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“You look worse for wear, Papa!”
Loid doesn’t even have the energy to appreciate Anya’s flawless use of the idiom as he slumps down into the recliner, groaning. His eyes flutter shut, and he gets roughly two seconds of peace before he feels two tiny elbows digging into the meat of his thighs.
He sucks a pained breath in through his teeth and cracks one eye open to see Anya looking up at him with her chin propped in her hands, palms pushing her chubby cheeks high. With her eyes narrowed and lips pulled into a little grin, she looks far too smug for someone her age. As always, her furry partner in crime is at her side, tongue lolling out in a knowing pant. They certainly make a pair. Loid doesn’t like it.
“Were you and Mama late because you were smooching, Papa?”
“No!” He says at the same time that Yor does as she wobbles back into the living room, carrying a tray of tea.
The clatter of the china as it slides around the plate makes Loid open his other eye, and he yelps as he watches his wife drunkenly make her way to the coffee table.
“Yor, please let me help!”
“Don’t worry, Loid! I got it!”
“Mama looks even worser for wear.”
“Eh?!”
Franky watches the entire scene in amusement as Loid struggles to correct Yor’s crooked path to the table while trying to get Anya as far away from the hot liquid as possible.
“You’re a regular family man, Loidy Boy.”
“Something like that,” he grunts, slipping his eyes shut again as Yor finally sets the china down with a clang, turning to give him a victorious smile before situating herself a respectful distance away from Franky.
(Who promptly puts two more inches of respect between them. He still vividly remembers her uppercut from playing Loidman with Anya.)
“Did you have a good time out, Yor?” Franky asks Yor. Her eyes widen, as if she wasn’t expecting to be addressed, and her cheeks turn even pinker as she nods. He definitely sees why she has Twilight so mixed up.
“Oh, yes! The bar was lovely. Thank you, Loid!”
Loid hums in response, keeping his eyes closed. Yor suddenly finds great interest in twiddling her fingers in her lap.
Franky glances between them. He catches Anya’s eye, who looks just as confused as he feels.
“Welp, that might be my cue to go, kiddo,” he says, getting to his feet with a grunt. He pats Anya’s head as he shuffles past Loid’s stupidly long legs to start towards the door. He’s not surprised neither parent protests. “That’ll be an extra fifty dalc as a late fee, Forger.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Loid sighs, waving a hand in his direction. “Thank you. Good night.”
Yor and Anya bid Franky goodbye next, and he snickers as he closes the front door and steps out into the hall.
Anya scrambles up to lock the front door behind him, leaving up Loid and Yor alone.
“Does your chin still hurt?” Yor asks, and winces as soon as the words leave her mouth. Loid purses his lips into a fine line so that he doesn’t say anything he’ll regret. Bond glances between them before getting up to amble into Anya’s room.
“A lot,” he supplies. Yor nods, forgetting that he can’t see her. Anya bounds back into the living room.
“I’ll get Papa some ice!” Anya says, and Loid briefly envies her endless amount of energy. He hears her take off into the kitchen shortly before hearing Yor’s own uneven shuffles as she follows quickly behind to supervise.
He pretends like he can’t hear Anya bounce around the kitchen, improvising a ballad about fixing boo-boos and swollen chins and shacking up. Yor seems to be close behind and frankly horrified, gently admonishing Anya for her inappropriate language and ushering her to go fix Papa’s boo boos and quickly as possible. He snorts.
“Here you go!” Loid opens his eyes to find Any holding out a paper towel full of ice cubes. He ignores the burn in his chin as he smiles and gingerly takes the makeshift ice pack from her.
“Thank you, Anya.” She preens as he pets her head with his other hand.
“Did you have a fa-boo-lous time on your oo-ting?”
“We sure did. Did you have fun with Uncle Scruffy?”
“Yes! I forgot to give him his coloring pencil back, though.”
Loid smirks. “I have a feeling that he won’t mind if you keep it.”
“It’s about time for bed, don’t you think, Anya?” Yor calls out as she assumes her position on the couch again. The little girl turns to protest, but stops short when she sees Yor’s raised eyebrows.
She takes the hint, and Loid watches her trudge to her room in awe. Maybe he should start leaving more of the discipline to Yor.
He tells her this much, and she offers him a forced smile as she gets up again to help Anya get ready to go to sleep. He frowns at her retreating figure. Was she still upset?
Loid sighs and struggles to his feet, using his free hand to bend down and retrieve as much of Anya’s stuff as he can without throwing out his back. Grounding himself after Yor’s nearly-lethal blow had taken a lot of strength, and the long walk home from the park certainly didn’t help.
He turns on the record player to keep himself occupied as he hobbles around the living room. He gives up three toys, five coloring pencils, and a bowtie in, tossing his spoils onto the coffee table before dropping down into Franky’s spot on the couch. He groans as sharp pain sparks in the lower half of his face.
His wife had a hell of a kick.
He reaches over flick on a lamp just as Anya, followed by Yor, comes out one more time to bid him good night and kiss his boo boos better for expedited healing before retiring to her room.
“Do you mind if I sit?”
“Please,” he says, smiling at Yor, who looks even more sheepish than before. “You’ve barely done it since we walked in the door.” She hurriedly sits down on the couch, and Loid frowns as he notes that there’s even more space between them than there had been between her and Franky.
“I’m a bit embarrassed at losing my composure and getting us kicked out of the bar,” she chuckles, but there’s no humor behind it. “I don’t know what came over me, or why Fiona got under my skin so badly.”
“Well, like I told you, Yor, there’s nothing going on between us. And I’m sorry for making you feel that way. And I really appreciate-”
“I know, Loid,” she says, looking at him with a sad smile. “And I appreciate your appreciation for all my help with Anya.” He stares dumbly and scolds himself as he racks his brain for something to say. What the hell sort of spy was he? “It’s okay, you know. I get it.”
“Get what?” He parrots back. Yor sighs and reaches up to start deconstructing her intricate hairdo. Loid allows himself two seconds to watch her dress shirt stretch tight around her chest and shoulders before meeting her eyes again, only to find her studying her lap instead.
“She’s very beautiful and obviously smart and lots of fun,” she lists off dutifully as she works through the braid at the back of her head. “She can definitely help Anya with her homework and keep up with conversation at fancy Eden parties and probably even whip up a good dinner now and then when you come home bone tired from work.”
Loid watches a wave of silky black locks crash down around her shoulders. She looks up at him again as she combs her fingers through her mane, and she looks even more forlorn.
“You could have whoever you want, especially when someone like that wants you, so it feels sort of silly to settle on me, I think,” Yor finishes. She crosses her legs, and Loid immaturely mourns the extra inch of space between them now. Emboldened by desperation, he scoots closer, a bit petulantly, if he’s being honest with himself.
He isn’t.
“I didn’t mean to scare you at the bar with my sudden confession, but I meant it,” Loid says. “I don’t think there’s anyone better. And I quite like you as a person, outside of being Anya’s other guardian.” Yor busies herself with combing out her hair even more, clearly not fully convinced.
Loid finds himself grasping for words in a way that he hasn’t in a long time. “And you’re incredibly talented and capable outside of your duties here. You’re smart and kind, and anyone would be lucky to have you. Thank you for picking me. I promise I won’t take it for granted anymore.”
He remembers Handler telling him very early into his training that a good lie tugged at the heart strings, appealed to the target’s emotions, and contained just enough truth to be plausible.
Though, looking at his wife right now, Twilight isn’t sure which part wasn’t the truth.
Her lip starts wobbling again, and dread washes over him. He barely has time to think of some more kind words before Yor’s launching herself onto him, winding her arms around his waist and burying her head in the crook of his shoulder.
“T-thank you, Roid.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Any time, Yor.”
They stay like that for a while, Yor with her arms wrapped around his middle and head resting on his shoulder. He tilts his own head to rest it against the crown of hers, and they breathe in sync as gentle music fills the dimly lit room.
Loid knows it’s a fickle excuse that he’s making for no one but himself, but he still blames the tiny sip of scotch from earlier - or maybe the kick to his chin that still has his ears ringing - for the way his hand strokes the top of Yor’s head.
“Do you believe me?” he murmurs. Yor’s quiet for a moment before she sniffles.
Loid opens his mouth to wax even more poetic about how strong she is and appreciative he is, but the words die on his tongue as she nuzzles her face into his shoulder. “‘M getting there. Your speeches have certainly helped,” she mumbles into his shirt.
He snorts before he can stop himself, and squeezes her in apology although she doesn’t really seem to notice, if her lack of reaction is anything to go by. “How can I make it better?”
Yor’s quiet for more than a couple beats, and Loid figures that the alcohol finally caught up and put her to sleep. He doesn’t know why he’s a little put out at that.
(But he does. And he tucks it away in the increasingly thick file of all things having to do with one Yor Briar.)
He lets his own eyes slip shut for a moment, reveling in the fleeting chill of the melting makeshift ice pack. He’s startled when he feels a slight tug on his dress shirt, and he looks down to find the poor fabric twisting in Yor’s grip. She’s looking up at him, eyes wide and nose runny. He gulps. She’s the most beautiful thing he thinks he’s ever seen.
“Can we stay like this for a while?”
Twilight quickly realizes that they’ve approached a watershed moment for their relationship. He can’t exactly deny his incredibly vulnerable wife the comfort she clearly needs right now, not if he wants Operation Strix to continue running (relatively) smoothly. He couldn’t do his job if Yor was insecure in her abilities as Anya’s mother and his spouse. Happy wife, happy life took on a completely different meaning for the Forgers.
On the other hand, Twilight knows that he’s veering into extremely dangerous territory. He knows he’s been losing his touch as a first-class, ruthless deep state spy these past couple months, and he knows that his girls are to blame for it. Not that he really minds. He’s also been having what he thinks might be the most fun in his life.
If he stays like this, cuddling on his fake couch with his fake wife in his fake home while his fake child stays thirty feet away, he might lose the rest of the already loose grip that he has on reality and further blur the lines between Twilight and Loid Forger.
Looking at Yor, though, he figures that the lines can take a little bit more blurring. Just for tonight.
“Of course, Yor.”
She hums happily, and Loid feels her body relax against his completely. He resumes stroking the glossy hair on the top of her head with one hand and nursing his wounds with the other. Yor’s breath starts to even, and he finds his own shoulders loosen as he focuses on it.
The whole scene is very sweet, he supposes. He can’t hide the pleased smile pulling at his mouth as she cuddles impossibly closer to him.
The smile dims as he feels melting ice starting to travel down his arm. His chin stings dully, bringing him out of his indulgent thoughts.
“Yor,” he says. She grunts and clutches him even tighter. He figures she can’t see the grin on his face, so he doesn’t bother fighting it. “The ice pack is melting, honey. I need to throw it out.”
He feels them both tense at the pet name (because really, Twilight, where the hell did that come from?), but taps her again for emphasis as more water runs down his wrist. “I’ll be back in a second.”
She huffs in a way that Loid figures she never would if she were sober. “Not fast enough,” she mutters, and his smile gets wider as he moves to stand.
Loid reluctantly has to get up and dispose of it - Yor makes a sweet little noise of protest that he almost misses as they detangle themselves from each other. He thanks years of training for super keen ears. Her whine is replaying in his head all the way from the sink to the trash as he dumps the ice and the rag and rushes back to his wife’s side. He’s both surprised and unsurprised to find her peering at him over the couch, looking a lot more awake than she did a few moments ago.
His mouth quirks up. “It’s impolite to stare, you know,”
She sniffs indignantly, turning her nose up. “I’ll do whatever I damn well please with my husband, thank you very much.”
He laughs as he circles around the couch. He’s about to resume his position as her personal body pillow when he hears the record change. Big brassy horns ring out over gentle piano keys while slow, booming drums pick up speed in the background. Loid quickly recognizes the song as one of his favorites, and an idea pops into his head.
Yor has expectant arms held out wide for him and frowns when he stays standing in front of her, extending a hand out for her to take. “Loid?”
“Care to accompany me for a dance?”
He should’ve expected the slow blinks that Yor’s sending him. It’s a pretty radical change from the fragile, intimate position they were in just moments ago, and he’s still not fully convinced that she’s quite alright. Still, he keeps his hand out for her to take, hoping he looks more like a doting husband than the desperate fool he feels like.
“If you don’t mind. This is one of my favorites.” She looks down, rubbing at her arm.
“I can’t dance to save my life, Loid.”
He doesn’t budge. “I’ll lead.”
Yor looks up at him again through her lashes as she lets herself be pulled to her feet and into the middle of the living room. “If you say so.”
The record picks up, and Loid gingerly takes Yor’s arms in his hands to loop them around his neck. He hopes he’s not nervous sweating as he feels the tense cords in her forearms shift as her fingers lace together. He makes a mental note to do his best not to surprise or fluster her while they’re like this - he values his working spine and neck, thank you very much.
He shoots her what he hopes is a comforting smile as he motions for her to close the gap between them and press against him, although he’s just as nervous as she looks.
Loid frowns as Yor ducks her head and keeps the distance between them far too wide for domestic partners. He figures that he could probably fit Jesus, Anya, and Bond between them as they shuffle around. He studies Yor very intensely as she avoids eye contact, intent on studying their feet instead as they sway side to side in the dimly lit living room.
“Have you ever heard this song?”
“No, I don’t think I have.”
“What do you think?”
“It’s quite nice, I suppose.”
The slide of their socks over the carpet is grating on Loid’s ears.
“Are you still upset?”
She shrugs. “Sort of. You’re also staring at me pretty intensely, Loid.”
He flushes and finally lowers his gaze. He can"t remember the last time he has since they started dancing. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help it,” he says truthfully. “You’re incredibly beautiful.”
As red as his face must be, Loid figures that Yor definitely has him beat. “That’s what you said when we first met.”
He runs his hand up and down her back once, letting his fingers comb through the bottom of her hair before returning to her hips. “And I mean it now just as much as I did then.”
Yor goes quiet at that, frowning as she mulls over his words. She finally looks up at him, studies his face for lies. Her mouth sets in an unreadable line.
“That’s how Fiona looks at you, you know.”
Not for the first time that night, Loid finds himself at a loss for words. Yor’s taking this thing a lot more personally than he’d previously thought. For the first time in a long time, Twilight finds himself out of options. Out of ways to make her understand that he really can’t see anyone else as his partner, at his side as he sees Anya off to school or walks up the apartment stairs after a long day or dries dishes after dinner.
Yor being there comes to him so naturally that it’s almost scary. He doesn’t know how else to make her see that, not when he’s already told her the truth in all the ways he knows how.
He takes a deep breath as he closes the gap between them and pulls her into his chest, squeezing her against him. Gentle enough that she can wrestle out of his grip if she wants to, but firm enough to let her know that he would really rather she didn’t.
She gasps softly, and a pit of dread starts to unravel in Twilight’s stomach. He squeezes his eyes shut and kicks himself a thousand times over. She hates you, you brute, of course the last thing she would want is for you to do is trap her here against you-
Loid registers the strong arms tightening around his neck with surprise. He finds Yor returning his shocked expression when he opens his eyes, as if they both can’t believe their own actions. Twilight recovers first.
He dips his chin down to rest against the crown of her head. “And that’s how I look at you, honey,” he whispers. “Always.”
She sags against him, ear pressed to his heart, and Loid hopes he’s finally sated the last of her doubts. He reckons that he has, if the fingers carding through the short hairs at the nape of his neck are anything to go by. He rubs at her sides as they continue to sway.
The band in the song swells again as Al Green’s silky voice croons through the living room, and Loid lets his eyes slip shut as he hums along, rocking Yor side-to-side with him. Crisis finally averted, he lets himself revel in the intimacy of the moment, of the feeling of Yor’s soft body so close to his, the light smell of her shampoo and perfume ticking his nose as they mingle. His own heartbeat is thundering in his ears, but he can feel hers, steady and grounding and adding another blanket of comfort to the warm record. If he strains his ears, he can hear Anya’s light snoring and Bond’s restless shuffling as they snooze down the hall.
He smiles.
Life as Loid Forger wasn’t so bad. If he’s being honest with himself, he wouldn’t mind this arrangement for a little while longer.
Before he can really register the action, he finds himself pressing a chaste kiss to the top of Yor’s head. His eyes fly open as his lips graze her hair, and he jerks back just as her head snaps up.
Her mouth is in a perfect little “o” shape, and the small amount of comfort he’d built up dissipates completely. He opens his mouth to apologize for crossing the line, falling over himself with excuses, when he watches crimson irises trail down to study his lips.
Oh.
Oh.
His fake wife seems keen on giving him a very real kiss.
His mind goes into Twilight mode.
0.005s - Holy shit. Yor wants to kiss him right now. Yor. Wants. To. Kiss. Him. Right. Now. Yorwantstokisshimrightnow. Yor wants to kiss him right now .
0.007s - He’d be a fool not to do it. Look at her!
0.011s - Look at her?! There’s no way he can kiss her!
0.023s - Why not? This is what he’s been praying for! If they seal the deal now, it’ll put this whole Fiona thing to bed and reinforce their physical intimacy, which can only benefit the both of them in the future! Especially when Yuri Briar comes back around! Everyone wins!
0.046s - She’s certainly wised up on the walk home, but she’s nowhere near sober enough for Twilight’s liking to be making this decision in good faith. She’s also hurt and jealous, and most likely looking for some sort of physical validation, especially since he’s clearly lacking in the words of affirmation department.
0.072s - He knows he’s getting soft as a spy because he’s hesitating on what would normally be such an obvious decision for him, but he doesn’t think he can handle hurting Yor anymore tonight.
0.095s - But she’s still looking… and she just licked her lips…her incredibly soft-looking, red-stained lips…
0.1s - Twilight finally decides to take Yor’s lead on this. If they have to kiss for the sake of the mission, then so be it. But he’s stopping her before it gets out of hand. He’s still a gentleman, after all.
Yor’s eyes flutter shut and she leans in. Loid ignores the eagerness churning in his gut as he closes his own.
A shrill squeak rings out between them, and both pairs of eyes fly open.
Loid looks down to find his foot on one of Bond’s goddamned chew toys, and he swears the thing is mocking him as he looks up to see Yor flushed bright red up to the roots of her hair. Her lips are pulling back into a horrified gape, and Loid quickly realizes that she’s snapped out of her trance and is fully back in the present, thoroughly embarrassed and prone to violence in typical Yor Forger fashion.
It takes all his strength and still he barely restrains Yor from wrestling out of his grip and knocking his head off his shoulders as he begs her to calm down, assuring her that everything is fine. His chin starts to ache from her jostling, and makes a mental note to study her exercise regimen the next time her and Anya do their “training”.
When she finally calms down, Loid carefully softens his grip on her and rubs small circles into the fat of her hips as her breathing evens out. Her hands slip from around his neck and rest on his arms as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other.
“I should be getting ready for bed. It’s late.”
Loid can’t help but feel some sort of cosmic momentum grind to a halt. He tries his best not to sigh as he lets her go completely, running a hand through his hair.
“Yup, go ahead. Bathroom is all yours.”
Yor nods and doesn’t say much more as she scurries out of the living room. Loid busies himself with picking up the rest of the mess in the living room, giving Bond’s toy a particularly dirty look.
He has more than enough time to die of mortification and come back to life when Yor re-enters the main room in her nightgown with her dark hair cascading down her shoulders.
“All done?” she nods, wringing her hands. He grimaces when he realizes she’s avoiding his eyes again. So much for their progress.
Out of nowhere, however, Yor suddenly rushes forward to hug him tight and buries her face in his chest. He finds himself developing a substantial appreciation for this habit as he brings his arms around her waist.
“Thank you, Loid,” she says, face muffled by his shirt. He gapes as the air leaves his lungs. “I’m sorry for doubting you. I just got so angry and sad at the thought of Fiona breaking up our little family… fake or not.”
“Of course,” he wheezes. “And thank you for trusting me.”
She hums happily. Her scent is intoxicating, and her hips feel nice and full under his fingertips. The sides of his vision are starting to go back as oxygen leaves his lungs, however, so he allows himself one more indulgent squeeze of her waist to get her attention.
“Yor,” he pants. “You’re squeezing me really tight.”
“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” She says, and he misses her body pressed up against his instantly. She pushes against him, but Loid’s faster this time, and keeps her caged loosely in his arms.
“Do you have to be so far away?” He asks, hoping his teasing smile is hiding how much he actually means it. Yor sees right through it anyway, and the side of her mouth quirks up.
“Hm, I suppose not.”
She’s giving him that look through her lashes again, and he has to remind himself of his prior resolution should a kiss happen. Very strong emphasis on should , Twilight.
She reaches out a hand to cradle the curve of his jaw in her palm. Loid braces himself. Prays that his lips aren’t dry and his breath doesn’t stink. He can’t remember the last thing he ate, and he figures the scotch should be mostly washed away by now. She leans in, and he closes his eyes.
They fly back open as shy lips press against his cheek in a moment that’s over just as quick as it started. Yor pulls back, and her face is crimson up to the roots of her hair. She’s studying her feet, avoiding Loid’s eyes in a way that’s slowly become endearing over the course of the night.
“Thank you again,” she says shyly, and Loid feels the last bit of his resolve fly out the window.
He leans down to capture Yor’s chin in his hand and tilt her face up to him. Her breath catches as he bends down to kiss one of her cheeks and then the other. She squeaks when he drops one more on her forehead for good measure. “Of course, honey.”
Three times now. Three times in the past hour has he called her honey in what seems like a knee jerk reaction at this point. They watch each other blush before he looks away, coughing into his fist.
“Sorry about that.”
“No!” Yor says. He glances back at her earnest expression. “I don’t mind it. It sounds nice.” Dark hair falls over her shoulder as she turns her head. He gets an eyeful of her ruddy cheeks anyway. “You can keep doing it, if you want.”
Loid tries not to gawk more than a respectable amount. “Oh, uh. Sure.”
She steps out of his embrace and rubs the back of her neck. “I think I really needed this, Loid. I can’t thank you enough.” She smiles at him, shy and sweet, and he can’t help but return it. “Good night.”
“Of course. Sweet dreams.”
He watches her all the way down the hall, catching every furtive glance she takes over her shoulder. It’s only after he hears her own bedroom door shut that he starts preparing for bed, indulging in the phantom feeling of Yor’s body pressed against his the entire time.
⸺
As she shuffles into the front of the apartment the next morning, the first strange thing Anya notices is that her Papa is whistling while he’s making breakfast. He never, ever does that. His spy thoughts move too fast for him to focus on anything other than preparing their food.
The second strange thing hits Anya like a train. Papa’s mind is almost completely blank! At least when it comes to spy stuff, that is. Mama’s name and face and smile and hair and eyes are looping endlessly, but that seemed to happen just as much as the spy stuff these days.
“Are you whistling because you ‘scored’ last night, Papa?” She asks, and Loid sputters as he whips his head around.
“Don’t say that. And go wash your face.”
She huffs and turns to go to the bathroom. He’d done the same thing when Uncle Scruffy asked him last night, but she was hoping for a different outcome if she’d asked him. So much for that.
“Morning, Loid,” Yor yawns as she stretches. He smiles at her.
“Good morning, Yor,” he says back. She hums happily as her eyes open. Loid jumps nearly three feet in the air when she gasps loudly.
“Oh dear, what happened to your chin?”
Loid balks. “I’m sorry?”
Yor frowns at him, and he blinks. “Do you really not remember anything from last night?” She shakes her head, and Loid drives the knife through the tomato he’s cutting with far more force than necessary. “Well, we discussed how indispensable you are to the Forger household and how much I care for you and how you’re the only one for me-”
When he looks up, he sees Yor’s shoulders shaking as she attempts to hide her laugh behind her hand.
“You remember everything, don’t you?” he says flatly, and she dissolves into a fit of giggles.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to trick you, but the look on your face was priceless.” Loid huffs and turns away in fake irritation, hoping that Yor can’t see the smile creeping up on his face. “I’m sorry, honey,” she teases, and yelps as he reaches out to pinch her arm, rushing out of the kitchen to join Anya in the bathroom.
The third strange thing that Anya notices that morning is that her Mama is humming what she thinks is one of her Papa’s favorite songs as she washes up. The song within itself wasn’t unusual - she had heard it a fair share of times in the months she had been with Papa - but she can’t remember the last time that he had been home with enough free time to put on the record player. Especially not since Mama had come into the picture.
“What song is that, Mama?” Anya asks anyway after spitting into the sink.
Yor moves the towel from her face to smile at Anya. “Hm? Oh it’s one of Loid’s favorites. I’ll play it for you after school today.”
Anya sees a very cooty-infested image of her parents slow dancing in Mama’s head. She gags. “Yeah, no thanks.”
“Eh?!”
They exit the bathroom together and join Loid for breakfast. Anya takes her seat as Yor helps Loid bring their meal to the table. She’s anticipating the typical kiss that they both drop on the top of her head each time they walk past her to set out plates and silverware, but she doesn’t know what to make of the way Papa reaches out for Mama’s waist as he moves behind her or the drag of Mama’s hand along Papa’s shoulders as she brushes past him.
They continue like this until the table’s set and they both take their seats. They shoot each other shy smiles before reaching for the butter at the same time, only to jump apart as soon as their hands brush. Each one falls over themselves in apology.
Anya and Bond look in between the blushing adults and then at each other. They don’t even need to use their psychic powers to read the other’s thoughts.
She slips him a piece of bacon under the table as she digs into her own breakfast.