Chapter Text
It had been two weeks, three days and seventeen hours since the event Loid privately referred to as The Dinner. By the end of the evening, Loid had suffered heavy casualties—namely, his dignity and soul, which had both fallen in battle sometime between the baby album assault and the dessert ambush.
But not all was lost. The Dinner had achieved its purpose.
Phase One of the plan—convince his mother he and Yor were dating—had been a success. In fact, perhaps it had gone a little too well. Ever since that night, his mother had sung Yor's praises daily, slipping her name into casual conversation at every opportunity.
Washing fruit:
"Yor is such a considerate young lady. I can tell she took a lot of care picking out this gift."
On an evening stroll:
"Aren't these roses just lovely? Do you think Yor would like them?"
At the park:
"She talks about her brother so fondly. You just know Yor is great with children!"
Setting the table:
"Yor washed these plates so clean, I could use them as a mirror!"
There were moments when Loid wasn't even sure he was the one dating Yor—not that they were actually dating.
But just as he was becoming desensitized to these comments, finally able to navigate his own home without feeling like he was dodging sniper fire, his mother managed to breach his defenses once more.
He was tidying up the dining room table, stacking his finished assignments when she entered the room.
"You've been working really hard lately."
"Stellas don't earn themselves, Mother."
"I know, I know. But you should take some time to relax."
"I will. But exams are—"
"Oh, I know! You should take Yor on a date!"
Like a battering ram, those words slammed into him, sending shockwaves through his entire being. Only sheer strength of will kept him from collapsing face-first onto the floor. But now that they had been spoken into existence, he could feel their effect acutely—heart racing, palms damp, knees threatening to buckle.
Loid excused himself. At least, he thought he excused himself. It may have just been a strangled wheeze. Slowly, he wobbled to his bedroom and closed the door behind him. The moment he reached his bed, both knees gave out, depositing him in an unceremonious heap atop the comforter. He didn't even have the energy to groan.
Each time the sentence echoed in his ears, his heart thudded harder, the knots in his stomach pulled tighter, his vision swam. Clearly, the ruse was beginning to take a toll on his physical and mental health.
Grimly, he decided that it was time to move on to Phase Two—convince his mother he and Yor had broken up.
Decision made, Loid turned in early, but found no rest. He tossed and turned all night as images of apples and roses swirled behind his closed eyelids.
By dawn, he felt as though he'd barely slept at all. With a groan, he dragged himself out of bed and prepared for a long day at school, barely remembering to grab his homework on the way out the door.
In class, Loid found himself staring at the blackboard, only faintly aware of their instructor's voice. All around him, pencils scratched rhythmically against paper. His own pen had frozen mid-stroke, lingering on a half-formed letter as his mind wandered.
Phase Two had a problem: Loid and Yor barely interacted at school. They only shared a few classes, and even in those, they were often too focused on lessons to talk. Brainstorming ideas for a fake breakup, let alone staging one, felt nearly impossible. And to further complicate matters, he had to go about this with the utmost discretion. Loid didn't want them to become a spectacle among their classmates. After all, Yor had been kind enough to help him with his plan, the least he could do was make sure she didn't suffer any fallout from it.
Loid jumped as a loud screech broke through his thoughts.
"Sorry everyone! New chalk."
A few murmurs arose, then silence returned as everyone went back to their work.
Glancing down at his own notes, he frowned. A blank page stared back at him, with one lonely word floating in a sea of white. How long had he been out of it? Grimacing, he tried to force his attention back on the blackboard.
Except he kept remembering when he'd caught a glimpse of Yor earlier in the day. He'd needed to speak with her about Phase Two, but the sleep deprivation had made him so clumsy he couldn't do more than stutter a greeting. Then there had been his awkward wave, and how he'd fumbled with the books in his arms, nearly dropping them at Yor's feet. He sank deeper into his seat with each mental replay.
By the time the bell rang, the tension coiling in his chest felt unbearable. Never had a lesson felt so long.
Lunch. He just needed lunch.
Rushing to the dining hall, he quickly claimed an empty table. As soon as he sat down, Loid breathed out a sigh of relief. This was all he needed: a quiet meal, a moment to recover from trying to wrap his head around Classical Ostanian past participles.
He was looking forward to the leftover pasta and salad he had packed last night. But as soon as he opened his lunchbox, a sharp waft of citrus hit his senses.
His face fell.
Inside was a note.
For sharing. ;)
Love, Mom
P.S. Say hi to Yor for me!
And nestled beneath the note was a slice of lemon pie—the one he had baked.
Loid instantly began assessing which of the eight slices he had hidden around the kitchen this particular piece was. He had been so strategic in their placement—wedged into containers, tucked behind jars, even camouflaged with incorrect labels. How had his mother found this one?!
But even worse than his mother discovering the dessert was the other thing he found in his lunchbox—or rather, what he didn't find.
Did she expect him to hand-feed this to Yor?!
Several minutes passed as he contemplated his next move. Eventually, with a weary sigh, Loid packed up his meal and rose from the bench. His mother clearly wished for Yor to receive this piece of pie. He couldn't just blatantly disregard that. And, he suspected she would somehow know if it did not reach its intended recipient.
She always knew.
Steeling himself, he set off toward the courtyard where Yor liked to eat lunch. With each step, the dessert felt heavier in his hands. Loid just desperately hoped his co-conspirator had brought an extra fork today.