A/N: [Twiyor Week 2024 unofficial contribution]..."Unofficial" since it was written before [Twiyor Week 2024]

It contains "Listen", (as in couples learning to listen to each other); "Lipstick" (implied, Yor wore it on her wedding day) "Nightmares" (a slight reference to "Because It's Real"); "Loid/Yor Day" (it's all about these two); "Complicity" (Yor and Loid are still complicit about their secrets); "Gala Party" (a wedding!) and "Happily Ever After" (I promise there will be a happy ending.)

I might (or might not) write something based off the prompts...spent last weekend participating in the 2024 NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Challenge coming up with a flash fic in two days! It was challenging yet fun. Wish me luck!

For a taste of where their romance began, read "Because It's Real" first. All my Spy X Family stories take place in the same story universe.

Thanks to all my beta readers and their help in getting this story right.

Spoilers: Slight references to manga chapter 86.

"Rats. My fifth mistake."

Yor yanked out the report from her typewriter at City Hall. She groaned. With shaky fingers, she uncapped the white-out. Her lip quivered, and Yor bit it. Her nervousness leaked out in all those white smears on the page.

Four days. Only four days. Their honeymoon, this upcoming Saturday.

The consummation? Whenever she felt ready.

Loid was so good to be patient with her. That would wear thin if she kept them waiting any longer. She wanted to please him. Good wives, even newlyweds, knew how to please their husbands. What if she messed up? No. She'd be a good wife.

Yor focused all her attention on correcting the mistake.

Behind her, at Sharon's desk, Millie and Sharon giggled.

"My goodness, you actually got it?"

"Hush, Millie. I'll show it to you in a moment."

"Oooh, I can't wait."

"Pipe down, you two," Camilla said in the next desk over. "The Section Chief's looking this way."

A rustling meant it was hidden away.

Office gossip went Sharon recently aquired a certain book of relational and dating advice, a genuine uncensored copy from the West, not the censored form it would be published in when it hit bookstores in Ostania. It was said to be rather...saucy.

Camilla stopped by Yor, her hands full of binders. "Yeesh, that report's full of white polka dots."

"I'll start over, Camilla, sorry." Yor grabbed a fresh sheet of paper.

"Just wait. Break's in seven minutes." Camilla tapped past Yor's desk.

Yor fished out a silver chain from her blouse. On her ring finger a glinted gold band with a tiny rose—her "wedding" ring from Loid. She clasped the grenade pin ring hung on the chain between her fingertips. This grenade pin? It was the real ring, the one Loid proposed with a year and a half ago.

Their fake cover marriage blossomed into real love.

Yor nestled the pin ring in her fingers. Maybe she could ask the girls for "relational advice"? She trotted for the water cooler and gulped three cups of water.

Last Saturday, Yor and Loid said the solemn vows again, this time before select family, friends and co-workers in the marble side chapel of a Berlint cathedral. From the ceremony to the gourmet celebratory luncheon afterward, it was lovely. To their guests, it was a couple renewing their vows after two-and-a half-years of marriage, an elegant redo of their simple civil ceremony.

To Yor, it was her wedding day.

Anya and Becky Blackbell, in flower girl dresses of pink and green, floated in like fairies, scattering petals. Yuri linked a protective arm in Yor's and walked her down the aisle. Loid's blue eyes locked with Yor's as she came to him with a demure smile, holding a bouquet of pink and red roses, dressed in a knee-length silver party dress, a white tulle cloud of veil about her shoulders.

The guys were sharp in black tuxedo suits. Franky, as Best Man, shuffled on his feet. Loid stood cool with his slicked back blonde hair. Yor could tell by his set smile and the stiffness in his shoulders, he was anxious. Not even Yuri's burning scowl to Loid, nor Loid's covert threatening glare to Yuri could mar her joy. She flashed each man a crimson stare that said, "If you value your lives, get along."

After that Yuri was obedient as a puppy and Loid relaxed.

Becky Blackbell cried more than anyone. Camilla, Yor's Matron of Honor gave a teeny sniff. Camilla and Malcolm were married that past winter. Camilla insisted it was her way of making up for embarrassing Yor at her party so long before.

As expected, Melinda Desmond did not show up. She contributed a gift of expensive pastries for dessert. After the ceremony, a mysterious old lady gave Loid and Yor a hearty handshake of congratulations and left Loid blinking in surprise when she departed. Loid explained she was a hospital volunteer who took a "motherly" interest in him. Only Fiona Frost was absent, away in the Belvarian Alps.

As for their honeymoon? Loid shared twenty-three ideas and counting, A vacation in Bayan? A weekend in Münk? A trip to that resort island they all loved? Or home?

Yor insisted on home. It was where they fell in love.

Their faces shone with relief. How delicious, to have a slow honeymoon date at home. How fine to be free of the hassles of planning, securing time off, and allaying the suspicions of others. Their schedules were all clear for this Saturday. Franky, in an unusually generous mood, as his wedding gift, offered to take Anya and Becky on an all day "ooting" then.

The morning of their wedding, Loid took Yor's hand and assured her. No worries, she set the pace. Yor felt confident she wouldn't keep them waiting too long.

When did Yor start feeling more comfortable touching Loid? Maybe it started when Yor comforted Loid from a nightmare spring last year. Their relationship grew through touches. Taking hands. Side hugs. Ruffling each other's hair. Locking eyes. Dancing. Unselfconscious welcome-home kisses...growing to deeper touches and kisses.

Comfortable enough, after they came home from their "vow-renewal", to let Loid carry her bride-style over the apartment threshold. To Anya's laughter, and Loid's surprise Yor carried Loid the same way into the living room. Comfortable enough, after Franky left and the family dance party done, to slow dance long with her husband. Anya fell asleep on the couch, tuckered out from the day.

Comfortable enough, after they got Anya into bed, to come to Loid in a silky long black nightgown to his delighted eyes, not just to see the gown, but her. It came to a low "V" in the back, the front v-neckline high enough to hide her chest-scar.

A slow smile spread on Loid's face and she returned it with a shy one. They came together in a kiss. Yor caressed his shoulders and back. Loid smoothed his hands over Yor's waist, her hips, climbing up her spine to her shoulders, down the small of her back, drifting upon her bottom...too near.

Yor shimmied away with a nervous giggle. "'Scuse me."

Loid drew back, his face in question. "Sorry, Yor. Am I going too fast?"

"It's okay." She brushed noses with Loid. Yor whispered her fingers onto his forearms under the rolled sleeves of his long-sleeved t-shirt to his biceps.

"Whoa, it tickles." Loid squirmed away.

"Oh dear. I'm sorry, Loid."

They separated with awkward glances, grateful for the soft darkness hiding their embarrassed faces. They spooned. Loid cozied into Yor and threw his arm over her waist, his right arm tucked beside him. Yor snuggled into Loid.

She traced his left forearm. "Are you okay with waiting? What if I'm not ready until next Saturday?"

"Hush, Rosy." Loid kissed her left shoulder. "We agreed you'd set the pace, remember? Let's get some sleep."

He pressed her closer and Yor settled into his hold. She fingered the top of her threadlike chest scar, peeking out of the top of her neckline, concealed in the darkness. Scars...

She' d felt the fine scar on his other forearm, like an old dog-bite. They never asked questions about their scars. She never breathed a word about that bullet hole in her left buttock. In the daylight, her body on display for him only, there would be no hiding it. He came so close to touching it. Loid's arms weren't ticklish there.

Yor stared into the dark. They needed to talk.

Now it was the middle of the week.

Yor took a deep breath and clutched her grenade pin ring. She entered the break room.

. . .

Millie and Camilla huddled around Sharon, who flipped a page. "Get a load of this."

"Oh my word." Millie stifled a yelp. "Is that even possible?"

Camilla huffed. "No way. That looks uncomfortable."

"Here's some more."

Millie squealed. "Look at that."

Camilla leaned in closer. "Now that one looks interesting."

Yor poured herself some coffee. "What are you all...looking at?"

The three peered at Yor. They put their eyes to the book and sniggered.

"Never mind. Sorry if I interrupted anything."

"It's fine." Sharon puffed her cigarette.

Millie beckoned Yor. "Guess what? Sharon's got a genuine copy of The Swanky Swingers' Guide: For Saucy Singles and Marrieds. Smuggled direct from the West. Can you believe it?"

Yor came closer. "The Swanky Swingers Guide?"

"Take a look." Sharon handed Yor the book.

"Wait Sharon, it's Yor." Camilla said.

"Here goes." Yor squeezed her eyes shut. She cracked the book. She opened her eyes and behold the page the gals stared at. A full pink blush seeped on Yor's cheeks.

"EEEP!" She hurled the book.

Sharon caught it with a leap. "Yor, you really are a schoolgirl."

"That's the only scandalous bit." Camilla put a hand to her forehead.

"The rest is advice," Millie piped up. "Like drink recipes, landing dates, how to communicate, how to be a smokin' partner...If you ask me, it's a great resource."

A smoking partner? Yor hated smoking, Loid quit. Unless Millie meant something more spicy?

Camilla crossed her arms. "Not worth the hype. Why did you want one, Sharon?"

Sharon blew out a long puff. "Just because I'm not lovey-dovey doesn't mean I'm not interested in spicing up my marriage."

That's what Millie meant. Yor took courage.

"Girls? I could use some relational advice. Like, how to spice things up?"

"Please, Yor, a lovebird like you? Don't tell me you've gone frigid on that hot husband of yours."

"No, Camilla. It's nothing like that, just..." Yor blushed.

Millie patted Yor's arm. "I get it. It's totally normal to feel nervous when you're trying something new. I was so nervous when my boyfriend and I—"

"Millie, please." Sharon snapped the book shut. "Privacy, remember? What do you want, Yor?"

Yor fidgeted her fingers, her eyes on the tiled floor. "Loid says I'm a good wife, but I want to be a better wife ph-physically. We want...something different."

Millie lit up. "I like it when my boyfriend talks dirty to me."

Camilla tapped her chin. "Sweet nothings are nice."

Sharon glared straight ahead. "They say a woman likes to be dominated by a man."

Everyone stared at her, silenced.

Yor reddened. An image of Loid bending over her, holding a knife point held to her chest, asking to pierce her heart...Yor swallowed and shook it away with a tingly shiver.

"Thanks anyway."

"Don't overthink it, Yor. You probably already know what you both like."

"Camilla? I think you're totally right."

"Like, try a variation of it. Talk about it first, that's important. Dominic and I find it goes so much better when we're honest. Things like that."

Yor brightened. "That's amazing advice. Thanks a bunch."

Camilla shrugged. "What did I say?"

Sharon turned to leave. "If you want to see more, meet me at our usual lunch spot."

"I'll be there with bells on," Millie said.

Yor whisked out the break-room. Camilla caught up with Yor at her desk.

"You know, my mom gave me a old booklet of hers when I got married, kind of quaint. Advice on how to be a good spouse, how to talk about things. I could lend it to you."

A manual on how to be a good wife?

"I'd love that. Thanks."

"I'll bring it tomorrow. Don't tell anyone it's mine. In fact, you can keep it."

"Your secret is safe with me." Yor grinned. She couldn't wait to see it.

. . .

The next morning Camilla plunked an envelope on Yor's desk. She sneaked a peek at the yellow booklet: Dear Auntie Olga: Advice and Wisdom for Joy in Marriage. Auntie Olga? The famous old newspaper advice columnist? Yor adored everything the sage Auntie Olga said and devoured it. Only Yor remembered the parenting advice, and none of the marriage advice.

At lunch, she scurried to her favorite city overlook park and nestled herself into a quiet corner with two bacon-onion buns, coffee and the booklet. It was thirtyish years old, likely from when Camilla's parents married. If you wrote to Aunt Olga, she would send you advice booklets for all kinds of topics.

Years ago, Yor sent away for the parenting one, long since lost.

Auntie Olgs's advice was things Mom might've told Yor as she took her nervous girl's hand, sharing confidences. Auntie Olga stressed honesty, happy couples were honest couples. Many a pickle could be solved by talking, listening, asking questions and speaking with kindness.

Yor asked Loid more nerve-wracking things sober. He gave her less weird excuses. She and Loid understood one another...even if they left certain things vague.

Perhaps Auntie Olga meant, "As honest as possible."

She said intimacy began with the daily moments a couple shared, influencing their relationship in the bedroom. "The best lovers are partners and friends, for love is an all-day affair."

Did Auntie Olga mean when Loid snuck up on Yor in the kitchen, spun her around and popped a sudden kiss on her lips, surprising and quite pleasurable? Or the plainer moments, like sharing about their day as they tidied things, side by side in the kitchen. That made snuggling by Loid and Anya so much nicer.

Yor pressed the booklet to her chest. "This is exactly it."

She gazed over the city, fingering her grenade pin ring. Franky was coming over for dinner after work. Loid was making his favorite, Beef Bourguignon. Maybe Franky would agree to take Anya and Bond out for a longer park playtime. Then she could bring up things with Loid before dinner.

Back at the office, Yor thanked Camilla, shaking her hand. Camilla gave her a befuddled look.

Yor left work beaming, the calmest she'd been in days.

She could do it.

. . .

"Mmm, Yor, that feels nice. You've got the magic touch."

Yor combed her fingers through Loid's hair as he sat cross-legged on living room floor before her, his eyes shut in relaxation. Afternoon sunlight slanted through the windows. The faint scent of roses on the table mixed with the savory aroma of Beef Bourguignon bubbling in the oven.

"Do I? You've done magic with that stew. It smells heavenly."

"Thanks." Loid opened his eyes and smiled at Yor, perched on the couch. The blue in his v-neck sweater brought out the blue in his eyes. "Franky says I make the best. He insisted it'd be enough for taking Anya and Bond to the park."

Yor moved some blonde strands out of his eyes. There was the usual tiredness in his face, the faint worry of fretting over work and Anya's antics, yet also his relaxed smile and the ease in his limbs—rest from making their marriage finally real? Yor felt it her bones.

"Want to switch?"

"Sure."

Loid arose, Yor slid over. As he gathered some of her loose black hair in his hand, his fingertips brushed a bit of bare skin on her back, and Yor shivered. Her favored dress was his favorite, too. His hands moved through her hair.

"I want to ask you something. Camilla lent me this book on relationships..."

"Don't tell me. The Swanky Swingers Guide?"

"No way, not that—"

Loid chuckled. "You've seen it too? Franky tried to show me his copy. You know Franky."

"He would, wouldn't he? One of the girls at work has it."

"It's ridiculous. He thinks it'll help him land a date."

"The girls were looking at this one page..." Yor grew as red as her dress. "Loid, I'm so nervous."

Loid raked from her roots to the tips. "I'm a little nervous, too."

Yor turned to Loid. His fingers snagged in her hair. "But you're so experienced."

"Not in the way you'd think." Loid unlaced his fingers.

"What do you mean?" Yor tried to meet his eyes.

Loid fumbled with the tips of her hair. "More like, I used, and was used. Nothing really genuine."

"Like you only wanted what you could get?"

"Pretty heartless of me." He gave a rueful smile.

Yor pressed her lips. "What about your first wife?"

"We...didn't have much of a relationship."

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine, Yor."

Loid's strokes grew absent. He adjusted his hands and began again. Yor shut her eyes, enjoying his comforting motions, letting her thoughts meander. There was that unease in her gut again, feeling the pinch of things unsaid. Truths and half-truths.

Did Loid cross his stories? He told her he was a widower of two years. One of her coworkers thought he was a divorcee with a child. Which? That they were divorced and then she'd died? Or—her stomach gave a leap—he'd never been married at all?

If Loid made up the whole thing, there were reasons why, and his own private reasons for adopting Anya. Yor never asked Anya about her mother, for fear of making her cry. He likely invented the story of a wife, afraid Yor wouldn't have agreed to pose as Anya's mother for the Eden Academy interview.

Not that she faulted him. She'd lied, too.

What did it matter now? She was Anya's legal mother and their marriage was real.

"Loid. I'm not upset. About your past."

"That's a relief."

Yor swallowed down her fear. "Was there anyone you were fond of?"

Loid's hands stilled, and he let out a breath. There was a smile in his whisper. "Claudia."

Yor clasped her hands. "Would you mind telling me about her? Only if it's okay."

"I don't mind. Only if it's okay with you."

"Please. What was she like?"

"Claudia..." Loid took his time finger-combing her hair. "She was a colleague from my early days. We did a lot together. Strong and hopeful, like you, Yor. Petite, and lots of pretty brown hair, and these intense amber-green eyes that saw right into you."

"I bet she was lovely."

"She was. She had an accident. Claudia died."

"I'm so sorry. Were you responsible?"

"No, but I blamed myself all the same."

"That's hard."

"Maybe there's something I could've done, I don't know. It happened so quick. It nearly undid me."

Yor turned and wrapped her arm over Loid. This time he met her eyes, and they flickered his thanks. The silence between them was gone.

Yor turned back, and gingerly, Loid smoothed her hair.

"It makes sense," Yor whispered.

"What does?

"Why you used. You were afraid, weren't you? Of getting your heart broken again?"

"I...Hold on." Loid cleared his breath. There was an awkward pause. Loid adjusted like he was pulling off his sweater, and she heard the soft fwiff of it dropping on the floor. Now he was in his t-shirt.

Yor squirmed. "I can't possibly compare to her."

"Stop. You're wonderful as you are." Loid embraced Yor and nuzzled his face upon the nape of her neck. His cheek grazed the grenade pin necklace chain.

Yor opened her mouth to protest. Instead, she touched his hands. He cradled her closer.

"You know," he said low, "Loving you and Anya has changed me. Love is risky, but it's worth it. Even if the price is high, even if you could lose it all...it's worth it."

She pressed his bare arms. "You're so serious, like it's a mission."

"Isn't it?"

Yor shut her eyes and smoothed his arms. Her finger brushed an unmistakable indentation in his right bicep. Her eyes flew open.

"Loid. Your arm."

"What?"

"Who shot you? Tell me." Yor faced him, her hands in fists, her ruby-brown eyes afire.

For a fraction of a moment, panic flashed in his eyes. His composure returned.

"Remember, Yor? That pro-wrestler client of mine, who didn't want his shots? Well, he went berserk and pulled a gun..." He tried to smile.

There was painful twinge in her chest. Yor gripped Loid's arms.

"Why didn't you say anything? You could have died."

"Yor. My arms, please." He gritted his teeth in pain.

Yor released him. "We could've lost you." Her tears fell free.

"I know." Loid dropped his eyes, avoiding her searching gaze. "I have no excuse."

"Don't you trust me?"

"I'm trying." He didn't smile now. "I'm sorry. I was afraid. I didn't know how to tell you, and I didn't want to frighten you and Anya. I was...pretty shaken."

Now they sat side by side. Yor loosed her hands in her lap.

"I saw how you were. I don't blame you."

"You were a lifesaver that day."

"Thank you." Yor wiped her tears with her sleeve. "I forgive you. I wish you hadn't hid it from me."

"I don't deserve your forgiveness."

"You're all right, that's what matters." Yor took his hand. "How'd you hide it?"

"With artificial skin patches. I helped a dermatologist and a cosmetic surgeon at Berlint Hospital concoct it." Loid held her hand, but he avoided her eyes again? "I've been wearing them for some months now. I'm helping them test it out."

"All this time?"

"To protect you both, I suppose." He gave a slight laugh.

"You finally showed me. You must trust, me, a little."

"I do. I am sorry, Yor."

They hugged.

He asked her to not tell Yuri. Ever. Yor swore to it. Yuri's panic if he knew was a thing neither of them wanted to think of, or imagine.

"By the way," Loid said, "The cosmetic surgeon at Berlint Hospital says he can arrange a skin-graft surgery to hide the scar. It's a new technique, and I can get it done as soon as two weeks."

"That's great. Tell me how it goes, because..." Yor's voice squeaked. "I might—"

Loid's eyes narrowed. "Might what?"

"Want to...try the surgery?" Yor fiddled with her fingers. "I—got shot, too."

"You what?" Loid leapt back.

"Shot." Yor's voice was tiny. "In the butt."

"You got shot in the ass?!"

Yor waved her hands. "It was before our date, long ago, the one where I refused to sit? I wasn't mad at you, I promise. I was just in pain..."

Loid gave her a silent, dumbfounded stare. "Y—you weren't mad?"

"No. My butt killed."

"But how?"

"I was about to go to the store when a guy assaulted me, in the dark. He shot at me and the bullet hit my butt. I knocked him down good and hard. Later I took the bullet out, myself."

"You. Did. What?"

"I removed the bullet. It's healed and everything. I learned how in a wartime first aid course."

"Yor. I can't even." Loid slumped back on the couch, a hand over his eyes.

Yor fidgeted with her dress hem. "I did all kinds of things to support us..."

"Please." Loid shook his finger in her face. "Don't go down strange alleys, or do anything else dangerous, unless, unless—you're protecting someone or are absolutely sure you can defend yourself."

Yor considered him. "But you're one to talk, Loid Forger."

"I am?" He stopped, finger held mid-air.

Yor tee-heed behind her palm. "You know."

Realization flashed over Loid's face. He withdrew his hand. "Oh."

Giggles rose in Yor, like bubbles. First bumping in the belly, one popped free, and another. Yor erupted. "My goodness, Loid. You. Me. Us..."

Loid stared at Yor. Then he smirked and broke. The laughter was contagious, and Loid clutched his sides, laughing, both carried away in the same sea of silliness. The fit subsided, and they fell back shoulder to shoulder on the couch, with happy sighs.

"My arm. And your bottom..." Loid took a big breath of air.

"It sure explains last Saturday."

"If someone marched into my office and told me this, I'd think they were nuts. But us?"

"We're nuts." Yor said. "Two mysterious nuts who get one other."

"You're a nice mystery." Loid scooted closer to Yor. He slipped his hand into the back gap of her sweater dress, curving his hand upon her, caressing her bare skin, stroking her waist.

Yor trembled under the soft touch of his slightly callused fingers. So warm...Her heart thumped. Loid leaned closer, his eyes intent. Yor leaned in for the kiss.

"I have another secret, dearest..." Yor whispered.

"What is it?" Loid said, between kisses.

"Did you know...I was a female wrestler once?"

"What?" Loid jerked back, his fingers still on her waist.

Yor laughed. "It's true, not lying. When I was a teenager, Yuri and I had this neighbor who looked in on us, Mrs. Rhonda. She made great cakes, and was a professional female wrestler, 'Rhonda the Rock.' She even helped train me."

Loid stared at Yor as if she might lock him into a half-nelson.

"Once, Mrs. Rhonda got injured and asked me to stand in for her for a week. Yuri was worried sick. I said I'd be fine. And I was. I beat all my opponents, in seconds flat. Some of the ladies got a little scared, I guess I should've held back my strength. I quit after Mrs. Rhonda got better. Yuri positively begged me to, Mrs. Rhonda too. People got jealous since I never lost."

"You, a wrestler? That I can believe."

"I won't wrestle you. Unless couples do that in bed?"

"No, not quite." Loid gave a relieved laugh. "Wrestlers are scary."

They glanced at the clock. Franky, Anya and Bond would be home in fifteen minutes.

"Better check the stew."

"Need any help?"

"You could set the table." Loid pulled on his sweater.

In the kitchen, Yor got the plates and silverware. Loid took the Beef Bourguignon from the oven. He lifted the lid. Yor wanted to tell him how delicious it smelled, but was checked by the tiny line etched in his forehead, between his eyes.

Yor laid the plates. "Is something worrying you?"

"Just thinking." He dumped mushrooms on cutting board.

"It's not the wresting thing, is it? I've made you uncomfortable..."

"Not at all." Loid chopped. "Fiona gave us a wedding gift, yesterday. I felt embarrassed to show you, I don't know why. I was going to. I have an odd gut feeling about it."

Yor blanched. "The Guide?"

"Come on, Yor. A painting. It's in the foyer closet."

Yor retrieved it, along with Fiona's card and check. She examined the medium-size oil, a romantic nighttime cityscape, full of blueness. Pretty.

"What's the big deal, Loid?"

"It's not just a painting. I sense it contains some sort of bombshell." Loid scooted the chopped mushrooms into a heated skillet, sizzling with butter.
"Bombshell?" Yor cocked her head. Whatever Loid feared, she didn't see it. The obvious title was no help. "What do you mean?"

"Why did Fiona get us this instead of a view the Belvarian Alps?"

"Maybe she thought we'd like it?"

Loid sauteed the mushrooms."Fiona knows this isn't my taste. It's peculiar."

"You're the artist, Loid. You taught me how to read paintings at the museum."

"Maybe you'll see what I don't?"

"Fine." Yor studied it closer. Of course this was a night scene by the Ost River, in some city like Berlint. A couple sat on a bench by the riverfront, their backs to the viewer. Soft white moonlight touched them and rippled in the water. There were gathering clouds in the indigo sky, about to mist rain, perhaps. The mistiness lent a wistful melancholy.

Who was that couple? Who watched them?

"I—" Yor shot up. "I got it."

"Got what?" Loid paused, his spoon held aloft.

Yor gave a happy shout. "Fiona's conceded defeat."

"Defeat? This isn't about your tennis match, is it?"

"No. Yes. I beat her, I finally beat her. She admits it." She made a victory fist.

"I fail to see how." He stirred the buttery mushrooms into the stew.

"It's all here, the art code.." Yor held up the painting.

Loid put the lid on the stew. "I checked it, and there's no cipher."

Yor held it before Loid. "The how-you-read-art code."

"Explain."

"Blue is sadness, like feeling blue. Or quiet. This feels like both, and since the moon is out...bittersweet. The river means things will go on? Maybe something tough happened to the couple, but it's over, so they're happy. Their back is to us. Or maybe...it's about the person watching them?"

She blushed. "Oh my."

"Yor? What are you saying?"

"I'm saying...Fiona likes you, Loid."

"Nghht—? Not Fiona." His eyes were blue pinpricks. "This changes everything. This changes everything..."

Yor held out a glass. "Please, drink some water."

Loid stared at Yor, his face pale. "I study people. How did I not know?"

"We ladies can hide things if we want. Is it that bad?"

"It's bad. I'm a married man now. What if people say things? It'll be all over."

"Everybody already thinks we're married. Fiona won't blab."

Loid stared into space, at the direction of the front door. "Too many bombshells..." A click of a key in the lock, and the apartment door opened.

"I need to lay down." Loid bolted.

"Wait—" The water sloshed as Yor chased him.

Loid's door slam mixed with a chorus happy barks and Franky and Anya's "We're home."

A/N: Oh, dear! Loid, you do overthink things! I guess I can't blame you for needing a breather. Don't lose heart, Yor-you can draw him out. Bonus points to you both for being (somewhat) honest about your bullet wounds! You are nuts, but that's why we love you both.

This ended up being a longer chapter, but I didn't want to interrupt the flow of action. They will have a happy ending, I promise. Hoping to post the rest by this weekend.

A few notes: "The Swanky Swingers Guide" is inspired by "Sex and The Single Girl", written in the 1960s by Helen Gurley Brown, founder of Cosmo Magazine.

It is my head-canon Loid/Twilight is an artist...when I saw him drawing the Spy Wars cartoon, that clinched it! He's too busy to make art so he puts his creativity into his latex masks/disguises and his cooking.

As for the female wrestler...one of my older friend's mom was a female wrestler in the 1950s. She showed us her pictures...so cool! Yor is being absolutely truthful there.

~Peace,

Katsumi.