By: TooniverseTraveler
The night dragged on in quiet unease. Outside, the storm howled, whipping snow against the fragile walls of the cabin with unrelenting ferocity. Inside, the warmth from the fire barely reached the corners of the room, but it was enough to keep Loid and Yor alive, their bodies huddled together for warmth. For the first few hours, neither of them said much, as if the howling wind outside had stolen their voices, leaving them with only the crackling fire and the shared heat of their bodies.
Loid wasn't used to this kind of stillness. In the world of espionage, stillness meant vulnerability. A quiet moment could be a trap, a ticking bomb, or the breath before an ambush. He was always calculating, always thinking several steps ahead, anticipating danger before it arrived. But here, in the close quarters of the cabin, the only danger seemed to be the increasing awkwardness between him and Yor.
She was pressed against him, her head now resting lightly against his chest, her breathing steady but slow, as though she were still trying to conserve her energy. He could feel the chill in her skin, though it was gradually fading as the fire worked its magic. He had held people for cover before, touched them out of necessity. It had always been mechanical, part of the job. But with Yor, it felt different.
The intimacy of the moment gnawed at the edges of his focus, disrupting the calm efficiency he prided himself on. His mind, usually a fortress of discipline, kept drifting back to the sensation of her body against his—warmth, softness, the delicate curve of her shoulders resting so trustingly against him. It was unnerving, to say the least.
"I'm sorry," Yor's voice broke through the silence, barely above a whisper.
Loid glanced down, surprised by the sudden apology. "Sorry? For what?"
She didn't lift her head but spoke into his chest, her voice tight with embarrassment. "For causing so much trouble. You didn't have to come on this trip. I'm not very good at these kinds of things... vacations, I mean."
There it was again—that familiar self-doubt that Yor often carried with her. It was something that Loid had observed early on, even before he'd suspected there was more to her than the kind-hearted civil servant she pretended to be. In public, she could be as graceful and poised as anyone, but when the attention turned inward—when it was just the two of them or when it involved their "family"—she became almost apologetic, as though she didn't deserve to be in her own skin.
Loid shifted slightly, his arm tightening around her just enough to reassure her. "You don't need to apologize. This wasn't your fault." He kept his voice steady, calm. "It was my idea to come here, and I should have checked the weather more thoroughly. If anything, it's my mistake."
Yor shook her head, though she still didn't look up. "You're always so thoughtful, Loid. I feel like I'm the one who keeps messing things up."
He frowned at that. This wasn't the first time she had said something like this, as if her role in their pretend family was somehow inadequate. But Loid knew better than anyone how carefully constructed their lives were—how fragile the illusion of normalcy truly was. He had chosen Yor for a reason. She was the perfect wife for this mission, just as he was the perfect husband. But sometimes, in these quiet moments, when the facade was stripped away and they were simply two people alone in the cold, he found himself wishing...
He stopped that thought before it could fully form.
This wasn't real. It couldn't be real.
"The important thing," Loid continued after a moment, "is that we stay warm and wait for the storm to pass. We'll get through this."
Yor nodded, though he could sense she wasn't fully convinced. Her doubts about herself were deep, ingrained over years of living her own secret life. If only she knew how alike they were in that regard. But she never could. That was the nature of the game they were playing—two people living parallel lives, never truly crossing paths.
The fire crackled loudly, sending a shower of sparks into the air. The heat was starting to reach their bones, driving away the last remnants of the bitter cold. Yor shifted against him, and for a moment, Loid was acutely aware of the closeness of her body. She was warm now, her breath soft against his collarbone, and the tension between them felt different—less about survival, more about something unspoken that lingered in the space between their breaths.
He wasn't sure what to make of it. Every time he thought he understood Yor, she surprised him. Her kindness, her strength, her mysterious competence in situations that would faze most civilians—it all hinted at a deeper, hidden side. But Loid wasn't in a position to pry. As long as she played her role, as long as she kept the family cover intact, he couldn't afford to ask questions.
Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that, like him, she carried the weight of secrets too heavy to speak aloud.
Yor shifted again, pulling back slightly to look up at him. Her eyes, large and dark, caught the flickering light of the fire, making them look almost ethereal. "Thank you," she said quietly, her voice softer now. "For everything. You're always so dependable."
Loid's smile was automatic, the one he had perfected over years of blending into his roles. "I'm just doing what any husband would do."
Her gaze lingered on his for a moment longer than usual, as if searching for something in his expression, something beyond the surface. But whatever she was looking for, she didn't find it. She dropped her eyes and leaned back against his chest, her body relaxing again as the fire continued to warm the room.
Loid's mind was racing once more. He had planned this trip with the intention of strengthening their cover, keeping Anya happy, and maintaining the appearance of a normal family. But now, trapped in this cabin with Yor, the lines between reality and the facade felt more blurred than ever. He had always prided himself on his ability to compartmentalize, to keep his personal feelings out of the mission. But with Yor, it was becoming harder to maintain that distance.
She was more than just his pretend wife. More than just a piece of his cover story. And though he couldn't allow himself to admit it, not even in the quietest corners of his mind, he was beginning to care about her in a way that complicated everything.
Outside, the wind howled, but inside, the only sound was their breathing, soft and steady, as they sat together in the dim light of the fire.
Loid's gaze drifted to the door, the thick snow piling up against it, sealing them inside. There was no telling when the storm would pass, and no guarantee they would make it back to the inn by morning. They were alone, truly alone, and in that isolation, the fragile balance of their relationship felt more precarious than ever.
The hours passed slowly, the storm outside showing no signs of letting up. Snow continued to pile against the cabin's windows, and the wind roared through the trees like a relentless predator. Loid had kept an eye on the fire, feeding it with the dwindling supply of wood to keep the cold at bay, but the isolation was beginning to wear on them both.
Yor had fallen silent, her head still resting against his shoulder as she stared into the flames. The heat from the fire had warmed her skin, but Loid could feel the tension in her body—the way she was holding something back, much like himself. He had never been one to pry into others' thoughts or emotions, not when there was a mission at hand. But tonight felt different. The cold outside was harsh, but the coldness of their silence felt even more so.
Loid's mind drifted back to Anya, safe at the inn, likely wrapped up in blankets and lost in one of her favorite cartoons. He hoped the storm hadn't frightened her too much, though Anya was braver than most children her age. She seemed to take everything in stride, even when her "parents" found themselves in strange situations. Still, leaving her behind had been the right decision. If the storm had caught them with Anya, things would've been much more dangerous.
He glanced down at Yor again. She hadn't moved much, though the small rise and fall of her chest told him she wasn't asleep. Her breath was steady, but there was a distance in her eyes, as though she were far away from this moment, lost in some distant memory or thought. Loid knew that feeling all too well—the feeling of carrying the weight of too many secrets, of always being on guard, even when it seemed safe.
"Yor," he said softly, almost testing the sound of her name on his lips. She shifted slightly at the sound, lifting her head just enough to meet his gaze.
"Hm?" Her voice was soft, a little dazed as if she had been pulled from her thoughts.
"You've been quiet for a while," he said, keeping his tone gentle. "Are you sure you're okay?"
Yor blinked, as though surprised by the question, and then offered a small, reassuring smile. "I'm fine. Really. I was just... thinking."
Loid didn't push her for more, but something in the way she said it piqued his curiosity. He knew better than to ask too many questions—especially when it came to matters that might disrupt the delicate balance of their lives. But as the firelight flickered across her face, he found himself wondering, for the first time in a long while, what thoughts weighed on her so heavily.
Yor cleared her throat, her expression shifting as though she were trying to lighten the mood. "This... is kind of like a scene from a movie, isn't it? Two people, trapped in a cabin during a snowstorm. It's almost... romantic."
Loid couldn't help the slight twitch of his lips at her comment. She had a way of saying the most unexpected things with such earnestness. "I suppose it does have that feel," he replied, his tone amused. "Though in most of those stories, the characters aren't stuck together because they're trying to survive."
Yor laughed, a soft sound that seemed to brighten the room despite the gloom outside. "True. But I guess we'll just have to make the best of it."
Loid nodded, though a part of him wondered what "making the best of it" really meant in a situation like this. They were, after all, not a normal couple. Not truly husband and wife, despite the roles they played for Anya, for the world. And yet, sitting here in the quiet warmth of the fire, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something deeper between them—something neither of them had acknowledged.
He shifted slightly, loosening his arm from around her shoulders. "We should try to get some rest," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "The storm could last until morning, and we'll need our strength to get back to the inn once it's over."
Yor nodded, though she seemed reluctant to move away from the warmth of his body. She pulled the blanket tighter around herself as Loid stood up, checking the fire one last time before turning to the small bed in the corner. It wasn't much—just a thin mattress and a threadbare blanket—but it would do for the night.
"You should take the bed," Loid said, already moving to grab a spare blanket from a nearby shelf. "I'll keep watch and make sure the fire doesn't go out."
Yor's brow furrowed slightly, her lips parting as though she wanted to protest, but after a moment, she simply nodded. "Alright. But if you get too cold, don't hesitate to wake me. We can switch off."
Loid gave a small nod in response, though he knew he wouldn't take her up on that offer. He was used to long nights without rest. Staying alert was second nature to him, especially in a situation like this. The storm outside was still a threat, but the greater threat was always the unknown—what might be lurking in the darkness beyond the cabin walls, waiting for a moment of weakness.
As Yor settled into the bed, Loid took a seat by the fire, his back to the wall so he could keep an eye on both the door and the window. The warmth of the flames was comforting, but his mind remained sharp, every sound outside analyzed, every flicker of movement caught in his peripheral vision. He was trained to be a protector, even here in this frozen wilderness where the greatest danger was supposed to be the elements.
Yet, his thoughts kept drifting back to Yor. She was already half-asleep, her body curled up beneath the thin blanket, her breathing soft and steady. She looked peaceful in sleep, vulnerable in a way that caught him off guard. He had never truly thought of her that way—vulnerable—but perhaps that was because they had never been in such an intimate situation before.
There was still so much he didn't know about her. So much he hadn't allowed himself to wonder. But in this quiet cabin, with only the storm and the fire for company, it was hard not to let his mind wander. Who was she, really? What secrets did she keep buried beneath that calm, sweet demeanor?
And more importantly, why did he care?
The fire crackled, sending a shower of sparks into the air, and Loid leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes for a moment. His training told him to stay alert, to remain vigilant, but the warmth of the fire and the quiet hum of the cabin were lulling him into a rare moment of relaxation.
Just for tonight, he thought. Just for tonight, it's okay to let my guard down.
But even as he allowed himself that small luxury, he knew it wouldn't last. The storm would pass, and the world outside would return to its usual chaos. And when it did, so would the careful distance he kept between himself and Yor—the distance that kept them safe.
For now, though, in the stillness of the night, they were just two people trying to stay warm. Nothing more, nothing less.
Get the chapter a day early (or get the next three chapters) on our writing group's blog https://fictioneers.thinkific.com/pages/blog.