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He always considered himself to be a charming and affable man. Handsome even! With an easy, disarming smile. He had seduced many women and some men with that smile. Like everything else however, Yor had him questioning himself.
She came home drunk, muttered at him for a bit, then tipped over backward. He caught her by the waist, half a second before she hit the ground. One of his slicker moves, he did so effortlessly. Women went crazy for it. He shot her his most charming grin and laugh, she had too much to drink it seems, but he wanted her to know he wasn’t troubled by it.
And then, with her face so close to his, he took in her near purple skin and bulging eyes. To his shock and horror, she literally backflipped out of his arms and away from him, toppling to the ground anyway. How was Yor, even completely drunk, the only person he ever met so resistant to his charms? Did he have spinach in his teeth? Did she find him that physically repulsive?
“What on earth did you drink to get this drunk?!” he yelled at her, trying to pull her up by the arms. She brought him down with her. She was very strong.
“I’m sho shorry! I’m sho shorry! I’m abnormal!” she cried, and this close, he could see the tears in her eyes.
He sighed. Drunk Yor went through a lot of stages, he had learned, as she kept apologizing and he kept shushing her. They were being way too loud. They would wake Anya and she would accuse them of flirting since they were currently a messy heap of struggling limbs on the floor. He tried to get on his feet again, but she was making it quite difficult, latching on to his neck. A second ago she couldn’t stand being physically close to him, and now it’s like she wanted to glue herself to his body, as she bemoaned her abnormal status as a wife. He kept tripping on their feet as she yelled in his ear how hard she had tried at dinner, but murder was a crime. He half carried, half dragged her to her room. She collapsed on her bed with a drunk groan.
I’m sho, sho, shorry,” she cried again.
”It’s fine Yor,” he said quietly, still trying to calm her down.
He knelt near her bed and slowly grabbed her ankle, making calm shushing noises as he unclasped her shoe and slid it off her feet. He undid the other, slowly and carefully. She was finally quieting, other than a small squeak when he gave the heel of her foot a squeeze. That made him smile. He got up and managed to help her with her coat despite her squirming and flailing arms. Yor went for the collar of her shirt but then looked up at him with a gasp and wide eyes.
“Get out!!!” she screamed.
”Okay, okay!” he replied, hands up, exasperated.
He lined her shoes neatly against the wall and took her coat back to the rack by the front door. Picked up her purse from where she dropped it. He went to the kitchen, filled a big glass with cold water, chugged half himself, then filled it back up again.
This was exhausting. He had waited up for her. He didn’t even really think about it. He just did, because he wanted to welcome her home like always.
Yor could be so confusing. What exactly happened with her co-workers that made her drink so much? Or perhaps it was just a couple of beers knowing her. Why was she so upset about being an “abnormal wife?” He had told her countless times she was doing fine, must he keep repeating it? Was this going to screw up his mission? But Yor deserved to have some time to herself, and it was a good thing her co-workers were inviting her out. He didn’t want her upset at work, or god forbid, upset with him. Was that why she went drinking?
He sighed, resigned to the epiphany that he would always be stuck between fascination and confusion with Yor and the whirlwind of emotions she unleashed within him.
He headed back to her room, lightly knocking on the cracked door to make sure she was decent before he entered. She was clumsily dressed in her usual sleep dress, the bow undone and the hem riding up her thighs as she struggled to get under her covers. He stopped her movement, shushing her as she started loudly apologizing again, and made her drink the water. Watched clinically as some drops slid down her chin. Took the remaining water from her and set it on her bedside table.
“I’m gonna help you now, okay?” he said, extending his arms out to show that he meant no harm.
Yor nodded and reached for him, making grabby hands like Anya did when she wanted to be picked up. It was quite adorable, he thought fleetingly before squashing it. He grabbed her by the waist, intending to lift her up and pull back her covers. She wrapped her arms around his neck. Tight. Mumbled in his ear “kish kish kishy…”
Whatever that meant.
He managed to get her covers back and set her down before she pulled him hard, a tug he was completely unable to resist.
And he went down with her.
Her head plopped on her pillow, her black hair messily around her. He was curled over her upper body, his hands stuck underneath her back. Her face was once again very close to his. But she didn’t turn purple this time, didn’t struggle to get away. In fact, her grip around his neck was so tight, she was bringing him closer, their noses just millimeters apart. He let out a startled grunt from the movement that embarrassingly turned into a whimper. Their eyes locked. He froze.
Her face was really close. He didn’t think he had ever been so close to Yor’s face before, with his eyes opened at least, thinking back to that time they almost kissed in front of Yuri for some reason.
He could pick apart every exquisite color in her eyes, the smoothness of her skin, all of the beautiful imperfections. She had a small, almost invisible scar on her left cheek. He never knew. There was moisture around her mouth and chin from the cold water. Her lips were glossy and pink. Why did she reapply her lipstick after a night out drinking? She was breathing normally, looking at him with lidded eyes, calmly assessing him, while his heart cartwheeled and backflipped at the proximity. He should not be this close to his wife. Yet he didn’t want to pull away. Couldn’t, with her arms around him, her fingers laced together at the back of his neck. Yor was drunk, and seemingly allowing him to look upon her face. So he took in his fill.
“Kisshy?” Yor whispered.
He still had no idea what that meant. But her eyes fluttered closed and he felt an unstoppable pull. Their noses brushed and it was one of the most wonderful feelings he had ever felt. A surge of electricity. Time slowed, the air was thick, his breath grew shallow and unsteady. It was as if she was expecting him to… so why couldn’t he just… it would be so…
…
He pulled himself out of the warmth of Yor’s aura. Committed her face to his memory, her cute nose, her plush lips. He let that fragile, sweet, impossible moment pass by. Never to come by again.
He reached up and pulled apart her interlaced fingers, freed himself and sat up slowly, eyes never leaving her face. He sat and listened to her breathing go deep into sleep.
DO NOT touch her do not touch her do not… and yet he allowed himself one more selfish minute. To tie her bow neatly for her, hands light and quick. To brush back her bangs, feel that soft dark hair just once while his mind screamed at him that he must NEVER touch his wife like this again.
He stood up with another sigh. Shaking himself out of whatever just happened. How his exasperation at his drunk wife turned into.. that.
Yor sure was a mystery.