Together for Heat & More

Chapter 2: The Cold Between Us

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.