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Loid sank into the bed, the weariness of the day immediately settling into his muscles as his body made contact with the soft mattress. It had been a long day, too long, but at least tomorrow promised a bit of reprieve.
Only a morning shift at the hospital, and a planned family outing to the park in the afternoon. He found himself smiling faintly at the thought of Anya darting after Bond, her little feet skidding across the grass as the dog chased after a rolling ball.
If only life could always be that peaceful, he thought, letting the image linger. No hidden agendas, no lies, no carefully measured words. The longing for such simplicity was always there, just beneath the surface, a gentle ache he had grown accustomed to carrying.
Sometimes, in these rare quiet moments, he allowed himself to imagine it, a life where he could simply be Loid, without pretense, where smiles weren’t edged with caution. A soft awareness pricked at the edges of his mind just before he noticed a presence by the door.
Someone was at the threshold, and though his senses were alert, he didn’t startle as he once might have. He knew exactly who it was. Yor stepped into the room, already in her pajamas, hair loose around her shoulders, stifling a yawn as she gently closed the door behind her.
“Anya’s asleep.” She murmured, her voice low and even, like she didn’t want to disturb the calm of the room.
“Thanks for putting her to bed tonight.” Loid replied, the relief in his tone subtle but genuine.
As she moved into the room, Loid reached for the book on his nightstand. Recently, he had allowed himself to indulge in reading, encouraged by Anya, who insisted that normal parents had hobbies beyond work and house chores.
And although he could simply make up a lie when asked about his hobbies, it felt harmless enough to let himself enjoy a little literature after a taxing day, and the quiet ritual of opening the book and immersing himself in its pages had quickly become a cherished reprieve.
“What are you reading?” Yor asked from the other side of the room, her voice soft, carrying a hint of curiosity as she began to move around toward the wardrobe, starting to lay out clothes for the next day. Her movements were fluid and casual, yet there was an ease in her presence that always seemed to fill the space, a quiet grounding for him.
“A detective novel.” Loid answered, tilting the book slightly so she could see the cover. “Though I’m fairly certain I’ve figured out who the killer is by chapter two.” He offered a small, almost sheepish smile, half-expecting her to tease him.
She only smiled, a subtle curve of her lips that held warmth. It was that kind of smile, quiet, understanding, that made the room feel safer, lighter. Her footsteps soft on the floor, gathering clothes and organizing them, yet even her simple presence seemed to ripple through the room in a calming rhythm.
Loid returned his gaze to the book but didn’t read a word. The words blurred as his mind lingered on her, the way she moved, the serenity she carried, the way she could make the small, ordinary moments feel like something rare and unassailable.
There was no pretense between them anymore. No masks, no hidden agendas, just the quiet comfort of being known, and knowing someone else understood. He could hear the faint rustle of fabric, her movements deliberate but unhurried.
Occasionally, she hummed a soft tune under her breath, and Loid found himself listening, savoring the mundane intimacy of the moment. He felt an unfamiliar urge to speak, to bridge the gap between thought and voice, but the words lodged themselves in his throat. Vulnerability wasn’t something he shared easily, but with her here, it seemed easier to bring up.
“Did you remember the parent-teacher meeting next week? I think Anya’s teacher wanted us to discuss her progress.” She asked, folding a shirt neatly.
He glanced up briefly from his book, adjusting it on his lap. “Yes, I noted it on the calendar. I think it’s on Wednesday afternoon. Should we prepare any questions?”
She moved toward the wardrobe, she knelt by a small box tucked into the corner of the wardrobe. From it, she retrieved her stilettos and the small polishing kit, the faint metallic scent of the leather mingling with the subtle perfume she always wore. “They’ll probably just tell us about her grades. I’m sure we’ll be fine.”
“Right. Still it’s good to be prepared, though, and if it’s about her grades I just can’t stay calm.” Yor shakes her head, looking as she walked towards the bed.
“Hey, she's improved a lot, almost doesn't fail any subjects anymore.” Loid just smiled with a little pride showing, knowing how hard Anya had been trying to get good grades lately.
Yor moved gracefully across the room under Loid’s watchful gaze, finally settling on the edge of the bed. Carefully, she began to polish one of her weapons, the soft sound of cloth against metal filling the quiet space.
“Do you have a job?” Loid asked gently, his voice low, as if speaking louder might shatter the fragile calm of the evening.
“Tomorrow night.” She replied, not looking up from her work. “A group of traffickers near the industrial district.”
“Ah… Mercer.” Loid said, naming the target he had heard of, a subtle furrow of concern crossing his brow. She nodded in acknowledgment, her hands moving with practiced precision as she continued to shine the weapon. “My Handler’s been thinking for weeks about sending someone to infiltrate them.” Loid added, his tone thoughtful, almost reproachful. “Seems like you’ll beat her to it.”
Yor simply smiled, a small curve of amusement and confidence tugging at her lips.
“I’ll prepare something light for dinner tomorrow, then.” Loid continued, adjusting his position against the headboard. He propped the book on his lap, the pages now forgotten, and the gesture made Yor lift her gaze from the weapon, curiosity softening her features. She placed the stiletto carefully on the nightstand while taking the other, a silent acknowledgment of his presence.
“Don’t trouble yourself.” She said gently, her voice almost teasing.
“I insist.” He replied firmly, a quiet determination in his tone. Loid shifted slightly, leaning back against the headboard, and in that small movement, Yor’s eyes followed him, attentive.
“Are you all right?” She asked, her voice tender, a touch of concern threading through her words.
“I’m tired.” He admitted simply, the weight of the day evident in his slouched posture and the faint sigh that escaped him.
Yor smiled softly, her hand brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear as she studied him. “You always seem tired.” She murmured, her gaze gentle. “Did today’s mission not go well?”
“It went perfectly.” Loid reassured her, his tone calm but edged with irritation. “But the intel I was given was inaccurate, so I had to improvise halfway through. I’d really appreciate it if someone could make sure the information is correct before sending me to the field next time.”
Yor paused, reflecting on his words, before responding in that soft, matter-of-fact way he had come to expect from her. “It happens to me too.” She said with a small shrug, a knowing smile on her face. “Occupational hazards for both of us.”
Loid chuckled, the sound low and amused, yet tinged with the lingering frustration of the day. “I know, I know…” He shook his head slightly, a wry grin forming. “I swear, if there’s one thing I’d love, it’s just a day where everything goes as planned.”
Yor tilted her head slightly, her smile softening even further. “Even if it’s just for one day?” She teased gently, the glimmer of warmth in her eyes making him feel both comforted and guilty for the stress he carried.
“Yes.” He replied simply, his voice carrying the weight of both exhaustion and longing. “Even for just one day.”
The room hummed with a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the occasional clink of polished metal. Once Yor seemed satisfied with the sharpness of the blades, she rose from the bed, carefully returning the weapons and the polishing kit to the small box in the corner.
On the way, she reached up and switched off the ceiling light, leaving the room bathed in the soft glow of the streetlights outside the window and the gentle illumination of the bedside lamps.
She returned to the bed, slipping beneath the covers, and adjusted herself until her head rested lightly on Loid’s shoulder. He shifted slightly to accommodate her, turning just enough to press a gentle kiss to her temple before returning to his book.
His fingers moved over the pages at a pace that seemed ordinary, yet was far slower than his usual rapid reading. Tonight, he allowed himself the rare indulgence of savoring the words, pausing occasionally to visualize the story unfolding.
The book’s scene drew him in immediately: the protagonist, a young man not unlike him in certain ways, was caught in a heated argument with his father. The words on the page, though fictional, struck Loid with startling familiarity.
‘Why do you never listen to me?’ The father’s voice boomed in the book, tinged with frustration and disappointment. ‘Do you think you know better than I do?’
The protagonist’s response echoed in Loid’s mind, uncomfortably close to his own memories. ‘I can make my own choices! I’ll make sure those devils get what they deserve!’ He read aloud silently, feeling the tension coil in his chest.
The description of slamming doors, clenched fists, and raised voices reminded him of his own father, of those long-ago conflicts that had left a lingering sting. He remembered the sharpness of anger, the helplessness, and above all, the burn on his cheeks, not from physical pain, but from the humiliation and frustration of not being understood. He could still feel the hot flush, even now.
Sometimes he wondered if he had really understood in time what his father had been trying to tell him, if it would’ve made any difference.
A long exhale escaped him, and for a moment the room and the story merged in his mind. The fictional protagonist’s struggle was real, familiar, almost like a mirror he hadn’t wanted to face.
And yet, here in his bedroom, with Yor resting quietly against him, there was a counterweight to that old tension. Her presence grounded him, reminded him that not all relationships had to be strained by misunderstanding and fear.
When his thoughts had settled slightly, he glanced to his side, catching sight of Yor’s peaceful face, eyes closed, breath even and calm. The sight of her relaxed like that tugged at his chest. There was a warmth in simply being near her, feeling her against him, the world narrowed down to this small, quiet space.
For a long moment, he debated whether to voice the words forming in his mind. Vulnerability was a strange, frightening thing, but Yor had taught him, in her quiet, unwavering way, that trust could be extended even when one struggled to trust oneself.
“Yor?” He murmured, his voice barely above the whisper of the noise outside the window. A soft, tired sound came from her, a murmur that told him she was awake and listening.
He swallowed, his heart thudding in his chest as he struggled to find the right words. “Did… did your parents ever… hit you?”
The moment those words left his lips, Yor shifted immediately, lifting her head from his shoulder. Her eyes opened, wide and unblinking, locking onto his with an expression so complex that Loid couldn’t begin to decipher it.
Shock, hurt, a flicker of anger, and something deeper, something unreadable, swirled in her gaze. The warmth of the moment shattered slightly, replaced by the raw weight of the question.
Loid’s stomach twisted, he hadn’t expected such an intense reaction, and yet the depth of it only made him realize how serious, how personal, this conversation was going to be. He knew he couldn’t take the question back. He had crossed a threshold, and now he had to navigate it with care.
Yor’s eyes, wide and unblinking, held his gaze, a storm of emotion barely restrained. He watched her carefully, heart hammering, unsure if he had crossed a line too far. Yet, there was also a strange courage in admitting even the question. Vulnerability, he had learned, was a double-edged sword.
Yor exhaled slowly, closing her eyes for a moment, then opening them again to meet his. “No… my parents never… hit me, Loid.” She said softly, her voice calm but firm, carrying a warmth that both reassured and steadied him. “And they… never would. They had their own strictness, but they weren’t cruel.”
The relief that washed over him was unexpected, mingled with a lingering ache. He had feared the answer, had braced for a mirror of his own harsh upbringing. The contrast was almost jarring, yet in it, he found a strange comfort. He nodded, trying to let his shoulders relax, but the ache in his chest didn’t fade.
“I… I wonder sometimes.” He admitted quietly, staring at the page of his book but not really reading it. “If I’d had more time… more chances to grow up and understand… maybe I could’ve been better with him. Maybe I could’ve…” He faltered, struggling to find the words. “Maybe I could’ve connected with him before… everything went wrong.”
Yor shifted slightly, her hand brushing against his as she adjusted beneath the covers, a silent tether grounding him. “It wasn’t your fault, Loid. You were… a child, and the world was far more complicated than you could know at the time. Sometimes… the people we love aren’t able to show us what they mean in the way we want or need.”
He swallowed hard, the familiar knot of frustration and sorrow tightening in his chest. “But… the war… it stole time from us, stole chances. And I…” His voice cracked slightly, the words barely above a whisper. “I still can feel it… the anger, the confusion, the… shame. The sting of not knowing, of failing to understand on time what he was trying to tell me.”
Yor’s hand moved to rest gently over his, her fingers warm and unyielding. “I know.” She said softly. “I… I’ve felt that too. The war took so much from everyone, the things we didn’t even realize we were missing until they disappeared.”
Her gaze softened, her voice a quiet lull against the storm of his emotions. “You know I didn’t have a happy childhood, I lost… people I cared about. I had to learn to survive, just like you. And yet… we’re still here. And we still have something now, even after everything that’s been taken from us.”
He looked at her, really looked at her, the faint moonlight and streetlight casting shadows across her serene, open face. Her eyes held no judgment, only understanding, an empathy that seemed almost impossible to deserve. The warmth in her gaze reached him in ways he couldn’t articulate, seeping into the cracks of his guarded heart.
“I… I wish it had been different.” He murmured. “I wish there had never been a war. I wish… my father… everything… had been different.”
Yor’s lips curved into a soft, bittersweet smile. “If there hadn't been a war.” She said gently, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear with her free hand. “Then we never would’ve met. And… Anya wouldn’t be here, Bond wouldn’t either. But… maybe that would’ve been for the best.”
He blinked, absorbing the weight of her words, the logic of her calm rationality clashing with the raw ache in his chest. “Would you… have preferred not to have lived through it, even if it meant… we never would have met?” He asked quietly, almost afraid of the answer.
Yor’s gaze softened further, and she shook her head ever so slightly. “If not knowing you was the price I had to pay… to ensure you could have a normal life… for Anya to have one too, then I wouldn’t hesitate, not for a second.”
Her voice was steady, unwavering, yet the sincerity behind it made his chest tighten. “I would bear any hardship if it meant you could live safely, freely… without the weight we’ve carried all these years.”
Loid swallowed hard, feeling the sudden surge of emotion threaten to overtake him. “Even… even knowing all of this… you would still…?”
“Yes.” She murmured, placing her hand lightly on his chest, over the rapid beat of his heart. “I would, but…” She paused, letting her words linger. “Even if the war had never happened, I think… we still would have found each other. Somehow, fate… destiny… whatever you want to call it, has a way of bringing people together who are meant to meet.”
He let out a shaky breath, incredulous, searching her eyes. “And Anya too?” He asked, the question slipping out with an edge of disbelief, of hope intertwined with fear.
Yor nodded gently. “Yes, Anya too. We would’ve found her. Somehow, some way, I’m… certain of it.”
Loid leaned back slightly, the weight of the day, the weight of his past, the weight of the things he could never change, pressing down on him. Yet, with Yor there, resting her head against his shoulder again, her hand still lightly on his chest, there was a sense of fragile balance, a reminder that despite all the suffering, there was also this, now, here, between them.
The book in his hands had long been forgotten. Its pages sat open, yet his mind was elsewhere, wandering through the labyrinth of his memories, the echoes of loss, the sting of misunderstanding, the tender hope of what might have been reclaimed.
The scene with the protagonist and his father mirrored his own fears, but Yor’s calm presence offered a counterbalance he hadn’t realized he needed so desperately.
Yor pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder, murmuring. “You can’t fix the past, Loid. You can only take what it’s taught you… and build something better from it.”
He let out a long, quiet laugh, shaky but relieved, leaning his head back against the pillow. “Even if something better is… so mundane like this?”
“Exactly.” She whispered. “Mundane, quiet, yet ours.”
Loid closed his eyes, listening to her steady breathing, the faint rhythm of her heartbeat against his shoulder. His mind wandered briefly, imagining a life untouched by war, untouched by conflict, a life where the heavy shadows of his past didn’t stretch so long.
He wished, with a quiet ache, that the war had never happened. But as Yor pressed a gentle kiss to his temple, whispering that perhaps the only way they could be together, that Anya could be with them, was because of everything they had endured… he understood too, that the pain had been part of the journey that had brought them here. And somehow… that made it bearable.
They stayed like that for a long time, neither speaking, the silence filled with shared understanding. And in the quiet, Loid realized that even in a world that hadn’t been fair, they had found something real, something worth holding onto, and perhaps, just perhaps, that was enough to forgive the past.
Yor shifted slightly, letting her body settle more comfortably against Loid’s. She pressed a gentle hand to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm. “Loid.” She murmured softly, her voice warm and soothing. “ I think it’s time to sleep now.”
He let out a small, reluctant sigh, the weight of the day, and of the memories they had shared, pressing heavily on his shoulders. Yet even in that fatigue, there was a sense of relief, of trust. He felt safe with her.
Yor curled closer, wrapping an arm around him and drawing him snugly against her. The movement was fluid, natural, and intimate, as though the rhythm of their bodies had long known how to fit together. Loid allowed himself to sink into her warmth, his head resting against her chest, her steady heartbeat a quiet reassurance against the turmoil still lingering in his mind.
“Yor…” He whispered, his voice soft, hesitant.
“Hush.” She replied gently, pressing a tender kiss to the top of his head. “Just rest, I’m here. We’ll be here tomorrow”
Her fingers threaded through his hair, tracing slow, deliberate patterns that sent shivers of comfort down his spine. He closed his eyes, letting himself relax in ways he rarely permitted, allowing the exhaustion and the emotional weight of the night to ease under her touch.
She nuzzled him lightly, inhaling the familiar scent of his shampoo, the subtle trace of the day lingering in his clothes. “You don’t have to be strong all the time.” She murmured against his temple. “You’re allowed to be human…”
Loid exhaled, the tension in his jaw slowly releasing. The softness of her voice, the warmth of her body, and the careful, loving touch of her fingers combing through his hair created a cocoon of safety around him. His hands instinctively wrapped around her waist, anchoring himself as if to make sure this peace didn’t slip away.
“I… don’t know if I can fully relax.” He admitted, voice barely audible. “Not really…”
“Shhh…” Yor whispered, tightening her embrace just slightly. “It’s okay, you’re safe with me.”
Slowly, he allowed himself to lean further into her, his eyelids growing heavier as the steady rhythm of her heartbeat and the gentle rise and fall of her chest lulled him toward rest. Yor pressed another soft kiss to his temple, then one to his forehead, lingering there as though sealing the night with her care.
He let out a small, content sigh, curling closer to her as her arm tightened slightly around him. Her warmth, her touch, the subtle pressure of her body against his, it was all grounding him, giving him permission to be still.
Yor shifted so that he could rest fully against her chest, the scent of her hair and the softness of her shoulder enveloping him completely. She pressed a final, tender kiss to the top of his head, whispering, “I love you, Loid, always.”
Her fingers continued their gentle motion through his hair, combing and caressing until his breathing slowed and deepened, the tension of his body melting into the mattress. She allowed him the space to drift into rest, her hand on his back, her lips occasionally brushing the crown of his head in quiet affection.
He was here, with her, in the calm of the night. And as his eyelids closed, and the room was bathed only in the soft glow of the streetlights and bedside lamps, Yor held him close, whispering small reassurances, and slowly, imperceptibly.
Loid surrendered completely, letting the peace she offered seep into every tired muscle, every anxious thought, until finally, he was gone, lost in the deep, untroubled rest he so rarely permitted himself.
She shifted slightly, making herself more comfortable without disturbing him, a small, content smile gracing her lips. She continued to caress his hair, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest, letting the room settle into quiet serenity. In that moment, everything outside the walls, the war, the past, the secrets, was distant. Here, now, they were simply Loid and Yor, together, safe, and utterly at peace.