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Yor and her family unravel the lies they’ve woven, and it changes everything.
On a day-to-day basis, things remain the same. They cook breakfast in the morning, stifling yawns and exchanging soft smiles as they eat in the dining room. Yor goes to her office job, Loid to his psychiatrist’s office, Anya to Eden classes. They come home in the afternoon: Yor first, then Loid, then Anya. For now, Yor continues her assassin work, and Loid his spy business.
And yet, Yor can see the little things, the details that were never possible until now. Bond borfs more, giving them glinting gazes and almost-smiles. Anya is still loud and endearing, but ever so often she’ll talk about a crackling buzz or wayward thought from another’s head, reminding Yor her daughter exists in a world only she can hear.
Loid is gentler with her, staring wide-eyed at her sometimes as if she could fade away in a heartbeat. He seems quieter, more vulnerable, more true. He gives her warm, long hugs and makes the tea she takes just right and calls her sweetheart with a lilting, tender tone, causing her to blush a pleased carnation pink.
(He’s started writing her letters, hiding them in the places he knows she will look: the back of the closet for her assassin dress, the place she keeps the feather duster, the cabinet where she takes out sugar to season his coffee. From the fuzzy slices she remembers of her past, she recalls her father and mother doing the same thing. She wonders if writing her own back to him is like claiming a piece of her girlhood that never was.)
Then, there’s Yor herself. After every lie has fallen away, she feels more exposed than she has in a long time. At first the chilling feeling reminds her of when she was searching for work as a young girl, looking through every dusty shop and street corner that felt like an opportunity.
But that was different: because even though she claimed she had Yuri, those were the moments she truly felt alone.
With the Forgers–her family now–she is never alone.
And so, Yor finds herself exploring freedom. The freedom to find herself in a million different things, a million little ways which form a mosaic of heart and soul.
Yor cooks now with a smile on her face and a hummed tune that fills the kitchen. The soups, breads, and casseroles she makes aren’t perfect by any means, but they’re edible, and bring her family nourishment. She even goes so far as to make a few recipes herself: cupcakes and pies and stews from lingering flavors and childhood dreams. When Anya gets a bit older, she begins to teach her how to make some simple foods, relishing the opportunity of giving her daughter an experience she never knew.
Yor’s wardrobe becomes more vibrant. With advice from Anya, her husband, and even the new hairdresser down the street, she begins to find something called personal style. She enjoys the freedom to pick out outfits based on taste instead of usefulness, to experiment with necklaces and bracelets and hats and scarves, to discover new shades of colors which makes the whole world seem more beautiful. Before, she allowed herself to have nothing other than her assassin outfit and city hall clerk uniform. Now, her closet is filled with a rainbow’s variety of dresses, blouses, pants, and shoes.
Yor finds herself even more open than before, which feels strange at first. Despite the nature of her assassin work, she’d always considered herself genuine. It takes a while to realize that this is a new facet of her becoming, the blooming of a truthfulness that could never be before. All of a sudden there’s this growing urge inside of her, lit like a spark, to speak her thoughts and heart with abandon, to touch the world in a way she never dreamed of doing when nothing had changed.
She takes her growing boldness to focus on the things that have always mattered the most to her: the people she loves. Anya gets more cuddles and tickles, Bond more belly rubs and fond looks. Her situation with Yuri is a bit trickier, but she thinks he can tell there’s something different in the way she smiles at his (often dramatic) antics.
Loid especially receives her new affection in its growing, wavering, stumbling glory. She finds herself talking to him about her day, the random thoughts in her head, or things she’s been learning. She brushes his hair back when it falls over his eyes. She leans her head on his shoulder as they watch TV or Anya’s latest, improvised dance routine in the living room. When she’s feeling playful and loved, she sends him a wink across the hall or tosses a kiss, stifling a giggle at the way he immediately flushes red.
(She tries to work on blushing less whenever he tries to fluster her, but it’s a work in progress. Loid is already a gorgeous man, all honey-gold hair and dimpled smiles, and his soft, sky-blue gaze always makes her feel as light as the bubbles Anya blows in the summer. In the end, who can blame her for becoming a tangled mess?)
Loid gets her. All of her. Often that feels both thrilling and terrifying. But there’s no one else Yor would rather trust her heart to.
He handles her like a pianist who plays a composition of their own: proud, joyful, loving. She can see it in the way his eyes grow fond as she meets his eye through the excitement of a new dress. She can see it in the way he leans closer to her as she shares something about her experiences. She can see it in the way he brings her close as they waltz through the kitchen, a jazz song in the background, her heart aching, yearning to tumble out and fall at his feet.
Yor wants nothing more than to dance to his melody.
Both of them are far from perfect, with pasts some would shudder to think about. But they are healing, and they're doing it together.
And under the freedom to heal, Yor shimmers. She has always considered herself a survivor, working past decade-old scars, striving to bring light and love into others’ lives when there felt like none in hers. But she never realized that there could be an existence for her outside of that. She knows better now.
Her confidence glistens on her like a pearl in sunlight, and it changes everything.