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Formal events had never been her cup of tea, but they were oftentimes a necessary evil, especially when hosted by her own employer. Having already introduced her department colleagues to Loid, she had no choice but to politely request for him to accompany her to the gala. A single woman at her age was suspicious enough, but a married woman not accompanied by her husband to a formal event even more so.
Knowing how hard he worked, however, made her feel all the more guilty for asking. From the hospital to Anya to domestic duties, he handled it all and then some perfectly. Yet, Yor could always sense the exhaustion lurking just beneath the surface; a man overworked, overburdened, and pulled every which way. Certainly his time could be better spent catching up on some much needed sleep, but Loid, ever the gentleman, accepted her invitation with a warmth that always found a way to surprise her.
Yor studies herself in the mirror.
Her signature dress was sadly out of commission, stained and tattered from a meeting with a customer earlier that week. The seamstress at the boutique was kind enough to lend her a dress for the time being while she worked on restoring her dress to its former glory. A simple dress, it was similar in cut to her black one, but the exterior was a rich maroon while the interior panel was black. Despite the obvious similarities, the dress feels alien on her figure. She fixates on every wrinkle in the fabric as it traces her figure, ill-fitting areas sticking out like a sore thumb to her. Though she elected to wear her hair down, seeing as it was a formal event, she’s already beginning to regret the decision, fighting the urge to twirl it between her fingers and toy with it.
She exhales deeply.
At least she was able to reuse her heels.
“Sorry for the wait, Yor, ready to head out?” Loid calls out, emerging from his room.
She looks over her shoulder at him. Though he’s always clad in some variation of a suit, she never tires at the sight of him wearing one. It’s fitting for him. Of course, that’s not to say he doesn’t look good in other clothing. She just thinks they suit him best. Her gaze drifts down towards his hands, watching calloused fingers expertly insert a pair of cufflinks before moving to smooth the cuffs down.
“Yor?” He repeats.
Her gaze quickly snaps up to his face.
“O-Oh, yes, I’m ready.” She manages to stammer out, hoping he didn’t notice her awkwardly staring at his hands. Or at him in general.
Loid smiles, motioning for her to follow him. With that, the duo bid goodbye to Frankie and Anya. Regardless of how much he insists he’s not a babysitter and it's above his pay grade, he always seems more than willing to drop whatever he’s working on to watch the young girl.
“Bye Ma, bye Pa! Have fun!”
Anya, on the other hand, is much too preoccupied with the latest episode of Spy Wars to notice the pair leaving the apartment.
Though the sun had barely set over the horizon, a chill breeze had already taken up residence in the city. As they reach the bottom of the stairs leading to the entrance of their apartment complex, Yor takes a moment to observe the city scene before her, pulling her shawl closer to her frame. Though she had already settled into her new home, it was strange to think that just a few months ago this scenery was completely foreign to her. Although she missed the familiarity of her old apartment, she had to admit her current living arrangements were superior in various aspects.
“May I?”
Loid offers her his arm, smiling gently at her. She feels a familiar warmth spread across her cheeks at the action. “Thank you.” She smiles, looping an arm through his arm, hand resting lightly on his bicep. Her fingers twitch absentmindedly, making note of the firm muscle underneath.
“Is that a new dress?” Loid asks. It's subtle, but he can definitely tell it's a different dress than the one she usually wears.
“Hmm?” She stares up at him, eyes darting down to her dress momentarily. “Oh, yes. The seamstress at the boutique lent it to me for the evening.” She explains, adjusting her shawl.
He nods understandingly, looking out in front of them, mindful of every crack and crevice in the pavement to ensure nothing causes his wife to stumble.
“Well, you look very lovely tonight.” He says, flashing that characteristically warm smile of his.
Her eyes widen slightly in surprise, but she quickly returns the smile. “Thank you,” She says softly, “You look very handsome as well.”
The pair continued their walk in silence. A passerby might mistake the silence as a foreboding omen for the future of the relationship, but the reality is that deduction couldn’t be farther from the truth. Truth be told, the duo are still reeling from the mutual exchange of compliments, now even more aware of each other than before. Their minds, racing a mile a minute, are too preoccupied with the kind words to think of a topic that could logically allow the conversation to continue. Compliments are simply one realm of marriage the Forgers have yet to master it seems.
Thankfully, the walk didn’t last much longer, as they approached the event hall hosting the gala shortly afterwards. Arms still looped together, the Forgers entered the building, Yor directing Loid as to the location of the event within the sprawling structure. Taking note of her instructions, Loid proceeded ahead, passing several other venues in the process. The majority were similar festivities, luxurious parties held by the upper echelons of society, no doubt flaunting their wasteful wealth and indulging in their vices greedily. Loid knew those scenes all too well from various escapades and prior missions. Each one always found a way to be more disgusting and lecherous than the last.
“Oh!”
He turns his head swiftly, looking down at the woman on his arm and following her gaze to an adjacent venue. Unlike the others, the atmosphere of this one is markedly different. Various tables surround a larger one at the center, with guests scattered about the tables clapping and cheering eagerly towards the center. At the center of it all, a woman clad in a brilliant white dress and a man in a tuxedo smile brightly. They pose momentarily, permitting what appears to be a photographer a moment to capture and immortalize the moment, the two holding onto a large ceremonial knife together. The camera flashes, and they proceed to cut into a large cake in front of them, laughing in unison.
It’s a wedding.
He shifts his gaze from the lively scene down to Yor, only to be met with the woman already staring up at him. Their eyes widen before they look away, faces now tinted light pink.
“Oh, it looks like we’ve arrived.” Yor points out, quick to change the subject before the awkward tension has an opportunity to take hold.
They enter the venue, greeted by live music and the indecipherable chatter of guests mingling with one another. Despite the event only being composed of employees and their partners from Berlint City Hall, Yor barely recognizes the individuals around them. Save for Camilla, Sharon, and Millie, she’s never really bothered getting to know the other employees or department branches. She already found it difficult enough to relate to her colleagues as is. Why bother expanding her circle if she’s barely managed to settle into it in the first place?
“Yor!” A familiar voice calls out. She quickly turns her head towards the direction it came from, a smile seeping onto her face.
“Hello, Dominic, Camilla!” She responds cheerfully as the duo make their way towards them.
“Nice to see you again, Loid.” Dominic smiles, offering his hand.
Loid smiles in return, shaking his hand with expertly-calculated firmness. “Good to see you again.” He responds warmly, nodding towards his partner, “You too, Camilla.” She giggles in response, falling for the charming persona all too easily.
“We’re glad you guys were able to finally make it.” Dominic begins before turning his attention to Loid. “Yor was so worried about asking you to come. She was worried work would keep you tied up, and she didn’t want to bother you any more than usual!” He muses.
“Dominic, I told you not to say anything!” She hissed, feeling her cheeks burn. That was supposed to be confidential.
“Oh?” Loid perks up, gaze shifting between the two of them, “Is that so?”
“Oh yeah!” Dominic grins, “Poor thing was so worried she was rehearsing how she’d ask you all week. We even had to reassure her a few times that it was okay!”
He smiles at her, chuckling softly. Yor, too embarrassed to face her husband, looks away bashfully.
“That definitely does sound like her,” He reasons, “but she should know by now she’s never a bother to me. I’m always happy to accompany her wherever she’s needed.” Though he’s speaking to Dominic, it’s obvious he’s addressing Yor. Her face burns more, her gaze firmly fixed on her feet as she shuffles in place.
“Spoken like a couple of lovebirds.” Dominic grins, “Enjoy the rest of the evening you two.”
With that, they make their way towards an unoccupied table. Loid momentarily disentangles his arm from hers to pull out a chair for her. She thanks him with a nod of her head, sitting across from him.
He takes a moment to survey their surroundings. Sure enough, from the looks of it it’s nothing more than a simple company function. Despite being run thin this week as per usual, he managed to find some time to quickly research the city hall and its employees. Though the venue was dimly lit, he could easily make out the faces of those around them, mentally checking them against their background profiles he’d been able to pull up prior to their arrival. Some individuals had some... peculiar marks on their file, to put it kindly. For the most part, however, it seemed those in attendance were exactly who they said they were: regular, hard-working employees of Ostania’s Berlint City Hall.
He relaxed, leaning back in his seat.
Perhaps tonight would be quieter than he imagined.
“Would you like anything to drink, Yor?” He asks, glancing over at her while politely waving down a nearby waiter circling the sea of tables and guests.
“Hmm?” She looks up at him, his voice pulling her from her thoughts, still very much frazzled from their encounter with Dominic and Camilla, “Oh, no thank you. I wasn’t planning on drinking tonight. Feel free to order without me.”
He nods in acknowledgement, ordering a simple Manhattan for himself. Given Yor’s... weakness for alcohol, he can’t exactly say he’s surprised. Though, now that he thinks of it, he’s never seen her drink in a social setting, only in the comfort of their own home or when it’s simply the two of them on an outing. It could simply be a coincidence, or it could be evidence of her growing comfort in his presence.
The corner of his lips briefly twitched into a smile.
No harm in going with the latter, right?
The waiter returns quickly, placing the drink in front of him. Loid smiles, mouthing a quick thank you before the waiter once again disappears into the crowd and turning his attention back to his wife.
“So,” He starts, briefly pausing to taste his drink, “how long have you been with Berlint City Hall?” In any other scenario, this line of questioning could easily be interpreted as an interrogation, but tonight Loid simply wanted to get to know the woman before him who’d been swept into the role of his wife and, by association, Operation Strix.
“Oh, I’ve been with them for a few years now.” She explains, “I’ve really only worked in one department though, so my knowledge is rather limited, but Chief Barnes says I’m an excellent employee, so that’s reassuring at least.”
He nods, resting an elbow on the table, his chin resting against his knuckles. “Reassurance on the job is always a good thing.” He smiles. He hears plenty of it at work too, though it’s often followed by apologies for double-booking him on missions. It can’t be helped of course, seeing how short-staffed they are, and he knows it’s genuine, but it’d probably carry more weight if it wasn’t immediately followed by another mission assignment.
The music halts briefly, pulling their attention away from each other and towards the center of the room. Chief Barnes, apparently acting as the Master of Ceremonies for tonight's event, briefly takes a moment to thank the employees and their partners for joining them before inviting them onto the floor. As if on cue, the music resumes, and the Forgers watch as couples flock to the dancefloor, some more enthusiastic than others.
Loid raises an eyebrow, chuckling under his breath as he watches one poor soul be dragged towards the music by his very enthusiastic and insistent partner. He’s never cared much for dancing personally. He’s an excellent dancer of course, various missions and undercover operations have called for it, but that doesn’t mean he particularly enjoys it. A spy should never seek to make themselves the center of attention, and while dancing doesn’t necessarily accomplish that, the chance still remains. Having already had one too many close calls recently, he determined lying low, away from the dancefloor, was their best course of action. With that out of the way, he shifted his attention back to his wife. Based on previous experience and her demeanor, he was confident she would feel the same.
Or not.
Yor stares out towards the dancefloor, her expression one of conflict. She’s never been one for social gatherings, that much is still true, but something inside of her shifts restlessly watching the other couples laugh lightheartedly, twirling in unison. The scene is vaguely reminiscent of the fairytales she often read to Yuri when they were younger. Fantastical stories of princesses, knights, witches and everything in between. No matter how grim the odds may seem, the hero always triumphs in the end, achieving the long sought after happily ever after. They’re just fictional stories, she reminds herself, but a part of her wonders if there’s any truth to them. Could someone like her ever hope for a happily ever after?
She exhales sharply.
As if.
Yor turns her attention back to her husband, only to find him staring intently at her. She nearly leaps out of her seat, quickly glancing behind her to confirm he is indeed staring at her and not something behind her.
“Loid, is something the matter?” She asks.
He studies her expression intently, confirming his suspicions. Despite it going against everything he was ever taught, he tosses his plan out the window. It goes against all reason and logic, but what Yor wants, Yor gets, he muses internally. Plus, he couldn’t possibly live with himself if he denied her this one simple request. What kind of a man, no, what kind of a husband would he be if he didn’t indulge his wife in a simple dance?
“Yor.” He starts, clearing his throat roughly, meeting her gaze.
She stares at him, eyes widening as if anticipating his next words. The change in demeanor is subtle, but Loid picks up on it quickly. Despite attempting to maintain her composure, Yor’s body betrays her, leaning forward in her seat. Her gaze doesn’t waver from his, seemingly transfixed on him. The eagerness behind her eyes is unmistakable. Yor not only wants to dance, but she wants to dance with him .
His face begins to burn against his will. Now is not the time to get cold feet, damnit!
“May I have this-”
“Loid!”
A voice pulls the two from their bubble, gazes shifting in unison towards Dominic, briskly walking towards their table.
“Ah, yes, Dominic?” Loid manages to say, “What is it?”
“A friend of mine wants to meet you. Says his daughter is interested in pursuing a career in psychiatry and wanted to know if you’d have any pointers to share.” He explains before turning to Yor, “Could I borrow your husband for a moment?”
She blinks, still processing his words. “Oh, sure.” She replies simply, glancing over at Loid.
“I’ll be right back, Yor, don’t worry.” He reassures her.
With that, the men leave back towards Dominic’s table. Yor’s eyes briefly linger on Loid. If she squints, she can barely make out Camilla and another couple at the table ahead of them, no doubt the man Dominic was referring to as well as his partner. She swirls her glass of water absentmindedly and takes a sip, turning her attention back towards the dancefloor.
“Itching for a dance, dear?”
Yor nearly jumps out of her skin again, eyes darting towards the man standing in front of her.
“May I?” He motions to the seat in front of her.
Loid’s seat.
“Oh, uhm, I-”
He sits before she can finish.
“Yor, right?” He asks.
She stares at him blankly. “Yes, that’s me.” She answers simply, “Do I know you?”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Unfortunately no. I work in a different department, but I’ve seen you around the building a few times.” He explains, “What’re you doing here all by your lonesome?”
Her eyebrows momentarily scrunch together. Lonesome? She’s here with her husband. “I’m not alone, I’m here with my husband.” She explains.
“Husband?” He laughs, glancing down at her hands, “I don’t see a ring on your finger though.”
She looks down, right hand quickly moving to cover the left and her naked ring finger. Since when do people pay attention to those kinds of details?
He moves the seat beside her and props an elbow onto the table, blocking her view of Dominic’s table. “Your husband must be a very busy man if he doesn’t even have the time to buy you a nice ring.” He comments casually.
She thinks back to the grenade pin briefly. Where did that go? She wonders.
“My husband is a busy man,” She explains, “we both are. It’s not his fault we haven’t been able to buy a ring yet.” Not that she even needs one anyway. She’d never forgive herself if she stained or damaged it while meeting with customers, or worse, lost it. She’d never be able to look Loid in the eyes again if that were to happen.
“You know,” He starts again, ignoring her explanation, “I hear when husbands aren’t very interested in their wives, they simply opt to not purchase any wedding rings. That way, should another lady wish to pursue them, they can partake in an affair without any physical evidence tying him to his wife. It’s very common, you know.”
Yor’s fingers twitch, the urge to wrap themselves around his neck briefly flashing through her mind. Sadly, such things are not permissible during formal gatherings.
“Loid would never do such a thing.” She states, but her voice comes out much softer than anticipated. Loid would never do such a thing, but then again, they’re not really married, are they? Their marriage was out of convenience, wasn’t it? There’s no reason he has to stay loyal to her, right?
An image of Loid briefly flashes through her mind. Beside him stands a woman with an indistinguishable face. They laugh lightheartedly, fingers interlocked as they gaze lovingly at each other. It is an image not of two strangers brought together by convenience, but of two lovers thoroughly dedicated to one another. Her grip on her hand tightens firmly, a familiar prickling sensation spreading across her eyes, threatening to spill out.
“C’mon now, don’t fret,” The man chuckles, as if sensing the negativity clouding her thoughts, leaning closer to her, “I’m sure your husband is a good man, but how about indulging me in a dance or two? You’ve caught my eye for some time, I’d love to get to know you better, Yor. It could even be our little secret.”
She leans back almost instinctively. “I’m here with my husband.” She repeats, still clutching her left hand, “I think it’d be rather rude of me if I gave my first dance to someone else.”
“You keep mentioning this husband of yours,” The man muses, but something sinister is woven between his words, “but quite frankly, I don’t see him anywhere. Where is he then?”
Yor’s fingers tense again. Perhaps strangling is over the line, but surely a broken finger or two would get the message across just as well, yes? She opens her mouth to give the strange man one final warning, but stops in her tracks as she watches a hand swiftly descend onto the man’s shoulder.
“Have you tried turning around?”
Her fingers relax once more, a wave of relief crashing over her. She exhales a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding, gazing up at Loid.
Loid kept his grip firm on the man’s shoulder. To anyone else, it’d seem like he was simply resting his hand on an old acquaintance. In reality, however, his fingers were digging sharply into the man’s collarbone. Not enough to break bone of course, he’s not a barbarian and he certainly doesn’t want to draw more attention towards them, but certainly enough to bruise.
Though, if he’s being frank, a broken bone is a much more fitting punishment.
“Were you not looking for Mr. Forger?” He repeats innocently, his fingers unrelenting.
“A-Ah, yes, I was.” The man stutters, though he does not dare turn around, “We were just talking about you. Yor had so many kind words to say about you, I couldn’t help but want to meet the man of the hour.”
Loid didn’t need a degree in psychology to see through that lie.
“That does sound like something my Yor would do.” He chuckles, finally releasing his hand from the man’s shoulder. He swiftly steps to stand by Yor’s side, hand coming to rest gently on her exposed shoulder. She feels her skin jump underneath his hand, warmth radiating out from his palm. If her face hadn’t already been burning from the phrase ‘my Yor,’ it certainly was now.
“Well, I’m glad you two were able to chat, but it’s getting late, and I’m sure our daughter is waiting up for us.” He explains casually, watching as the color drains from the man’s face.
“D-Daughter?” He manages to spit out.
“Yes, daughter.” Loid repeats.
Granted, Anya is not their biological daughter, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“Oh, I had no idea!” He stammers, “Yes, it is getting quite late. My apologies, Mr. and Mrs. Forger.”
“It’s quite alright.” Loid reassures him, extending a hand, “It was a pleasure meeting you.”
The man moves to meet Loid’s hand, only to be met with what feels like inhuman grip strength. Loid leans in casually, the warm smile he wears so well never once faltering.
“If you come near her again, I can’t guarantee that you’ll walk away from that encounter unscathed.” He says simply, “This will be the last time you speak to her. Understood?”
The man chokes back a frightened yelp, electing to nod instead, lest he say something that could land him in even more trouble with Yor’s frightening husband. Loid releases his hand, and watches as the man hastily walks away, eager to put as much distance between the two of them as possible.
With that taken care of, he turns back to Yor.
“I’m sorry I didn’t realize sooner.” He explains earnestly, kneeling down to be eye-level with her, “Dominic’s friend had more questions lined up than I anticipated. He didn’t do anything to you, did he?”
Face still flush, Yor shakes her head, struggling to maintain eye contact with her husband.
“It’s alright.” She reassures him with a soft smile, “He didn’t do anything. He was just very...insistent on my lack of a wedding ring is all.”
Loid makes a mental note to buy her the nicest ring he can afford next time he’s out running errands.
He visibly relaxes, relief evident in his features once he’s assessed his wife was indeed unharmed. Still, the experience has left him exhausted as per usual. “We really should be heading home, though,” He says, stealing a quick glance at his wristwatch, “it is pretty late, and I’m sure Frankie’s had about as much as he can handle of Anya for the day.
Yor laughs softly, nodding in agreement.
“Shall we?” He offers her his arm once again, which she accepts gratefully.
After a quick detour to bid goodbye to Dominic and Camilla, the Forgers begin their journey back home. Whether it be exhaustion taking hold or racing thoughts, the two do not exchange many words on the walk back. They arrive to a dimly lit apartment, finding an exhausted Frankie sitting on the couch, idly scrolling through television channels. Anya lays passed out beside him, slumbering so deeply not even a siren could wake her from her sleep. The pair thank him profusely for watching her once again, bidding him goodbye as he leaves to call himself a taxi.
The Forgers begin to settle in for the night. Loid busies himself cleaning up the mess left behind by Frankie and Anya and their babysitting shenanigans, while Yor gently lifts Anya from the couch, carrying her to her room. Loid glances at his wife momentarily, noticing her far off gaze as she disappears behind the corner.
She’d been uncharacteristically quiet since they left the gala. Had she perhaps overheard him earlier? He could’ve sworn he spoke only loud enough for the two of them to hear. If Yor heard him blatantly threatening an employee at her workplace it would not only reflect poorly on him, but jeopardize their marriage. After all, a man who threatens others could pose a very real threat to a woman, regardless of how strong she may be.
“Is everything alright, Yor?” He asks as she reenters the room.
She fidgets in place momentarily, as if debating on the best way to answer his relatively innocuous question.
“Oh, yes, everything’s fine.” She replies, one hand idly toying with her shawl.
He raises a questioning eyebrow.
“I was just thinking about,” She immediately starts, knowing she can’t keep anything from her husband, even if she tried, “about how we weren’t able to dance is all.”
Loid smiles knowingly. So his hunch had been right back then after all.
“O-Oh, not that we needed to dance, of course!” She stammers, shuffling in place, “It just seemed nice at the moment is all. If you didn’t want to we didn’t have to-”
The sound of garbled static abruptly cuts her off. She looks up to find Loid with his back turned to her, crouching down and messing with the radio, scanning between channels.
“Uhm, Loid, what are you doing?” She asks.
He finally settles on one channel, a soft melody filling the room. Satisfied with his choice, he stands up and turns around, offering his hand to her.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” He smiles, “I owe you a dance, don’t I?”
Her eyes widen in surprise, feeling her cheeks burn intensely. If she was anymore conductive she could probably power a lightbulb.
“May I have this dance, Mrs. Forger?”
She smiles warmly, placing her hand gently on his own.
“Of course.”
Slowly, the pair find their rhythm. One hand resting lightly on her waist, Loid takes the lead, his other hand gently holding hers, all too aware of the heat radiating between their palms. She follows his lead, resting her free hand softly on his shoulder. They slowly waltz around the living room, mindful of their footfall to avoid waking the slumbering child a few doors down. It’s certainly not how she envisioned ending the night, but she wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.
A dance is a dance after all.
And what Yor wants, Yor gets.