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Yuri had dressed carefully. Not overly carefully, he wasn’t absurd, but enough that the collar of his shirt sat just right beneath his jacket, and his shoes were free of dust. A pleasant spring outing called for presentation. One never knew who might be observing, and more importantly, one never knew when one’s sister might glance over and think, My, what a fine young man my brother has become.
The morning light was soft and gold, warming the edges of the city in that gentle early-spring way. The kind of day that seemed made for long walks and private conversations. Yor had suggested a hike, something scenic, she’d said, and Yuri had accepted immediately, masking his enthusiasm behind dignified approval. Just the two of them: a walk, a picnic, fresh air, and an escape from all that has taken them away from each other. It had been some time since they’d done something like that. He adjusted his cuffs as he stepped into the Forger apartment, already prepared to offer some gallant remark about the weather. “I’m here, Sister—” He stopped.
Anya was in the hallway, hopping in place as if the floor were electrified. “Uncle Yuri is slow! Operation Picnic Adventure will fail at this rate!” Bond barked once in agreement and nearly knocked over a side table with his tail.
Yuri blinked. “…Operation what?”
Yor emerged from the kitchen with a basket hooked over her arm, smiling brightly. “Oh! Yuri, you’re right on time!”
He stared at the basket, then at Anya, then at the very large white dog currently attempting to fit his entire head into the basket. “I,” Yuri began slowly, “was under the impression this would be… a quiet outing.”
“It will be!” Yor said cheerfully. “Anya was so excited when she heard ‘picnic,’ and Bond needs the exercise. I thought it would be nice for everyone.” Nice. Of course, it would be nice.
Anya struck a heroic pose near the door. “Agent Anya will protect Mama from suspicious trees.”
“There are no suspicious trees,” Yuri muttered being drowned out as Bond barked again in blind enthusiasm. Yuri inhaled through his nose and exhaled just as carefully, and smiled, careful, practiced, maybe not quite perfected. “Of course,” he said smoothly. “The more the merrier.” Anya squinted at him, suspicious, but Yor beamed, clearly relieved. She shifted the basket in her grip, and without thinking, Yuri stepped forward. “I’ll carry that.”
“Oh, Yuri, you don’t have to—”
“I insist.” He took it before she could protest further. It was heavier than expected, though not burdensome. Just full of neatly wrapped sandwiches, pastries from the bakery down the street, fruit polished to a bright sheen. Bottled drinks clinked faintly against one another as he adjusted his hold. He told himself it was simply practical; he was taller, stronger, it was only natural, but there was something quietly satisfying about the weight settling into his hands and Yor’s approving smile.
“Thank you,” she said warmly, “That’s very helpful.”
Anya tugged at Yor’s sleeve. “Mama, can we go now? The wilderness awaits!”
“The wilderness,” Yuri echoed as if maybe repeating it would help him make sense of this child. Still, it was a beautiful day: the sky stretched wide and blue, trees budding green with new leaves, and the air carried the faint scent of grass and something sweet blooming nearby.
Yor locked the door behind them, humming faintly to herself as they descended the steps. Yuri fell into step at her side automatically, basket balanced easily in his grasp. Anya ran ahead and then doubled back, narrating her own adventure as Bond trotted loyally after her. It wasn’t what he’d pictured: he had imagined a quiet conversation, a chance to walk beside Yor without interruption, to ask how she’d been, to hear her laugh without someone else demanding it. “Uncle Yuri! If a bear appears, you must defend Mama!”
“There are no bears in this park,” he snapped.
“Suspicious statement!” Anya gasped.
Yor laughed fondly, and despite himself, the sound eased something in his chest. He glanced sideways at her, at the spring sunlight caught in her hair. The breeze tugged loose strands free from where she’d tied it back. She looked lighter somehow, unburdened, happy. Yuri straightened slightly, adjusting his grip on the basket. It was fine, it was still time with her, even if it wasn’t quite the way he’d imagined.
The park trail was insultingly well-maintained. Gravel packed smooth beneath their shoes, wooden railings lining the steeper bends, little painted signs with arrows and cheerful illustrations pointing toward “Scenic Overlook” and “Creek Bend.”
Yuri eyed one of the signs as they passed. “This hardly qualifies as a hike,” he muttered, “It’s a guided stroll.”
Anya gasped dramatically. “Uncle Yuri underestimates the wild!” She darted ahead, then immediately doubled back to inspect a patch of dandelions as though they were rare artifacts. Bond lumbered after her with surprising patience, occasionally nudging her upright when she leaned too far toward the ground.
Yor walked between them, smiling, turning her head this way and that as if she were cataloging everything: flowers, birdsong, sunlight filtering through new leaves. “It’s so pretty,” she said softly.
Yuri glanced at her. Spring had painted everything in bright, forgiving colors; the trees were just beginning to fill out, tender green leaves catching the light, the air carried warmth, brushing against his skin. He adjusted the basket in his grip, “It’s adequate.” Yor laughed, and he felt absurdly pleased.
Anya suddenly froze mid-path. “There!” she whispered, pointing toward a cluster of bushes.
Yuri stiffened automatically. “What?”
“A suspicious squirrel.” They all watched as a perfectly ordinary squirrel darted up a tree. Bond gave a single, solemn bark. “See?” Anya said triumphantly.
Yuri pinched the bridge of his nose. “Your threat assessment skills are deeply flawed.”
Yor crouched beside Anya anyway. “It’s very quick,” she said earnestly. “That must help it stay safe.” Anya beamed at her, and Yuri watched the exchange from a few steps back. He hadn’t meant to fall behind.
Yor rose again, brushing dirt from her knees. “Let’s keep going! I think the creek is just ahead.”
They resumed walking; the trail sloped gently upward, curving around a small hill. Sunlight flickered through the branches overhead, dappling Yor’s shoulders in shifting gold. Yuri found himself matching her pace automatically, the basket steady against his side. The weight was comfortable. He liked carrying it, liked that she didn’t have to.
Anya ran ahead again, narrating loudly about enemy territories and hidden bases. Bond trotted faithfully beside her, occasionally glancing back to ensure the adults were still following. Yuri leaned slightly toward Yor as they walked. “You could have told me,” he said lightly.
“Told you what?”
“That this was to be… a full expedition.”
Yor blinked at him, then smiled sheepishly. “Oh. I’m sorry, Yuri. I just thought it would be more fun.”
He studied her expression: there was no calculation there, no awareness of the shift he felt, just simple happiness at having them all together. He softened despite himself. “Yes,” he said after a moment. “I suppose it is.”
Ahead of them, Anya stumbled over a tree root and windmilled her arms dramatically before regaining balance. “I meant to do that!” Bond huffed, clearly unconvinced. Yor’s hand had already lifted instinctively, as if she could steady Anya from several yards away. She’s always so fast. Yuri’s fingers tightened slightly around the basket handle; he told himself it was just the incline.
The path leveled out as they reached a small clearing. The sound of running water filtered faintly through the trees. “The creek!” Yor said brightly.
Anya let out a victorious shout and bolted forward. Yuri quickened his pace. “Do not run near water—” Too late. Anya had already reached the shallow bank, crouching to peer into the clear stream. Bond stood guard beside her like an oversized sentinel. Yor laughed and moved to join them, careful but unhurried.
Yuri followed, setting the basket down on a flat patch of grass near the water’s edge. The air felt different here, cooler, touched by mist from the moving water. Sunlight glittered across the surface in fractured patterns. Anya dipped her fingers in ripples. “It’s cold!”
“Don’t fall in,” Yuri warned.
“Anya is graceful,” she declared, immediately slipping and catching herself on Bond’s fur.
Yor gasped softly, then relaxed when Anya began giggling instead of crying. Yuri exhaled; he hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath like he cared. Yor knelt beside Anya, brushing hair from her face. “Be careful, sweetheart.”
Yuri turned his gaze toward the water, watching it rush past stones smoothed by time. The moment felt easy, light, maybe careless. He told himself again that this was fine, and it was; the day was warm, the basket was full, and his sister was smiling.
Anya collapsed onto the blanket face-first next to him. “Agent down,” she announced into the fabric. Bond circled once before lowering himself beside her with a contented huff.
Yuri set the basket down with deliberate care and knelt to open it; the lid lifted easily. Inside, everything was arranged neatly, and there was no uncertainty about whether there would be enough; really, there was more than plenty. He began handing things out. Yor passed Anya a sandwich and brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “Eat slowly, okay? You ran a lot.” Anya nodded solemnly and took an enormous bite.
For a few minutes, there was only the soft rustle of paper and the distant rush of water. A breeze stirred the trees overhead, scattering light across the blanket. Yuri allowed himself to relax. This, at least, felt orderly.
Anya took three more bites. Then a splash from the creek caught her attention; her head snapped up. “Bond! The water is calling us!” Before anyone could object, she shoved the half-eaten sandwich into the napkin, sprang to her feet, and bolted toward the creek again.
Bond followed immediately, tail sweeping crumbs across the blanket in his wake. Yuri stared at the abandoned sandwich. “…She didn’t finish.”
Yor glanced over her shoulder, already half-rising. “Oh?”
“She barely ate half of it.”
“It’s alright,” Yor said lightly. “She’ll get hungry again later.”
Yuri’s gaze sharpened. The sandwich sat there, bread slightly compressed where small fingers had gripped it, filling exposed, untouched fruit beside it. He could almost feel the phantom weight of a different basket in his hands. Food had not once been something to abandon mid-bite. “She shouldn’t waste it,” he said, more firmly than he meant to.
Yor paused, not defensive, just thoughtful. Before she could respond, Bond trotted back over, drawn by scent alone. He lowered himself beside the blanket and fixed Yor with a look so pleading it bordered on theatrical. His tail thumped once, and Yor smiled. “Well,” she murmured as she picked up the remaining sandwich, brushing off stray crumbs, and held it out. “We can share, can’t we?” Bond accepted it delicately.
Yuri blinked. “That’s not—” He stopped himself.
Yor tilted her head. “It won’t go to waste.”
Bond lay down to eat, tail wagging steadily. The problem, Yuri realized, was not logic; the problem was that Yor didn’t seem bothered. There was no hidden flicker of concern in her expression, no instinctive calculation, or quiet mental tally of what would be left for later. Just trust that there will be more. He looked down at his own sandwich, still whole in his hands, and took a measured bite. The bread was soft, fresh, not stretched thin to last another day. Across the clearing, Anya shrieked with laughter as she splashed in the water. Yor rose to supervise, smiling at the chaos.
Yuri remained seated for a moment longer. The basket beside him was still comfortably full. Sunlight warmed his shoulders. There was no shortage here, no urgency or need to make everything count, and yet his chest felt tight. He swallowed the bite in his mouth and told himself it was nothing.
He rose to join them by the creek. It was shallow enough that sunlight reached the stones at the bottom, turning them gold and amber beneath the moving water, and curved lazily around the clearing, more decorative than dangerous. Anya had already long abandoned her shoes and socks right on the water's edge. “Observe,” she declared, stepping into the water with theatrical caution. She lasted three seconds before kicking, deliberately watching with delight as the water arced outward. Bond barked, offended and delighted all at once, and stepped in beside her, sending up a far more impressive splash.
Yor gasped, then laughed, “Oh! It’s cold!” She slipped off her shoes and joined them, skirt gathered carefully in one hand. The water reached only her ankles, but she reacted as though she’d plunged into something far deeper. Anya shrieked with glee and splashed again.
Yuri remained on the bank, arms crossed, expression carefully neutral. “I refuse,” he announced, “to participate in such reckless, undignified behavior.”
Anya turned slowly; her eyes narrowed. “Mama,” she whispered loudly, “Uncle Yuri is scared.”
“I am not scared,” he snapped immediately. Bond trotted toward him, water dripping from his fur in steady rivulets.
Yor glanced back. “It’s refreshing, Yuri.”
“I’m perfectly refreshed,” he replied stiffly. “From here.”
Anya exchanged a look with Bond that could only be described as conspiratorial, then she bent slightly. Yuri saw it happen; a small but determined splash of water hit the front of his pants. There was a brief, suspended silence. Anya froze like she realized a bit too late that he might actually get mad at her. Yor blinked, and Bond wagged. Yuri looked down at the darkened fabric, then back at Anya; very slowly, he stepped out of his shoes. “You,” he said calmly, rolling his sleeves up with meticulous precision, “have made a grave tactical error.” Anya gasped in delighted horror. He stepped into the creek, and the water was colder than he expected as it rushed around his ankles. He ignored it as Anya took a defensive stance and retaliated with a splash that was far more controlled, a precise arc aimed directly at her.
She squealed. “Uncle Yuri betrayed me!”
“You initiated hostilities,” he returned.
Bond barked and charged between them, tail acting as a third combatant with no loyalties. Yor tried to intervene and was immediately caught in the crossfire. “Oh!” she laughed, shielding her face far too late.
For several minutes, there was no composure left to maintain. Yuri splashed, Anya shrieked, Bond shook violently, drenching all of them, Yor laughed so freely it rang across the clearing, and Yuri found himself laughing too, actual laughter, not the composed chuckle he offered in polite company. His hair fell slightly out of place, and his pants were soaked to mid-calf, yet he did not care. Anya slipped and grabbed his sleeve to steady herself. “See?” she declared breathlessly. “Uncle Yuri is childish.”
He scoffed, though he didn’t remove her hand. “This is controlled engagement.”
“Uh-huh.”
Yor smiled at both of them, sunlight catching in her eyes. For a moment, standing ankle-deep in cool water, Yuri felt something loosen in his chest. It was ridiculous, undignified, and nice. Eventually, though, the energy began to ebb. Anya’s splashes grew smaller, her protests less frequent. Bond slowed, tongue lolling. Yuri noticed first: how she stumbled slightly when she turned.
Yor stepped closer automatically. “Anya?”
“I’m fine,” Anya insisted, though her voice had lost its earlier edge. Yuri watched her more carefully now, the water no longer seeming like an arena.
Yor clapped her hands together lightly. “Alright,” she said, still smiling though her hair clung damply to her cheeks. “We should probably head back before it gets too late.” Anya made a dramatic sound of protest but didn’t argue. That, more than anything, caught Yuri’s attention.
He stepped out of the creek first, retrieving his shoes and brushing grass from the blanket. The basket waited where he’d left it, still comfortably full despite Bond’s intervention. He began repacking everything with tidy efficiency: containers sealed, wrappers folded, blanket shaken once, twice, before being folded into neat thirds.
Behind him, Yor crouched in front of Anya with a handkerchief. “Hold still,” she murmured, dabbing at Anya’s sleeves. “You’re soaked.”
“I am battle-worn,” Anya replied, though she leaned into the attention.
Bond shook himself violently, and a spray of cold droplets hit Yuri squarely between the shoulders. He stiffened, and behind him, Yor laughed. “I’m sorry!” Bond wagged his tail, unapologetic.
Yuri inhaled slowly. “It’s fine,” he said, though his tone suggested the opposite. He slung the basket handle over his arm once more and turned back toward the trail.
Yor finished patting Anya dry as best she could and rose, offering her hand. Anya took it automatically, and they began walking. At first, nothing seemed different: the trees still filtered warm spring light, the air still carried the scent of grass and running water, gravel crunched softly beneath their steps, but Anya did not run ahead. She stayed beside Yor, her grip on her hand remained firm. Yuri noticed immediately, but didn’t comment; instead, he simply adjusted his pace to match theirs.
A few minutes passed, and Anya’s steps shortened. She tripped over nothing and recovered without complaint. Yor glanced down. “Are you alright?”
“Mhm,” Anya said.
Yuri watched her from the corner of his eye. Her earlier sharp movements had dulled into something softer. Her free hand hung loosely at her side instead of gesturing wildly. Even Bond seemed to slow in response, walking closer to her leg instead of ranging ahead. The incline that had felt negligible before now seemed to stretch longer as Anya fell half a step behind. Then a full one. Yuri slowed instinctively, keeping more tabs on her: she didn’t complain or dramatize, she just kept walking, but her head dipped forward slightly, her shoulders drooped. The spring sunlight that had seemed bright and endless earlier now slanted lower through the trees.
Yuri’s grip tightened around the basket handle. He recognized the signs before he let himself think about why. “Anya,” he said, trying for neutral, “you’re dragging.”
She immediately straightened. “I am not! Agent Anya is very fast!” She took three quicker steps. Then faltered again.
Yor stopped walking and turned fully this time, crouching slightly to meet Anya’s eye level. She asked gently, “Are you tired?”
Anya hesitated just long enough. “…Maybe a little.”
There was no judgment or impatience in Yor’s expression. Only her familiar softness. “That’s alright,” she said, then she turned her back and bent her knees. “Climb on.” The words were simple and casual, almost automatic.
Yuri felt something in his chest go very still. Anya blinked once, as if confirming this was allowed. Then she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Yor’s shoulders. Yor lifted her smoothly, adjusting her grip under Anya’s knees with a small, practiced bounce. Bond fell into step beside them, and the gravel crunched again.
The world continued exactly as it had before, but Yuri was no longer fully there. Because the angle was the same, the way Yor shifted her weight, the way Anya’s cheek rested near her shoulder, the way Yor’s hand patted her leg once in reassurance. Softly, almost unconsciously, Yor began to hum the same three notes, off-key and repeated. Yuri’s breath caught. Spring sunlight flickered between the trees, but in his mind the air was colder, the path steeper, the basket lighter, and he was small enough to fit between her shoulders.
The path had been steeper than he thought it would be. It was not a hiking trail or a place marked on a map, just a narrow stretch of earth beaten flat by careful, repeated footsteps. The mountains had always felt too big for the two of them. He had been five at the time, maybe six. The air had smelled like pine sap and damp soil, and the hem of his pants had been dark with mud where he’d slipped earlier and insisted he hadn’t. The basket Yor carried knocked gently against her hip, half-filled with herbs she’d identified with a seriousness that made her seem older than she was. “We just need a little more,” she’d said, scanning the brush. “Then we can go home.”
He’d nodded, jaw set. He was helpful and strong; he could do this, but the mountain did not care about determination. His legs began to shake first, then burn, then wobble in a way he couldn’t hide. He’d tried to match her stride and failed. Tried to step over a root, but his legs felt too heavy, and he caught his toe instead. The ground rushed up, and suddenly the world was pine needles and the sharp, humiliating sting in his palms. Yor had dropped the basket immediately. “Yuri!”
Her hands were on him before he could say he was fine. She was always so fast; always so certain. “I’m not tired,” he’d insisted, voice wobbling despite himself.
She had looked at him in that quiet way she did, eyes soft, mouth thoughtful, like she was solving a puzzle no one else could see. Then she turned her back to him and crouched. “Climb on.”
He hesitated; pride warring with relief and the part in his brain that worried he might tire her out. “I can walk.”
“I know,” she said gently, “But I want to carry you.” Not because he couldn’t, but because she wanted to, and that had made all the difference. He’d climbed up carefully, arms wrapping around her neck, fingers bunching in the fabric of her coat. It smelled faintly of laundry soap, something metallic, and a faint floral note, possibly from the sewing work she took on at night. It felt familiar and safe. She stood in one smooth motion, adjusting him with a little bounce until his knees hooked properly at her waist.
He remembered the warmth of her back through her coat; the steady rhythm of her breathing; the way the world shifted when seen from over her shoulder rather than below. The path down felt longer. The wind was colder now, threading through the trees and slipping under his sleeves. His cheek rested against her shoulder, pressed to the worn fabric there. He could feel the vibration in her voice when she spoke. “You did well today,” she murmured. “You found the good ones.”
He didn’t answer. There was less birdsong, but the rustling of leaves and the steady rhythm of his sister’s footsteps were lulling. He tried burying his face further into her shoulder in an attempt to shield it from the nipping of the wind. He wasn’t asleep, not even really dozing; he just liked listening. After a while, she began to hum. Softly, off-key, the same three or four notes, over and over, like she was trying to remember the rest and couldn’t. The sound buzzed faintly through her collarbone into his cheek.
Her steps were careful and deliberate; she never stumbled when she carried him. He had tightened his arms slightly around her neck, something she mistook for sleep. “It’s okay,” she whispered, almost to herself. “I’ve got you, Yuri.” He remembered thinking, very clearly, that as long as she said that, nothing in the world could possibly be too heavy.
The sky had been turning pink by the time the house came into view. He kept his eyes closed when she shifted him higher. He pretended not to notice when she brushed dirt from his knee with her thumb, pretended not to hear the small sigh she let out when they reached the door. He had wanted that walk to last forever.
Slowly, the pink sky faded first, then the scent of pine, the steady mountain wind against his cheek, the hum remained the longest: three soft notes, off-key, repeated. Gravel crunched, a dog huffed. Yuri blinked, and spring rushed back in all at once. Green leaves instead of thinning branches, warm air instead of sharp cold, the basket in his hand heavier now, full of containers and neatly folded cloth instead of sparse herbs and hard-earned berries.
The hum hadn’t stopped; it had only changed setting. Yor walked a few steps ahead of him, Anya draped over her back in the same way he once had been, cheek against shoulder, arms looped loosely around her neck, eyes already half-lidded. Bond padded faithfully beside them. Yor adjusted her grip slightly, giving Anya a small bounce higher against her back. The movement was identical, and Yuri felt the echo of it in his own knees. He swallowed, for a fleeting, sharp second, something ugly sparked in his chest. That was mine. The thought arrived uninvited, immediate, and childish. She took it.
Anya’s fingers were curled into Yor’s coat the same way his once had been. Her small legs hooked easily at Yor’s side, small enough and light enough. Yuri looked down at his own hands: longer now, broader, strong enough to carry the basket without strain. Strong enough to carry far more than that. He hadn’t fit between her shoulders in years; he hadn’t needed to, and the realization settled slowly.
Ahead of him, Anya mumbled something incoherent. Yor smiled softly. “Mm? I’ve got you.” The words were casual and automatic. Yuri’s chest tightened; he remembered the weight of them against the mountain air. He remembered believing nothing in the world could possibly be too heavy as long as she said that. Now she said it again, not to him, but the tone was unchanged, the promise was the same. He let out a breath, and with it, the envy dulled. Not gone entirely, he wasn’t that noble, but softened into something quieter.
They walked the rest of the way in near silence. Anya’s head eventually tipped fully to one side, asleep. Yor shifted her again, careful and uncomplaining. Yuri stayed half a step behind them, watching the angle of Yor’s shoulders, memorizing it, as if he might need the reassurance later.
By the time they reached the apartment building, the sun had dipped low enough to paint the windows in gold. Yor adjusted Anya one last time before climbing the steps; she hadn’t complained once about the weight. Yuri noticed; he always noticed. He moved ahead to open the door for her without being asked. The basket thudded softly against his leg as he stepped aside. “Thank you, Yuri,” she whispered, careful not to jostle Anya awake. He nodded.
Inside, the apartment felt warmer than outside, dimmer, too; evening settles gently into the corners. Yor carried Anya straight down the hall, Bond padded after them, quieter now, as if he understood the shift. Yuri set the basket on the kitchen counter and began unpacking automatically: containers into the sink, unused fruit back into the refrigerator, blanket folded once more, slower this time.
The apartment was quiet except for the faint murmur of Yor’s voice drifting from Anya’s room. He didn’t mean to hover, yet he found himself standing just outside the partially open door anyway. Yor had laid Anya down carefully, easing her small arms free from around her neck. Anya stirred once, brow furrowing, fingers twitching. “I’m here,” Yor whispered immediately and brushed damp hair from Anya’s forehead and tucked the blanket up beneath her chin. Her hand lingered there a moment longer than necessary. Bond circled twice at the foot of the bed before settling down with a content sigh. Yor leaned down and pressed a light kiss to Anya’s temple. “Good job today,” she murmured. Yuri’s throat tightened unexpectedly, and suddenly the room felt too small, too warm. He stepped back before Yor could notice him watching.
By the time she emerged into the living room, he was seated on the couch, posture perfectly composed, hands folded loosely in his lap. She paused when she saw him. “You’re quiet,” she said gently.
He shrugged, eyes fixed somewhere just beyond her shoulder. “It was a long walk.”
“Oh,” she said, concerned immediately. “Are you tired?”
“No.” The answer came too quickly.
She hesitated, then sat beside him anyway, just close enough that he could feel the warmth of her shoulder near his sleeve. For a moment, neither of them spoke, and the apartment hummed softly with evening stillness. Yuri studied the pattern of light on the opposite wall. “…Do you remember,” he began carefully, “when you used to carry me like that?”
Yor blinked. “Carry you?”
“On your back,” he clarified. “Up in the mountains. When we went looking for herbs.”
Recognition dawned slowly across her face. “Oh,” she said softly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You insisted you weren’t tired.”
He huffed faintly. “I wasn’t.”
She glanced at him sidelong, amused. “You fell asleep before we reached the bottom.”
“I did not.”
“You drooled on my shoulder.”
He opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again. “…That was a long time ago,” he said instead. The words came out quieter than he intended.
Yor’s expression changed, the amusement faded, replaced by something warmer. Something almost fragile. “Oh, Yuri,” she murmured, “It feels like yesterday.” The simplicity of it struck harder than he expected. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed her to say that.
He stared at his hands for a moment, then at the space between them on the couch. He hesitated, then he leaned, slowly, carefully, and rested his head against her shoulder. As though he might break her if he wasn’t gentle, her breath caught almost imperceptibly. He spoke into the quiet, “…Can I stay?” It wasn’t clear whether he meant the couch, the evening, the moment, or maybe more generally in her life. “Just a little longer.”
Yor didn’t hesitate. She shifted slightly so he could settle more comfortably, the movement instinctive. “As long as you like.” Her shoulder was narrower than it had felt when he was small, or maybe he was simply bigger now. After a moment, almost unconsciously, she began to hum, and Yuri closed his eyes. It wasn’t yesterday. Anya was asleep down the hall, Bond taking up half the bed. There were bakery receipts on the counter and neatly folded blankets in the kitchen. Tomorrow, there will be work again, responsibilities, distance, and secrets to be buried. He could not fit between her shoulders anymore. Yuri exhaled slowly, careful not to disturb the rhythm of her breathing. He didn’t know what to do with that.