Disclaimer: Spy x Family belongs to Tatsuya Endo.

Author's note: Trigger warning for suicidal ideation... thank you for reading! I will be working on Chapter 3 soon :)


Chapter 2

It has been a few weeks since Yor has seen Loid.

After the initial disappointment that Yor didn't get herself a boyfriend that night at the mixer, Luna had stopped most of her efforts at meddling with Yor's personal life. To which the latter is grateful for.

On top of that, the assassination assignments are becoming less as of late, and Yor is finding herself more aimless than usual. Growing up surrounded by war—that was all she knew. Yor only ever lived to survive, and never planned to survive in order to live. She worked so hard in her assignments to rid the nation of corrupt leaders and treacherous traitors to build a safer place, a safer world but now that the world is safer… what is the point of her existence?

Like most assassins from the Garden, they didn't really plan on living long enough to see the peace between the two nations. Even Matthew McMahon, the elder assassin she used to collaborate with on high-risk assignments, has retired due to old age and simply to live out the rest of his life in peace. There is even talk that the Shopkeeper himself is considering disbanding the Garden or, at the very least, retiring. At one point, the Shopkeeper had offered the end of her job—but she couldn't accept it, and the Shopkeeper hasn't said anything since.

Yor's entire life… she spent it surviving, fighting, protecting—all for the sake of peace. And now that peace is here…

Why did peace feel so uncomfortable to Yor?

She has decided to stay over and work overtime at the company to cover some of Luna's work (so that her friend can attend a date she has been looking forward to). Yor has been working overtime as the assignments from the Garden dwindle, to keep her mind busy, her body tired, and her emotions numb.

No one told her that achieving world peace could be so painful for people like her. Assassins who work in the shadows, killers who thrive in conflict with a blind delusion that peace would solve all the challenges.

War and peace are the reasons she became an assassin. To fight for what is right, to protect the vulnerable, to—

Suddenly, her vision is blurry and Yor doesn't realize that her thoughts led to the tears streaming down her face. She looks at her trembling hands—which carry scars from battles she experienced in the past—and finishes the last of the documents.

Is she a coldhearted killer?

Yor never believed she was; she always fought for a reason, for someone else, for something bigger. "Why…" Yor takes a shaky breath and shuts the computer down. Packing her belongings, Yor leaves the building with tears in her eyes, lips pressed together to keep her overwhelming feelings at bay. She doesn't know where to go, so she heads down one way and another, ending up at a park just off downtown Berlint. The night is colder, and she hugs herself while she sits on one of the benches, staring at the dark sky, trying to keep her tears from falling but they won't stop.

Yor doesn't know who she is. All she knows is… that, maybe, she isn't needed anymore.

.

.

Twilight turns on his bed. He stares at his empty ceiling. It has been days, nights, weeks, since he could sleep comfortably. Nothing appears to interest him the way it used to. He has been a spy for so long, taken on numerous identities for so long, that he doesn't know what truly interested him anymore.

He had thought about moving back to Westalis, perhaps asking the Handler if he can be transferred back to his homeland but, as he always says, "No one's waiting for me there."

At least here, in Ostania, he has his (only) friend Franky.

The most recently interesting thing he can recall in the past few weeks was that woman named Yor with the scent of blood. He thinks it's suspicious to have that kind of scent when the war has ended. But then, he thinks again, maybe she isn't related to the war and perhaps she's a killer or a murderer. Then, he thinks again, why would a murderer be so clueless like her?

Then he goes in circles again, making up scenarios that can possibly explain the stench of blood.

And, no, he is not obsessed.

There are simply not enough spy missions to go around; what with the previous leaders being replaced with younger leaders with a vision and plan to stay transparent, fair, and maintain the peace in both Westalis and Ostania. There has been too much bloodshed, he remembers the Ostania leader states in a firm voice. Enough is enough.

Twilight turns again, mind racing and breaths quickening.

Anxious. Twilight is at the beginning of another anxiety bout. Any time he thinks of the war and peace between Westalis and Ostania, he thinks about his own role. A renowned spy who threw his entire life away, his identity away, because the war has taken everyone who ever cared for him, everyone who will remember him—his old life.

When he is alone, some of his old memories come to life. These are the memories that bring him joy, sadness, and remind him of the reason why he is in this predicament. His memories before he became Twilight.

But it gives him so much anxiety thinking of what is next in this peaceful place. Is this all temporary? Is it permanent? What does it mean for him?

With a restless mind, Twilight slips out of his bed and switches to his activewear. The only way he knows to combat a restless mind is to let the energy out by running. He puts his shoes on and makes sure he locks the door before slipping his key in his pocket. No music, just him and his thoughts.

Everyone is so excited about the peace and, granted, he also enjoys watching the kids be kids. No air raids, bombs, foreign soldiers just barging in people's homes; kids can have both their parents for as long as their parents can live.

It's just that… he doesn't know how any of that feels like anymore. After taking on so many roles and identities, he has absorbed many interests that he confuses for his own. He doesn't even remember the things he was interested in. His childhood was short-lived and filled with unnecessary trauma that no child should ever deal with.

Yet because of those experiences, he is who is today.

Except, who is he?

As his thoughts continue to go in endless circles, Twilight comes to the park he usually runs at. He has the times figured out; normally, at this time around 21:00 (nine o'clock in the evening), there is almost no one here. He feels like he can do whatever he wants if he chooses to. No one is watching him in the shadows this time, and the feeling of being under the cover of the dark sky gives him a type of liberation he didn't know he needed at this moment.

He is halfway through the park when he sees a silhouette by one of the benches, shaking, and making noises. He thinks that he shouldn't pry—it isn't his business after all—but something pulls him towards the silhouette, and he is surprised to see the woman he's been thinking of (not in that way, of course).

"Yor?" calls out Twilight—he has to remind himself he is Loid Forger when he is around her. He is nearing the bench and Yor tenses up, hands moving away from her eyes as she turns towards his voice.

"L-Loid?" she gasps. Her nose is red, eyes are puffy, and her entire being is trembling.

"Jesus Christ," Loid says under his breath as he moves closer and closer, and Yor is shrinking into herself, hugging herself tighter, pulling her knees to her chest as if to disappear. "Yor—yes, it's me, Loid. What… are you alright?"

She takes a while to respond, and Loid is about to ask the question again when she shakes her head. Yor takes a deep, shaky breath and smiles weakly at him, lips also trembling. She is fighting the tears from falling. "I'm not okay."

Loid half-hoped that she would say she was okay so he could move on with his run and his own thoughts—but it was his choice, once again, that got him here. He thinks for a moment for what to say, and finally asks, "Would you like me to leave you alone?"

"No," Yor responds immediately, shaking her head. There is a desperation in her voice he can't seem to understand—or, rather, he's refusing to understand. It sounds like she may have been close to disappearing after all, and Loid had interfered. "Stay."

He hides the sigh that nearly escapes his throat and Yor is slowly moving to one side of the bench, making space for Loid. He moves to sit next to her, with part of the bench a little warm from her own body heat.

They don't speak for a long time. Loid is regretting all his choices that led him to this very uncomfortable predicament. Sitting on a bench on a cold evening, next to a stranger he met a few weeks ago—who, by the way, had a suspicious scent of blood on her—when he, himself, is going through some kind of existential crisis.

However, he realizes with a newfound awareness that he has always done this. That he has always put others before himself. That helping and serving others is his role, the very fiber of his being. Suddenly, his mind is turning, churning. Despite the peace after the war, there are people like Yor, like him, that are still trying to get accustomed to this calm they had never experienced in their lives. There are people who move on quicker than others and there are ones who couldn't, who can't because the war is their life, their only experience, their… comfort zone.

"It's getting cold, Yor," starts Loid. She stays silent. He glances at her shivering form. There is no way her coat is keeping her warm. "Come on," he says gently, "I can walk you to bus stop."

"No." Her tears are welling up again, and Loid regrets being ill-prepared for this moment. He is almost always prepared for any occasion, but he did run out of his apartment with a messy mind and very little planning.

"May I ask what's wrong?" Loid asks softly. He is watching her while she digs her teeth on her bottom lip, lashes clumped together from all the tears she shed. "You don't have to answer, but it is easier to speak with a stranger about your concerns you don't want to share with people who are close to you." To add some humor, he says, "That is what I do as a psychiatrist."

To his relief, Yor lets out a small, surprised laugh. "I forgot you were a psychiatrist."

"Among many things." He shrugs.

She is silent again, fingers playing at the straps of her bag (Is it the same bag? Loid wonders). "I have been… fighting for peace, Loid. All my life. That is all I know." She pauses and her voice cracks when she looks at him and asks him, "But why do I feel like this peace is breaking me?"

Yor starts crying again, and her question resonated so painfully in his chest that he moves closer and tucks her under his arm, letting her cry and sob on his shoulder and chest. He doesn't even think about it. He stays quiet.

"I thought the war would go on forever," Yor continues, not looking at Loid, but looking at her hands instead. "I thought I would never see the day when there is peace in the world… Loid, I…" Yor trails off and shifts in his embrace, hands on her face again, shoulders shaking, "I thought I was going to die. Each time I went to work, I fought like it was my last breath," more tears, "my last moment," she wipes her eyes furiously, and she lifts her red eyes to meet his, "because for my brother, for everyone to experience peace in the world, I—I would do anything. I don't want them to lose the people they care about in that stupid war."

Loid's breath catches in his throat. He can feel the passion from her words, from the beating of her heart, from her strong gaze. He doesn't know what to say—he can't say anything. He feels like she's reading him like an open book, and it is unnerving.

"But…" Yor pulls away from Loid's half-embrace, looking away again, "I don't know who I am anymore. And what I should do with my life." She hugs herself again, gazing at the tops of her shoes. "Yuri is a police now. The war is done. There is peace. My job is done. But why… why am I still alive?"

"I should've died, too," Loid says after some careful thoughts. He feels like his mouth is dry, so he swallows loudly. Yor doesn't seem to notice. "I should've died many times. But I keep surviving." He watches her closely. Her gaze is focused on the ground. "And that's what people like you and I do. Survive."

She looks up at that and catches him watching her. "Yes," Yor agrees, "we survive each time, don't we?"

"What happens next," Loid continues as he holds onto her gaze, "is also unknown to me. Actually, I…" He takes a deep breath and looks out to the park; now he's the one who is feeling overwhelmed. "I haven't been able to sleep well. I don't really know… what I should be doing during a peaceful time. I don't… I don't have any family or friends left, just Franky, who I met during the war." He feels his chest tighten with what feels like the urge to cry.

"I threw everything for the war, to bring peace as well." Yor starts to rummage through her bag as he continues, "But now that it's here, I don't know what to do."

She hands him some crumpled napkins (which she assures him are clean), and he accepts them even though he doesn't think he'll need it. "You don't want to make your own family?"

Loid makes an expression that makes Yor giggle. Her eyes are dry now, but she's still congested from all her crying.

"Family is the best thing I ever had during the war," Yor says softly. "Yuri is my reason to keep surviving."

"You aren't planning of making your own family either?" Loid asks, eyebrows raised slightly.

She makes a surprised noise. "Have you forgotten how I was at the hot pot?" Yor's smile is more relaxed now. "There isn't a normal human fiber on me. Everyone thinks I'm weird."

"Well, I think you're pretty." Loid replies so quickly he wishes he covered his mouth before he said anything.

Yor's face turned red and before she can move back or reply, Loid says, "I'm sorry—I really didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I promise, I—"

"You really think so?"

"Yes." Goddamn it, Loid thinks, why is he answering so fast?!

Even her ears turned red, but she smiles all the same. "Thank you," Yor says. "You… you really saved me tonight."

Loid gives her a half-smile; he wanted to say the same. Now, he doesn't feel alone in his thoughts. It really felt good talking to a (somewhat) stranger about his worries. Maybe he should look for his own therapist. "I'm glad I can help a fellow comrade."

A fellow comrade, Yor repeats in her mind, he really mustn't think of me that way. But oh well, it was great to talk to someone about her deepest and darkest thoughts, thoughts she can't share with anyone else. "Well, I shouldn't keep you," Yor says. She stands up before Loid can and straightens her coat, her head high and her smile a little brighter than earlier.

"You sure you'll be alright?" Loid stands up to follow her.

"I'll be okay now," Yor tells him, adjusting her bag over her shoulder as she turns to wave at him again. Then she finally realizes that he had (half) hugged her while she sobbed on his shirt and her face turns red. She grips the straps of her bags tightly. "I, um, thank you so much for everything, Loid. I hope you can learn to live in this peace we both worked hard for." As an afterthought, she says, "I'll try my hardest too! Like I did in the war, I will try to live better in this peace."

Yor doesn't wait for Loid to say anything. She sends him a last smile and turns around. They haven't exchanged numbers and she doesn't think they're bound to see each other again. After all, she works at a company with regular hours while he must be working weird hospital hours as a psychiatrist. If not for the mixer, they really wouldn't have known of each other.

"W-wait, Yor!"

Yor looks back and Loid is catching up with her.

"Will we see each other again?"

Yor's eyes widen in surprise, face turning red by the second. Her shoulders are tense, and she can feel the heat in her face. "I-I-"

Loid doesn't know why he's doing this. Running after a woman he let cry on his shoulder. Asking her if they'll see each other again. Perhaps it's the companionship he felt when they opened up to one another, despite not knowing anything about each other—which is sometimes better. "It's okay if you don't want to, I just wanted to see if—"

"Yes," she breathes, face very red, "Yes, I'd love to."

"Great," he replies with a relieved smile, "Great, well, I'll catch you next time."

"Do you want to exchange numbers?" Yor asks, rummaging through her bag once again. Loid shakes his head.

"I'm in the process of switching phone carriers, you see," he explains. But the truth is, he doesn't have a phone for Loid Forger, and he needs to make sure he has a good enough cover story in case Yor is the type to ask a lot of questions or investigate files or—

In the back of his mind, he wonders if this is dangerous. Is it dangerous to get close to someone he doesn't know anything about? Is it dangerous to let his guard down like this—just because of some emotional connection he felt briefly?

He pushes the thoughts away for later, and decides to take Yor's phone number instead. Yor writes it on a piece of crumpled napkin ("It's clean," Yor reassures him again). They part ways, knowing they may meet again, and Yor goes home with a lighter feeling while Loid heads home, thinking about every possible scenario that can occur if he pursues a friendship with Yor.

Twilight sleeps well for the first time in a long time, and Yor heads to bed without the usual feeling of angst.

Perhaps, there is more to surviving.

Perhaps, it is time to live.