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To this day, Loid had never really understood the novel-inspired fantasies of meeting one’s significant other at school.
He could see the appeal of it, in a sense, especially in an academy such as Eden, who very much lived up to its name. School was a place of hesitant attempts and ephemeral encounters, albeit charming ones; those were the first, rarely life-lasting friendships, the first budding romantic interests, the first everythings. A place to learn and discover, far beyond the materials taught from ink and cray – and so it was only natural to test out the sensations lived through relationships. It was tempting to succumb to the fantasy of meeting someone at the library, locking eyes while roaming tunnels of wood and papers; to imagine destiny tripping them under the shadow of an blooming tree and forcing the meeting of the bodies before the one of the minds, sending essays and notes flying around in rhythm with pale petals as fingers would accidentally brush in the rush to get everything back in order.
But school was – well, school. It was a never ending rush of materials to learn and relearn, of blank pages to fill, of flowing ink and aching wrists, of implicit competitions and explicit expectations. He barely had the time to concentrate on matters other than the ones that directly impacted his grades – and, if fate did exist, Loid figured that it would hardly appear the way he’d hoped for, and that if he didn’t care for it, it would reciprocally pay him no mind.
In a way, he would learn later, he’d been right – if it did exist, fate only acted out as it deemed fit, and where one would expect it the least.
In a way, he would learn later, he’d been wrong – if it did exist, fate did care very much about him, especially when it came to sweeping him off his feet.
As it happens, he meets her in the mid-morning of an already long day, on his way down to the infirmary to mend a split lip.
The other brat had managed a lucky hit – but he had also gotten out of their little brawl with a faded grin and a bloody nose, so Loid had considered that a victory.
He’s turning at the end of the hallway on the third floor, when he stumbles onto a scene that’s unfortunately all too familiar; two girls, wearing matching hair bands and grins that are closer to sneers than they are to smiles, stand tall in front of a third one. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together; without having to listen to it, Loid can already guess it’s all about the usual, snotty brags concerning social circles and money, bland mockery and blander threats.
He walks up just close enough to peer at the third girl’s expression and what strikes him, first, is that she’s smiling. A polite, warm thing, like she’s merely joking around with friends and does not have a care in the world for their barbs – which, he realizes, might have something to do with the bullies’ visibly growing annoyance.
What strikes him second is the metallic flash on her dress at chest-level, complimenting the gilded accents of her uniform for all the wrong reasons. She seems the perfect face of a model student, poised and pleasant, and yet on her uniform lie no less than six Tonitrus Bolts, at the exact spot where he used to display his stars before becoming an imperial scholar.
There’s a strange stutter in his mind, like his brain recalibrating to take in the new variable of her, a graceful figure chasing storms, before a sharp tingle of interest blooms in his chest.
The two other girls grow more agitated at her lack of interest, clenching teeth and curling fingers into tight fists, and his body moves forwards before his mind does.
“There you are,” he calls out loudly, managing his expression into one of agreable surprise as he walks up to them and places himself next to the dark-haired girl, with a smile worthy of greeting a dear friend. “I was looking for you. You said we’d go to the infirmary together, remember?”
He gets the intended effect; while his so-called friend blinks at him blankly, the two other students gape at him, flashing him a snarl of budding outrage at the interruption – before realization flashes in their eyes as the smug taunt of their mouths melts into deep unease.
One of them, either braver or stupider than the other, dares to ask throughout a stammer, “You guys… know each other?”
It takes only the slow rise of an eyebrow – a delicate move he’d learnt from his own father, after being on the receiving end so often he’d lost count – for them to fumble in panic and leave in a rush, mumbling excuses.
He turns to the other girl, then, and finds her still staring at him; maybe trying to figure out if she does actually know him.
“Ah, sorry,” he offers with a sheepish chuckle, suddenly feeling a wave of self-consciousness wash over him. “You seemed in an awkward spot, so I figured you’d appreciate them leaving. I apologize for intruding.”
“Oh, it’s alright,” she answers, and her voice is soft and warm, much friendlier than what he’s used to in the confines of classrooms full with teenagers as moody as they are wealthy. “Thank you, but they weren’t bothering me.”
He must look dubious, because she giggles lightly and adds, “Really, it’s fine. I don’t mind them. I appreciate the intent, though.”
She extends her hand, then, looking up at him with bright eyes and an even brighter smile.
“I’m Yor Briar,” she offers, and Loid makes the connection despite himself at the ring of her name – her parents’ company, albeit modest, is one of the most well reputed knife manufacturers in the country.
“Loid,” he gives her in return with a smile of his own as he extends his hand to her, deciding to keep the weight of his last name unknown for just a moment more, and to enjoy a fleeting moment of normalcy among two students – she doesn’t seem to have recognized him, rare as it is, and he fully intends to bank on it.
Her touch isn’t what he expects at all; his fingers meet well-formed calluses instead of soft skin, as they are met with a firm, strong grip – and yet the pressure around his hand is delicate, controlled instead of controlling. It’s not a display of power nor is it a battle for dominance; but rather, the show of earnest delight.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Loid.”
A thought he very much reciprocates. “Likewise, Yor.”
Their next few encounters happen through chance, too. He once notices her from afar, doing laps at the running tracks; she flies more than she runs, leaving her classmates nothing but a trail of dust in her wake, and he can almost picture the P.E teacher nodding in approval. Another time, Loid sees her frowning, seated at the end of a table in the library, biting her pencil in what he easily guesses to be a mix of concentration and frustration. More than often, he only gets a glimpse of her, at around a bend of stairs or at the end of a hallway, tauntingly out of reach.
They’d probably passed each other many times before, he’d come to realize quickly enough, and yet neither of them had really paid attention to one singular face among a bubbling sea of students; and here he stands now, scanning the crowds, looking for a crown of dark hair and a pair of crimson eyes. It certainly doesn’t help that he’s always rewarded with a shy smile and a nod when he does find those.
But then, as he walks out of the exclusive dining hall used by his fellow imperial scholars, he sees a now familiar silhouette reading by herself on a nearby bench, and his feet are moving of their own accord before he can even think about what to say.
She sees him before he speaks – and he’s not sure whether it saves him from being an idiot or dooms him to it, because the smile she gives him is radiant, and any hint of logic evaporates from his brain in a sizzle.
“Loid!” she calls out to him, looking so genuinely happy at the sight of him that his chest aches.
“Hello, Yor,” he smiles back, and gives a nod to the empty spot next to her. “Can I sit with you?”
She shuffles aside, patting the wood invitingly. “Of course. How have you been?”
“Great, thank you.” Thanks to you, he almost adds – indulging his curiosity and looking for a mere glimpse of her had made the past week surprisingly easier to bear. “I realized we hadn’t really talked since last time.”
“I know,” she chuckles, suddenly shy-looking as she blushes faintly. “I saw you a few times from afar, but was too rushed to come and say hi. The school is just so big, you know?”
Loid nods, understanding. “And there’s always so much to do.”
He wants to ask her if those girls have been bothering her again, but Yor doesn’t seem like she’s been having a particularly tough time – and although it could have been a well-worn mask, he figures she’ll open up to him about it if she wishes to.
And open up, she does – just not about what he’d expected of her.
“If I have to be honest,” she begins, looking down at her book, and he tenses just a little, “I’m a little surprised you’re so willing to talk with me. ”
“What do you mean?” he asks, genuinely perplexed, and she must pick up on his confusion, because she fumbles a little and gestures between him and herself.
“Well, you’re an imperial scholar and I– I think you’ve noticed I have a rather high amount of Tonitrus Bolts. I’m not great company.”
“Oh, that,” he answers, a little dumbly – because if it indeed had caught his interest in the first place, he’d just really kind of forgotten about it afterwards. “Well, I just think it’s a little insulting to consider someone only according to the insignias they wear.”
He leans into her slightly, and adds with a conspiratorial faux-whisper, “Besides, I can assure you that many imperial scholars are not nearly as smart and well-behaved as they enjoy bragging about.”
She smiles, a little more relaxed. “You’re talking from experience.”
“I can’t say it’s the case for everyone – but there are many imperial scholars that have the temperament of spoiled children.”
Yor tilts her head ever so slightly. “Is that why you’re so often alone? Because you don’t get along with them?”
Loid grimaces a little. To say he’s a loner is, maybe, a bit of a stretch, as he does chat rather comfortably with his classmates, especially when it comes to homework and upcoming tests. Then again, he does get into the occasional trouble, when some of the kids that somehow despise his guts – a mix of jealousy and teenage, bratty hormones, he supposes – decide to come and provoke him.
And, in the end, why would he hold back from defending himself, when the figures of authority saw his bloodied knuckles and merely told him to play nice next time? Why would he hold back, when he only existed as his father’s shadow, whom teachers were so desperately scared of that they’d rather forcefully keep his son’s troubles out of official records?
Some love to abuse the power their name holds and have everyone obey to their whims; Loid, though, absolutely loathes his name. It puts him on a pedestal he’s unable to get down from, crushes him under expectations he’ll never be able to meet, and hammers down a barrier between himself and the rest of the people his age. He knows many kids would give everything to be in his stead, as the Prime Minister's sole son; and truth be told, he’d gladly exchange his place with anyone asking for it.
He’s not alone – not exactly, not physically – but he’s lonely. Somehow, he has the feeling she understands exactly how it is.
“You know how people are here,” is what he finally goes for instead – lighthearted, with only a touch of bitter truth. “They’re more interested in marriage candidates, so they can consider mergers with the companies they’ll inherit from their parents, rather than simple friendships.”
Yor hums pensively. “It does sound a little sad, when you put it that way. I wish we could just enjoy ourselves a little more and make friends without needing to worry about all of this already.”
Friends. Loid likes the sound of it.
“Shall we be friends, then? Names and companies aside?”
“I’d love this.”
After that day, he allows himself to actively seek her out – when the dark halls of the Tower of Wisdom become too much to bear, when his lungs feel constricted and his hands twitch impatiently, he escapes the confines of thick stone walls, and dashes down the infinite stairs that pull the imperial scholars closer to the skies and away from their regular classmates. He doesn’t care about reaching for the stars, or establishing a social network denser than their galaxy – the clouds are no home to him, and he much prefers the stability of the earth and the little joys that flourish from it.
He quickly learns how and where to look for her – watching for a flash of dark hair and the glint of golden earrings, more often than not reading under the cool shadow of an oak tree, or roaming the library for studying materials. Each time he finds her (and he always does, somehow), she makes that little surprised face, like she still cannot quite believe he’s talking with her again, before it melts into a warm, pleased smile. It’s ridiculous, how much he enjoys seeing that expression.
They chat about nothing and everything – the food at the dining hall, their new arts teacher, their favorite subjects; he learns that she’s extremely talented for any kind of physical activity, although that doesn’t come off as a surprise, considering he’d witnessed it firsthand. She does surprise him when she tells him of her affection for geography and history, and for her incredibly deep knowledge concerning all sorts of weapons.
“It’s the family business,” she explains modestly. “At first, I just wanted to understand how my parents worked, and I found the blades they made very pretty. I used to have this huge sword I’d carry with me all around the estate.”
He imagines a tiny Yor, wielding a sword twice her size, and laughs. In exchange, he confesses that he doesn’t care much for politics or history, but that he does enjoy physics and mathematics, and he smiles in understanding when Yor laments about how harsh the subjects are to her.
It feels nice, rewarding even, to talk with her about mundane subjects, without the need to worry about competitive spirits for the top student’s spot, without people seeing his name before his face. His biggest concern, when it comes to Yor, is being able to find interesting things to talk about, and even then he finds that the topics come naturally–one day, she asks him if there really is a garden at the top of the Tower of Wisdom, and if the flowers here are blooming; he tells her about the rose bushes and the wisteria vines, and promises to sneak her in one day.
Another time, after he asks about whether she has any siblings, she tells him about her brother. “He’s on the road to become an imperial scholar, too,” she explains, voice thick with pride and affection. “He already has four Stella Stars, while I only ever received Tonitrus Bolts.”
He can’t help but glance at the small lightning-shaped insignias, then, and wonder how she had even managed to collect so many.
“Would it be impolite of me to ask you how you received those?”
She gives a little laugh. “It’s fine, but I can assure you it’s nowhere as interesting as you could imagine. You know how bad I am when it comes to sciences, right? Well, I’ve had this same chemistry teacher every year since I first joined, and she’s convinced I failed an experiment on purpose so the solution would explode in her face.”
Loid fails to bite back the grimace that stretches across his face. “I’m guessing this wasn’t the kind of experience you could wash off easily?”
He notices how the tips of her ears redden with embarrassment along with that lovely blush on her cheeks, and this time he does successfully conceal the foolish smile that threatens to pull at his mouth.
“It wasn’t anything harmful, thankfully,” she explains, staring at her lap, and even as she does sound regretful, she also definitely looks like she’s desperately trying not to laugh. “But there was some kind of gum everywhere in her hair that day, and she’s hated me ever since.”
The entire scene, indeed, would have been an amusing thing to witness – but then Loid does the math, and feels his laughter fading into concern. “So she’s been harassing you and trying to punish you all this time?”
“Not exactly,” Yor argues gently, and of course she’d defend ill-opinionated teachers. “All of those Tonitrus were deserved. I’m clumsy, so I’d often create accidents, or fail experiments. I think she’s just been especially attentive when it comes to me. Did you know that the same teacher can’t give you more than six Tonitrus Bolts? I’m really glad for that policy, or else I probably would have been evicted already.”
He hadn’t known, actually – then again, Yor was the first student he knew of to have gained six Tonitrus Bolts from the same teacher.
Talk about a rancorous soul, he internally scoffed.
“What about you? How did you become an imperial scholar?”
“Ah,” Loid laughs, pulling at his cape “it was mostly luck, actually.”
Yor throws him a look, a mix of curiosity and doubt, like she doesn’t quite believe his (justified) attempt at modesty, and nods for him to continue.
“Let’s see,” he starts, holding out fingers and really hoping not to come off as arrogant, “I had four Stella stars for being the top student of the year, one for accidentally catching a teacher when they lost their balance in a staircase. Won an archery competition, rescued a kitten from a tree, and lastly used the heimlich maneuver on a student that had been choking on a peanut.”
Her eyes twinkle as she applauds him politely yet genuinely, and he feels a burning warmth spreading across his face..
“From what I’ve just heard,” she argues gently, “It has more to do with the fact that you’re a good student and a good person, and less to do with mere luck.”
He splutters, and she laughs – a light, happy echo that the wind carries away, and Loid is once again reminded that he really is lucky.
On the seventh anniversary of his mother’s death, Loid skips lunch, and goes straight to the old oak that had become their meeting spot – this time, hiding behind its thick foliage rather than under it. He doesn’t know how long he stays here, content with just swinging his legs back and forth and letting the rustle of leaves soothe the ache in his chest, when he hears Yor calling for him.
He looks down, and sure enough, she’s looking straight at him, having somehow noticed him.
“I’m coming up,” she announces, and swings her bag over her shoulder, and checks that there’s no one around to see her before proceeding to climb the trunk with surprising ease.
She perches herself gracefully next to him – and while he would have gladly complimented her any other day, he just can’t bring himself to muster the words today. But Yor notices that, too, and discards words to instead rummage through her bag. Wordlessly, she pulls out a pair of tangerines, and holds one out for him, smiling a little at the accidental gape he directs at her – because both of them are well aware that snacks are forbidden outside of meal times, and that she’s most likely to get in trouble again if someone catches her with the fruits in her bag.
“I wanted to eat them on the way there,” she confesses, sounding a bit sheepish, “but then I forgot about them. Let’s eat them out before I get distracted again.”
They eat in silence, of the kind he likes most – the quiet settles on them like a blanket, and it lulls him into feeling at ease. She doesn’t ask about his strange mood, and she doesn’t go for small talk either; instead, they savor the citrused quarters while brushing shoulders,
That day, when he steps into the empty building he’s supposed to call home, he thinks of the citrus smell still lingering on his fingers, of the rustling of leaves, of the warmth in Yor’s eyes, and hopes his mother can also partakes in the simple joy of eating tangerines, wherever she rests now.
His father doesn’t come home that night either.
As it often goes, it’s a random yet decisive encounter that nudges their friendship into another direction.
He’s distracted enough that he doesn’t realize Yor’s heading towards him, he bumps into her – only for her to send him flying. He lands on his buttocks, hard, and blinks dazedly at her as she splutters apologies and pulls him back to his feet with an almost inhuman strength.
“I’m so, so sorry Loid – oh, are you okay?”
She reaches out for the blooming bruise on the arch of his cheek and then the cut on this nose, before pulling back precipitately with yet another apology.
“It’s alright,” Loid chuckles, as he dusts his clothes and cape, trying to ignore the heat creeping up his neck. “I got into a little scuffle, earlier. It’s not your fault.”
“Did you fight again?” she asks, more concerned than disapproving, and the distinction sends a weird twinge to his chest. “Well, I’m not going to ask how it went. I’m sure you won.”
He lets out a bark of delighted laughter. “Oh, he definitely wouldn’t stand a chance against you, either. He didn’t even know how to throw a punch.”
He’d seen her obliterate her opponents at dodgeball with a foam ball. Close combat would have been the equivalent of a death penalty for the other boy.
Yor opens her mouth, only to close it immediately – her gaze strays to above his shoulder as she stares at something in his back, and he can only watch as her entire body stiffens, her relaxed smile fading in the span of a second. He turns around, too, and finds an adult he doesn’t quite recognize; but when it comes to the white lab coat she’s wearing and the disdainful glare locked on them, he gets a pretty good guess of her identity.
“Surely,” she begins, “you two have better things than to fool around in the hallways in the middle of the day, don’t you think?”
Her eyes do that little thing of widening-but-not-quite when they land on Loid – he can almost see the cogs turning behind this glare of hers as it morphs into a polite expression, and his dislike for her instantly multiplies tenfold.
“If I may, sir Forger,” the teacher sniffs disdainfully, side-eying Yor with clear disapproval, and it takes everything out of Loid not to openly seethe at her. “I’m not sure you should frequent this young lady. She has acquired one too many Tonitrus Bolt to be considered a respectable student, and there is barely anything brilliant about her. I hardly think your father would be pleased to learn of his friendship.”
From the corner of his eye, he sees Yor looking at her feet in shame, face red and mouth pinched tight, and his blood boils.
“I’m not sure he’d appreciate people imagining they can win his favor through tasteless remarks, either,” he replies coldly, and gets rewarded when the teacher’s face blanches instantly, turning to an ashy complexion.
The woman opens and closes her mouth repeatedly, the very face of a fish out of water, only to send Yor a last glare and stomping away. Loid’s tempted to scoff, but he ignores it to turn back to Yor instead; she’s still rooted to her spot, gaze anchored to the ground. Her fists are closed tight, the white of her knuckles showing the strain of the storm within her and contrasting with the burn of her cheeks. Before he can stop himself, he presses his hand on top of hers, pressing gently as he seeks her gaze. Her fist feels like a coiled spring wound tight under his fingers, and only when he rubs his thumb against her knuckles does she look up at him.
“Don’t listen to that old hag,” he says, vulgar on purpose, smiling a little when she gasps audibly at his words. “She’s just bitter.”
“Loid!” She half-yells, half-whispers with wide eyes, but her shoulders are shaking with laughter rather than shame now, so he considers his mission accomplished and only gives a careless shrug in answer.
Someone clears their throat behind them, and Loid almost jumps out of his skin. They meet yet another teacher’s gaze when they turn around again – but this time, it’s one Loid actually has come to respect and appreciate.
Unlike most other teachers, he knows Henderson to be someone who actually lives up to Eden’s values; he cares not for the names but for the individuals, and makes no distinctions between statuses when it comes to punishments and, more rarely, rewards. Had he been the one teacher involved with every of his fights, Loid’s pretty sure he would have gotten a Tonitrus Bolt before Yor.
“I can’t say that such a lack of respect towards the teaching staff can be considered as elegant, young Forger,” Henderson enunciates slowly, his gaze sweeping between Yor and him – eventually settling on her, and the edge in his eyes softens just a little as it does.
“Then again,” he continues, “I could say the same of my colleague for being so disgraceful towards a student. Please allow me to apologize on that teacher’s behalf, Miss Briar. I’ll ensure that it does not happen again.”
Yor blushes anew. “Oh, no, it’s fine,” she stammers out in a panic, before adding a belated, “... sir.”
“As for you, young man…” Henderson pauses, and Loid meets his gaze, unwaveringly, and he swears to see a glimpse of amusement and admiration in the older man’s eyes. “You did good to defend your classmate, but do not stoop so low as to be insulting. You two should go back to class before the bell rings.”
“Understood, sir.”
“Isn’t he one of those very strict teachers?” she whispers curiously, watching Henderson retreat to his own classroom with a stunned expression that Loid knows would match his. “One that delivers Tonitrus Bolts at the slightest offense or disgrace?”
Although she’s not watching him, he nods. “He is. I guess we’re lucky he’s angrier towards your teacher’s attitude than he is towards mine.”
“About that,” Yor starts, quietly. “Thank you, Loid. I’m sorry I dragged you through this.”
“You didn’t,” he retorts kindly, and it’s merely the truth. It’s hardly believable that a prestigious academy like Eden would allow this kind of teacher to mess with children and teenagers out of pure, unprompted spite. “She was way out of line. You deserve better than this.”
There’s a gentle pressure on his hand; it’s only then, when he looks back at Yor and catches her watching him, blushing and smiling and a little starry-eyed, that he realizes they’re still holding hands.
The weeks and months roll by idly, to the rhythm of tests, homework and the rising tension of the upcoming finals.
Yor and him take to studying together – although they’re not going through the exact same subjects, it’s much easier to spend hours and hours sitting together, trying to memorize the same lines and formulas over and over again. They exchange memorizing tips; he guides her for difficult math problems, she quizzes him on historical facts. More than once, he watches fondly as she loses her fight against exhaustion and gradually dozes off, and covers her with his cape for her to rest more comfortably; more than once, as they walk together to the library or another study room, their hands find their way to each other.
All in all, those hours spent at the library and outside when the weather allowed for it would make a much fonder memory than the studying sessions of the past years, sitting alone for days in a poorly lit study room, frustration and weariness nipping at his temples.
One day, though, Yor comes into their study session completely distracted; she keeps biting her lip, hard enough to break skin and draw blood, and stares blankly at the same line for minutes at a time. At first, Loid lets her be, figuring she’s going through one of those days where she won’t manage to focus for a while, no matter how hard she tries ; but eventually, seeing as she definitely seems more anxious than he’s used to seeing her, he gives in.
“What’s troubling you so much?”
It takes her a second to realize he’s talking to her, and Loid watches bemusedly as she blinks at him in a rather owlish manner.
“Oh,” she eventually stammers out in a half-murmur. Her hands start tracing random patterns against the covers of her book. “It’s nothing bad. I was just thinking.”
“Maybe not,” he concedes agreeably, even as he finds himself pushing his own curiosity aside. “Just know you have a willing ear, should you wish to talk about it.”
She lets out a strained sigh.
“My parents have been trying to convince me to get married.”
He almost chokes on air, and gains a few disapproving glares from the other students in the library. “Marriage? Already?”
Yor grimaces, and her nose scrunches up cutely as she rummages distractedly into her pencil case. “My parents got married pretty young themselves,” she explains, “and they were hoping for me to do the same. They’ve been selecting candidates for me to browse through. I guess I’m lucky enough that they’re letting me choose, in a sense.”
It’s a recurring thing at Eden, unfortunately, for students to get proposals – and, in some cases, marrying before graduation. Eventually, Loid would go through it as well, and it was safe to say he was not excited in the least at the prospect.
It just hadn’t hit him, somehow, that Yor would go through that process as well.
“We could always get married together,” he jokes instinctively, because he has no idea what to say other than these dumb words – only to (almost) regret it instantly when she immediately turns a radiant shade of red and coughs furiously, causing a few students to shush them in annoyance.
She did make a lovely shade of red.
She stares at him as she regains control of her breathing, wide-eyed, and he laughs awkwardly at the intensity of her gaze.
“Ah, sorry,” he smiled apologetically. “That was in bad taste, wasn’t it? I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
But Yor, unexpectedly serious, only shakes her head pensively, watching him as if from under a new light. “No, actually – I think we should do it.”
It’s yet again Loid’s turn to wheeze out a breath, earning another round of meaningful shushing and more intense glaring.
“Let’s-” he chokes out, “let’s talk outside.”
“Right,” Yor begins nervously, once they reach a secluded spot – the sun’s close to reaching the horizon, and most students have left already, so finding a safe place where to talk hadn't been a challenge for once. “I know it sounds completely crazy, but-”
“Better us than strangers, right?” Loid completes with a nod, mustering his most serene facade even as his heart hammers against his ribcage.
“Well, yes, but– I mean–” she stammers out, before taking a deep, grounding breath. “We could get married on paper only. A marriage of convenience, if you must. We would need to have a wedding ceremony, probably, but then we’d be able to live our own lives, you know?”
“I understand.” His heart is pounding into his chest, even as he speaks. “It could work – but that means having to fake our way through it, and maintaining the lie for the years to come. Would you be okay with that?”
She goes quiet, then, considering his words – but the glint in her eyes is resolute. Loid can’t help but gulp, not quite believing how a mere half-joke he’d muttered had led them to this situation so quickly.
“I would,” she eventually states, and his heart does that weird little flutter again. “What about you, though? Wouldn’t you get in trouble with your father?”
He probably would, in reality, but Loid can’t bring himself to care about it; he hasn’t seen his father in months, now, and chances were he’d learn of the news much too late to even try to do something about it. In the best-case scenario, his father wouldn’t care; in the worst-case, it’d piss him off greatly, which Loid would still fail to consider as a downside.
But then he feels the weight of her words truly sink in, and swallows with difficulty – his throat suddenly feels tight. “You knew?”
Yor gives him a small, understanding smile. “Your name is pretty recognizable, I must say. I’ve heard people calling you several times when we were together, and I knew the Prime Minister had a son around our age.”
“You’re surprisingly easy-going about this,” he can’t help remark with a disbelieving chuckle as his chest abruptly loosens, “for that, and for wedding talk.”
It feels like he’s breathing for the first time ever when Yor only tilts her head and tells him, gently, “You’re a pretty easy-going person, Loid. I like spending time with you. I wouldn’t mind spending even more of it in your company.”
“And I like you,” he blurts out, because it’s the barest truth there is to him. He likes her, everything about her, and he would very much like to lie to the world for her.
That lovely blush of hers comes back, spreading to the nape of her neck and the tip of her ears. And then, with only the shift of her shoes as a warning, Yor goes to stand on the tip of her shoes to brush her nose against his – a symbol of promise and returned affection.
A vow.
“Will you marry me, then?” she murmurs, looking at him, seeing him like no one had ever before.
He knows, painfully so, that he must look as red as the vibrant crimson of her eyes – and yet he cannot bring himself to care. Instead, as his answer to her, he drapes the light material of his cape over the both of them, cutting them from the rest of the world, and takes advantage of the sudden penumbra to brush his lips against hers as an old saying comes to his mind.
For better or worse…
He hears her make a cute little gasp that quickly melts into a giggle, as she reaches out to grip his cape before returning the kiss even further – the entire world melts into her lips, past, present and future breathed into him through her, and he knows.
For richer or poorer…
It must be her; it’s always been her.
In good times and in bad, in sickness and in health…
“I pledge myself to you,” he breathes out, and if only for a moment –
The world feels right.