
“How do you know that?”
“We learnt that in school!”
Loid regards her with suspicion. “Since when do you pay attention in class?”
“Since I got my third ,” Anya holds up three fingers gleefully for emphasis, puffing her chest out with pride. “Stella and officially turned back into Starlight Anya!”
“Anya,” Becky sighs. “I told you, you can’t let it get to your head.”
“Becky’s right.” The girl beams at the praise, but quickly despairs again when she realizes she’s not joining them for the camping trip either. Loid bites back a laugh. “You girls have fun. And don’t cause them any trouble, okay?”
Anya yawns. “Yeees. You’re such a nag, Papa.”
“It’s because you’re such a troublemaker.”
“I’m sure Anya will be very well-behaved, as she always is,” Yor chimes in, ever the mediator. She reaches out to pat Anya fondly on the head. “Plus she’s in good hands.”
“Exactly!”
“Coming from you…” Loid grumbles. Beside him, Yor smothers her laughter with a hand. “Don’t destroy anything in our absence.”
“I won’t!”
“And—“
“Yes, I know,” Anya huffs, crossing her arms petulantly. “I’ll finish my homework and brush my teeth and go to bed by ten.”
Uncanny, really, how she always seems to pluck the words right out of his mind. Anya turns around to stuff her little chimera—which has definitely seen better days; it looks like it’s undergone multiple surgeries by now—into her bag.
“Promise?”
“Yeeees,” Anya whines, but without any real heat. He leans down to ruffle her hair with begrudging affection. “I don’t know how Mama puts up with you. You’re like a broken TV.”
“Hey!”
Yor laughs, eyes crinkling in genuine delight. Loid smiles in surrender. He’ll gladly take laughter at his expense any day, if it makes her so wildly and openly happy .
“Have fun flirting with Mama!”
Maybe not.
The radio burbles as Loid drives. It’s been so long since he’s driven purely for pleasure and not for work that he’s forgotten how freeing it can be; roof down, swift winds mussing up their hair.
Yor laughs and reaches up to adjust her hat. Loid smiles, releasing a hand from the steering wheel to capture hers instead. He thinks she’s especially lovely like this in her favorite summer dress; patterned with red-and-white ginghams with a brown belt looped around the waist.
“You look beautiful, Yor.”
“So do you,” Yor grins, her joy infectious. She leans out to watch the world go by as they meander through city and suburbia, buildings blurring and melding into copses of trees.
“You alright?”
“Of course.” Yor smiles, but he doesn’t miss the way fatigue rings her eyes.
He squeezes her hand lightly. “It’s still a while to go. Why don’t you take a short nap?”
“And leave you to drive all alone?”
“I’ve got the radio,” he grins. Loid tinkers with the radio until it lands on a channel crooning out plaintive ballads. When I was young I’d listen to the radio, waiting for my favorite song.
“ I know this song!” Yor gushes. “ When they played, I’d sing along, it made me smile. ”
“It’s a good song. Franky thinks they’re insipid and overrated, but he’s just trying to not seem mainstream to impress the ladies.”
Yor giggles. “We should have him sing this with Anya next time. She would love it.”
“Sounds like a plan,” he nods approvingly. “Anyway, don’t stay up on my account. We’ve still got a couple hours to go, and I know you had a ton of assignments to deal with last week.”
“Are you sure?”
“Very sure.” Loid stops at the red, and reaches out to rub her arm soothingly. “I’ll let you know if I need anything.”
“I—alright,” Yor caves, her reluctance palpable. “You’re sure?”
“Promise,” and she drifts back into bobbing along to the music. Eventually they lapse into a sort of companionable silence until she dozes off, a small smile on her face. The next song that comes on hits close to home. Loid . Loidhums along softly, content with the moment.
At long last, love has arrived, and I thank God I’m alive.
When Yor wakes from her nap— you’ve only been out for less than an hour , Loid reassures—the scenery is markedly different, the usual interfused mass of people now outnumbered by trees. The buildings are shorter, the hills taller, the fields wider, and if she squints she can almost catch sight of a farm in the distance, housing a flock of fluffy, bleating sheep.
“All good?” Yor nods as something like nostalgia bursts in her chest. It’s all so painfully familiar. So much like her old home. “We still have an hour to go. You can go back to sleep if you want.”
“I’m good, thank you.”
“Have you been here before?”
“Yes, actually.” She feels her chest tighten as she observes the little world around them. There’s no doubt about it. She can never forget this place for as long as she lives. “It’s where I used to live.”
Loid eyes her concernedly. “Would you like to stop here for a bit?”
“It’s okay,” Yor says, breath tremulous. Everything’s changed significantly since they’d gotten evicted; the tenement houses are all gone now, as part of the government’s plans to gentrify the poorer suburbs and rapidly develop the country into something progressive and modern and clean. But the old park is still there, along with the lone chapel and its small garden, housing Yuri’s dead fish that she’d buried with him as a girl of twelve. “It seems quite different now, to be honest… I’m not sure there’s much to see anyway.”
“Are you sure? We’ve got time.”
“It’s okay,” Yor says, rather half-heartedly. Part of her is curious, but she’s loathe to disrupt their date with something so silly. “I don’t want to interrupt our plans.”
Shortly after she says that, the car eases to a halt.
“Why don’t we stop here for a bit? It’s a hot summer day, and I really fancy ice cream.” Yor smiles knowingly. It’s not the first time he’s concocted sloppy excuses like these to reassure her and ease her guilt. “What? It’s true.”
“Alright,” Yor plays along, giggling slightly. For a spy, Loid can be a really terrible liar. “If you insist.”
“There’s an ice cream truck just down the road.” Loid steps out to open her door and takes her hand in his, leading the way. “Perfect for the weather.”
“Indeed.”
Unbidden, an old memory springs to mind: running out excitedly with her mother to pick their midday snack, spare change jangling loudly in their pockets. The present menu is roughly similar. Raspberry, apple, red bean, and chocolate. Chocolate isn’t her favorite, if she’s being honest, but she’s always picked it because it’s Yuri’s.
“I’ll have two apple sorbets, please.” Had it been anyone else, Yor might’ve marveled at the way he picks out her favorite before even saying anything, but this is Loid, after all. He fishes out a note before she can even offer to pay or protest. “Thank you.”
“Thank you, Loid.”
He smiles, as if to say, no matter.
The owner grunts in acknowledgment. Something about his mannerisms strike her as painfully familiar . The people in her hometown are generally a curt and reserved lot–which, Yor supposes, explains her deplorable lack of social skills and friends–but they’ve always been hardworking and focused.
“Anything else?”
Loid looks at her questioningly. She shakes her head.
“That’ll be all, thank you.”
The man grunts again, wedging his scoop deep into the tub. “You guys from around here?”
“She is.”
“Really? Haven’t seen you around before.”
“Uh–well, I moved out a long time ago, actually.” It’s not so much moved out, as much it was kicked out; the landlord hadn’t taken kindly to late payments after her mother’s death, and the next best alternative was to take up Garden’s offer to work for them in exchange for having a roof over her and Yuri’s heads. Before Garden it had been all odd jobs and child labour that paid little more than a dime, and no matter how much cardboard or crushed cans she sold it certainly hadn’t been enough to ensure Yuri’s schooling or shelter.
Sighing, the man loads the sorbet into two paper cups and slavers them liberally with syrup.
“Good for you. This town’s a shithole.”
Since he’s clearly disinterested in making small talk, Yor wisely picks up their order and nudges Loid towards the park–except the swings are a tad rusty, the slides stained with mud and dirt, and she’s not sure if he’ll mind sitting on the bench, smattered with white dots that look suspiciously like bird poop.
“Would you rather go back to the car? It’s a little…”
“I’m good.” He’s already dug into his sorbet, seemingly unfazed by the surrounding crumminess. “We can stay here for a bit. This is really good, by the way.”
“Okay.” Yor rolls her shoulders to ease some of the stiffness. The first bite of apple sorbet is refreshingly pleasant, and she eagerly scoops another. “You’re right. This is really good.”
“I’m glad we stopped by here, then.”
Yor smiles, touched. “Me, too. I–well, I used to play here with Yuri quite a bit. He’d challenge me to tag after finishing his homework, and recite facts about different flowers and trees as we walked around the park. Not that I remember much about those–I wasn’t very good at school,” she chuckles nervously.
“Really? I find that hard to believe.”
“Really.” It’s a miracle she’d even finished tenth grade after they introduced logarithms and the like into the syllabus. “What about you?”
“Well, I wasn’t a fan of studying, either. I used to try to weasel my way out of homework all the time.”
“Now that’s hard to believe,” Yor bumps his shoulder teasingly. “You’re always going through Anya’s tests with her and making her study.”
“Don’t tell her.” Loid grins, now more than halfway through his sorbet. “If she knew she’d use it against me and probably just end up watching cartoons all day.”
“Hypocrite,” she teases.
He sniffs, feigning hurt. “It’s a parent’s job. Education is the passport to the future.”
Yor stifles a laugh. Really he’s just like any other overprotective, paranoid father, but Loid would rather fling himself off a cliff than admit to it.
“Of course.”
When they’re done eating at last, Yor nudges him back to the car. While she appreciates his gentle reassurances that they’re in no hurry, she knows they’re just going to miss the whole camping trip altogether if they end up staying here for any longer, and she’d rather not miss the main event for some rundown park that’s frankly much better in her memory than reality.
“Thank you for stopping here, Loid.”
Wordlessly, Loid takes her hand as he starts the engine, grip firm but soothing.
“Anytime,” he whispers, and she knows he means it.
Yor softens as he continues driving, hand still in hers. Keep your hands soft and clean , her mother used to tell her. That way, you’re more likely to get a rich man who can provide for you . Her hands are dry and rough from the various cleaning agents she’s used over the years, but Loid doesn’t seem to mind at all.
Hometown fading in the rear view, Yor thinks of her mother; how she used to stare into her own hands, wrinkled from sun and age, telling her to marry a good man. (That, she knows, had been her mother’s foremost worry on her deathbed–but Yor is unequivocally certain she’d be happy to see her with Loid.)
The ocean stretches out before them, wide and rough and alive.
Yor runs towards it eagerly. The water rushes back towards the shore to lick her feet, and the sensation draws a laugh from her. She’s always liked the way it feels; the damp warmth like a dog’s sopping tongue.
“It’s a lovely day,” Loid remarks, reappearing from behind to wrap his arms around her.
“It is,” Yor agrees wholeheartedly. She likes that they’re close to the water; the islets and ships scattered in the distance like pale little thumbs. “Thank you for planning everything and driving us all the way here, Loid. I really appreciate it.”
“It’s no problem.” Gently, he threads his fingers through her hair, now a tangled mess from the brisk winds. “There’s a poem that goes, all my life I was a bride married to amazement .” Another kiss, this time on her nape. “And I would want nothing more than to give you that everyday.”
“You already do, Loid.” Yor pats his hand with practiced lightness. She’s already crushed it more than once out of sheer enthusiasm, and this date does not need to start and end in the hospital. “Being with you is more than enough.”
Loid leans in to rest his chin on her shoulder, smiling. Yor softens with contentment and prompts him to continue with his recitations. (Over the years, she’s come to find comfort in his voice; warm and soft and tender like the first break of dawn.)
He happily obliges. “ And I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms. ”
It’s a lovely sentiment, and—oh, is he saying she’s his world?
Laughter rumbles from his chest. Yor flushes. She hadn’t meant to say that aloud, but at least her musings seem to amuse him more than anything.
“Something like that, yes.”
They stay like that for a while, watching the world go by in peace– at least until a colony of gulls emerges from a blue patch of sky to squawk madly at everything and nothing.
Loid sighs. “I’ll go set up camp.”
She helps him with staking up the tent, her movements nimble and easy. It’s been a long while since she’s set up camp like this, but the memory resurfaces like driftwood, and it turns out stiff and sturdy—straight out of a camping advertisement.
Yor beams. “There we go.”
“Looks great,” he smiles. “Are you hungry yet?”
“I’m okay. How about you?”
“Not really, although…” Loid trails off, and oh—she knows that tone, the one he always uses to insinuate that he’s hungry for something else.
Anticipation swells in her chest, and she swallows, a stuttering mass of nerves and excitement. He knots her hand in his, tugging her away from their tent and towards a neighboring tree.
“There’s something I’ve been wanting to try.”
“What?”
“Patience, darling.”
The endearment makes her stomach do these wondrously torturous flips. She would’ve pulled him down by the collar to kiss him herself, had he not pinned her against the bark with one hand, the other resting loosely on her hip. He’s so close she can feel his breath, and when she frowns he smirks, and—
He knows exactly what he’s doing.
Yor tips her head up, almost pleadingly. Lucky for her, he caves, covering her lips with his own, gentle and coaxing, and then—deeper, hungrier. A familiar warmth coils in her belly. Her lips part like a rose to meld with his; coffee with a dash of milk.
Loid draws away just as she whimpers.
“Too much?”
“Isn’t the whole point of this trip to spend time outside the bedroom?” Yor retorts weakly, catching her breath. Not that she’s entirely opposed to the idea, but they’ve only been here less than an hour and she’s already all winded up. If they keep this up it’ll turn into another sort of camping trip, and notwithstanding the general impression of privacy the camping ground offers she’s always believed that walls have ears. And eyes.
Like his eyes, blue and deep and bright like the sea, pooling with mirth and want .
“You’re right. Sorry,” he grins, completely unapologetic. “I forgot.”
Yor clears her throat. “I’m suddenly—uh, feeling really hungry.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” Her ears are burning. He’s definitely laughing. “Starving, actually. I’ll go look for some food.” And she turns towards the woods, picking up her pace when she catches wind of him chuckling. All in good fun, of course, but the effect he has on her still drives her up the wall sometimes.
Or, she supposes—up a tree.
Yor groans, face hot in her hands.
A while later, Yor emerges from the woods with a triumphant grin—and to his everlasting shock, a bear .
Loid gawks.
“Here you go!” she announces happily, presenting the mangled carcass with a weird sort of flourish. “I got us a bear for dinner.”
And, really–he should’ve expected nothing less. It’s just like Yor to single-handedly maul a bear for dinner, no matter how impractical. He’s never really eaten bear meat, either, so he’s not sure how palatable it’ll be…
“Loid?”
“Uh,” he rasps out unintelligibly, torn between amusement and sheer horror. He skewers a fish and waves it at her direction. “It’s okay, Yor. I got us some fish for dinner.”
Yor drops the bear like it weighs nothing.
“Right. I forgot about that…”
“That’s okay.” Loid smiles, suddenly very grateful that he’d at least had the foresight to diversify their dinner menu. He almost pities the bear for its pointless sacrifice. “I’ve got us covered.”
Yor pads over to the fire he’d built while she was out hunting and terrorizing wildlife, mauled bear no longer in tow. Smiling sheepishly, she settles down beside him on the fallen log.
“Sorry. I thought–uh, the more the merrier?”
“That’s okay,” he echoes. Guilt mars her pretty face, and Loid leans in to kiss her lightly on the forehead before it can take hold of her and spiral into self-deprecation. Still, he can’t help the laughter bubbling up his throat, and when Yor breaks into it so does he. “Like I said, leave it to me.”
This far out from the city, the stars are brighter, unobscured by city lights and taller buildings. And there are so many of them. A whole multitude, in fact. So many constellations she traced in her youth that she’s long forgotten about. Each one punctures the sky, a canopy of resplendence bouncing off the waters in shimmery fragments.
Gazing up in awe, Yor wipes the crumbs off her lips with a napkin and distractedly reapplies her lip balm. “Would you like some?”
“Sure.” Loid leans in to peck her on the lips. “Thank you.”
“I meant the lip balm.”
“It was on your lips.” Loid shrugs, as if that explains everything.
Flustered, Yor scrambles for the ice box and extracts two beers. “Would you like a beer? Or something else?”
“I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
Yor settles for a beer and hands him the other can. She’s still a terrible lightweight, but if she paces herself she’ll end up pleasantly buzzed and not completely smashed. She pops her own open, sipping at it as she resumes her constellation-tracing. Warmth spreads through her quickly. She huddles closer to Loid, who seems to welcome the contact just as much as she does.
“I forgot how much I enjoyed stargazing,” she remarks cheerily, shifting slightly to cross her legs. “It’s nice to just sit back and admire nature every once in a while.”
Loid hums in assent. “Was it something you did often when you were young?”
“Not really, but they were more likely to make an appearance than in the city.” Yor sips at her drink thoughtfully. “What about you?”
“Yeah,” he smiles, wistful. “My mother loved stargazing, so we would sneak out sometimes in the middle of a cloudless night. I don’t recall my father being that big of a fan, though. He always did seem more interested in heading straight to bed after a long day at work.”
“I’m sorry,” Yor whispers. She can only imagine the loneliness he’s had to endure, being caught in the middle of conflict all the time as a small, precocious child. Yet in spite of that he’s always strived to be the father he wanted to have for Anya—a testament to his selflessness and compassion. “If anything, you’re nothing like him. You’re the best father a girl could ever ask for.”
He kisses her on the forehead. “I try to be.”
“You already are,” she persists. “You don’t have to try so hard all the time.”
“Thank you, Yor.” Loid lifts his head skyward, and she stares at him, transfixed. Sometimes she feels like she’s truly lucked out with him. She’ll take a lifetime of bad karma if it means she can keep on keeping him. “So do you. You’re fine the way you are.”
Yor huffs, mollified and slightly peeved at the deflection. “I’ve still got a long way to go as far as food is concerned. And anyway, this is about you, not-“
“About us , you mean,” he interrupts gently. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, actually—is something on your mind?”
“I’m fine,” Yor says, almost out of reflex. Perhaps it’s the lapse into rest and respite that’s driven her to be a little more contemplative about things today, but she doesn’t want to trouble him. “It’s nothing, really.”
“Yor,” he prompts, still in that same quiet, gentle tone. “You know you can talk to me about anything.”
“I know,” Yor responds, without missing a beat. It’s a truth she knows and holds dear to heart. A promise that she’s not alone, now. She offers him a wry smile. “I don’t want to bore or burden you, though. Sorry for being distracted.”
“You could never bore me,” he says, the conviction in his voice fierce and firm. “Besides, you listen to me all the time about everything —Anya, work, my past, even my nightmares. Not to mention you’re always doing so much for my benefit. Dropping by my office with lunch and carrying my share of the housework when I’m tired and watching cartoons that I know don’t really interest you, just to spend time with Anya and I. I could go on forever. If I had to explain why you’re the best wife I can possibly ask for it’d be an entire thesis. Not that I mind, of course, but–”
“Okay, okay,” Yor laughs, blushing at the sudden bout of unrestrained praise. “Point taken.”
Loid smiles. “I only want to do the same for you.”
Before them, the ocean waves crash and roll, unfurling Iike scrolls of foam to splinter the moonlight. Yor inhales nervously, fiddling with the hem of her dress. Part of her fears the inevitable judgment that always succeeded such intimations, but part of her reminds her that this is Loid . He’s been nothing but understanding and open. Kind. So very kind.
“Okay. I’ll tell you.” She starts with the eviction, shortly after her mother died. It was either the orphanage or the streets, but they’d managed to scavenge a usable tent and sleeping bag from one of the dumpsters, which was far better than having to share a cramped room with bedwetters or a narrow backstreet with other alleycats. Eventually they had even managed to wrangle some fun out of the whole situation–mostly by toasting marshmallows and inventing silly stories in the middle of the night and swinging stray branches as if they were swords. “And Yuri, of course, always wanted to be the knight in shining armor.”
“Of course he did,” Loid chuckles, but the melancholy in his eyes doesn’t go undetected. He laces her hand in his. “I’m sorry you had to go through all of that, Yor. It must have been hard for you both. And I’m sorry if today’s date brought up bad memories–”
“Not at all,” Yor interjects softly. “I’m really enjoying myself here with you. I–well, in many ways, making new memories with you helps eclipse the bad ones from before.”
“We’ll make many more,” Loid promises. Her face warms. “This won’t be the last.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” Yor squeezes his hand affectionately. “I just wish I could have been there for you earlier, too.” More than once she’s found herself longing to travel back in time, just so she could hold that grieving boy and offer him a hand to anchor himself to, through the ocean of corpses and despair. And maybe the politicians would beg to differ; maybe even the poets would, but when Yor really thinks about the war she’s not exactly sure what or who is right or wrong anymore. She supposes they were just trying to protect what they loved. That, at least, she can understand. She’s fairly certain she would do it for Loid. She would wage war and fight in the frontlines to keep him safe and warm, keep his fragile joy alive—although it’s probably seditious to say such things aloud.
Loid smiles like he’s read her mind. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”
“I am,” Yor vows. She gestures to her legs, and right on cue, Loid shifts to lay his head on her lap. “For better or for worse, right?”
“Perhaps it’s time for us to renew our wedding vows.”
“Perhaps,” Yor muses aloud. “Although, if you ask me, nothing will ever quite top that proposal.”
“You think I should write a research paper about the inherent romance of using grenade pins as wedding rings?”
“Maybe not,” she laughs. “I don’t think the general female population would quite appreciate that.”
Loid traces her ring finger and grins. “Well, I can think of someone who does.”
“Lucky you, then.” Yor combs her fingers through his hair, and he lets out a sound that might have been a content purr. She giggles. “How’s your stomach, by the way? Any gastric problems?”
“I’m fine,” he reassures. She strokes his side in what she hopes is a soothing gesture, before moving to comb out the knots in his hair with her fingers. “That feels nice.”
“I’m glad.” Yor smiles knowingly. It’s his secret guilty pleasure, but he would probably rather die than admit it aloud. He’d been green with envy the last time he caught her brushing Bond and Anya’s hair from his room, and most certainly on the brink of committing homicide when she’d done the same for Franky. Regardless, she’s more than happy to indulge him. “You must be tired from all the driving. Why don’t you sleep first?”
“What about you?”
“I’m fine,” she giggles. “Someone was kind enough to let me take prolonged catnaps during our drive here.”
“And who that might be?”
“Someone who’s currently curled up on my lap like a cat. Ring a bell?”
“I have no idea who you’re talking about,” he deadpans, snaking an arm around her waist. The vibrations in her lap do little to hide his amusement. He’s definitely laughing. “This camping ground seems to be quite full of cats, after all.”
Yor continues stroking his hair; blond and soft and tabby-like. “Sure looks like it. Go to sleep, Loid.”
“Give me a while,” he murmurs, grip tightening. “I want to hold you.”
She lets him, relishing in his warmth as she looks out at the sky once more. Yor hums quietly against the roar of the high tide. She recalls the lyrics to that old lullaby now, having just searched it up a few months prior; a song of unknown origins transcending geography and political borders. Drift to sleep, sweet prince of mine. Beneath their silver shine, something new springs back to life… Drift to sleep, sweet prince of mine. Beneath their silver shine, your eyes like the summer sea tonight.
Loid softens, curling up closer to her.
“That one reminds me of us,” he says suddenly, inclining his chin towards the sky.
“Which one?”
“That one,” he points. Loid props himself out to pull her into a hug, murmuring sweet nothings and raining kisses and making her feel like the happiest, luckiest girl in the world. “Those two over there, curled up like lovers in a boat.”
Yor nods, beaming sweetly at him. “I think you’re right.”
Another wave crashes in the distance, before collapsing against the edges of islets and sand, and Yor thinks that maybe this is what love is: the great indelible swell of ocean, rushing in to meet each other’s shores.