Chapter Text
Yor adjusted the grocery bag on her arm and turned a corner of the bustling market, hoping to make it home before Anya noticed the delay.
That’s when she saw him.
Near a vendor selling fresh vegetables was Hemlock, standing lean, sharp-eyed, arms crossed, his silver hair down, and wearing a smirk that never meant anything good.
Yor froze.
He stepped forward casually, hands in his long black coat pockets, voice low. “Running errands now, are we? Never thought I’d find you among cabbage and carrots.”
“Hemlock…” she said cautiously, her voice barely above a whisper. “This isn’t a good place. What are you doing here?”
He looked around theatrically. “What? Can’t two acquaintances catch up? I was in the area. Thought I’d see how domestic bliss was treating you.”
Yor’s smile twitched. “I’m just here for groceries. That’s all.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And is that what life is now? Vegetables and small talk? Seems you’ve gone soft.”
Yor clenched the grocery bag tighter. “That’s not true. I’m just living differently. It doesn’t mean I’ve changed who I am.”
He let out a quiet laugh, but it had no humor. “You always were stubborn. But you know how fragile façades can be. One wrong step and snap everything shatters.”
Tell me, how many enemies have you sliced this week? Or are you too busy folding laundry and crying into your husband’s arms?”
Yor’s cheeks turned pink. “T-That’s not—! I don’t cry in his arms!"
Hemlock raised an eyebrow.
“I’m doing this of my own will,” she said, standing straighter. “Protecting this family is my duty too.”
“Hm.” He leaned in slightly. “Looks like the family's made you soft.”
She kept her voice low, her smile practiced. “You lost, remember?”
His eyes flickered. “Did I?”
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Two weeks ago-
During their hunt for poachers in the jungle, they’d faced off. Yor in controlled fury, Hemlock in overconfidence.
“You’re hesitating Thorn Princess,” he’d said, circling her. “That fake family has made you sentimental. You’re slower.”
But she hadn’t hesitated. She’d parried his blade with graceful precision, attacked him with her stilettos, and sent a rock flying towards his forehead before he could recover.
“I’m faster,” she’d replied. “Because I have something worth protecting now.”
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Then, with the worst timing imaginable, another voice joined the scene.
“Yor?”
Her heart nearly stopped.
Loid Forger was approaching from across the street, briefcase in hand, a hint of concern on his face. His golden hair was tousled slightly from the wind, and he looked, as always, frustratingly composed.
“Loid!” Yor said a bit too loudly.
Loid paused beside her, his gaze quickly scanning Hemlock from head to toe. “Friend of yours?”
Yor nodded quickly. “Yes uh, a childhood friend. We lived on the same street when we were young and just bumped into each other now.”
Loid extended a hand, polite but firm. “Loid Forger. Husband.”
Hemlock returned the shake, his grip dry but too long. He tilted his head, looking between them. “It’s always interesting, seeing someone you used to know change. Some people thrive in their new roles. Others pretend.”
Loid’s eyes narrowed just slightly, his smile never fading. “Change is necessary. Adaptation keeps people alive. Or together.”
Yor’s heart was pounding. She could practically feel the weight of Loid’s analysis happening. She had to end this.
“Well, it was nice seeing you,” she said quickly. “But we need to get going. Our daughter's waiting.”
Hemlock stepped back with a faint bow. “Of course. I’ll leave you two to your charming domestic life.”
On the way home, Loid glanced at Yor several times. She was oddly quiet, her grip on the grocery bag tense.
He finally broke the silence. “That man, are you two close?”
Yor blinked. “What?! No!” She gave a soft, embarrassed laugh. “Of course not. He’s just old history."
Loid nodded. He didn’t show it, but the strange warmth that spread through his chest told him something else. Still, he filed it under potential threat to Operation Strix. He’d have Franky run a background check tonight.
Yor could sense the quiet tension radiating from Loid beside her. His polite facade remained intact, but she noticed his jaw tightening slightly and his gaze wandering toward where Hemlock had disappeared.
He seems annoyed, she thought. Was it something Hemlock said? Or…
Her heart skipped.
Could he have been jealous?
The thought made her cheeks burn instantly. She shook her head.
No. No, no, no. That’s ridiculous. We’re only married for appearances. That’s all.
She cast a sidelong glance at Loid, who was walking beside her with perfect posture.
Still… he did seem a little stiff. And the way he stepped in, all calm but cold...
She bit her lip.
Don’t be silly, Yor! He was probably just being protective. That’s all this is.
And yet, the image of Loid narrowing his eyes at Hemlock, his voice clipped and his handshake firm, stayed with her.
Their footsteps echoed in sync on the cobbled street, neither speaking, though the silence wasn’t empty. It pulsed thick with questions, observations left unsaid, and emotions neither fully understood.
Yor clutched the grocery bag, her eyes flicking to Loid's face. He was standing a little too close. Or maybe she was. Perhaps neither of them wanted to admit it.
Then, just barely their fingers brushed.
She stiffened. He glanced sideways. Nothing was said.
It happened again. A ghost of a touch. Delicate and unintentional maybe.
Yor's heart skipped.
Oh no…
Then deliberately this time Loid’s pinky brushed against hers.
Yor’s breath caught in her throat. Her blush deepened, blooming like spilled ink across her cheeks. Yet she didn’t pull away.
Instead, she let her hand stay where it was, so close and so still. A heartbeat passed. Then another. And gently, cautiously, Loid’s hand enclosed hers.
Her entire body tensed at the contact. Not because she disliked it.
Quite the opposite.
His hand was much larger than hers; it felt cool to the touch yet firm and comforting. She was accustomed to holding weapons, not hands. Yet, this felt right. Her soft fingers instinctively curled into his.
His hand is cold… Is he nervous too? He doesn't like me that way. No, no… It’s just to keep up appearances… Yes, that’s all this is.
But the way he held her securely, without hesitation, sent her thoughts spiraling.
Loid, meanwhile, stared straight ahead, his expression unreadable. But inwardly, his mind was racing.
Why does this feel so natural? It’s just for cover. That’s all. This is necessary for the success of Operation Strix. Then why does her hand fit so perfectly in mine?
Yor turned her head slightly, stealing a glance up at him.
Her face burned. She quickly looked away, pretending to study the cobblestones beneath her feet. Her heart was hammering louder than her footsteps.
Loid noticed the motion, the quick turn of her head, and the colour blooming across her cheeks. He said nothing. Instead, he gently squeezed her hand.
The touch was subtle, but it sent a shiver down her spine. Her eyes widened slightly, and she felt a warm sensation spreading throughout her arm.
She hesitated For a brief moment, uncertain of its meaning and what she wanted it to signify. But before her thoughts could spiral again, her fingers closed around his , tentative at first , then firmer. It was a reluctant, wordless reply.
Loid didn’t look at her, but he registered the squeeze. He felt it like a pulse, soft and unsure, but very real.
He swallowed lightly.
This is for the mission, he told himself. We’re supposed to look like a loving couple. That’s all this is.
Neither let go.
They walked like that all the way home two secret lives entangled by fate, their fingers intertwined in silence, each pretending not to notice how desperately they didn’t want to let go.