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Even for an elite spy like him, he didn’t usually remember the faces of everybody he passed on the street (he usually had no reason to). Usually. Usually, people didn’t manage to sneak up past him, like this woman did at the tailor shop. Moreover, she was even able to notice his glance—most people didn’t have such sharp instincts. It’d be prudent to look into her profile and stay aware of her.
He saw her again sooner than he expected. It was the odd, lingering smell that alerted him to her presence first (she was just as stealthy as she was at the tailor shop, even in heels). Something metallic, like blood, underlying something cloyingly sweet…
She was also wearing the dress she brought to the tailor shop, and staring at him in a panic from the stairwell. He had chosen this set of apartments because the neighbors weren’t very nosy and hardly had much of a night life, so this was probably a rare night encounter for her as much as it was for him.
“We meet again,” he tipped his hat. There was a mission waiting for him, but Operation Strix took priority. Maintaining his cover was only a necessary part of that. “It seems we are neighbors, or at least live in the same building.” She nodded and scurried past him, quietly thanking him for holding the door open.
He entered the stairwell, and waited as the door closed behind him. It didn’t seem like she was following him or suspicious of his nighttime activities, as if expecting him to return the favor. That worked out just fine for him.
It was probably only because her coworkers brought up the fact that she was single that she was hyperconscious of this strange man she’d seen around recently. (She told herself this to distract herself from the part where they also mentioned single women facing more suspicion from the SSS…should she have killed him before he could report her? It’s been a few days already since their encounter that night, and she’s been on edge, waiting for the SSS to knock on her door any minute now.)
The only silver lining was that, after that, she thought to start leaving and coming back to her apartment with her outfit in a bag to stand out less. She was walking up the stairs after another successful job when she found him passed out in the stairwell. Just like the previous two times she saw him, he was wearing a very professional suit. This time, though, he looked rather beat up (was he mugged?).
Should she just… leave him there?
. . .
He was surprisingly light, and not at all difficult to balance with her bag as she unlocked her apartment entrance. As far as she could tell, he didn’t have any open wounds, just many bruises (new and old).
Should she get her first aid kit just in case? A wet towel? A tumbling noise ended her fretting.
“Are you after my life?!” She jolted around to stare at the now awake man—she had hidden her needles, how did he—? He coughed. “Pardon me, I was just surprised… I don’t recall having passed out.”
“Were you mugged before you entered the building?” She clutched her hands to her chest as she willed her heartbeat to slow. Her cover wasn’t blown just yet (hopefully).
Somehow, she had the feeling he relaxed, though she didn’t see him visibly slump or anything. “Not quite. I realize I haven’t introduced myself yet, I’m Loid Forger, a psychiatrist. Some of my patients got a bit unruly.”
Finally she could breathe again, though she hoped her relief wasn’t too obvious. “I’m Yor Briar, I’m sorry for scaring you like that—I saw you passed out in the stairwell and wanted to make sure you were okay.”
He smiled tiredly, “You did the right thing, so that nobody else would have had a scare from seeing me passed out like that, and looking out for me too.”
“Do you need a first aid kit?” Now that he was awake, she wouldn’t have to flounder and guess.
“No thank you, I won’t take any more of your time. And thank you.” He left soon after. Now she had something interesting to share with Yuri! Or maybe he knew already—was there ever a period in which he considered pursuing medicine as a career?
Yor Briar. 27. Both of her parents died when she was young, leaving her to raise her younger brother. Now, both siblings work as civil servants. Yor, in the City Hall. Yuri, for the Foreign Ministry. Diplomats weren't far off from being spies—could they be wary of him?
He made sure to be extra vigilant whenever he left for missions in the middle of the night (although he never caught that strange scent again since the first time—maybe it was just his tired imagination).
This time, though, he paused and strained his ears—this felt too real to be a figment of his imagination. He hastened his steps until he reached his floor and found the source of the noise. Yor, sitting on the landing with Anya resting on her lap and dead to the world.
“Good morning, Loid! Or should I say, good evening?” Yor tilted her head, and his poker face almost slipped as he cringed inwardly. (This wasn’t Handler, Yor didn’t mean anything by it.) Where to start instead—the lullaby, or Anya? “She was sitting here waiting for you when I came back, but I couldn’t leave her alone in here, so…” She gestured helplessly to the sleeping child. He desperately hoped she wasn’t drooling on Yor’s outfit.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, WISE was going to have to either ease up on his side mission load or be responsible for the consequential babysitting fees. “Thank you again for going out of your way like that, I’m sorry she troubled you to stay up with her.”
Yor’s arms moved so fast, he was too tired to track their wild movements in the air. “It’s no trouble at all, she didn’t ask that of me at all! I didn’t realize you had a daughter—she reminded me of my younger brother, and how we were all the other had left…” She pet Anya’s head gently, then removed her hand as if burned. “Ah! I’m sorry for bringing up your wife’s loss…”
(You’re all she has left)
“She passed two years ago,” don’t be too clinical, nor too emotional. Be convincing enough, this was just another mission, another mask. He gathered Anya into his arms. “Good night, Yor.”
She hoped she didn’t run into Loid tonight. Not because he was unpleasant company—he wasn’t. Rather, that would be more likely her role tonight. Her prayers went unanswered, because lo and behold, footsteps approached and he stepped past her to open the door.
“Are you doing alright, Yor?” She tried to smile at him, she really did, but her butt hurt so much. He was a doctor, but she couldn’t exactly tell him she got shot in the butt—
It was worth a try, wasn’t it? “Actually, do you have any painkillers?” Loid was a kind, polite person that never pried into her nighttime activities so far; hopefully he wouldn’t ask why.
“I can help with that. Would you like to enter?” So they didn’t just live on the same floor, they were neighbors across the hall. She weighed her options—stand awkwardly outside, or stand awkwardly inside…
She should have just stood awkwardly outside. She was hover sitting above the couch, should she just stand up? Biting the bullet and sitting down (ha,) wasn’t an option, she didn’t think she could take it.
“Here you go, Yor.” She stood up and accepted the glass of water and medicine.
Was he wary because he noticed her grimacing? Did he find her behavior strange? Or rather, stranger than usual? “Thank you Loid. You see, at work—” she shifted her leg nervously, causing a jolt of pain to race through her— bad idea bad idea. She tried not to bend and draw attention to the area of injury, but was too focused on staying sane she couldn’t tell whether he noticed or not.
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Yor. You’ve worked hard to support your brother since you were young, no matter the sacrifice, right? To endure harsh work for something you believe in… no normal person has that kind of resolve. You shouldn't be ashamed of it.” There may have been a misunderstanding here, but somehow, even though she had no idea what he was talking about, nor him her assassin job… he understood her.
As he was going up the stairwell, there were wafts of an odd smell. One he couldn’t say he’d ever smelled before. It smelled not unlike poison—
“O-oh, hello Loid!” Yor called sheepishly from above, holding a pot in her hands, which seemed to be the source of the smell.
“Hello, Yor,” he answered cautiously. Surely, it wasn’t poison? He had long shook the bulk of his suspicion of her, but it wouldn’t be befitting of his position as top spy to let his guard down.
Unfortunately, she still had sharp instincts, because she noticed his glance at her mystery cookware. “I was trying to make a cake.” By then, he had climbed up high enough to be able to peer at the contents of the pot. It. There were fish bones in it? A fish… cake? Fishcake? “But, well, that didn’t work, so I was just going to throw this outside, and…” Her stomach growled, and she flushed.
“If you’d like, I can prepare a quick dinner for you. Or there may be some leftovers, if Anya and her babysitter didn’t go through it all.” Yor nodded, and they agreed to throw out the… Questionable organic matter in the pot, first.
They had a comfortable silence as he cooked and Yor helped him with minor tasks. After they finished eating, he offered to start regularly cooking an extra portion for her, but she didn’t answer for a while.
“Say, Loid, I have a proposal…” She fiddled with the silverware, not meeting his eyes, “I’m not sure if you know that the SSS has been after single women recently… Wouldn’t it be convenient if the two of us…”
…and they were roommates