thinking about this fic idea where yor and her coworkers are working a later shift. camilla and millie are talking about the nicknames their partners give them, and once they get bored they turn to yor, asking her what name she has for her husband. yor, confused, answers with "loid?"
camilla laughs, realises she's not joking, and then persuades yor to come up with her own nickname. "it can be anything, really," she says. "as long as it's cute."
yor, who's still confused, looks outside and she tries her best to think of a name. "the sky looks pretty today," she thinks. "isn't this time of the day called twilight?"
"is twilight a good nickname?" yor asks.
camilla and millie say yes, it's cute, and fawn over the name whilst yor can't wait to see what loid thinks about it.
twilight Spits Out His Drink™ when yor actually uses the nickname on him, nearly chokes, etc etc
day one of twiyor month!! the prompt was "wish" <3
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Yor has never been one for academics.
Even before she lost her parents, she always found her mind wandering outside the classroom, outside her repetitive textbooks. It was all the same, anyways—x and y were forever unknown, spellings muddled and often irrational, letters floating above and dipping below the lines of her notebooks.
She just preferred to watch something more unique, distinctive. Like the flora lingering outside of her windows, as faint yet distracting as a rose. That was what really caught her eye, not the greyscale of her uneventful school life. So when she was left alone with Yuri, it didn’t take much persuasion for her to drop her studies completely. She never once considered it a loss, only a fate that arrived earlier than expected.
It comes as a bit of a shock to Yor when she wishes, for possibly the first time in her life, that she paid more attention in her school days. Specifically in her English lessons. Because now, she’s sitting at her desk at City Hall, fingers shaking as she holds a pen, cursing her rather lacking knowledge of synonyms.
“Come on, Yor,” she whispers. “You’ve used the word nice four times in one paragraph.”
With a start, her pen seemingly explodes, drops of ink splattering on a piece of parchment. Looking down, Yor sees the crushed barrel, the broken tip of the pen.
It takes everything in her to not rip apart the stupid paper—remember, Yor, this is for Loid.
Right. Loid. The person who unknowingly got her in this mess in the first place: her husband. Her respectful and considerate husband who’s nowhere near being her actual husband, but the details aren’t too important. All Yor really wants is to write him a letter, or even just a note, thanking him for everything he’s done.
It’s what he deserves, and that’s the only fact she believes with her whole body—blood and bones and all. Undoubtedly.
That’s why she’s spending so much time rewriting and replacing each failed attempt: it’s her rare chance to show Loid he’s not being taken for granted.
Patting down her hair, Yor opens her drawer to find a stack of paper, and she pulls out another one. Taking a second to calm herself, she grabs a nearby dictionary and begins to look, thumbing through each page, fingertips grazing the sides lightly. The words are tattooed onto her skin—lovely, kind, sweet. Thoughtful, gentle, caring. Amusing.
She could go on, writing an endless letter. Memorising the spellings of words that she’d never cared to notice before.
Yor keeps them tucked in a corner of her ribs, heart beating a steady rhythm of warmth. A wish silently bleeding into paper, ethereal as she signs her name.
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i wish you bluebirds in the spring
to give your heart a song to sing
and then a kiss but more than this
