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Loid and Yor were great at communicating with each other.
It was what made them stronger as partners—both for appearances and in actuality—more than their fake dates or even faker declarations of love to suspicious neighbors. Perhaps part of the reason they communicated well was because they weren’t a real couple. They couldn’t afford to get into petty arguments and lose a mutually beneficial arrangement. So they sat down with each other, respectful and appropriately distanced, and talked. And sure, maybe sometimes they were extremely drunk and volatile (Yor), or were thinking their minds into knots with convoluted schemes (Loid), but eventually the root of the problem would be dealt with. Whether for her killings, or his mission, they would be able to resume their familial farce.
All that being said, Loid and Yor hadn’t spoken to each other properly in a week.
What, Yor wondered, was a normal wifely response to making eye contact with your husband while he was hiding in the vents above you? Did it even make sense to wonder about normalcy when that eye contact was made while you were slitting the throat of a pimp?
It was something she was still deliberating over a week later, which was why she hadn’t said anything to Loid yet. Though she was fairly certain Loid wasn’t normal either. Normal people didn’t hide in vents. Or have multiple pistols to drop in shock upon aforementioned eye-contact.
That was the last time they’d looked each other in the eyes since.
He hadn’t said anything to her about it since then either. She was thankful for it, though it made living together terribly awkward. There wasn’t much space to inch around the giant elephant in the room.
“Yor. Breakfast,” Loid called from behind her bedroom door, which he had neither knocked on nor subsequently cracked open like he would have 7 days and 16 hours ago.
“Coming,” she called back as she fixed the collar of her coat. She’d begun doing everything she could inside her own room, so the only time she would have to spend in the same space with Loid would be with Anya present. No pulling on her coat in the doorway, or Loid getting the gunk on her collar, or walking to the main street together before parting ways for work.
Get a hold of yourself. She patted her cheeks a few times before taking a deep breath and venturing outside. As she expected, Loid’s back was turned as he fussed over some food in the kitchen—unnecessarily, she knew—while Anya sat at the table with her own plate, subdued. The sight of her made Yor’s heart clench.
She was sure that she and Loid wouldn’t be speaking at all if not for Anya, though she was less sure that their attempt at maintaining routine was even working. Anya had been a scraped out version of herself since last week, the timing lining right up with the whole eye-contact situation. Were they so bad at pretending that a first grader could see right through them?
“Good morning, sweetie!” Yor said brightly as she sat down next to Anya. She picked up her fork. “Ooh, this looks delicious.” Thank you for cooking, Loid were the words that stuck under her tongue.
“Morning, Mama,” Anya mumbled back. She usually ate with gusto, especially given the bacon that she loved being on her plate, but she pushed her fork around listlessly. Bond, crouching by Anya’s chair, whined and nosed at her hand. Yor frowned.
“Are you sure you want to go to school today?” she asked. She’d been asking Anya this question for the past few days ever since she seemed down. Startlingly enough, Anya always insisted that she wanted to go.
Today was no different. Anya’s head shot up, her eyes wide. “Yes! I wanna go!”
“You aren’t sick, are you?” Loid made his way over with his plate and Yor inadvertently looked back down at her food. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw his hand on Anya’s forehead. “You aren’t touching your food."
“I’m not that hungry,” Anya said hastily. She slipped off of her stool and dashed back to her room, yelling “I’m getting ready for school now!”
They watched her shut her door. “She’s been off,” Loid murmured to himself.
What was off , Yor pondered, if everything else had been tilted off kilter too? Nevertheless, she sighed, her worry for Anya overtaking all other thoughts. “Right? Wouldn’t she normally jump at the chance to stay home from school?”
“What if she’s being bullied?”
“Then I don’t think she would want to go. Besides, I taught her how to defend herself.”
“Right,” Loid said, huffing through his nose in amusement, “that killer punch—”
They both froze at the word ‘killer’, realizing that they’d been speaking to each other in increments longer than three words. Loid quickly turned back to the kitchen (“Needs more pepper”) while Yor busied herself with a particularly fascinating thread on the tablecloth. When Anya came out a while later, dressed for school and hauling her backpack, she looked disappointed.
Yor quickly got up from the table and crouched down, fixing Anya’s dress. “Come on, I’ll take you to the bus stop.”
Anya turned her gaze to Loid, who was leaning over the kitchen counter with his food in the utmost show of nonchalance. “Papa’s not coming?”
“Er, Loi–uh, Papa has…to iron his shirt again!” Yor floundered. “It got wrinkled when he–um—” Was hiding in the vents, her mind unhelpfully supplied.
“—fixed the floorboards in my room,” Loid smoothly finished. “I noticed one sticking up a little.”
Anya’s stare was unflinching as she looked between the two of them. Yor resisted the urge to cringe. They had been coming up with similar half-baked excuses for a whole week, and Anya never seemed to buy any of them.
“Mama and Papa have to get along again.”
“We are getting along,” Loid insisted. The full effect of his words was lost from his spot behind the counter. “You just focus on school, okay?”
“I’ll get stars,” Anya mumbled. “I’ll become an ump—imper-real schooler.”
“That’s good.” Normally Loid would sound more pleased and less worried at that type of assertion. He was a good actor, Yor had discovered, until it came to Anya. “Anyways, I’ll see you after school.”
Anya was quiet on the way to the bus stop. When the bus came, Yor crouched down next to her again.
“Have a good day at school.” She smoothed Anya’s bangs away. “You’d tell me if anything was wrong, right?”
“Mhm.” Anya turned towards the bus, then hesitated. “Mama…you would tell me too?”
“What?”
“Anything wrong.”
Yor blinked. Children weren’t a dumping ground for their parents’ problems, much less so when those problems were largely murderous things. She settled on, “I’d tell you if I was feeling sad.”
“Then you should tell everything else to Papa.”
“I—” Anya scrambled onto the bus before Yor could say anything else, which might have been for the best as she was lost for words again. How did Anya always manage to say the most disconcerting things?
Tell everything else? What was there to tell? He’d seen her kill. She’d seen him… well, she wasn’t sure what he was doing, but it wasn’t psychiatry, that was for sure. They couldn’t avoid the topic forever. But she just didn’t know how to breach it. Social etiquette was hard enough without guns, knives and secrets thrown in.
As it turned out, her assassin job would be what helped to breach the topic. Yor was assigned another client the next day, the first one since she and Loid had seen each other doing… whatever it was that they still hadn’t talked about. The job seemed to pay well, which meant it was high profile, high stakes, or both. In any case, it would probably take her a while to finish.
“I’m going to work late tonight,” she blurted out that morning after a grueling hour of debating how to bring it up. Loid looked up from the counter where he had been picking the sesame seeds off his bagel one by one. “Just… letting you know.”
Anya sat at the table, looking between them with wide eyes. It was the first time in 8 days they had directly spoken to each other. The first time in 8 days that Yor had met Loid’s eyes, sharp and clear. (Not that it was something she’d particularly missed.) She felt a strange mix of apprehension and impatience pulling at her chest the longer Loid went without saying anything. He was quick witted; he must have been able to tell what work she was alluding to. Now, she was forcing him to confront it. To react, after over a week of silence. To take this chance to end their arrangement, to kick her out, to report her to the SSS…
“Will you be back before dinner?”
Her mind quieted. The pulling in her chest stalled. She took in a breath and was faintly surprised to find her lungs stuttering, her heartbeat accelerating.
Maybe it had been something she’d been quietly dreading while, at the same time, avoiding thinking about: this life of hers ending. Going back to the way it was before. The worst thing she could have ever imagined happening—someone discovering her identity, much less Loid, whose knowledge on her felt all the more momentous for whatever reason—had actually happened, yet her life still stood around her, intact and in one piece. Will I be back before dinner?
“I’ll try,” she whispered, then spoke up again so he could hear properly, “I’ll try to be back by then.”
He gave her a jerky, uncertain nod in response. It was unlike Loid. Or maybe it’s exactly like him, she thought. She didn’t know him like she thought she had. But it was alright.
They would be alright.
Yor was not alright. She was achy and sore, her favorite dress was mangled, and it was well past dinnertime. She felt like she was breaking some sort of promise to Loid, even though there had been nothing of the sort.
She hissed and pressed a palm to her side, pausing under a streetlamp. Bombs really were such a bother. Stab punctures and bullet wounds she could do, but burns were especially inconvenient, always chafing and prickling. Not to mention the horrible burning smell that seemed to follow everywhere. She was pretty sure the ends of her hair had gotten singed from the explosion despite her efforts to duck away. How was she going to hide this from—?
Oh, Yor thought, blinking. In her stupor, she’d traveled up the stairs and ended up in front of their apartment door. I guess I don’t need to hide this from Loid…? It was such a strange thought. She was so used to hiding.
When she opened the door, Loid was sitting in his armchair, holding a newspaper and tapping his foot. He leapt up as she came in, closing the door behind her with a wince.
“Did you…” He started, looking her over with wide eyes. She was sure she looked a mess. She’d dealt with the biggest burn on her side, but was belatedly feeling the presence of countless little cuts littered across her skin, most likely from flying dust and shards. She ran a self conscious hand along her knotted hair, resisting the urge to cringe at the burnt smell. Agh, I wish he wasn’t seeing me like this. Then: Wait, it shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t.
“Your job,” Loid said, still seemingly struggling to speak. “Did it go well?”
“Um… yes,” Yor said. Her voice was hoarse, her lips chapped. Embarrassment bloomed in her belly. She had never been ashamed of her job before—she still wasn’t—but something about Loid seeing her in this state, disheveled and battered, made her want to curl into herself.
It wasn’t supposed to matter. There was no need to hide anymore, but it had been so long that she didn’t know what else to do.
She plastered on a smile and made to move past him. “It did, thank you for asking! I’m a little tired so I’m just going to wash up and go to bed. Sorry I came so late, Anya must have been asking after me. Was she doing better today? I hope she ate her dinner.” She was babbling, filling the silence with meaningless chatter. “She’s had such a low appetite recently. I think—”
“Yor,” Loid interrupted. “Let me help you.”
She froze. “With what?”
He gave her a look, gestured with his chin. “You’re hurt.”
She regarded him for some time, the itching and chafing and burning increasing all the while. She didn’t know who he really was, but standing before him like this, it was evident that he was still so… different from her. He looked composed and clean-cut, even while in loungewear; his face betrayed nothing. She’d thought in the past that she and Loid were from two entirely different worlds, but it seemed like even if they came from the same one, there would be canyons between them.
“Why?” she asked quietly. “Why would you help me?”
Loid’s eyes widened incrementally. Maybe she was reading too much into it, but it was like she could see the gears working in his brain as he thought of what to say. He was a very methodical man. Eventually, though, his face relaxed and he just shrugged.
“Burns are terribly inconvenient, aren’t they?”
For a split second, the itching ceased.
Maybe we aren’t that different.
Yor took a cold bath while Loid went to his room. When she finished and dried off, she closed the toilet’s lid and sat to wait. After a couple minutes, he emerged with a medical kit she hadn’t seen before. “It’s different from the one in the bathroom,” he explained. “Do you have your own, too?”
She traced a line on her palm. Her hands still felt grimy. “Of course. I don’t have many things for burns, though.”
“It’s just some ointment and bandages,” Loid said, setting the items on the counter. Then there was an awkward pause. “Um… do you want help with…?”
“No!” Yor squawked, her face instantly heating up. “I mean, no thanks! I can do this part on my own—”
“Right, of course, I was just asking in case—”
“It’s alright—”
“Sorry—”
They both broke off. Yor grabbed the bandages and began inspecting them while Loid whipped around. He made to leave, but hesitated at the door. “Yor?”
“Yes?”
He clenched the doorknob and took a deep breath. “I have a proposition for you.”
The bandage roll was dangerously close to becoming a bandage brick. “What?”
“About what we saw.” He turned his head just enough to meet her eye over his shoulder. “Well, it’s pretty clear that we kept secrets from each other. And I’ll be the first to admit that I have more things I’m not telling you.” He cleared his throat. “So what if we just ignored it?”
She blinked. “Uh… huh?”
“I mean: I don’t ask, you don’t tell, and vice versa,” Loid clarified. “As long as we aren’t on opposite sides, we can go about our jobs but still maintain what we have now, right?”
“But how do we know we’re not on opposite sides?” She thought back to their encounter. He’d been hiding in the vents. In Garden, they had agents who gathered information, which would then be passed onto field agents—assassins like herself—to complete the job. Whereas she could just walk into the area of her work head-on, the intelligence agents had to sleuth around so as to not be seen. “You’re in intelligence, aren’t you?”
He looked faintly surprised. “That’s—well, yes.” He put his fist to his mouth as he thought; a gesture that was common on him, but it looked entirely different at that moment. Sharper, somehow. “Let’s start over. I do know you’re an assassin with Garden.”
Her mouth dropped open in shock. “You know?”
“Like you said, I’m in intelligence,” he replied, pursing his lips together. “Western intelligence.”
“Western.” Her mind raced, and her mouth could hardly keep up. “A spy? You? ” Weren’t those people enemies of the state? Was he trying to destroy their country? She couldn’t reconcile the image of a spy, nefarious and evil, with Loid, goodhearted psychiatrist. Or was he? Would Garden make her kill him?
“Yes,” he said calmly. “But it’s like I said, Yor; we aren’t on opposite sides. I’m not a spy to destroy Ostania.” His words, mirroring her own thoughts so closely, broke her out of her trance. “I’m a spy to maintain peace. To make sure our countries aren’t thrown into a needless war.” He tilted his head. “What about you? You don’t target people only from the West. At least, based on the stories I’ve heard.”
“Oh. Well, I mostly just go after whoever I’m ordered to.” She shifted uncomfortably as she realized she didn’t know who exactly she was killing. “They’re evil people. Dangerous people.”
“I see.”
“So, your proposition,” Yor hastened, “is just that we… ignore all this? Ignore everything we know about each other?”
“Well, I weighed the pros and cons,” he replied, words careful and deliberate. “And it would be much more inconvenient for both of us to have to start from scratch than anything.” He stopped. “There’s also Anya.”
Anya. Of course. To her, they were just her parents. What reason could possibly be worth breaking her life down around her?
“So if we aren’t on opposite sides,” Loid continued, “and we still mutually benefit from our arrangement, then we don’t have to tell our organizations, right?”
Yor mulled it over as she teased the edge of the bandage with her thumb. The concept of pretending everything was fine after last week was absurd, yet at the same time… wasn’t that exactly what she’d done before? The only difference, now, was that she would have to hide less from Loid. A pang of desire hit her. I wouldn’t be alone.
“Okay.” She was speaking without even being entirely sure of what she was saying. There was even a slight fear that he was fooling her, a stirring distrust that came from any association with the west, but—it had already been over a week. If anything was meant to happen, it was long overdue. And honestly, she just wanted things to go back to the way they were before. Fake or not. “What happens outside, stays outside.”
Loid nodded. “See nothing, hear nothing, speak nothing.”
At first Yor was afraid that she would be too awkward to uphold their pact, but Loid picked up the pace seamlessly, and so all she had to do was follow his lead. It helped matters that Anya regained some pep in her step, as though she could tell what had gone down. It was actually easier to pretend like everything was normal than before, because there was someone that knew what she was doing, yet wasn’t treating her differently for it. Sure, that someone was a spy for the west, but what were semantics? They went to their jobs, cooked dinner, did laundry, cleaned up after Bond, and made sure Anya did her homework as the Forgers—not as anybody else.
They also spotted each other in the field numerous times in the months that followed. Wasn’t there some saying about things you noticed standing out more? Yor wasn’t too sure, but that was what it felt like. Somehow she could just tell if, in the distance, a running figure clad in all black was Loid. (Or Agent Twilight, as she’d been told.) They didn’t ever cross paths, though, which was a relief. Yor didn’t know what she’d do if she ever hurt him on accident—or, worse, on purpose.
For now, the only indication that they knew about each others’ identities at all was when Yor placed her medical kit with special ointments by Loid’s door for when he got cuts, or when Loid placed the same kit he gave Yor for her burns by her door. Nothing else was said.
What happened outside, stayed outside.
“You are going to be a bodyguard for this Mr. Fleischer at tonight’s dinner held by his company.” At Yor’s sigh, Shopkeeper raised a brow. “What?”
“Oh, nothing, sir. I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve been assigned a lot more of these bodyguard roles lately, haven’t I?”
An amused smile broke out on the Shopkeeper’s face. “Well, it can’t be helped that you’re so good at it. The Gretcher family did sing your high praises.”
Yor held back another sigh. It wasn’t like she was itching to kill someone, but being a bodyguard was a lot more work—especially when trying to be covert. She was more of a direct woman. “Why does he need a bodyguard? He’s just the director of some company, is he not?”
“That company is a massive steel manufacturer which is the sole provider for weapons producers like the Blackbells,” Shopkeeper pointed out. “But more than that, he paid well.”
“Ah.” So it was. Yor supposed that some people could just afford to be paranoid enough to afford a bodyguard from Garden for one measly party. Whatever the case, she was assigned to it. She took the files from Shopkeeper with some reluctance and studied them on her way home. She had only a couple of hours to get ready, and she had to tell Loid she was working late, too.
“I also have to work late today.”
Yor blinked. On nights they both worked, there was usually enough stagger time for them to find someone for Anya (usually a begrudging Franky). “Oh. From 8 pm?”
“Yes.” Loid also blinked, and took a look at the dress she’d draped over her arm. She had been on her way to the shower when she’d decided to tell him she was working late. “Yor… you wouldn’t happen to be going to Bayer Hall tonight, would you?”
She let the implications of his words, and the following dread, sink in. “You too?”
If he was as distraught as she was, it didn’t show on his face. His mouth set in a firm line. “Who’s your target?”
“Nobody. I’m a bodyguard,” she replied. “And you? What could you gain from sneaking into a company party?”
“It’s the company party of the largest steel manufacturer in the continent,” he said, words echoing what the Shopkeeper had said. “And the director has allegedly been mining for materials in territory that isn’t his own.”
“Really?”
Loid shook his head. “That’s what I’m going to figure out. If it’s true, there may be some angry people after him tonight, and if anything happens there could be military repercussions.”
It all made sense. No wonder Mr. Fleischer hired a bodyguard from Garden. Yor was silent in thought for a couple of seconds. “So you’re just going to extract information about what he’s been up to?”
“Yes,” Loid nodded. “And your intention is simply to protect him from anyone that may want to cause him harm?”
“Yes.”
“So we have the same goal.”
Yor let her shoulders sag in relief. “Oh, thank goodness. I don’t know what I would have done if…” She trailed off. What was she going to say—if they were in conflict? If they were enemies? She knew what she had to do, and that was her job, regardless of anything else. Loid had a distant look on his face that suggested the same thing.
Their jobs came first. She knew that already. So why did it leave such a bitter taste in her mouth?
“I have to shower,” she said instead, checking the clock on the wall. “I’m leaving early to meet Mr. Fleischer beforehand.”
“Alright. I’ll call Franky,” Loid said. She watched him turn and walk to the phone before entering the bathroom and shutting the door behind herself, with one unsettling thought orbiting her mind restlessly.
What would she do if they ever were on opposite sides?
Yor got some time to stake out the venue and secure any exit routes after meeting with Mr. Fleischer. The director himself reminded Yor of a ferret, beady-eyed and slinky. It also didn’t help matters that he was largely dismissive of Yor when he met her.
“You?” He had eyed her critically up and down—for a few seconds too long. “You’re a woman.”
“Yes,” Yor had agreed, momentarily regretting that she was playing bodyguard and not her usual role. “And I was assigned to this job. Rest assured, I will keep you safe tonight, Mr. Fleischer.”
“Hm.” He’d scanned her for a few more moments before procuring a box from a table on the side and offering it to her. “A mask. Your organization requested anonymity.” Yor took the mask—thankfully this one was for her nose and mouth, not a silly masquerade one—and put it on. Mr. Fleischer waved his hand. “Now go. Guests are coming.”
The hall was mostly full now, couples mingling and nibbling on hors d’oeuvres. She wondered if she would spot Loid. He’d most likely be wearing a mask—she knew Twilight was known for his disguises—so she questioned if she would be able to recognize him at all. At the moment, though, there were too many people for her to discern anything. She picked up a stuffed mushroom off a passing waiter’s tray and maneuvered around the room, making sure to keep Mr. Fleischer within sight.
Cocktail hour passed, dinner came and went, and dessert was served. Yor sensed no bloodlust, nor did she see anyone that she thought could possibly be Loid. Ultimately, the job was going well, but she had to stifle a yawn. It was a little dull with nobody to talk to for hours.
Just then, movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. Yor watched with rapt attention as an older gentleman approached Mr. Fleischer and shook his hand. She shifted a little closer and strained her ears; the man was introducing himself as an investor in an independent arms company.
It was Loid. She didn’t know how she could be so sure, but there was something resolute within her, stating it as plainly as if the sky was blue: that man was Loid.
Of course, he didn’t look her way, so Yor took the time to inspect him under the guise of keeping a watchful eye over Mr. Fleischer. An old voice insisted that seeing this kind of dreadful spywork should enrage her—the Ostanian patriot within her, perhaps?—but she found herself admiring his handiwork more than anything. How completely he could change his voice! And his build was different—that was likely a padded suit. To say nothing of the face mask; it looked as real a stretch of skin as any. As he chatted with Mr. Flesicher, Yor watched how the latter seemed to soften and preen at whatever Loid was saying. How does he do all that?
Waiters kept coming, offering the two of them various foodstuffs. In fact, it was as if all the waiters in the room were crowding the pair. Yor had to crane her neck to keep her eyes on them through the throng of staff.
Another waiter joined with a tray; the hair on the back of Yor’s neck pricked, then, breaking her focus. Everything after that happened all at once: the waiter, with the metal edge of his tray extended, lunged at the same time Yor leapt forward from the wall, hand outstretched.
Loid dodged the tray by bending backwards in a manner completely unbefitting the older gentleman he was embodying while Yor’s hand clamped around the tray, crushing it in her fist like it was made of foil.
“Blasted buggers!” flew out of Mr. Fleischer’s mouth as he threw himself to the floor. Yor sighed and stopped another waiter from jabbing a needle into the director’s leg. How is laying down on the floor going to be of any help? Guests around them had begun to notice despite the cover of the wait staff and cast a wide berth, whispering. The director’s entire lack of discretion was making her job as a bodyguard a lot harder.
“Get up,” she whispered as she knocked another waiter into a chair. She rushed forward and shook the man’s shoulder. “Come on! We have to get out of here.”
“Just kill them all!” he snapped back, covering his head with his hands. Yor held back a frustrated growl. She didn’t want to have to carry him, but if it came down to it—
“Watch out!” she heard Loid snap. She turned in time to see a serving girl advancing on them, a blade hidden within the folds of her skirt. Yor grit her teeth. At the distance between them and the speed the girl was going at, Yor would have to take the hit in order to keep Mr. Fleischer safe, but after that she could easily dispose of—
And then, again, everything happened so fast that Yor didn’t understand it at first. Something shoved her to the side so hard that she was knocked over; when she’d oriented herself into an upright position again, there was a splatter of blood on the floor. Her heart seized as she thought Mr. Fleischer had gotten hurt.
It completely dropped when she looked over to Loid’s bowed form and realized the blood was his.
She didn’t remember very well what happened next, just that in the end, all of the servers were either passed out in chairs or on the floor, some with oddly bent limbs. Her hand flexed—no blood had been spilt. A good thing, surely. When she looked around, she saw that Loid was gone. There was no blood trail; another good sign.
And yet she felt an elastic tension within herself, begging to be cut.
Mr. Fleishcer was still on the floor, staring up at her with wide eyes. When she turned to him, he scrambled to his feet.
“Let’s go,” she said, and this time he wordlessly complied.
She found Loid at home. Franky had left, the lights were out, and everything was silent, but she maneuvered her way through the dark and wrenched the bathroom door open, where Loid sat on top of the toilet with one T-shirt sleeve pushed up and a bloody rag. A latex face sat on the counter while the remains of the padded suit were piled in the corner. He looked up, surprised.
“You—”
“Show me.” Her hand was still curled up, that elastic tension tightening. She didn’t understand; he was fine. It was all fine. Why was she still so wound up? “Where did you get hurt?”
“It’s not a big deal,” he replied, watching her warily. “It’s just on my arm.”
Yor stilled and took a clearer look at him. Under the bathroom light, she could see the cut, arcing along his deltoid to the back of his shoulder. He’d cleaned the blood, so it was just a line on his arm. A dash, really. It wasn’t too bad at all.
She closed her eyes. What happens outside, stays outside.
“Let me help you.”
He raised a brow. “I can do it myself.”
“It’s rather inconvenient, though, is it not?” She opened her eyes.
His mouth dropped open slightly, his eyes widening. He stared at her for long enough that she worried the knife had actually been poisoned until he abruptly shook his head.
“Alright,” he relented, shifting so that the cut was towards her. “I’ve already cleaned it.”
“Oh. Okay.” Yor had been half expecting him to turn away and redefine the boundary she’d just smudged, but she took the opportunity to run to her room and retrieve her medical kit. As she began applying ointment to Loid’s arm, she spoke up.
“Why did you do that?”
He drew in a tight breath. The ointment, Yor knew, was a stinging one. The tension in his face made her feel bad, but also shamefully, spitefully righteous. That’s what you get. He responded after a few moments. “What do you mean?”
Seriously? You’re going to play dumb? In an instant of pettiness, Yor rubbed the ointment in harder, causing Loid to hiss. “Oh, sorry.”
He sent her a look over his shoulder. “I’m in Mr. Fleischer’s good graces now,” he finally said. “He saw that I took the hit for him and wants to meet to personally thank me. It’s a golden opportunity to get the information I need.”
Yor began wrapping the wound. “You were already doing fine for yourself. He was practically putty in your hands.”
“Having someone in your debt never hurts.”
“I was there as his bodyguard. You didn’t need to take the hit for him at all.” She looked up from Loid’s arm and found him already watching her. “Besides, you pushed me out of the way.”
They stared at each other, a silent battle of wills. This man was a liar by profession, Yor reminded herself. He could say or do anything to weasel into someone’s favor. She’d had a front row seat to it. Loid set his jaw and looked down again with a sigh.
“I don’t know why I did it,” he admitted softly. “I was moving before I knew it. Adrenaline, I suppose.”
Yor considered him carefully. She had no reason to trust what he was saying—and yet, weren’t there better things he could have said if he’d truly wanted to appease her than I don’t know?
Yor finished wrapping his arm and tore the bandage. She nodded, letting the pressure in her chest slowly, slowly begin to ease. “Okay. Okay, Loid. Just…” Just what? She didn’t quite know herself. “Take care, then.” She drew back and collected her things before leaving. That was that.
That was that, except from then on, one thing changed. Instead of leaving their kits by each others’ doors, they would knock before entering because it was “rather inconvenient” to have to patch oneself up. At those times, they would talk just a little bit: about their jobs, about their roles, about their days. It was nothing much.
But it was just enough to blur the line further between what was meant to be left outside, and what could cross over into the threshold of their home.
“I have a question,” Loid said during one of their patch-up-talk sessions. Their assignments had overlapped again, and while it was mostly low-end for the both of them, Loid had gotten nicked on the neck during a hasty retreat. A terribly inconvenient place, as it was impossible to twist your head around to see it in the mirror. Yor hummed while she wiped the cut. “How can you always tell who I am?”
“Huh?” She leaned back. “Through your disguises, you mean?”
“Yes.” His most recent latex mask sat on the bathroom counter, as it often did. “It would have horrible implications if everyone could start seeing through me, you know.”
“Hmm.” Yor thought while she squeezed some ointment onto her finger. “I don’t know, really. I think it must be because I already know you’re a spy.”
“My colleagues have been fooled, though.”
“Then it may be that I saw you once, and now I can just tell,” Yor said. “You have a very… you- ness about you.” Loid fell silent and she resumed her ministrations. Yor almost thought he’d dropped the subject until he spoke up again, voice low.
“What is my me-ness?”
“What?”
He shifted. The cut slid away from under her hand, and she found herself face to face with Loid, her hand brushing the underside of his jaw. “What did you mean by my ‘you-ness’? How can you tell it’s me?” He swallowed and she felt the bob of his throat against her fingertips. “What about me isn’t actually someone else? How do you know?”
Yor stilled. He looked between her eyes intently, and she got the feeling she was pinned in place even though she could have very well moved if she wanted. She could tell he was asking for something greater here, perhaps greater than her capabilities. She had, after all, never been good with words. Not like him.
But she could try.
“Well, it’s like… suppose you were carrying a load in a bag,” she began haltingly. “If you shifted that load to a different bag, that wouldn’t change its weight. So I guess I have gotten to see your load so much that I can tell the weight you carry, even when it’s in a different bag. If that makes sense…?” She felt a self-conscious prickle in her belly at the crude explanation, and chanced a look at Loid. Then she froze.
He had that wide-eyed, open-mouthed expression again that she couldn’t fathom being pointed in her direction. He was looking at her like she was something new, something amazing, when she was anything but. And as she felt her face heat up and she nervously licked her lips, she imagined that his eyes dropped to her mouth. It must have been her imagination. Yor quickly turned away to grab a small bandaid from the counter.
“I have a question for you, too,” she said as she unpeeled the bandaid, itching to divert the attention from her words.
“What is it?”
“That night at the party, when you took the hit for me.” Trembling hands approached his neck again, touched his jaw again to turn his head. He knew what she was, yet he sat here exposing his neck to her. Yor tried not to think about what that could mean. “Do you really not know why you did it? I can't imagine that you, of all people, lost control to an adrenaline rush.”
She pasted the bandaid onto the cut, smoothing it out. Her fingers brushed against warm skin, and he shuddered. Not much, but enough for it to be all she could feel.
“I know you're strong. Much stronger than me,” he said, voice so hushed that she had to lean in closer to hear. She had to. “But I still couldn't bear to see you get hurt.”
It was at that moment, under the dingy light of the bathroom, with first aid supplies scattered around them and her hands on his neck, that she realized she was in love with him.
Which was a problem, because at that same moment, she also recognized that she had been loving him for some time now. But there was no point. Even if they patched each other up once in a while, it didn’t change the fact that what happened outside, stayed outside; and inside was a couple who wasn’t actually a couple, a couple who didn’t actually love each other. You aren't supposed to love him . And he is a spy. He does not love you. Repeating this mantra in her mind, Yor snatched her hands back and retreated.
“That’s—um. Thanks,” she said lamely, then bent her head over her medical kit so she could cringe. “I’m going to take this back to my room.”
“Oh. Alright.” He cleared his throat and stood up as Yor quickly gathered her things. Then he blinked. “Your wrist.”
“Huh?”
“There’s a cut on there,” he said, and indeed there was. Bigger than the one that had been on his neck, in fact. How had it slipped her notice? “It must have happened earlier. If you want, I can—”
“It’s okay!” Yor blurted, and at his startled expression, she elaborated, “I mean, you must be tired. I can do it myself. I’ve, uh, got everything I need.” And if I stay here I’ll do something regrettable for the both of us. “Good night, Loid.”
He was clearly confused, brows furrowed. Yor had the striking urge to kiss the wrinkle between his brows away, and then had to do a double take. Deplorable! Get a hold of yourself!
“Um, alright. Good night, Yor.”
Yor returned to her room and began pacing in circles. “I’ll sleep it off,” she muttered. That was a thing, right? It was probably just the exhaustion catching up to her, making her think dangerous, unsavory thoughts. Blue eyes, the rough chafe of growing stubble, a low voice like honey.
Unsavory.
(She didn’t sleep at all.)
Anya seemed incredibly restless these days.
Yor almost couldn’t keep up with her mood swings. At first she’d been despondent for some time, and then had cheered up greatly for months in between. Now, she was always antsy, saying the oddest things. For example:
They had gone to the cinema to watch a movie. Loid said it was important for their family to look real; Yor knew now that this had even greater implications than just keeping Anya in Eden, which was why she had agreed to go at all. Of course, Anya sat between them. It wasn’t like Yor could sit next to Loid.
Then the climax of the movie came. The music swelled as the hero and heroine exchanged some heated lines before leaning in for a passionate kiss. Anya tugged at Yor’s dress. “That’s you and Papa!” she whispered in the loudest whisper ever known to man, resulting in both shushing and chuckles from the nearby audience. As for Yor, she’d nearly combusted in her seat, having to clamp her hand over her mouth to keep a scream in. Loid was completely silent. Even though it was completely dark inside the cinema, Yor was still too afraid to dare look over and see what kind of face he may have been making at Anya’s statement.
It was only while they were walking back to the car, with Yor and Anya tailing a little behind Loid, that she was able to belatedly speak to Anya. “You shouldn’t be loud in a cinema,” she weakly reprimanded. “And you especially shouldn’t lie. Loid and I aren’t… we’re not… we don’t do that.”
Anya offered her the most unimpressed look she had ever seen on a child. “You wanna.”
“What? No! What makes you say that?”
“Anya doesn’t get adults,” was all the girl grumbled before leaving Yor’s side to run to the car. The ride back was painfully quiet, punctuated only by Anya’s loud sighs and, halfway through, a sudden craving for cotton candy.
Restless. It was as if this energy transferred over to the Thorn Princess, because she made more little mistakes and slip-ups than she ever had since the time she was still an amateur. Half of her attention went to worrying whether she would spot Loid while on an assignment, and fervently hoping for the negative. She sustained enough little cuts and scrapes for a hundred patch-up sessions—not that they did that. Yor always cited fatigue or some similar excuse every time Loid offered to help. Eventually, he stopped asking.
What, Yor wondered, was a normal wifely response to loving your husband? Did it even make sense to wonder about normalcy when you were a fake couple?
Regardless, she wasn’t the only one noticing this change. When Shopkeeper summoned her to disclose details about another big assignment, McMahon—who was leading her there—stared at her to the point of discomfort.
“What is it, sir?”
“I’ve told you before that if you lose focus, everyone dies.” He narrowed his eyes and looked pointedly at one of Yor’s cuts that was peeking through her dress. “You’d do well not to forget that.”
Swallowing down a lump in her throat, Yor wordlessly followed him until he opened the doors to Shopkeeper’s garden. The man in question was turned away, snipping at something with his shears.
“Hello, Shopkeeper,” Yor greeted. He snipped a few more times, got up, and brushed his pants off. As he turned to face her, he hurled his shears at her point-first. Yor dodged just in time for them to embed into the tree behind her, bark curling around the point of collision.
His expression lifted into a cheerful smile. “Good to see you, Thorn Princess! And your great reflexes as well.”
“I thought I told you not to do that,” Yor replied. Shopkeeper dipped his head.
“It’s just a precaution. I hope you can understand. There seem to be uncommon occurrences happening lately.” He, too, gestured to Yor’s cuts, and she flushed.
“That’s just… it’s not…” She sighed. “It’s nothing major.”
“Oh?” Behind her, McMahon pulled the shears out with one hand and returned them to Shopkeeper while the latter spoke. “If it puts your skills in jeopardy, I would say it is major. Wouldn’t you agree?”
His tone was light, but there was a clear threat to his words. Yor struggled to come up with something that would stave him off. Every lie has a bit of truth to it, Loid’s voice echoed in her head. It was one of the tips he’d given her from his trade. While it wasn’t entirely helpful having his voice echo in her head for other reasons, it did help her come up with an answer in that moment. “I’m just having trouble presenting myself as a normal wife and mother,” she said softly. “It has gotten to a point where it is distracting me, but I’ll get over it. Don’t worry.”
Shopkeeper mulled over her words while he examined the blades of his shears. “You know, that may be because you aren’t a wife or mother,” he began. His words struck Yor harder than she thought possible. “It’s like you said—Yor Forger is merely a presentation. Meanwhile, the Thorn Princess not only lives on in legend, but has the prowess to surpass it.” He smiled again, teeth gleaming and white. “To choose between the two would be very easy, no?”
She tried not to let her shock show on her face. Her stomach churned with all of the ramifications of what Shopkeeper was suggesting. He always told her to focus on her job, but had never outright suggested she pick between Yor or Thorn Princess. She had never even thought about it. Both identities were important to her, but it was becoming increasingly clear that she knew less about the Thorn Princess and what she did for Garden than she’d originally thought.
Shopkeeper’s sudden laughter broke Yor out of her thoughts.
“Why, there’s no need to be so glum! I was simply presenting a hypothetical.” He gestured with his shears to a table set within some foliage. “Come, sit. This job will require utmost focus from the very start, so I hope you can leave any distractions behind.”
They sat. Shopkeeper pulled out a file and spread its contents before proceeding. “There is a traitor amongst the underground families we have ties with. He’s deserted the area and is going to meet a contact to hand off information he stole. As of now, the families have agreed to keep quiet about this incident so as to not stir the pot.” He sifted through the pile of papers and came up with a photo, small and glossy. A young man was pictured on it. “We think he is going to attempt the handoff at a gala with several of our other associates, in an attempt to prevent Garden from sending after him in full force. Whether he was paid, or has a different alliance, we don’t know.” He tapped the photograph. “It also doesn’t matter, because you are going to kill both him and the contact.”
She examined the photo. The mole looked awfully young. Perhaps around Yuri’s age. “Shouldn’t we try to ascertain his motives first?”
It was as if the temperature in the room actually dropped. When she looked up, both Shopkeeper and McMahon were staring at her with stony expressions, sending a shiver down her spine. “I just meant—”
“It’s not your problem to worry about motives,” Shopkeeper interrupted coolly. “Our agents have gathered all the intel necessary. The only thing you have to do is finish the job, Thorn Princess, as you always have. Can you do that?”
She swallowed. The face in the photograph, hardly past adolescence, kept boring into her. It was true—motives had never been her concern before. She hadn’t even thought to consider them until recently.
“People are complex,” Loid said, head tilted thoughtfully. “It’s all a matter of nature, nurture, and circumstance, but one thing is for sure—nobody is born evil.”
The topic had come up as they were discussing the nature of their jobs. He was of the mindset that anyone could be communicated with, and that nobody was truly evil. It was in such contrast to what Garden had taught her since she was a child that she struggled to wrap her mind around the idea. Who were the people she killed, if not heartless evildoers?
But then, she was sure Garden would think Loid an evildoer. And while she was unsure of many things about him, she held no doubt that he was not a bad person.
Who were the people Garden killed?
But she still had a job to do.
“Yes, Shopkeeper.”
Yor took back what she said about being a bodyguard—having to kill someone during a party without anybody else noticing was far more work. She was still having her doubts about the mole, but had to shake them off. I’m not the one who collects information, she reminded herself. The traitor must be a bad person if Garden is having me kill him.
It was getting harder and harder to convince herself of that fact, though.
Yor sighed and shook her head. She had to focus. She finished writing her note and folded it up. For a moment she wondered whether she should slip it under Loid’s door, but quickly dismissed the idea and left it by the phone instead. He would notice.
“What’s that?” Yor yelped and spun around, where Anya curiously stared up at her with one arm on Bond’s neck. She’d been so absorbed in her thoughts that she hadn’t even noticed them sneak up behind her! I really am distracted. “A secret letter?”
“Yes, and it’s for Papa.” Yor squatted and pet Bond’s (and Anya’s) head. “I’m going to be working late tonight, okay?”
Anya cocked her head. “Why can’t you just tell him with your voice when he comes back from the hospital?”
Yor fought back a grimace. “I’m going to leave early. Be good, okay?”
“I’m—” Anya suddenly halted and turned to Bond, gaping. “Huh?!”
“What?”
“Umm!” Anya pressed her lips together so hard they turned white. “Nothing, Mama! Have fun at your party!” She ran off with Bond in tow and began whispering to the dog in urgent tones. Yor watched her go, thoroughly confused. Then she paused.
Had she told Anya it was a party?
She shook her head again. Concentrate, Yor. She would have to get ready and leave in record time if she wanted to avoid running into Loid.
The gala, compared to Mr. Fleischer’s party, was colossal. When Shopkeeper said the gala would have “several associates”, Yor had forgotten what that actually meant.
It was the rich and powerful that found the need for assassins, after all.
While it was unheard of for a woman to attend such an event without being on the arm of a man, an exception was made for her because of Garden’s connections. A huge relief, because she couldn’t fathom how she would have gone about asking Loid to come with her to such a party. It wasn’t like they could dance in the gilded hall, or share a drink under one of the dazzling chandeliers. They definitely couldn't have been able to talk closely at the elegant bar in the back, where he could place his hand over hers, draw closer, then—
Truly, a huge relief. This way, she could also focus on the job, get in and out.
“The only thing is that I have to wait for him to meet with the contact,” she muttered to herself. If she killed the traitor too early, the person on the other end receiving the information would be able to escape. She had to spot the mole and tail him until the handoff occurred, which meant some loitering was just inevitable.
For some time, she tried occupying herself with refreshments, but found that she had no appetite. The bar was inviting, but the last thing she needed was to get drunk. She couldn’t dance on the floor by herself, and she knew nobody to make conversation with. After about half an hour, she gave up and retreated to the side.
It was strange. She’d done her fair share of jobs alone, not to mention living by and keeping to herself, but never felt as lonely as she did now. It almost reminded her of when she'd gone to Camilla's dinner party all those months ago. That felt like an entirely different lifetime.
And Loid had come to her at that time.
Yor sighed, then grimaced at herself. Here she was, a fully grown woman sighing over some unrequited love. She needed to go for a walk and clear her mind. Peeking back, she noticed that the rest of the manor—because of course the party was being hosted in a disgustingly lavish mansion—was closed off from the ballroom the party was being held in, with security posted at each exit. Perfect.
With little effort, Yor slipped past a guard and went up the stairs to a long hallway, windows on both sides letting in slats of moonlight. She glanced through several rooms as she made her way through the mansion: an ornate library, a private smoking chamber with dense clouds of smoke hanging, a lounge in which a heated game of poker seemed to be happening, and a fourth room she didn't dare look in based on the sounds she was hearing.
(She practically flew away from that one, feeling like a tea kettle.)
She turned the corner and stopped. There, in the middle of the room, was a great atrium dripping with moonlight. It was practically a greenhouse with its sheer size. Spindly trees twisted up towards the skylight and vines hung down; when Yor approached to take a closer look, she spotted bushes of flowers, roses amongst them.
"Wow." Yor didn't know how long she spent circling that atrium, admiring the plants within and wishing there was a door for her to enter. She was only interrupted when the hairs on the back of her neck prickled again.
Someone's here.
A very quiet someone, but Yor wasn't an assassin for no reason. She knew when a person was in the same place as her. She soundlessly ducked and pulled out one of her knives, creeping forward until she could peek around the edge of the atrium. Indeed, there stood a man in a suit. His face was hidden in shadow, out of the moonlight's reach, but she narrowed her eyes. It was suspicious of him to be there. Sure, she was also lurking, but she had the perfectly good excuse of being a hitman. What if he was following her?
Blood thrumming, Yor tightened her grip and exhaled before shooting out from behind the atrium. She'd twisted his arm behind his back and pointed her stiletto at his neck before she even took her next breath.
“Apologies, but you must be—” His face came into the moonlight and she froze—completely, wholly froze. Her muscles seized and she released his arm, resulting in him thudding to the ground. “Loid?!”
He gathered himself into a sitting position and rubbed his shoulder, almost as an afterthought, as he gazed up at her from the floor. The moonlight gilded his features in a silvery glow and— stop it! “Yor.”
“I-I'm so sorry, you're—I thought—is your arm okay? What are you doing here?” Her brain was scrambled and she didn't know which words to speak. She suddenly gasped. “Anya is—”
“With Sylvia,” he supplied. Yor gawked. Isn't that his boss? As if he could read her thoughts, he said, “Franky was busy. Yuri wouldn't give me the time of day when I called. The neighbors are gossipy and their bases—I mean homes—their homes aren't secure, and I thought it odd to call your work colleagues, and—” He seemed to realize himself and cut off. “Well, she seems to like Anya. So.”
“Oh.” Yor tried to imagine Shopkeeper babysitting Anya, but struggled to even picture them in the same room. A few long seconds passed before she realized Loid was still sprawled on the ground. “Oh, I'm so sorry, let me just—”
“You're fine, you don't need to—” She grabbed his hand and yanked him up hard enough that he nearly slammed right into her. They both jolted back. Yor tried to pretend her hand didn't feel like it was filled with electricity.
“Umm.” It was painfully awkward, and Yor knew it was mostly her fault. If only she'd been as good an actor as him, she wouldn't have had to avoid Loid just to prevent herself from doing something stupid. She cleared her throat. “I wasn’t expecting to run into you here.”
He tilted his head. “Likewise. This is the ‘late night commitment’ you wrote about?” he asked, putting air quotes around her words. Yor’s face burned. She definitely could have worded it differently on her note, but she also hadn’t been expecting to see him.
“Yes. Just a standard job. You?”
“I’m just meeting someone,” he replied.
They both seemed to come to the realization at the same time. Yor felt her stomach sink.
“When you say meeting someone, you don’t mean—”
“By standard, do you mean—”
His tight-lipped expression was all the confirmation she needed. She felt the floor sway beneath her. All of a sudden, the serene atrium with its moon-bathed roses seemed like it was mocking her. She was supposed to kill Loid. It was the situation she’d been avoiding even thinking about because she couldn’t fathom it, and now…
Shopkeeper’s cold stare bored into her mind. The only thing you have to do is finish the job, Thorn Princess, as you always have.
“Leave,” she found herself saying, and when she’d processed the words, everything sharpened around her with a frenzied clarity. “Just leave! Don’t do the handoff.”
“What?” He looked torn between confusion and disbelief. “I can’t just abandon my mission.”
“I am supposed to kill you,” she stressed. “I think abandoning the mission is the better alternative, no?”
“Then what about you?” he challenged. “What’ll happen if you abandon your job?”
“I’ll just tell them you never came. I can’t be faulted for that.”
“And the person I am to be contacting?” Yor fell silent. She wasn’t a good liar, and he was too good at reading body language. He inhaled sharply. “You can’t expect me to leave knowing that someone will be killed for trying to give me information.”
“He’s a traitor,” Yor tried. “He turned on the families he was supposed to be working for. It’s the only reason Garden was sent after him.”
“But do you know what the families have done? Do you know why he turned on them?”
“I’m not the one who collects intel,” she replied weakly. It didn’t sound as solid an excuse as when Shopkeeper had said it. The fact that she hardly believed it herself didn’t help matters. “Look, I got assigned a job to do, and…” And what? Why was she always struggling to finish things? The young, rounded face of the mole flashed in her mind yet again and she squeezed her eyes shut.
Would all this have been easier if she’d finished things back when she first discovered the truth about Loid?
“Yor.” Loid’s voice sounded nearer; he must have taken a step towards her. Yor tensed. “You already know why I do this job at all. Nobody wins in war.” Another step; she could hear his breaths now, soft and low. “And you told me the reason you took up this job in the first place was to provide for Yuri. We are not enemies, Yor. The same things are important to us.”
She opened her eyes, then; he was standing in front of her, eyes flitting over her face like he was cataloguing it away. Her brilliant, beautiful husband. He was a spy, a liar, and also an undoubtedly good person. Whether it was for better or for worse, over the course of the months she’d gotten to know him—really know him—she had come to trust him.
In over a decade with Garden, she’d never once failed to complete a job. But in over a decade with Garden, she’d never questioned them, either. Perhaps it was fine before, but now she had too much to lose. Lose focus, and everyone dies. She knew what they meant, what they would do. But if anyone was going to be able to take a stand, it was her, the Thorn Princess.
Yor had her own prerogative—not only as an assassin, but as a wife and a mother. Fake or not.
“Leave,” she said, and when Loid’s face fell, she continued, “leave with the contact. I’ll take care of security, so just make sure he gets out of here. This party isn’t safe—Garden knows he’s here.”
Loid looked relieved for half a second before his brows furrowed. “What will you tell Garden?”
“I’ll say the contact vanished in the men’s restroom or something.” Yor had no idea whether it’d work the way she was hoping. Shopkeeper already seemed to be wary of her—maybe he had noticed even before she had, that she was beginning to slip. Loid seemed to read as much from her expression.
“Will they…I mean, will you be…” He seemed to be struggling for words. She had never seen him do that before. “Will you be alright?”
“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.”
He regarded her closely; she struggled to keep eye contact. Now that the pressing matters were out of the way, her palms were sweating and she could feel her heartbeat quickening. In the darkened hall illuminated by moonlight, alongside the flowers in the atrium, with his hair combed and dressed in a well-fitting suit… it was like Loid was a prince straight out of one of the old fairy tales Yor could remember. And she felt terribly ill-suited to be the one on the receiving end of his gaze.
Yor opened her mouth to say something to divert his attention when she heard a faint whoosh . She tensed; judging by the way he suddenly turned his head, Loid heard it, too. Without thinking, Yor grabbed his wrist and tugged him across the hall into the concavity of a doorway. The heavy oaken doors were closed and locked, but this way the two of them weren’t openly visible in the hall, not to mention beyond the reach of the moonlight. Is everyone at this party coming upstairs?
She began poking her head out to try to take a peek, but Loid gently nudged her back in. He reached inside his jacket—Yor realized, then, how closely they were squeezed together in that little space by how tightly he had to maneuver—and pulled out a compact mirror. He flipped it open and held it out at arm’s length. A few moments later, a figure appeared from around the corner, reflected in the mirror. Yor squinted as they moved, trying to make out any features. As the image became more distinct, her nerves froze for what seemed like the millionth time that night.
“That’s McMahon,” she whispered, not registering how her voice shook. Why was he here? She hadn’t been told he would be accompanying her. But he didn’t accompany me. She’d come alone and been alone for the whole time she was here. He hadn’t informed her because she wasn’t supposed to know.
The only thing you have to do is finish the job.
They didn’t trust her. That was the only explanation; McMahon had been sent to tail her, to make sure she actually did complete the job and not fail due to any distractions. And with awful timing, too—because she had no intention of completing the job, and was currently hiding upstairs with the contact she was supposed to kill, who was actually her husband who she loved that she wasn’t supposed to be in love with. Oh, God.
“Your director?” Loid whispered, seemingly unaware of the violent abuse her heart was being put through on two fronts. Her attention was torn between McMahon’s gradually growing figure and the fact that she could feel the rise and fall of every breath Loid took. “He’s coming this way—he’ll see us.”
He gingerly tried the door handle wedged behind their bodies. Unfortunately, it hadn’t magically unlocked in the minute they’d been standing there. While Yor could easily break the door down, it would be too loud, and Loid wasn’t in a position to pick the lock without making himself visible.
“I’ll step out?” Yor squeaked. McMahon was currently standing by the atrium. It seemed like even he could stop and smell the roses. “I can make something up. You escape in the meantime.”
“You’ll make something up,” he repeated with raised eyebrows. They both knew full well how Yor’s lies sounded. She winced.
“What else can we do?”
“I’ll step out and distract him.”
“He’ll recognize you—he knows what you look like!” McMahon had finished surveying the atrium and drew ever closer to where they hid, silently striding down the hall with his hands behind his back.
“Better me than you.” Her head snapped up at that. Loid had a resolute set to his mouth, the same kind he got when he was done granting Anya five more minutes of TV. It was when he said things like that that she absolutely lost track of what to think. She was back in the bathroom with her hands on his neck, too warm and too close yet not close enough. I can’t bear to see you get hurt. To have someone care about her like that—let alone care about her like that whilst knowing what she was—even if it was all for an act was something she didn’t know how to process. She didn’t know how to act, how to be , so she avoided and evaded. But there was no space to do that now. No space, and no time. At the rate McMahon was approaching, he was going to think that she’d snuck Loid in for a rendezvous on the job.
Wait. She thought back to that fourth room, the room she had run away from. Nobody wants to see that kind of stuff.
“So it’s settled,” Loid murmured. McMahon was a few paces away now. Just a few more seconds. “I’ll try to distract him and lead him back downstairs so you can—”
“I’m really sorry about this in advance,” she whispered. His brows furrowed again and her breath hitched.
“Huh?”
Grabbing him by the collar, she spun them around until her back made contact with solid wood and wall, wedging herself into the corner. A startled sort of grunt escaped Loid as his hands hit both the door and the wall around her head, caging her in, but he was muffled as she pulled him down and kissed him.
It was actually more like a static pressing of their faces, given how pursed Yor’s lips were. For a second she feared that McMahon would somehow be able to tell that it was her in the corner, engaged in the most inexperienced kiss known to man. But then Loid brought his hands down from the wall, threaded them through her hair, and tilted his head, and all her thoughts melted away.
Oh. So this was a kiss. She tilted her head in likeness and marveled at how their lips seemed to slot into each other like puzzle pieces; she moved her hands up to link around his neck and pulled him in closer, pressing back further into the wall. He teased her mouth open further and nipped on her bottom lip and it was like ambrosia, a taste of something she could never forget. It was only when they broke apart some long moments later, breaths ragged, that she remembered why she’d even done it in the first place.
“Is he gone?”
Loid stared at her, breathing hard, lips slightly swollen and pupils blown wide. He took a few seconds to register her question before blinking and looking over his shoulder.
“Yes. The coast is clear.”
“Oh.” With some reluctance, she dropped her hands from his neck. He pulled back and tugged at his tie. It was loose.
“Um. Sorry,” Yor said. She felt horribly insincere, as she kept looking back down at his lips while she spoke. “I just thought… since he was so close…”
“Oh, no—I mean yes. It was a good—I mean, the idea was good. As a cover. It was good for our cover,” he assured her, nodding in a way that was somehow vigorous yet slow at the same time.
“Right.” Yor’s mind felt like it was slogging through honey. Ambrosia, even. What was she supposed to be doing again?
“So. I’ll go downstairs. Get the contact,” Loid said. He patted around his pockets for a few moments before looking down; the compact mirror had fallen to the floor, forgotten. He quickly retrieved it and used it to fix his tie. Yor watched his hands, transfixed, before shaking herself out of it.
“Yes. And I’ll…um, I suppose I’ll just leave.” She peeled herself out of the corner and cleared her throat. “So. Goodbye.”
He nodded once, quick and sharp, before turning on his heel and running out of the hall. Yor watched him go and turned to leave, and she was only distracted enough to ram headfirst into the wall and nothing more.
She’d maintained their cover, but at what cost?
All the prayers Yor had ever known in her life ran through her mind as she eased the door to their apartment open. She wasn’t even sure what exactly she was praying for, just that the jackrabbit leap of her heart and shaky hands and jittery jump at every wavering shadow was positively unholy.
She wasn’t sure how long it would take Loid to get his contact out of the party, so just to be safe and not get home at the same time as him, she’d done a couple laps of the city in order to burn both time and energy. She seemed to have an excess of both. There were greater things for her to worry about: for example, the fact that she had just defied Garden for the first time ever. The fact that they most definitely would have noticed, given that McMahon was at the party. The fact that there would almost definitely be retribution. Yet all of those problems seemed to her like granules of sand, slipping through her fingers into one great mass she couldn’t be bothered to look very closely at.
Indeed, the fact that she had possibly ruined everything with Loid outweighed all those big problems. Like a giant rock amidst the sand that she tripped on. What was worse was that she didn’t even feel remorse. She kept recalling the kiss, and… no wonder the girls at work always talk about it. But what was that about lemons…? No, stop thinking about it!
So in short terms, by the time Yor was finally entering the apartment, prayers and all, it was very late. Late enough that she could hope that Loid had gone to sleep.
Of course, he hadn’t. She knew he hardly slept at all, so she really shouldn’t have been surprised to open the door and see him sitting by the lamp, dressed down and reading the newspaper. But she was.
“Arghm,” she choked out, an odd noise that was ‘ah’ and ‘urgh’ and ‘hm’ rolled into one. He jumped up from the sofa but didn’t move, just stood there with the newspaper clutched in one hand so tightly that it crumpled.
“Hello,” he said after a long pause.
“...Hi.” And then, because that was obviously not substantial, Yor asked, “You got the contact out just fine?”
“Yes. I made us both masks, just in case McMahon saw us. Leon is safe and is going to go back to his home in the country now.”
“Leon? His name is Leon?”
“Yes. 21 years old, came to the city a couple months ago to try and make it rich.” He shrugged. “Didn’t quite work out the way he’d hoped. But he still made brave choices.”
“Oh.” She was suddenly struck with how easily she could have cut off the life of a boy whose name she didn’t even know. To Garden, he was just the contact, a peg in the gear that needed to be taken out. “I’m glad he’s safe.”
“Yes. WISE will have him under protection until he goes back, but…yeah.”
The conversation petered out again and she rubbed her wrist. “Well… it’s been a long night, so I’m going to go to bed—”
“Wait.” Her heart jumped to her throat and she swallowed it down. He gestured at her head. “Your forehead has a scrape.”
“Huh?” She reached up and felt. It must have happened when she’d rammed into the wall, evidently more violently than she’d originally thought. She hadn’t even felt it before. “I can…”
“Let me.” Before she could even say anything, he set down the newspaper and went to his room, emerging with his medical kit. “Come on. The bathroom is better—we wouldn’t want to wake Anya up.”
She followed him in a daze, the prayers back in her head. He probably wants to talk about the kiss, she thought, the notion of which sent a bolt of fear down her spine. Could he tell that she’d forgotten the pretense during the kiss? What if he was disgusted? He likely wouldn’t kick her out—she knew too much. But if he was going to reject her…
Her throat constricted for a moment before she forcibly swallowed it down. She could deal with that. She had been through worse.
She sat down on the toilet seat and he assumed his usual position, setting his things down on the counter and leaning against it. She shut her eyes as he swept her hair away from her forehead. For a few minutes, all she could feel was the dab of the cotton ball, which was almost rough in comparison to his gentle touch. All she heard were his soft breaths and the crinkling of bandages; all she smelled was the zing of antiseptic. In this way, she was almost lulled into a sense of security—the default, she’d discovered, when she was around Loid. But then he smoothed the bandage onto her head and pulled back, and she was forced to open her eyes, and her heart and nerves and palms and muscles all started going haywire again.
“Thanks,” she said, voice hoarse. He just nodded, fiddling with the paper backing of the bandage and seeming to be lost in thought. Was he trying to figure out how to break it to her? Hey, Yor. I recognize that we have a mutually beneficial arrangement, and in the interest of our jobs you can stay, but please stay at least 10 feet away from me at all times from now on. He would probably be polite like that. Or would he? She had seen Twilight in action, operating with an edge of steel.
“Garden will know that Leon lived,” Loid said all of a sudden, breaking Yor out of her thoughts. “Since McMahon was at the party.”
“Um…yes,” she replied, blinking. She hadn’t been expecting the topic. “I believe so.”
“So what will you do?” He turned his serious gaze to her again. “What will they do?”
Was he not going to ask about the kiss? She looked for any indication that he was thinking about it, but his face showed nothing.
Yor suddenly felt like a silly little girl for catastrophizing over it. He didn’t even remember, and if he did, he didn’t care—and of course not. He had kissed plenty of women in the past. Women who weren’t inexperienced, who didn’t blush at mere noises or thoughts.
With a mixture of shame and embarrassment, she turned away. “I don’t know. I’ll have to see,” she said, trying not to sound petulant.
“How can you be so nonchalant about it? This is your life we’re talking about.”
“Yes, it’s my life,” Yor replied. “And my job. My organization. You don’t need to worry about it.”
“Stop saying that!” His sudden exclamation caught both of them off guard, but he went on. “Telling me not to worry—how am I supposed to do that?”
Mouth dry, Yor listened to the blood rushing in her ears. Not knowing how to respond, she said the only thing she could think of. “What happened to ‘what happens outside, stays outside’?”
He narrowed his eyes. “I’m breaking that pact.”
“What?” Yor sputtered. “You can’t just break it.”
“Who says?”
“It’s a pact for a reason!”
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he abruptly pointed out, stunning her into silence. “For a couple weeks now. Right?”
“That’s…” She didn’t know what she’d been expecting. Of course Loid, spy extraordinaire, would see straight through her shoddy lies.
“And…I think I know why.” Loid suddenly slouched against the edge of the counter, looking down and shaking his head. “You must think I’m interfering in your business, treating you like you can’t handle yourself. I promise you, the truth couldn’t be further from that.”
Wait, what?
“I know how strong you are. But I still worry. I will always worry,” he continued. “And I understand if this is the kind of attention you don’t want. Say the word, and I’ll keep away from you as much as possible. Just…please don’t be so cavalier about your own life.” He glanced up again. “At least for Anya.” Yor was struck by how pleading he looked, and for that type of expression to be pointed at her.
When Yor was a child, she’d told herself having Yuri was enough for her, that she didn’t need anything more. When she met Anya and Loid, she convinced herself they were miracles overflowing her cup, that she was getting more than she deserved. If she was lucky enough to have these people in her life despite what she was, she should never want for more.
But the simple truth was, there was no way for Yor to know them and not love them. There was no way for her to not yearn for more. This fact she was painfully aware of, especially when it came to Loid. And perhaps it was presumptuous of her to think this—radical, even—but maybe she s hould yearn. Maybe she had a right to want.
And how could she be so sure of what Loid thought of her? He’d misunderstood her, and he was supposed to be the one with the people skills. Why was her first assumption that she was unable to be wanted, too?
Slowly, silently, she got up from the toilet seat. “I have been avoiding you,” she started. “But that's not why.”
“What?”
“I like that you worry for me. I like that you take such good care of me, even though you don't have to.”
He’d straightened up and was staring at her, eyes alert, as if he was preparing for an ambush. Like he didn’t know how to process what she was saying. Yor tried to stifle a laugh but a smile bubbled to the surface anyways.
“And I’m sorry for worrying you.” She took a step closer. His throat bobbed. “I know how it feels. When you took the hit for me at Fleischer’s party, I was so worried I couldn’t think about anything else.”
“Then…” Loid floundered for a moment. “Then why have you been avoiding me?”
“Well.” She swallowed, wrung her hands, chewed her lip. Was she really going to do this? She struggled a little to get the words out—she could feel herself getting red already—but her hesitance had cost her enough up to this point. “I realized I loved you, that’s why.” He inhaled sharply and it was like a dam broke, all the words rushing out of her. “So I thought that I should avoid you, because otherwise I would do something to give it away. And—loving you, it wasn’t part of our arrangement, and we had agreed that what was outside should stay outside. But, well, it didn’t really work. Clearly.”
He spoke so quietly, so tremulously that his words were more like a breeze than anything else. “And the kiss?”
Her heart stopped and jumped at the same time. So he does remember. “That was to hide. But it was also because I, um, wanted to kiss you.”
She hadn’t realized how close he’d come until he had to crane his neck down to look at her and his hair brushed against the bandage on her forehead. “So if I said I have been wanting to kiss you again since, you wouldn’t be opposed?”
Yor first took him in, then his words. And she positively bloomed. “I’ve been thinking about it since, too, so—”
He cut her off with his mouth against hers, soft and abrupt. Pulled back, as if to gauge her reaction. Then he wound his arms around her, and she was threading her hands through his hair and sinking into the ambrosia, again and again and again until she was sure nothing else would ever taste as sweet.
Yor couldn't remember ever being this nervous, and that was saying something as a woman who spent years of her life thinking she'd be found by the SSS. She paced before the mirror, muttering to herself. “I demand—no, I request? No, that's too passive. But… urgh…”
“Mamaaa!” Little fists banged on the other side of the bathroom door. “Hurry up! I'll die from waiting!”
“You'll do no such thing,” Yor heard Loid's distant voice say. She sucked in a breath and pumped her fists in the mirror. I can do this.
She opened the door. Anya stood right in front, holding Agent Penguin up in her arms. “You can do it, Agent Mama,” she said in a gruff voice, waving the plushie's wings about. “You are the strongest agent we have.”
The adorable spectacle was a sufficient distraction from her thoughts. Yor squatted down, amused. “Thank you, Agent Penguin.”
Anya pushed the penguin aside to grin at Yor. “I believe in you too, Mama! You can beat the big bad boss!”
“Um… thanks?” What story had Loid told Anya? She glanced at him and he shrugged. “Thank you for believing in me, Anya.”
“Come on, get your things,” Loid called. “We should get going.”
“Right.” Anya sagely patted Yor's leg before running off to get her backpack. Yor watched her go with a mixture of confusion and affection.
“I told her you were trying for a promotion. Somehow she took that as a showdown with your boss.” Loid approached her with a small smile on his face. “Although I guess that's closer to the truth.”
“Mm.” She felt the thrum of anxiety again. If it didn't work out, what was she supposed to do?
“Hey.” Loid's voice drew her out of her thoughts again. His hand came up and flipped her collar. “There. It wasn't down flat.”
“You didn't plant another bug on me, did you?” she joked, all nerves. He rolled his eyes. “Actually, on second thought, maybe it'd be better if you did—”
“Yor,” he said patiently. “It will work out.”
“Anything could go wrong,” she whispered. “And…if it does, I really don't know what I'll do. I have no idea at all.”
“Things can always go wrong at any time for anything. That's just life,” he began, and before she could incredulously ask how that was supposed to help, he continued, “But things can also go right. In fact, most times…” He gave her a knowing smile. “They work out better than you could ever plan for. Have some faith in yourself, Yor.”
She relaxed, beginning to warm up from the inside out. “You always know what to say.”
“Thank you. It's one of my specialties.”
Yor giggled, finally feeling the knot in her chest begin to loosen. Loid beamed at her and, just as she was considering giving him a thank you kiss, Anya plodded back out with her bag.
“Mama and Papa are flirting,” she sighed. She'd stopped being excited about it after she caught them kissing the first couple times. Loid cleared his throat and straightened up.
“Come on, now. To the car.”
They filed out the door, each giving a snoozing Bond his required pats before exiting. They dropped Anya off to school first (she issued a loud “Good luck Mama!” as she left) before Loid turned the car around for City Hall. He steered into an empty lot behind the building and turned the ignition off.
“You're going to do great,” he reminded her gently. “Remember, whatever happens, you aren't alone in this.”
“Right.” She nodded vigorously. “We prepared.”
“We did.” He raised his hand and brushed her bangs away from her forehead. “The scar is almost gone.”
“Really?” She reached up and felt. It was almost completely smooth again. “Thank you for patching me up.”
Loid smiled at her, then, a smile she thought could make anything worth anything. “I will always help you so long as you let me.” He leaned in, or maybe it was her who moved—in any case, they met in the middle and he kissed her thoroughly, like he was making a plea.
“Go on. You’ve got this.”
She drank him in and gathered all of the strength he was offering her. I’m not alone. I’m not alone. Then she exited the car and entered the building.
Almost immediately after clocking in, just as she’d been expecting, McMahon materialized at the door.
“Mrs. Forger,” he called in the genial voice he used at City Hall. “You have a phone call.”
They skipped the pretense of the phone call entirely and headed straight to the Shopkeeper's garden in a long, silent walk. Yor briefly wondered if, perhaps, McMahon had recognized her and Loid that night by the atrium.
Surprisingly, she found that she didn’t quite care.
McMahon knocked on the double doors. “She’s here,” he announced, before opening them up.
As always, Shopkeeper was diligently tending to his garden when Yor walked in. He was on his hands and knees, yanking at some growth in the dirt.
“Hello, Shopkeeper,” Yor said. She found a little more solace in the fact that her voice remained steady.
“Ah! You’re here.” He turned and brushed his hands off. “I’m afraid you’ve caught me at a low moment. I’m covered in dirt.”
Yor inspected him with a keen eye. He didn’t have his shears with him. Would he fling a needle at her from within the depths of his sleeve instead? Some other type of projectile? Or perhaps there was some kind of poison permeating the air where they stood. She surreptitiously held her breath.
Shopkeeper chuckled. “Relax, I’m not going to test you.”
Yor exhaled, but kept her guard up. “Why not?”
“I already know about your capabilities. Perhaps you’re on edge because you didn’t fulfill your last job.” He got up with a grunt and brushed his knees off. “But I don’t think you can be blamed for the contact disappearing in the men’s restroom. It would have been much worse if you’d followed him in, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes…?” Yor wasn’t going to be lulled into a sense of security—that was the first step to opening yourself up to attack. Instead, she waited for the other shoe to drop.
“That being said, I am afraid you’ll lose your edge entirely if this keeps on. I hope you thought about the choice I presented to you last time.”
There it was.
Shopkeeper’s garden was always closely maintained, trimmed, watered—whatever it took to grow it just as he liked. But that didn’t mean that his way was the only way of gardening. She glanced at the weeds he had been pulling out. Those were beautiful, too.
“I did think about it.”
“And?”
“And I think you were mistaken. You said the choice would be an easy one to make, but it’s not.”
Shopkeeper stilled. The only movement came from the breeze ruffling his clothes and swaying the netting around his neck. His smile dimmed.
“You are choosing Yor Forger over the Thorn Princess.”
“Wrong.” She clenched her fists. “I told you, it’s not an easy choice. Because I am Yor and the Thorn Princess. I am Yor Forger because I was allowed to be the Thorn Princess, and I am the Thorn Princess because Yor Forger gives me a reason to be. I am both, Shopkeeper.”
He narrowed his eyes, flat black discs boring into her. “You may be our strongest, but that does not make you invincible.”
Yor shook her head. “I know that already.” If anything had been proven to her as of recent, it was that she was incredibly exposed. And the more reasons she found to fight, the more vulnerabilities she opened up for herself. Garden taught her openings were weaknesses—points of attack. But openings were what allowed one to be human, rather than an indestructible suit of armor fated to rusting away. “But I know you aren’t invincible, either.”
He tilted his head. That inscrutable droop of his face—in the past, it had unsettled Yor. She’d wanted nothing more than to avoid that expression. Yes, Shopkeeper. I’ll do it, Shopkeeper. Now, she faced him head on, unflinching.
“What are you trying to say, Thorn Princess?”
“This—” She waved her hand, gesturing to the garden around them. “This is what I’m good at. It’s what you made me good at. And I still believe I can do what I’ve done for the sake of a peaceful world. But I want full information on clients from now on.”
He raised a brow. “Full information?”
“Yes.” She wouldn’t pretend that the world didn’t need to be scoured of filth. She would define for herself what that filth was, though. “In fact, I want to be able to gather intel myself if necessary before committing to a job.”
Shopkeeper let out a long-suffering sigh, as if she were terribly inconveniencing him. All Yor did was set her jaw. “It’s a shame. A weapon that cannot be used at any moment hardly remains a weapon.”
“Well, good. I’m not just a weapon. I’m Yor too,” she reminded him. “So?”
“I suppose that will have to do.”
Yor blinked. Birds chirped, the sun shone, a breeze ruffled through the trees lining the garden, and Yor stalled, still high-strung. That was it? Apparently, she was unable to keep the dumbfoundedness off her face, because when Shopkeeper peered at her again he laughed. The sound shook her, a familiar inscrutable discomfort.
“Unprepared, are you?” He bent and reached into one of the bushes. When he straightened up, his shears were in hand. Yor’s blood ran cold at the sight. He inspected the flat edge of the blade. “Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask—how is your family?”
It had been going so well. All the fear and doubt she’d been waiting to feel at the start of the meeting suddenly slammed into her full force. Yor felt rooted to the spot, as if she were one of the trees in his garden from him to prune and shape. And, really, wasn’t she? She’d spent half of her entire life and all of her adult life being pruned as a part of Garden. How could she know the right way to grow when she’d never done it?
She raised a trembling hand to her neck, itching to pull at her collar, but froze when she felt something on her shirt. A scrap. She picked it off and unfolded it, scrutinizing the elegant scrawl that wrote just one word. Bug.
A peculiar sense of calm washed over her. Security, she realized. Not from being strong enough to fight on her own, but from the fact that she wasn’t fighting on her own at all. She carefully brushed her fingertips against her forehead. You are not alone, Yor. Not anymore.
“They’re perfect,” she said, a smile growing on her face the longer she looked at the scrap of paper in her hand. “Absolutely perfect.”
“Ah.” He set the shears into the earth blade-first. “Is that so?”
“Yes.” She exhaled and looked up from the scrap to Shopkeeper’s face. Let them make their thinly veiled threats. She was done being pruned. Yor took one step, and another, until she had traversed the space between herself and Shopkeeper and the only thing left between them were his shears. “And they will remain that way,” she said slowly, “or I will rip this garden up from the roots. We can both hurt each other, Shopkeeper.”
He was still, the wooden planes of his face not even twitching as he stared her down. After what could have been minutes or hours, he closed his eyes.
“You wilted,” he stated simply. “But I will abide by your terms.” She swallowed, counting the seconds that passed, giving him ten to drop the other shoe again. But he simply shook his head. “There is no reason to cause a hassle.”
She exhaled again, shakier this time. The jitters were catching up to her. She backed up and watched him for a few paces before swiftly turning around. The sight of McMahon, still standing by the doors, alarmed her—she’d forgotten he was still there. Unsure of whether to say anything to him or not, she simply offered a bow, sure that he would be displeased as well. When she straightened up, though, she thought she could see the faintest of smiles in the weathered folds of his face.
“I’ll see you around City Hall,” was all he said as he opened the door for her.
Yor walked back to City Hall in a daze, still in disbelief about what had happened. She considered the possibility that Shopkeeper had lied, but shook her head. There is no reason to cause a hassle. If he valued anything, it was efficiency.
That was it, then. She’d done it.
She almost entered through the front, but thought twice and made her way to the back of the building. Her gut had been right—Loid was still parked in the lot. She approached the car and opened the passenger door.
“Don’t you have a workplace to be at, Doctor?”
Loid lowered the newspaper which Yor wasn’t fully sure he’d been reading. “How did it go?”
She tilted her head. “How do you think?”
He scanned her for a few moments before setting the newspaper down. “Either you got an amazingly good poker face in the last fifteen minutes, or we’re in trouble.”
Yor laughed, finally letting her face split in the grin that she’d been too disoriented to allow before. “Thank you for the bug. It really helped.”
He stared at her for a second before lighting up and throwing his door open, running around the front to hug her. He spun her around and laughed joyously, and Yor couldn’t help the shriek that escaped her.
“Let’s go,” he said breathlessly.
“Where?”
“A date.”
“ I have a workplace to be at,” she pointed out, still beaming nonetheless. He set her down, keeping his hands on her waist.
“After you finish, then. I took the day off.”
She raised her eyebrows. “You did?”
“Yes.” He lifted one of her hands and pressed a kiss to the back. “I have to make something up to you.”
She furrowed her brows in confusion. “What? Make what up to me?”
“Our kisses weren’t too romantic, were they? The first one was to hide from your manager, and the first real one was in a bathroom.” She snorted. “What? Ambience matters!”
“You’re dramatic,” was all she said, pulling him in before he could retort.
What, Yor wondered, was a normal wifely response to the entirety of your life flipping on its head? A normal motherly response? A normal killerly response, even?
There was no normal, so the answer was anything. Anything at all.